Table of Contents

"Tales of the Sea"

Story 1—Chapter 1.

Story 1—Chapter 2.

Story 1—Chapter 3.

Story 1—Chapter 4.

Story 1—Chapter 5.

Story 1—Chapter 6.

Story 1—Chapter 7.

Story 1—Chapter 8.

Story 2—Chapter 1.

Story 2—Chapter 2.

Story 3—Chapter 1.

Story 4—Chapter 1.

Story 5—Chapter 1.

Story 6—Chapter 1.

Story 7—Chapter 1.

Story 8—Chapter 1.

Story 8—Chapter 2.

Story 8—Chapter 3.

Story 8—Chapter 4.

Story 9—Chapter 1.

Story 9—Chapter 2.

Story 9—Chapter 3.

"The Three Admirals"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

"The Three Commanders"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Five.

"The Three Lieutenants"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

"The Three Midshipmen"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty One.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Chapter Thirty Three.

Chapter Thirty Four.

"The Trapper's Son"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

"True Blue"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Six.

"A True Hero"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Twenty.

"Twice Lost"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Tales of the Sea"

Story 1—Chapter 1.

Happy Jack.

Have any of you made a passage on board a steamer between London and Leith? If you have, you will have seen no small number of brigs and brigantines, with sails of all tints, from doubtful white to decided black—some deeply=laden, making their way to the southward, others with their sides high out of the water, heeling over to the slightest breeze, steering north.

On board one of those delectable craft, a brig called the Naiad, I found myself when about fourteen summers had passed over my head. She must have been named after a negress naiad, for black was the prevailing colour on board, from the dark, dingy forecastle to the captain’s state cabin, which was but a degree less dirty than the portion of the vessel in which I was destined to live. The bulwarks, companion-hatch, and other parts had, to be sure, once upon a time been painted green, but the dust from the coal, which formed her usual cargo, had reduced every portion to one sombre hue, which even the salt seas not unfrequently breaking over her deck had failed to wash clean.

Captain Grimes, her commander, notwithstanding this, was proud of the old craft; and he especially delighted to tell how she had once carried a pennant when conveying troops to Corunna, or some other port in Spain.

I pitied the poor fellows confined to the narrow limits of her dark hold, redolent of bilge-water and other foul odours. We, however, had not to complain on that score, for the fresh water which came in through her old sides by many a leak, and had to be pumped out every watch, kept her hold sweet.

How I came to be on board the Naiad I’ll tell you—

I had made up my mind to go to sea—why, it’s hard to say, except that I thought I should like to knock about the world and see strange countries. I was happy enough at home, though I did not always make others happy. Nothing came amiss to me; I was always either laughing or singing, and do not recollect having an hour’s illness in my life. Now and then, by the elders of the family, and by Aunt Martha especially, I was voted a nuisance; and it was with no small satisfaction, at the end of the holidays, that they packed me off again to school. I was fond of my brothers and sisters, and they were fond of me, though I showed my affection for them in a somewhat rough fashion. I thought my sisters somewhat demure, and I was always teasing them and playing them tricks. Somehow or other I got the name among them and my brothers of “Happy Jack,” and certainly I was the merriest of the family. If I happened, which was not unfrequently the case, to get into a scrape, I generally managed to scramble out of it with flying colours; and if I did not, I laughed at the punishment to which I was doomed. I was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built boy, and could beat my elder brothers at running, leaping, or any other athletic exercise, while, without boasting, I was not behind any of them in the school-room. My father was somewhat proud of me, and had set his mind on my becoming a member of one of the learned professions, and rising to the top of the tree. Why should I not? I had a great-uncle a judge, and another relative a bishop, and there had been admirals and generals by the score among our ancestors. My father was a leading solicitor in a large town, and having somewhat ambitious aspirations for his children, his intention was to send all his sons to the university, in the hopes that they would make a good figure in life. He was therefore the more vexed when I declared that my firm determination was to go to sea. “Very well, Jack,” he said, “if such is your resolve, go you shall; but as I have no interest in the navy, you must take your chance in the merchant service.”

“It’s all the same to me, sir,” I replied; “I shall be just as happy in the one as in the other service;” and so I considered the matter settled.

When the day of parting came, I was as merry and full of fun as ever, though I own there was a strange sensation about the heart which bothered me; however, I was not going to show what I felt—not I.

I slyly pinched my sisters when we were exchanging parting kisses, till they were compelled to shriek out and box my ears—an operation to which I was well accustomed—and I made my brothers roar with the sturdy grip I gave their fingers when we shook hands; and so, instead of tears, there were shouts of laughter and screeches and screams, creating a regular hullabuloo which put all sentimental grief to flight. “No, no, Jack, I will have none of your tricks,” cried Aunt Martha, when I approached with a demure look to bid her farewell, so I took her hand and pressed it to my lips with all the mock courtesy of a Sir Charles Grandison. My mother! I had no heart to do otherwise than to throw my arms round her neck and receive the fond embrace she bestowed upon me, and if a tear did come into my eye, it was then. But there was another person to whom I had to say good-bye, and that was dear little Grace Goldie, my father’s ward, a fair, blue-eyed girl, three or four years younger than myself. I did not play her any trick, but kissed her smooth young brow, and promised that I would bring her back no end of pearls and ivory, and treasures of all sorts, from across the seas. She smiled sweetly through her tears. “Thank you, Jack, thank you! I shall so long to see you back,” she whispered; and I had to bolt, or I believe that I should have began to pipe my eye in a way I had no fancy for. My father’s voice summoned me. “Now, Jack,” he said, “as you have chosen your bed, you must lie on it. But remember—after a year’s trial—if you change your mind, let me know.”

“No fear of that, sir,” I answered.

“We shall see, Jack,” he replied. He wrung my hand, and gave me his blessing. “I have directed Mr Junk to provide your outfit, and you will find it all right.” Who Mr Junk was I had no conception; but as my father said it was all right, I troubled my head no more about the matter.

My father’s old clerk, Simon Munch, was waiting for me at the door, and hurried me off to catch the Newcastle coach. On our arrival there he took me to the office of Junk, Tarbox and Company, shipbrokers.

“Here is the young gentleman, Mr Junk,” he said, addressing a one-eyed, burly, broad-shouldered personage, with a rubicund countenance, in a semi-nautical costume. “You know what to do with him, and so I leave him in your hands. Good-bye, Jack, I hope you may like it.”

“No fear of that, Mr Munch,” I answered; “and tell them at home that you left me as jolly and happy as ever.”

“So, Master Brooke, you want to go to sea?” said Mr Junk, squirting a stream of tobacco-juice across his office, and eyeing me with his sole bloodshot blinker; “and you expect to like it?”

“Of course I do; I expect to be happy wherever I am,” I answered in a confident tone.

“We shall see,” he replied. “I have sent your chest aboard of the Naiad. Captain Grimes will be here anon, and I’ll hand you over to him.”

The person he spoke of just then made his appearance. I did not particularly like my future commander’s outside. He was a tall, gaunt man, with a long weather-beaten visage and huge black or rather grizzled whiskers; and his voice, when he spoke, was gruff and harsh in the extreme. I need not further describe him; only I will observe that he looked considerably cleaner then than he usually did, as I afterwards found on board the brig. He took but little notice of me beyond a slight nod, as he was busy with the ship’s papers. Having pocketed them, he grasped me by the hand with a “Come along, my lad; I am to make a seaman on ye.” He spoke in a broad Northumbrian accent, and in a harsh guttural tone. I was not prepossessed in his favour, but I determined to show no signs of unwillingness to accompany him.

We were soon seated in the stern of an excessively dirty boat, with coal-dust-begrimed rowers, who pulled away with somewhat lazy strokes towards a deeply-laden brig lying out in mid-stream. “Get on board, leddie, with you,” said the captain, who had not since my first introduction addressed a single word to me. I clambered up on deck. The boat was hoisted in, the topsails let fall, and the crew, with doleful “Yeo-yo-o’s,” began working round the windlass, and the Naiad in due time was gliding down the Tyne.

She was a very different craft to what I had expected to find myself on board of. I had read about the white decks and snowy canvas, the bright polish and the active, obedient crew of a man-of-war; and such I had pictured the vessel I had hoped to sail in. The Naiad was certainly a contrast to this; but I kept to my resolve not to flinch from whatever turned up. When I was told to pull and haul away at the ropes, I did so with might and main; and, as everything on board was thickly coated with coal-dust, I very soon became, as begrimed as the rest of the crew.

I was rather astonished, on asking Captain Grimes when tea would be ready—for I was very hungry—to be told that I might get what I could with the men forward. I went down accordingly into the forecastle, tumbling over a chest, and running my head against the stomach of one of my new shipmates as I groped my way amid the darkness which shrouded it. A cuff which sent me sprawling on the deck was the consequence. “Where are your eyes, leddie?” exclaimed a gruff voice. “Ye’ll see where ye are ganging the next time.”

I picked myself up, bursting into a fit of laughter, as if the affair had been a good joke. “I beg your pardon, old fellow,” I said; “but if you had had a chandelier burning in this place of yours it would not have happened. How do you all manage to see down here?”

“As cats do—we’re accustomed to it,” said another voice; and I now began to distinguish objects around me. The watch below were seated round a sea-chest, with three or four mugs, a huge loaf of bread, and a piece of cheese and part of a flitch of fat cold bacon. It was rough fare, but I was too hungry not to be glad to partake of it.

A boy whom I had seen busy in the caboose soon came down with a kettle of hot tea. My inquiry for milk produced a general laugh, but I was told I might take as much sugar as I liked from a jar, which contained a dark-brown substance unlike any sugar I had before seen.

“Ye’ll soon be asking for your bed, leddie,” said Bob Tubbs, the old man whose acquaintance I had so unceremoniously formed. “Ye’ll find it there, for’ard, if ye’ll grope your way. It’s not over airy, but it’s all the warmer in winter.”

After supper, I succeeded in finding the berth Bob had pointed out. It was the lowest berth, directly in the very bows of the vessel—a shelf-like space, about five feet in length, with height scarcely sufficient to allow me to sit upright,—Dirty Dick, the ship’s boy I have mentioned, having the berth above me. Mine contained a mattress and a couple of blankets. My inquiry for sheets produced as much laughter as when I asked for milk. “Well, to be sure, as I suppose you have not a washerwoman on board, they would not be of much use,” I sang out; “and so, unless the captain wants me to steer the ship, I will turn in and go to sleep. Good night, mates.”

“The leddie has got some spirit in him,” I heard Bob Tubbs observe. “What do you call yourself, boy?”

“Happy Jack!” I sang out; “and it’s not this sort of thing that’s going to change me.”

“You’ll prove a tough one, if something else doesn’t,” observed Bob from his berth. “But gang to sleep, boy. Ye’ll be put into a watch to-morrow, and it’s the last time, may be, that ye’ll have to rest through the night till ye set foot on shore again.” I little then thought how long a time that would prove; but, rolling myself up in my blanket, I soon forgot where I was.

Next morning I scrambled on deck, and found the brig plunging away into a heavy sea, with a strong southerly wind, the coast just distinguishable over our starboard quarter. The captain gave me a grim smile as I made my way aft.

“Well, leddie, how do you like it?” he inquired.

“Thank you, pretty well,” I answered; “but I hope we sha’n’t have to wait long for breakfast.”

He smiled again. “And you don’t feel queer?”

“No, not a bit of it,” I replied. “But I say, captain, I thought I was to come as a midshipman, and mess with the other young gentlemen on board.”

He now fairly laughed outright; and looking at me for some time, answered, “We have no young gentlemen on board here. You’ll get your breakfast in good time; but you are of the right sort, leddie, and little Clem shall show you what you have got to do,” pointing as he spoke to a boy who just then came on deck, and whom I took to be his son.

“Thank you, captain,” I observed; “I shall be glad of Clem’s instruction, as I suppose he knows more about the matter than I do.”

“Clem can hand, reef, and steer as well as any one, as far as his strength goes,” said the captain, looking approvingly at him.

“I’ll set to work as soon as he likes, then,” I observed. “But I wish those fellows would be sharp about breakfast, for I am desperately hungry.”

“Well, go into the cabin, and Clem will give you a hunch of bread to stay your appetite.”

I followed Clem below. “Here, Brooke, some butter will improve it,” he said, spreading a thick slice of bread. “And so you don’t seem to be seasick, like most fellows. Well, I am glad of that. My father will like you all the better for it, and soon make a sailor of you, if you wish to learn.”

I told Clem that was just what I wanted, and that I should look to him to teach me my duties.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Take my advice and dip your hands in the tar bucket without delay, and don’t shirk anything the mate puts you to. My father is pretty gruff now and then, but old Growl is a regular rough one. He does not say much to me, but you will have to look out for squalls. Come, we had better go on deck, or old Growl will think that I have been putting you up to mischief. He will soon pick a quarrel with you, to see how you bear it.”

“I’ll take good care to keep out of his way, then,” I said, bolting the last piece of bread and butter. “Thank you, Clem, you and I shall be good friends, I see that.”

“I hope so,” answered my young companion with a sigh. “I have not many on board, and till you came I had no one to speak to except father, and he is not always in the mood to talk.”

Clem’s slice of bread and butter enabled me to hold out till the forecastle breakfast was ready. I did ample justice to it. Directly I made my reappearance on deck, old Growl set me to work, and I soon had not only my hands but my arms up to the elbows in tar. Though the vessel was pitching her head into the seas, with thick sheets of foam flying over her, he quickly sent me aloft to black down the main rigging. Clem showed me how to secure the bucket to the shrouds while I was at work, and in spite of the violent jerks I received as the vessel plunged her bluff bows into the sea, I got on very well. Before the evening was over I had been out on the yards with little Clem to assist in reefing the topsails, and he had shown me how to steer and box the compass.

Nothing particular occurred on the voyage, though we were ten days in reaching the mouth of the Thames. Clem and I became great friends. The more I saw of him the more I liked him, and wondered how so well-mannered a lad could be the son of such a man as Captain Grimes.

I saw nothing of London. I should, indeed, have been ashamed to go on shore in my now thoroughly begrimed condition. We were but a short time in the Thames, for as soon as we had discharged our cargo we again made sail for the Tyne.

Before this time old Growl, the mate, had taught me what starting meant. He had generally a rope’s end in his fist, and if not, one was always near at hand. If I happened not to do a thing well enough or fast enough to please him, he was immediately after me, laying the rope across my shoulders, or anywhere he could most conveniently reach. I generally managed to spring out of his way, and turn round and laugh at him. If he followed me, I ran aloft, and, as I climbed much faster than he could, I invariably led him a long chase.

“I’ll catch you, youngster, the next time. Mark me, that I will,” he shouted out to me one day, when more than usually angry.

“Wait till the next time comes, mate,” I sang out, and laughed more heartily than before.

The men sympathised with me, especially Dirty Dick. His shoulders, till I came on board, had been accustomed to suffer most from the mate’s ill temper. Now and then old Growl, greatly to his delight, caught me unawares; but, suffering as I did from his blows, I never let him see that I cared for them, and used to laugh just as heartily as when I had escaped from him. On this, however, he would grin sardonically, and observe, “You may laugh as you like, young master, I know what a rope’s end tastes like; it’s a precious deal bitterer than you would have me fancy. I got enough of it when I was a youngster, and haven’t forgotten yet.”

One day when old Growl had treated me as I have described, and had gone below, Clement came up to me. “I am so sorry the mate has struck you, Brooke,” he said. “It’s a great shame. He dare not hit me; and when I told father how he treats you, he told me to mind my own business, and that it was all for your good.”

“I don’t know how that can be,” I answered; “but I don’t care for it, I can assure you. It hurts a little at the time, I’ll allow, but I have got used to it, and I don’t intend to let him break my spirit or make me unhappy.”

Clement all the time was doing his best to teach me what he knew, and I soon learned to steer in smooth water, and could hand and reef the topsails and knot and splice as well almost as he could. Some things I did better, as I was much stronger and more active. I was put to do all sorts of unpleasant work, such as blacking down the rigging, greasing the masts, and helping Dirty Dick to clean the caboose and sweep out the forecastle. Though I didn’t like it, I went about the duty, however, as if it was the pleasantest in the world. Pleasant or not, I was thus rapidly becoming a seaman.

Story 1—Chapter 2.

I had as before, on reaching the Tyne, to remain and keep ship, though little Clem went on shore and did not return till we had a fresh cargo on board, and were just about sailing.

Scarcely were we clear of the river than a heavy gale sprang up and severely tried the old collier. The seas came washing over her deck, and none of us for’ard had a dry rag on our backs. When my watch below came, I was glad to turn in between my now darkly-tinted blankets; but they soon became as wet as everything else, and when I went on deck to keep my watch, I had again to put on my damp clothes. The forecastle was fearfully hot and steamy. We had to keep the fore hatch closed to prevent the seas which, washing over our decks, would otherwise have poured down upon us. In a short time, as the ship strained more and more while she struggled amid the waves, the water made its way through the deck and sides till there was not a dry space to lie on in our berths. Then I began really to understand the miseries of forecastle life on board a collier, and many other craft too, in which British seamen have to sail; with bad food, bad water, and worse treatment. Ay, I speak the truth, which I know from experience, they have to live like dogs, and, too often, die like dogs, with no one to care for them.

Day after day this sort of work continued. I wondered that the captain did not run back, till I heard him say that the price of coals was up in the London market, and he wanted to be there before other vessels arrived to lower it; so, tough seaman as he was, he kept thrashing the old brig along against the south-westerly gale, which seemed to increase rather than show any signs of moderating. We had always, during each watch, to take a spell at the pumps, and now we had to keep them going without intermission. I took my turn with the rest, and my shoulders ached before I had done; still I sang and laughed away as usual.

“It’s no laughing matter, youngster,” said old Growl, as he passed me. “You will be laughing the wrong side of your mouth before long.”

“Never fear, mate,” I replied; “both sides are the same to me.”

The captain and mate at last took their turns with the rest of us, for the crew were getting worn out. I did not know the danger we were in, but I was beginning to get tired of that dreadful “clank, clank, clank.”

At last, by dint of keeping at it, we had got a good way to the southward, when one night, just as we had gone about hoping to lay our course for the Thames, the wind shifted and came again right in our teeth. I had turned into my wet bunk all standing, when, having dropped off to sleep, I was awoke by a tremendous crash, and on springing up on deck I found that the mainmast had gone by the board. The gale had increased, and we were driving before it. As I made my way aft, the flashes of lightning revealed the pale faces of the crew, some endeavouring to clear away the wreck of the mast, others working with frantic energy at the pumps. The leaks had increased. As may be supposed, the deeply-laden collier had but a poor chance under such circumstances. Presently the vessel gave a heavy lurch. A sea rolled up. The next instant I found myself struggling in the midst of the foaming surges. All around was dark; I felt for the deck of the vessel, it was not beneath me; I had been washed overboard. I struck out for life, and in another minute I was clinging to the mainmast, which had been cut clear. I clambered up on it, and looked out for the brig. She was nowhere to be seen; she must have gone down beneath the surge which washed me from her deck. What had become of my shipmates? I shouted again and again at the top of my voice. There was a faint cry, “Help me; help me.” I knew the voice; it was Clement’s. Leaving the mast, I swam towards him; he was lashed to a spar. The old captain’s last act had been to try and save the young boy’s life ere he himself sank beneath the waves. I caught hold of the spar, bidding Clement keep his head above the water while I towed it to the mast. I succeeded, and then clambering on it, and casting off the lashings, dragged him up and placed him beside me. We hailed again and again, but no voice replied. It may seem strange that we, the two youngest on board, should have survived, while all the men were drowned, but then, not one of them could swim. We could, and, under Providence, were able to struggle for our lives.

I did my best to cheer up little Clem, telling him that if we could manage to hold on till daylight, as a number of vessels were certain to pass, we should be picked up. “I am very, very sorry, Clem, for your father,” I said; “for though he was somewhat gruff to me, he was a kind-hearted man, I am sure.”

“That indeed he was,” answered Clement, in a tone of sorrow. “He was always good to me; but he was not my father, as you fancy—the more reason I have to be grateful to him.”

“Not your father, Clem!” I exclaimed. “I never suspected that.”

“No, he was not; though he truly acted the part of one to me. Do you know, Brooke, this is not the first time that I have been left alone floating on the ocean? I was picked up by him just as you hope that we shall be picked up. I was a very little fellow, so little that I could give no account of myself. He found a black woman and me floating all alone on a raft out in the Atlantic. She died almost immediately we were rescued, without his being able to learn anything from her. He had to bury her at sea, and when he got home he in vain tried to find out my friends, though he preserved, I believe, the clothes I had on, and most of her clothes. He sent me to an excellent school, where I was well taught; and Mrs Grimes, who was a dear, kind lady, far more refined than you would suppose his wife to have been, acted truly like a mother to me. He was very fond of her, and when she died, nearly a year ago, he took me to sea with him. I did not, however, give up my studies, but used to sit in the cabin, and every day read as much as I could. Captain Grimes used to say that he was sure I was a gentleman born, and a gentleman he wished me to be, and so I have always felt myself.”

I had been struck by little Clem’s refined manners, and this was now accounted for. “I am sure you are a gentleman, Clem,” I observed; “and if we ever get home, my father, who is a lawyer, shall try to find out your friends. He may be able to succeed though Captain Grimes could not. I wonder he did not apply to my father, as, from my having been sent on board his ship, the captain must have known him. I suspect that they wanted to sicken me of a sea life, and so sent me on board the Naiad; but they were mistaken; and now when they hear that she has gone down—if we are not picked up—how sorry they will be!”

The conversation I have described was frequently interrupted—sometimes by a heavier sea than usual rolling by, and compelling us to hold tight for our lives; at others we were silent for several minutes together. We were seated on the after-part of the maintop, the rigging which hung down on either side acting as ballast, and contributing to keep the wreck of the mast tolerably steady in one position. We were thus completely out of the water, though the spray from the crest of the seas which was blown over us kept us thoroughly wet and cold. Fortunately, we both had on thick clothing. Clement was always nicely dressed, for the captain, though not particular about himself, liked to see him look neat, while I, on the contrary, had on my oldest working suit, and was as rough-looking a sea-dog as could be imagined. My old tarry coat and trousers, and sou’-wester tied under my chin, contributed, however, to keep out the wind, and enable me the better to endure the cold to which we were exposed. I sheltered Clem as well as I could, and held him tight whenever I saw a sea coming towards him, fearing lest he might be washed away. I had made up my mind to perish with him rather than let him go. Hour after hour passed by, till at length, the clouds breaking, the moon came forth and shone down upon us. I looked at Clem’s face: it was very pale, and I was afraid he would give way altogether. “Hold on, hold on, Clem,” I exclaimed. “The wind is falling, and the sea will soon go down; we shall have daylight before long, and in the meantime we have the moon to cheer us up. Perhaps we shall be on shore this time to-morrow, and comfortably in bed; and then we will go back to my father, and he will find out all about your friends. He is a wonderfully clever man, though a bit strict, to be sure.”

“Thank you, Jack, thank you,” he answered. “Don’t be afraid; I feel pretty strong, only somewhat cold and hungry.”

Just then I recollected that I had put the best part of a biscuit into my pocket at tea-time, having been summoned on deck as I was eating it. It was wet, to be sure; but such biscuits as we had take a good deal of soaking to soften thoroughly. I felt for it. There it was. So I put a small piece into Clem’s mouth. He was able to swallow it. Then I put in another, and another; and so I fed him, till he declared he felt much better. I had reserved a small portion for myself, but as I knew that I could go on without it, I determined to keep it, lest he should require more.

I continued to do my best to cheer him up by talking to him of my home, and how he might find his relations and friends, and then I bethought me that I would sing a song. I don’t suppose that many people have sung under such circumstances, but I managed to strike up a stave, one of those with which I had been accustomed to amuse my messmates in the Naiad’s forecastle. It was not, perhaps, one of the merriest, but it served to divert Clem’s thoughts, as well as mine, from our perilous position.

“I wish that I could sing too,” said Clem; “but I know I could not, if I was to try. I wonder you can, Jack.”

“Why? because I am sure that we shall be picked up before long, and so I see no reason why I should not try to be happy,” I answered thoughtlessly.

“Ah, but I am thinking of those who are gone,” said Clem. “My kind father, as I called him, and old Growl, and the rest of the poor fellows; it is like singing over their graves.”

“You are right, Clem,” I said; “I will sing no more, though I only did it to keep up your spirits. But what is that?” I exclaimed, suddenly, as we rose to the crest of a sea. “A large ship standing directly for us.”

“Yes; she is close-hauled, beating down Channel,” observed Clement. “She will be right upon us, too, if she keeps her present course.”

“We must take care to let her know where we are, by shouting together at the top of our voices when we are near enough to be heard,” I said.

“She appears to me to be a man-of-war, and probably a sharp look-out is kept forward,” Clement remarked. We had not observed the ship before, as our faces had been turned away from her. The sea had, however, been gradually working the mast round, as I knew to be the case by the different position in which the moon appeared to us.

“We must get ready for a shout, Clem, and then cry out together as we have never cried before. I’ll say when we are to begin.”

As the ship drew nearer Clem had no doubt that she was a man-of-war, a large frigate apparently, under her three topsails and courses.

“She is passing to windward of us,” I exclaimed.

“Not so sure of that,” cried Clem. “She will be right over us if we do not cry out in time.”

“Let us begin, then,” I said. “Now, shout away, Hip! Hip!”

“No, no!” cried Clem, “that will not do. Shout ‘Ship ahoy!’”

I had forgotten for the moment what to say, so together we began shouting as shrilly as we could, at the very top of our voices. Again and again we shouted. I began to fear that the ship would be right over us, when presently we saw her luff up. The moon was shining down upon us, and we were seen. So close, even then, did the frigate pass, that the end of the mast we were clinging to almost grazed her side. Ropes were hove to us, but the ship had too much way on her, and it was fortunate we could not seize them. “Thank you,” I cried out. “Will you take us aboard?” There was no answer, and I thought that we were to be left floating on our mast till some other vessel might sight us. We were mistaken, though. We could hear loud orders issued on board, but what was said we could not make out, and presently the ship came up to the wind, the head yards were braced round, and she lay hove-to. Then we saw a boat lowered. How eagerly we watched what was being done. She came towards us. The people in her shouted to us in a strange language. They were afraid, evidently, of having their boat stove in by the wreck of the mast. At last they approached us cautiously.

“Come, Clem, we will swim to her,” I said. “Catch tight hold of my jacket; I have got strength enough left in me for that.”

We had not far to go, but I found it a tougher job than I expected. It would have been wiser to have remained till we could have leaped from the mast to the boat. I was almost exhausted by the time we reached her, and thankful when I felt Clem lifted off my back, I myself, when nearly sinking, being next hauled on board. We were handed into the stern-sheets, where we lay almost helpless. I tried to speak, but could not, nor could I understand a word that was said. The men at once pulled back to the ship, and a big seaman, taking Clem under one of his arms, clambered up with him on deck. Another carried me on board in the same fashion. The boat was then hoisted up, and the head yards being braced round, the ship continued her course. Lanterns being brought, we were surrounded by a group of foreign-looking seamen, who stared curiously at us, asking, I judged from the tones of their voices, all sorts of questions, but as their language was as strange to us as ours was to them, we couldn’t understand a word they said, or make them comprehend what we said.

“If you would give us some hot grog, and let us turn into dry hammocks, we should be much obliged to you,” I cried out at last, despairing of any good coming of all their talking.

Just as I spoke, an officer with a cloak on came from below, having apparently turned out of his berth. “Ah, you are English,” I heard him say. “Speak to me. How came you floating out here?”

I told him that our vessel had gone down, and that we, as far as I knew, were the only survivors of the crew.

“And who is that other boy?”

“The captain’s son,” I answered.

“Ah, I thought so, by his appearance,” said the officer. “He shall be taken into the cabin. You, my boy, will have a hammock on the lower deck, and the hot grog you asked for. I’ll visit you soon. I am the doctor of the ship.”

He then spoke to the men, and while Clement was carried aft, I was lifted up and conveyed below by a couple of somewhat rough but not ill-natured-looking seamen. I was more exhausted than I had supposed, for on the way I fainted, and many hours passed by before I returned to a state of half consciousness.

Story 1—Chapter 3.

In three days I was quite well, and the doctor sending me a suit of seaman’s clothes, I dressed and found my way up on deck. I looked about eagerly for Clem, but not seeing him, I became anxious to learn how he was. I could make none of the men understand me. Most of them were Finns—big broad-shouldered, ruddy, light-haired, bearded fellows; very good-natured and merry, notwithstanding the harsh treatment they often received. Big as they were, they were knocked about like so many boys by the petty officers, and I began to feel rather uncomfortable lest I should come in for share of the same treatment, of which I had had enough from the hands of old Growl. I determined, however, to grin and bear it, and do, as well as I could, whatever I was told.

I soon found that I was not to be allowed to eat the bread of idleness, for a burly officer, whom I took to be the boatswain, ordered me aloft with several other boys, to hand the fore royal, a stiff breeze just then coming on. Up I went; and though I had never been so high above the deck before, that made but little difference, and I showed that I could beat my companions in activity. When I came down the boatswain nodded his approval. I kept looking out for Clem. At last I saw my friend the doctor, with several other officers, on the quarter-deck. I hurried aft to him, and, touching my cap, asked him how Clem was. The others stared at me as if surprised at my audacity in thus venturing among them. “The boy is doing well,” he answered; “but, lad, I must advise you not to infringe the rules of discipline. You were, I understand, one of the ship’s boys, and must remain for’ard. He is a young gentleman, and such his dress and appearance prove him to be, will be allowed to live with the midshipmen.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” I answered; “but I am a gentleman’s son also, and I should like to live with the midshipmen, that I may be with Clem.”

“Your companion has said something to the same effect,” observed the doctor; “but the captain remarks that there are many wild, idle boys sent to sea who may claim to be the sons of gentlemen; and as your appearance shows, as you acknowledge was the case, that you were before the mast, there you must continue till your conduct proves that you are deserving of a higher rank. And now go for’ard. I’ll recollect what you have said.” I took the hint. The seamen grinned as I returned among them, as if they had understood what I had been saying.

I kept to my resolution of doing smartly whatever I was told, and laughed and joked with the men, trying to understand their lingo, and to make myself understood by them. I managed to pick up some of their words, though they almost cracked my jaws to pronounce them; but I laughed at my own mistakes, and they seemed to think it very good fun to hear me talk.

Several days passed away, when at length I saw Clement come on deck. I ran aft to him, and he came somewhat timidly to meet me. We shook hands, and I told him how glad I was to see him better, though he still looked very pale. “I am very glad also to see you, Jack,” he said, “and I wish we were to be together. I told the doctor I would rather go and live for’ard than be separated from you; but he replied that that could not be, and I have hopes, Jack, that by-and-by you will be placed on the quarter-deck if you will enter the Russian service.”

“What! and give up being an Englishman?” I exclaimed. “I would do a great deal to be with you, but I won’t abandon my country and be transmogrified into a Russian.”

“You are right, Jack,” said Clem, with a sigh; “however, the officers will not object to my talking with you, and we must hope for the best.” After this I was constantly thinking how I should act should I have the option of being placed on the quarter-deck and becoming an officer in the Russian service, for we were on board a Russian frigate.

Clem got rapidly better, and we every day met and had a talk together. Altogether, as the boatswain’s lash did not often reach me, though he used it pretty freely among my companions, I was as happy as usual. I should have been glad to have had less train-oil and fat in the food served out to us, and should have preferred wheaten flour to the black rye and beans which I had to eat. Still that was a trifle, and I soon got accustomed to the greasy fare. Clem was now doing duty as a midshipman, and I was in the same watch with him.

The weather had hitherto been generally fine; but one night as the sun went down, I thought I saw indications of a gale. Still the wind didn’t come, and the ship went gliding smoothly over the ocean. I was in the middle watch, and had just come on deck. I had made my way aft, where I found Clem, and, leaning against a gun, we were talking together of dear old England, wondering when we should get back there, when a sudden squall struck the ship, and the hands were ordered aloft to reef topsails. I sprang aloft with the rest, and lay out on the lee fore yard-arm. I was so much more active than most of my shipmates, that I had become somewhat careless. As I was leaning over to catch hold of a reef point, I lost my balance, and felt, as I fell head foremost, that I was about to have my brains dashed out on the deck below me. The instant before the wind had suddenly ceased, and the sail giving a flap, hung down almost against the mast. Just at that moment, filled with the breeze, it bulged out again, and striking me, sent me flying overboard. Instinctively I put my hands together, and, plunging down, struck the now foaming water head first. I sank several feet, though I scarcely for a moment lost consciousness, and when I came to the surface I found myself striking out away from the ship, which was gliding rapidly by me. I heard a voice sing out, “A man overboard.” I knew that it must have been Clem’s, and I saw a spar and several other things thrown into the water. I do not know whether the life-buoy was let go. I did not see it. Turning round I struck out in the wake of the ship, but the gale just then coming with tremendous fury, drove her on fast away from me, and she speedily disappeared in the thick gloom. I should have lost all hope had I not at that moment come against a spar, and a large basket with a rope attached to it, which was driven almost into my hands. Climbing on to the spar, to which I managed to lash the basket, I then got into the latter, where I could sit without much risk of being washed out. It served, indeed, as a tolerably efficient life-preserver; for although the water washed in and washed out, and the seas frequently broke over my head, I was able to hold myself in without much trouble. I still had some hopes that the ship would come back and look for me.

At length I thought I saw her approaching through the darkness. It raised my spirits, and I felt a curious satisfaction, in addition to the expectation of being saved, at the thought that I was not to be carelessly abandoned to my fate. I anxiously gazed in the direction where I fancied the ship to be, but she drew no nearer, and the dark void filled the space before me. Still I did not give way to despair, though I found it a hard matter to keep up. I had been rescued before, and I hoped to be saved another time. Then, however, I had been in a comparatively narrow sea, with numerous vessels passing over it. Now I was in the middle of the Atlantic, which, although rightly called a highway, was a very broad one. I could not also help recollecting that I was in the latitude where sharks abound, and I thought it possible that one might make a grab at my basket, and try to swallow it and me together, although I smiled at the thought of the inconvenience the fish would feel when it stuck its teeth into the yard, and got it fixed across its mouth. Happily no shark espied me.

Day at last dawned. As I looked around when I rose to the summit of a sea, my eyes fell alone on the dark, tumbling, foaming waters, and the thick clouds going down to meet them. I began to feel very hungry and thirsty, for though I had water enough around me, I dare not drink it. I now found it harder than ever to keep up my spirits, and gloomy thoughts began to take possession of my mind. No one, I confess, would have called me Happy Jack just then. I was sinking off into a state of stupor, during which I might easily have been washed out of my cradle, when, happening to open my eyes, they fell on the sails of a large brig standing directly for me. I could scarcely fail to be seen by those on board. On she came before the breeze; but as she drew nearer I began to fear that she might still pass at some distance. I tried to stand up and shout out, but I was nearly toppling overboard in making the attempt. I managed, however, to kneel upon the spar and wave my handkerchief, shouting as I did so with all my might. The brig altered her course, and now came directly down for me. I made out two or three people in the forechains standing ready to heave me a rope. I prepared to seize it. The brig was up to me and nearly running me down, but I caught the first rope hove to me, and grasped it tightly. I could scarcely have expected to find myself capable of so much exertion. Friendly hands were stretched out to help me up, but scarcely was I safe than I sank down almost senseless on deck. I soon, however, recovered, and being taken below, and dry clothes and food being given me, I quickly felt as well as usual. “Where am I, and where are you bound to?” were the first questions I asked, hoping to hear that I was on board a homeward-bound vessel. “You are on board the American brig Fox bound out round the Horn to the Sandwich Islands and the west coast of North America,” was the answer. “But I want to go home to England,” I exclaimed. “Well, then, I guess you had better get into your basket, and wait till another vessel picks you up,” replied the captain, to whom I had addressed myself. “Thank you, I would rather stay here with dry clothes on my back and something to eat,” I said. “Perhaps, however, captain, you will speak any homeward-bound vessel we meet, and get her to take me?”

“Not likely to fall in with one,” he observed. “You had better make the best of things where you are.”

“That’s what I always try to do,” I replied. “You are the right sort of youngster for me, then,” he said. “Only don’t go boasting of your proud little venomous island among my people. We are true Americans, fore and aft, except some of the passengers, and they would be better off if they would sink their notions and pay more respect to the stars and stripes. However, you will have nothing to do with them, for you will do your duty for’ard I guess.” I thought it wiser to make no reply to these remarks, and as the crew were just going to dinner, I gladly accompanied them into their berth under the topgallant forecastle. The crew, I found, though American citizens, were of all nationalities—Danes, and Swedes, and Frenchmen, with too or three mulattoes and a black cook. They described Captain Pyke, for that was the master’s name, as a regular Tartar, and seemed to have no great love for him, though they held him in especial awe. I was thankful at being so soon picked up, but I would rather have found myself on board a different style of craft. The cabin passengers were going out to join one of the establishments of the great Fur Trading Company on the Columbia river. They were pleasant, gentlemanly-looking men, and I longed to introduce myself to them, as I was beginning to get somewhat weary of the rough characters with whom I was doomed to associate. But from what the men told me, I felt sure that if I did so I should make the captain my enemy. He and they were evidently not on good terms. I got on, however, pretty well with the crew, and as I could speak a little French, I used to talk to the Frenchmen in their own language, my mistakes affording them considerable amusement, though, as they corrected me, I gradually improved.

Among the crew were two other persons whom I will particularly mention. One went by the name of “Old Tom.” He was relatively old with regard to the rest of our shipmates, rather than old in years—a wiry, active, somewhat wizen-faced man, with broad shoulders, and possessing great muscular strength. I suspected from the first, from the way he spoke, that he was not a Yankee born. His language, when talking to me, was always correct, without any nasal twang; and that he was a man of some education I was convinced, when I heard him once quote, as if speaking to himself, a line of Horace. He never smiled, and there was a melancholy expression on his countenance, which made me fancy that something weighed on his mind. He did not touch spirits, but his short pipe was seldom out of his mouth. When, however, he sat with the rest in the forecastle berth, his manner completely changed, and he talked, and argued, and wrangled, and guessed, and calculated, with as much vehemence as any one, entering with apparent zest into their ribald conversation, though even then the most humorous remark or jest failed to draw forth a laugh from his lips.

Story 1—Chapter 4.

The other person was a lad a couple of years my senior, called always “Young Sam,” apparently one of those unhappy waifs cast on the bleak world without relations or friends to care for him. He was a fine young fellow, with a blue laughing eye, dauntless and active, and promised to become a good seaman. In spite of the rough treatment he often received from his shipmates, he kept up his spirits, and as our natures in that respect assimilated, I felt drawn towards him. The only person who seemed to take any interest in him, however, was old Tom, who saved him from many a blow; still, no two characters could apparently have more completely differed. Young Sam seemed a thoughtless, care-for-nothing fellow, always laughing and jibing those who attacked him, and ready for any fun or frolic which turned up. He appreciated, however, old Tom’s kindness; and the only times I saw him look serious were when he received a gentle rebuke from his friend for any folly he had committed which had brought him into trouble. I believe, indeed, that young Sam would have gone through fire and water to show his gratitude to old Tom, while I suspect that the latter, in spite of his harsh exterior, had a heart not altogether seared by the world, which required some one on whom to fix its kindlier feelings.

I had been some time on board when we put into a port at the Falkland Islands, then uninhabited, to obtain a supply of water. While the crew of the boats were engaged in filling the casks, Mr Duncan, one of the gentlemen, taking young Sam with him, went into the interior to shoot wild-fowl.

The casks were filled; and the boats, after waiting for some time the return of Mr Duncan and Sam, came back. Mr Symonds, the second mate, proposed to return for our shipmates after the casks had been hoisted on board. The captain seemed very angry at this; and when Mr Symonds was shoving off from the brig’s side, ordered him back. He was hesitating, when another gentleman jumped into the boat, declaring that he would not allow his companion to be left behind, and promised the men a reward if they would shove off. Two of the men agreed to go in the boat, and the mate, with the rest, coming up the side, they pulled away for the shore.

The captain walked the deck, fuming and raging, every now and then turning an angry glance at the land and pulling out his watch. “He means mischief,” muttered old Tom in my hearing; “but if he thinks to leave young Sam ashore to die of starvation, he is mistaken.”

The night drew on, and the boat had not returned. My watch being over, I turned in, supposing that the brig would remain at anchor till the morning. I was, however, awakened in the middle watch by old Tom’s voice. “Come on deck, Jack,” he said; “there’s mischief brewing; the captain had a quarrel with Mr Duncan the other day, and he hates young Sam for his impudence, as he calls it, and so I believe he intends to leave them behind if he can do so; but he is mistaken. We will not lift anchor till they are safe on board, or a party has been sent to look for them. They probably lost their way, and could not get back to the harbour before dark. There are no wild beasts or savages on shore, and so they could not come to harm; you slip into the cabin, and call the other gentlemen, and I’ll manage the crew, who have just loosed topsails, and are already at the windlass with the cable hove short.”

I was on deck in an instant, and, keeping on one side, while the captain was on the other, managed to slip into the cabin. I told the gentlemen of old Tom’s suspicions, and observed that the captain probably thought those in the boat would return without Mr Duncan and Sam, when they saw the vessel making sail.

They instantly began to dress; and one of them, a spirited young Highlander, Mr McIvor, put a brace of pistols into his belt and followed me on deck. I tried to escape being seen by the captain, but he caught sight of me, I was sure, though I stooped down and kept close to the bulwarks as I crept for’ard.

By this time the men were heaving at the windlass, which they continued to do, in spite of what old Tom said to them. The captain had overheard him, and threatened to knock the first man down with a handspike who ceased to work. Old Tom, however, had got one in his hand, and the captain did not dare to touch him. In another instant I heard Mr McIvor’s voice exclaiming, “What is this all about, Captain Pyke? What! are you going to leave our friends on shore?”

“If your friends don’t come off at the proper time they must take the consequences,” answered the captain. “Then, what I have got to say, Captain Pyke, is, that I’ll not allow them to be deserted, and that I intend to carry out my resolution with a pretty strong argument—the instant the anchor leaves the ground I’ll shoot you through the head.”

“Mutiny! mutiny!” shouted the captain, starting back, “seize this man and heave him overboard.” As he spoke the other two gentlemen made their appearance, and old Tom and I, with two or three others, stepped up close to them, showing the captain the side we intended to take. Neither of the mates moved, while the men folded their arms and looked on, showing that they did not intend to interfere.

“Very well, gentlemen,” cried the captain, “I see how matters stand—you have been bribing the crew. I’ll agree to wait for the boat, and if she does not come with the missing people we must give them up for lost.”

“That depends upon circumstances,” said Mr McIvor, returning his pistol to his belt. He and the rest continued to walk the deck, while the captain went, muttering threats of vengeance, into his cabin.

None of us after this turned in. In a short time the splash of oars was heard, and the boat came alongside. “We have come for food,” said Mr Fraser, one of the gentlemen who had gone in her. “I intend going back at daylight, and must get two or three others to accompany me. We will then have a thorough search for Duncan and the boy—there is no doubt that they have lost their way, and if we fire a few muskets, they will, with the help of daylight, easily find the harbour. Mr McIvor promised to accompany his friend, and I volunteered to go also.”

“No, Jack,” said old Tom, “you remain with me. If we all go, the captain may be playing us some trick.” I don’t know what side old Tom would have taken if it had not been for young Sam. Judging by his usual conduct, I suspect that he would have stood with his arms folded, and let the rest, as he would have said, fight it out by themselves.

At daylight the boat pulled away with Mr McIvor and another additional hand, taking a couple of muskets with them. Shortly afterwards the captain appeared on deck—though he cast frequent angry glances towards the shore, he said nothing—probably he could not afford to lose so many hands, as there were now four away, besides the two gentlemen, while the aspect of old Tom, with the rest of the crew, kept him from attempting to carry out his evil intentions. Two or three times, notwithstanding this, I thought he was about to order the anchor to be hove up; but again he seemed to hesitate, and at length, towards noon, the boat was seen coming off, with Mr Duncan and Sam in her. The captain said nothing to the gentlemen, but, as soon as the boat was hoisted up, he began to belabour poor Sam with a rope’s end. He was still striking the lad, when old Tom stepped between them, grasping a handspike. “What has the lad done, sir?” he exclaimed. “Why not attack Mr Duncan? If anyone is to blame for the delay, he is the person, not young Sam.” The gentlemen were advancing while old Tom was speaking, and several of the crew cried out shame. The captain again found himself in the minority, and, without replying to old Tom, walked aft, muttering between his teeth.

These incidents will give some idea of the state of matters on board the ship.

We now made sail, with a gentle breeze right aft, but scarcely had we lost sight of the islands when a heavy gale sprang up. The lighter canvas was instantly handed—young Sam and one of the men who had gone in the boat were ordered out on the jibboom to furl the flying-jib. As they were about this work, a tremendous sea struck the bows, the gaskets got loose, the jibboom was carried away, and with it the two poor fellows who were endeavouring to secure the sail. The captain, who had seen the accident, took no notice of it, but the first mate, not wishing to have their death on his conscience, sprang aft and ordered the ship to be brought to, while others hove overboard every loose piece of timber, empty casks, or hencoops, which they could lay hands on, to give our shipmates a chance of escape. Old Tom and I instantly ran to the jolly-boat, and were easing off the falls, when I felt myself felled to the deck by a blow on the head, the captain’s voice exclaiming, “What, you fools, do you wish to go after them and be drowned too?” When I came to myself I saw the boat made fast, and could just distinguish the articles thrown overboard floating astern, while old Tom was standing gazing at them with sorrowful looks, the eyes of all on board, indeed, being turned in the same direction.

“It would have been no use, Jack,” he said, heaving a deep sigh; “the captain was right, the boat couldn’t have lived two minutes in this sea, but I would have risked my life to try and save young Sam, though, for your sake, my boy, it’s better as it is.”

After this the ship was put on her course, and we stood on, plunging away into the heavy seas which rose around us, and threatened every instant to break on board the brig. The passengers looked, and, I daresay, felt very melancholy at the accident, for young Sam especially, was liked by them, and on that account Mr Duncan had taken him on his expedition. Old Tom could scarcely lift up his head, and even the rest of the crew refrained from their usual gibes and jokes. The captain said nothing, but I saw by the way he treated the first mate that he was very savage with him for the part he had taken in attempting to save the poor fellows.

After this old Tom was kinder than ever to me, and evidently felt towards me as he had towards young Sam, whose duties as everybody’s servant I had now to take, being the youngest on board, and least able to hold my own against the captain’s tyranny, and the careless and often rough treatment of the crew.

I had some time before told poor young Sam how I used to be called “Happy Jack,” and he went and let out what I had said among the men. When one of them started me with a rope’s end, he would sing out, “That’s for you, ‘Happy Jack.’” Another would exclaim, “Go and swab the deck down, ‘Happy Jack;’” or, “‘Happy Jack,’ go and help Mungo to clean out the caboose, I hope you are happy now—pleasant work for a young gentleman, isn’t it?”

“Look you,” I replied one day, when this remark was made to me, “I am alive and well, and hope some day to see my home and friends, so, compared to the lot of poor young Sam and Dick Noland, who are fathoms deep down in the ocean, I think I have a right to say I am happy—your kicks and cuffs only hurt for a time, and I manage soon to forget them. If it’s any pleasure to you to give them, all I can say is, that it’s a very rum sort of pleasure; and now you have got my opinion about the matter.”

“That’s the spirit I like to see,” exclaimed old Tom, slapping me on the back soon afterwards, “You’ll soon put a stop to that sort of thing.” I found he was right; and, though I had plenty of dirty work to do, still, after that, not one of the men ever lifted his hand against me. The captain, however, was not to be so easily conquered, and so I took good care to stand clear of him whenever I could.

The rough weather continued till we had made Cape Horn, which rose dark and frowning out of the wild heaving ocean. We were some time doubling it, and were several days in sight of Terra del Fuego, but we did not see anything like a burning mountain—indeed, no volcanoes exist at that end of the Andes.

The weather moderated soon after we were round the Horn, but in a short time another gale sprung up, during which our bulwarks were battered in, one of our boats carried away, our bowsprit sprung, and the foretop-sail, the only canvas we had set, blown to ribbons. Besides this, we received other damages, which contributed still further to sour our captain’s temper. We were at one time so near the ironbound coast that there seemed every probability that we should finish off by being dashed to pieces on the rocks. Happily, the wind moderated, and a fine breeze springing up, we ran on merrily into the Pacific.

Shortly after, we made the island of Juan Fernandez, and, as I saw its wood-covered heights rising out of the blue ocean, I could not help longing to go on shore and visit the scenes I had read about in Robinson Crusoe. I told old Tom about my wish. Something more like a smile than I had ever yet seen, rose on his countenance. “I doubt, Jack, that you would find any traces of the hero you are so fond of,” he observed; “I believe once upon a time an Englishman did live there, left by one of the ships of Commodore Anson’s squadron, but that was long ago, and the Spaniards have turned it into a prison, something like our Norfolk Island.”

Story 1—Chapter 5.

We, however, did call off another island in the neighbourhood, called Massafuera, to obtain a supply of wood and water. The ship was hove-to, and the pinnace and jolly-boat were sent on shore with casks. I was anxious to go, but old Tom kept me back. “You stay where you are, Jack,” he said, “or the skipper may play you some trick. It’s a dangerous place to land at, you are sure of a wetting, and may lose your life in going through the surf.”

In the evening, when the party returned, I found this to be the case. Still, I might have been tempted, I think, to run off and let the ship sail away without me, as I heard that there were plenty of goats on the island, abundance of water, and that the vegetation was very rich.

It is also an exceedingly picturesque spot, the mountains rising abruptly from the sea, surrounded by a narrow strip of beach. Those who went on shore had also caught a large quantity of fish, of various sorts, as well as lobsters and crabs, which supplied all hands for several days.

Perhaps old Tom had a suspicion of what I might have been tempted to do, and I fancied that was his chief reason for keeping me on board.

The idea having once taken possession of my mind, I resolved to make my escape at the next tempting-looking island we might touch at, should I find any civilised men living there, or should it be uninhabited. I had no wish to live among savages, as I had read enough of their doings to make me anxious to keep out of their way, and I was not influenced by motives which induce seamen to run from their ships for the sake of living an idle, profligate life, free from the restraints of civilisation.

A few days after leaving Massafuera, we got into the trade winds, which carried us swiftly along to the northward. Again we crossed the equator; and about three weeks afterwards made the island of Owhyee, the largest of the Sandwich Islands. As we coasted along, we enjoyed the most magnificent view I had ever beheld. Along the picturesque shore were numerous beautiful plantations, while beyond it rose the rocky and dreary sides of the gigantic Mouna Eoa, its snow-clad summit towering to the clouds. It was on this island that Captain Cook was murdered by the now friendly and almost civilised natives, who have, indeed, since become in many respects completely so, and taken their place among the nations of the world.

We sailed on, passing several islands, when we brought up in the beautiful bay of Whytetee. Near the shore was a village situated in an open grove of cocoa-nut trees, with the hills rising gently in the rear, presenting a charming prospect. The more I gazed at it, the more I longed to leave the brig, and go and dwell there, especially as I heard that there were several respectable Englishmen and Americans already settled on the island, and that they were held in high favour by the king and his chiefs. Still old Tom had been so kind to me, and I entertained so sincere a regard for him, that I could not bear the thoughts of going away without bidding him farewell. I was afraid, however, of letting him know my intentions. Often I thought that I would try and persuade him to go too. I began by speaking of the beautiful country, and the delicious climate, and the kind manners of the people, and how pleasantly our countrymen, residing there, must pass their lives. “I know what you are driving at, Jack,” he said, “You want to run from the ship; isn’t it so?” I confessed that such was the case, and asked him to go with me. “No, Jack,” he replied, “I am not one of those fellows who act thus; I have done many a thing I am sorry for, but I engaged for the voyage, and swore to stick by the brig; and while she holds together, unless the captain sets me free, I intend to do so. And Jack, though you are at liberty to do what you like, you wouldn’t leave me, would you?” He spoke with much feeling in his tone. “Since young Sam went, you are the only person I have cared to speak to on board, and if you were to go, I should feel as if I were left alone in the world. I should have liked to have made friends with those fine young men, Duncan and McIvor. Once (you may be surprised to hear it) I was their equal in position, but they don’t trouble themselves about such a man as I now am, and they will soon be leaving the brig for the shore. If I thought it was for your advantage, I would say, notwithstanding this, go; but it isn’t. You will get into bad ways if you go and live among those savages—for savages they are, whatever you may say about them. And you will probably be able to return home by sticking to the brig sooner than any other way.”

These arguments weighed greatly with me, and I finally abandoned my intention, greatly to old Tom’s satisfaction. He redoubled his kindness to me after this. Towards every one else he grew more silent and reserved.

I may just say, that the next day we anchored off Honoluloo, the chief town, where the king and his court resided; and that we carried on some trading with the people, his majesty in particular, and taking some half-a-dozen Sandwich islanders on board to replace the men we had lost, and, as old Tom observed, any others we might lose, we sailed for the American coast.

From that day I could not help observing a more than usually sad expression on my friend’s countenance; indeed, every day he seemed to become more and more gloomy, and I determined to ask him what there was on his mind to make him so. I took the opportunity I was looking for one night when he was at the helm, and the second mate, who was officer of the watch, had gone forward to have a chat, as he sometimes did, with the men. The night was fine and clear, and we were not likely to have eaves-droppers. “Tell me, Tom,” I said, “what is the matter with you? I wish that I could be of as much use to you as you have been to me.”

“Thank you, Jack,” he answered; “the fact is, I have got something on my mind, and as you have given me an opportunity, I’ll tell you what it is. I think I shall be the better afterwards, and you may be able to do for me what I shall never have an opportunity of doing myself, for, Jack, I cannot help feeling sure that my days are numbered. If that captain of ours wishes to get rid of me, he will find means without staining his hands in my blood, he will not do that, there are plenty of other ways by which I may be expended, as they say of old stores in the navy. For myself I care but little, but I should wish to remain to look after you, and lend you a helping hand should you need it.”

“Thank you, Tom,” I said, “I value the kind feelings you entertain for me, and I hope that we shall be together till we reach England again. But I was going to ask why you think that the captain wishes to get rid of you? He can have no motive that I can discover to desire your death.”

“He hates me, that’s enough; he’s a man who will go any lengths to gratify his hate,” answered old Tom. “But I promised to tell you about the matter which weighs on my mind. Jack, I did many things when I was a young man, which I am sorry for, but I was then chiefly my own enemy. A time came, however, when I was tempted to commit a crime against others, and it’s only since I began this voyage that I have had a wish to try and undo it as far as I have the power. You must know, Jack, I am the son of a gentleman, and I went to college. I had got into bad ways there, and spent all my property. When my last shilling was gone, I shipped on board a merchant vessel, and for years never again set foot on the shores of old England. I knocked about all that time in different climes and vessels, herding with the roughest and most abandoned class of seamen, till I became almost as abandoned and rough as they were. Still, during all my wanderings, I had a hankering for the associates and the refinements of society I had so long quitted. Thoughts of home would come back to me even in my wildest moments, although I tried hard to keep them out. At length I returned to England with more money in my pocket than I had ever again expected to possess. Throwing aside my seafaring clothes as soon as I got on shore, I dressed myself as a gentleman, and repairing to a fashionable watering-place, where I found several old friends, managed to get into respectable society. I forgot that unless I could obtain some employment my money must soon come to an end. It did so, but the taste for good society had been revived in me. It was now impossible to indulge in it, and I was compelled once more to seek for a berth on board ship. Thoughtlessly, I had never studied navigation while I was at sea, and consequently had again to go before the mast. I got on board an Indiaman, and reached Calcutta. On the return voyage we had a number of passengers. I of course knew but little about them, as I seldom went aft except to take my trick at the helm. I observed, however, among them a gentleman of refined appearance, with his wife and their little boy. They had a native nurse to take care of him. No one could be more affectionate than the gentleman was to his wife and child, but he seemed of a retiring disposition, and I seldom saw him speaking to any one else. We had had particularly fine weather during the greater part of the passage, when the ship was caught in a tremendous gale. During it the masts were carried away, several of the hands—Lascars and Englishmen—were lost overboard, while she sprung a leak, which kept all the crew hard at work at the pumps.

“It became evident, indeed, before long, that unless the weather moderated the ship would go down. We had four boats remaining, but as they would not carry a third of the people on board, the captain ordered all hands to turn to and build rafts. We were thus employed when night came on; such a night I never before had seen. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed around us, as if it would set the ship on fire. Some hours passed away; we could get on but slowly with our work. I was on the after-part of the deck, when I remember seeing the gentleman I have spoken of come up and make an offer to the captain to lend a hand at whatever might be required to be done. I observed at the time that he had a small case hanging to his side. He did not seem to think that there was any danger of the ship going down for many hours to come; nor indeed did any one; for the leaks were gaining but little on the pumps, although they were gaining. He seemed so well to understand what he was about that I suspected he was a naval officer. We worked away hard, and it was nearly morning, when a dreadful peal of thunder, such as I had never heard before, broke over our heads, and it’s my belief that a bolt passed right through the ship. Be that as it may, a fearful cry arose that she was going down. The people rushed to the boats. Discipline was at an end. The gentleman I spoke of shouted to the men, trying to bring them back to their duty. Then I saw him, when all hope of doing so had gone, hurry into the cuddy. Directly afterwards he came out with his wife and child, together with the nurse. Supposing, I fancy, that the boats were already full, or would be swamped alongside, he secured the nurse to the raft we had been building, and had given her the child to hold, calling on me and others to assist in launching it overboard, intending to take his place with his wife upon it. He was in the act of securing her—so it seemed to me—when the ship gave a fearful plunge forward, and a roaring sea swept over her. I at once saw that she would never rise again. On came the foaming waters, carrying all before them. Whether or not the gentleman and his wife succeeded in getting to the raft, I could not tell; there was no room, I knew, for me on it. Just before I had caught sight of one of the boats, which had shoved off with comparatively few people in her, dropping close under the ship’s quarter. I sprang aft, and, leaping overboard, struck out towards her, managing to get hold of her bow as it dipped into the sea. I hauled myself on board. By the time I had got in, and could look about me, I saw the stern of the ship sinking beneath a wave, and for a moment I thought the boat would have been drawn down with her. Such fearful shrieks and cries as I never wish to hear again rose from amid the foaming sea, followed by a perfect and scarcely less terrible silence. We had but three oars in the boat, which we could with difficulty, therefore, manage in that heavy sea. Most of the men in her were Lascars, and they were but little disposed to go to the assistance of our drowning shipmates. There were three Englishmen in the after-part of the boat, and I made my way among the Lascars to join them. Even the Englishmen belonged to the least respectable part of the crew. They, however, sided with me, and, seizing a stretcher, I swore that I would brain the fellows if they would not try to pick up some of the drowning people. Two or three on this drew their knives, flourishing them with threatening gestures. Knowing them pretty well, I felt sure that if we did not gain the day, they would take the first opportunity of heaving us overboard; and with all my might I dealt a blow at the head of the man nearest me, who held his weapon ready to strike. The stretcher caught him as he was in the act of springing up, and he fell overboard, sinking immediately. ‘Any more of you like to be treated in the same way?’ I exclaimed. The wretches sank down in their seats, thoroughly cowed; but in the scuffle one of the oars was lost overboard, and was swept away before we could recover it. Some time was thus lost, and the boat had drifted a considerable distance from the spot where the Indiaman had gone down. We could hear, however, cries for help rising above the hissing and dashing sounds of the tumbling waters. Every instant I expected that the boat would be swamped; when at length the Lascars, who had the oars, were induced by my threats to pull away and keep her head to sea. I had taken the helm, and though we made no progress, the rafts and various articles which had floated up from the wreck came drifting down towards us, scattering far and wide over the tossing ocean. I caught sight of a boat and two or three other rafts, but they were too far off to enable me, through the gloom, to distinguish the people on them. The shrieks had gradually ceased; now and then the cry of some strong swimmer, who had hitherto bravely buffeted the sea, was heard ere he sank for the last time. Daylight was just breaking when, as I was standing up in the stern-sheets, I saw a person clinging to a piece of timber, and I determined, if possible, to save him. I pointed him out to the English seamen; and two of them, springing up, seized the oars from the hands of the Lascars, and by pulling away lustily we got up close to the spot. The man saw us coming. It was not without difficulty that we managed to haul him on board so as to avoid striking him or staving in the boat against the piece of wreck which had kept him up. To my surprise I found that he was the very gentleman who had assisted in forming the raft before the ship went down. I knew him by the case, which he still had secured to his side. He was so exhausted that for some minutes he could not speak, though he was evidently making an effort to do so. At length, beckoning me to put my ear down to his mouth, he asked in a low voice whether we had seen his wife and child, with the nurse. The only comfort I could afford him was by telling him that I had caught sight of several small rafts, and possibly they might be upon one of them. He had been washed away before he could secure himself when the ship foundered; and though he was carried down with her, on rising to the surface he had caught hold of the piece of wreck to which we had found him clinging.

“There we were, fourteen human beings in a small boat out in the middle of the Atlantic, the dark foaming seas surrounding us, without a particle of food or a drop of fresh water, while our two oars scarcely enabled us to keep her head to the sea, and save her from being capsized or swamped.

“I do not like to talk or even to think of the horrors which followed. Daylight had now come on, but all around was gloom, the dark clouds appearing like a pall just above our heads, and hanging round on either side, so as to circumscribe the horizon to the narrowest limits. Here and there I occasionally thought that I saw a few dark spots, which might have been the boats and rafts, or pieces of the wreck.

“The day passed by and there was no abatement of the gale. The Lascars had again taken the oars, but as night again approached, worn out with hunger and fatigue, they refused to pull any longer, and the gentleman offering to steer, the three other men and I took it by turns to labour at the oars.

“Thus the second night passed by. I had begun to feel faint and hungry, and to experience the pangs of thirst; and, judging by my own sensations, I felt sure that, should we not fall in with a ship during the coming day, some of my companions would give way. Another morning dawned, but no sail was in sight. One of the Lascars lay dead in the bows, the rest were stretched out under the thwarts, unable even to continue baling, and apparently no longer caring what might become of them. The gentleman, though the most delicate-looking of us all, held out the best. His eye was constantly ranging over the ocean in search of the raft or boat which might contain those he loved best on earth. I had great difficulty in persuading him to let me take the helm again while he got a little sleep.

“As the day drew on the gale moderated, and the sea went down. So weak were the three other Englishmen by this time, that I believe we should not otherwise have been able to prevent the boat being swamped. The Lascars were in a worse state. Two more died, and as their countrymen would not heave them overboard, we were obliged to do so. Eagerly we looked out for a sail, but none appeared. Before the next morning broke all the Lascars were dead, and I saw that one of my messmates was likely soon to follow them. Another, however, died before him, but ere the sun rose high in the heavens, he was gone.

“Besides the gentleman, only I and one man remained, the latter indeed was near his last gasp. I will not tell you what dreadful thoughts passed through my mind. Just then, as I was stooping down, I put my hand under the after seat. There, stowed away, was a large lump of grease. I felt round farther, and drew forth two bones with a considerable amount of meat on them. One of the dogs, I have no doubt, had made it his hiding place. The selfish thought came across me, that had the Lascars and the other two men been alive, this food would have gone very little way, but now it might support the existence of my two companions and me for another day or two. Eagerly I seized the putrid meat in my mouth, offering a piece to my companions. My messmate attempted to eat it, his jaws moved for a few seconds, then his head fell back. He had died in the effort. The gentleman could with difficulty swallow a few morsels. ‘Water! water!’ he muttered, ‘without water it is too late.’ I tried some of the grease, and felt revived.

“Not without difficulty we hove the last who had succumbed into the sea, and then the gentleman and I were alone. His spirits, which had hitherto kept up, were now, I saw, sinking. He beckoned me to sit close to him, and I saw that he was engaged in trying to loosen the strap which held the case to his side. ‘You are strong, my friend,’ he whispered, ‘and may possibly survive till you are picked up, I feel that I can trust you. Take charge of this case—it contains an important document, and jewels and money of considerable value. Here, too, is a purse of gold, to that you are welcome,’ and he handed me a purse from his pocket. ‘The case I as a dying man commit to your charge, and solemnly entreat you to take care of it for the benefit of my widow and orphan child, for the belief is still strong within me that they survive. You will find within this metal case full directions as to the person to whom it is to be delivered.’ He said this with the greatest difficulty, and it seemed as if he had exhausted all his strength in the effort. I promised to fulfil his wishes, and fully intended doing so. He took my hand, and fixed his eyes on me, as if he was endeavouring to read my thoughts. I tried to make him take some more food, but he had no strength to swallow it. Before the evening closed in he too was gone.

“I had not the heart at once to throw him overboard. As I stood looking at him, prompted I believe by the spirit of evil, an idea came into my head. Should I reach shore the purse of gold would enable me to enjoy myself for some time, and perhaps I might obtain permanent employment in a respectable position, instead of knocking about at sea. I took off the dead man’s clothes, and dressed myself in them, though I was so weak that the task was a difficult one. I then lifted the body overboard. Having secured the box round my waist, I placed the metal case and purse in my pocket.

“I was alone, and though suffering greatly from thirst, I still felt that there was some life in me. I gazed around, but no sail was in sight. A light breeze only was blowing, and the sea had become tolerably calm, so eating a little more of the grease and meat, I lay down in the stern-sheets to sleep. I was awoke by feeling the water splashing over me. It was raining hard. There were two hats and a bucket in the boat. I quickly collected enough water to quench my thirst, and at once felt greatly revived. The rain continued long enough to enable me to fill the bucket. Had it not been for that shower I must have died.

“Two days longer I continued in the boat, when, just as the sun rose, my eyes fell on a sail in the horizon. How eagerly I watched her; she was standing towards me. Securing a shirt to the end of an oar, I waved it as high as I could reach. I was seen—the ship drew nearer. Being too weak to pull alongside I made no attempt to do so, and this being observed, the ship hove-to and lowered a boat, which soon had mine in tow. I was carefully lifted up the side, and on my dress being observed, I was at once treated as a gentleman. A cabin was given up to me, and every attention paid to my wants. I found that the ship was an emigrant vessel, outward bound, for Australia.

“I was some time in recovering my strength, and when I appeared among the passengers I took care to evade any questions put to me. I found the life on board very pleasant, and having purchased some clothes and other articles I was able to appear on an equality with the rest.

“We fell in with no other ship till Sydney was reached. I went on shore, purposing to amuse myself for a short time, and then return home and fulfil the dying request of my unfortunate companion in the boat. Would that I had gone on board a vessel sailing the very day of our arrival. Jack, never put off doing your duty, under the idea that it may be done a little time hence, lest that roaring lion we read of may catch hold of you and tempt you to put it off altogether. I remained on day after day, mixing in society, and rapidly spending my money. It was all gone, and then, Jack,” and old Tom lowered his voice, “I did that vile deed—I broke open the box and took possession of the money I found within—the widow’s and orphan’s gold. I tried to persuade myself that they had certainly been lost. At first I only took the gold, intending to go home with the other articles; then I got to the notes. I had some difficulty in getting them changed, and was afraid of being discovered. At last I began to dispose of the jewels.

“At length I got a hint that I was suspected, and securing the case I once more dressed myself as a seaman, bought a chest, and got a berth on board a homeward-bound ship. I was miserable—conscience stung me—I could get no rest.

“The ship was cast away on the west coast of Ireland, and nearly all on board perished. I had secured about me the case, which still contained the parchment, the title-deeds of a large property, and a few jewels.

“I, with a few survivors, reached the shore. I was afraid to go back to England to deliver the case to the person to whom it was addressed, and so, making my way to Cork, where I found a ship bound for America, I went on board her.

“Jack, I have been knocking about ever since, my conscience never at rest, and yet not having the courage to face any danger I might incur, and make the only reparation in my power to those who, if still alive, I have deprived of their property. Now, notwithstanding what you say, there’s something tells me that I have not long to live. I never had such a notion in my head before, but there it is now, and I cannot get rid of it. You are young and strong, and I want you to promise me, if you get home, to do what I ought to have done long ago. I will give you the case when we go below. Take it to the lawyer to whom it is addressed, and tell him all I have told you, and how it came into your possession, he’ll believe you, I am sure, and though the money and most of the jewels are gone, the remainder will, I hope, be of value to the rightful owners.”

I of course promised old Tom that I would do as he wished, at the same time I tried to persuade him to banish the forebodings which haunted him, from his mind. “That’s more than I can do, Jack,” he said, “I shouldn’t mind the thoughts of death so much, if I could find the means of undoing all the ill I have done in the world—that’s what tries me now.” Unhappily neither I nor any one on board could tell the poor fellow that there is but one way by which sins can be washed away. I did indeed suggest that he should try and borrow a Bible from one of the gentlemen in the cabin, if they had one among them, for there was not one for’ard nor in the captain’s or officers’ berths.

When our watch was over, old Tom sat down on his chest, waiting till the rest of the watch had turned in and gone to sleep. He then cautiously opened his chest, and exhibited within, under his clothes, a small box, strongly bound with silver, and the metal case he had spoken of. “Here, Jack,” he said, “I make you my heir, and give you the key of my chest: I’ll tell the men to-morrow that I have done so, and let the captain and mates know it also, that there may be no dispute about the matter.” I thanked old Tom, assuring him, at the same time, that I hoped not to benefit by his kindness.

In about three weeks we reached the mouth of the Columbia river. A strong gale from the westward had been blowing for several days, and as we came off the river a tremendous surf was seen breaking across the bar at its mouth. “I hope the captain won’t attempt to take the vessel in,” observed old Tom to me. “I have been in once while the sea was not so heavy by half as it is now, and our ship was nearly castaway.” Still we stood on. Presently, however, the captain seemed to think better of it, and indifferent as he was to the lives of others, he apparently did not wish to lose his own, and the brig into the bargain. She was accordingly hauled to the wind, and we again stood off. It was only, however, to heave-to, when he ordered a boat to be lowered. He then directed the first mate to take four hands to go in her and sound the bar. The mate expostulated, and declared that the lives of all would be sacrificed in the attempt. “You are a coward, and are afraid,” exclaimed the captain, stamping with rage. “Take old Tom and ‘Happy Jack,’ and two others,” he called out their names. “No man shall justly say I am a coward,” answered the mate; “I’ll go, but I’ll take none but volunteers. My death and theirs will rest on your head, Captain Pyke.”

“I’ll not go if the boy is sent,” exclaimed old Tom; “but I am ready to go if another man takes his place.”

“Let me go, Tom,” I said; “if you and the mate go I am ready to accompany you.”

“No, Jack, I’ll do no such thing,” answered my friend. “You stay on board. Unless others step forward the boat won’t go at all. The bar is not in a fit state for the vessel to cross, much less an open boat.” The captain, however, seemed determined to go into the river, and now ordered another man to go instead of me. “I’ll make you pay for this another day,” he cried out, looking at me. I saw the mate shaking hands with several on board before he stepped into the boat. “Remember the case, Jack,” said old Tom as he passed me, giving me a gripe by the hand. “You have got the key, lad.”

The boat shoved off and pulled towards the bar. I watched her very anxiously; now she rose to the top of a roller, now she was hidden by the following one. Every instant I expected her to disappear altogether. I couldn’t help thinking of what old Tom had said to me. Some time passed, when the captain ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig was headed towards the bar. He had been looking with his glass, and declared he had seen the mate’s signal to stand in. The wind by this time had moderated. The brig was only under her topsails and main-sail, and I began to wonder at the mate’s apprehensions. We had not stood on long when I saw the boat to the northward of us, much nearer the breakers than we were. She seemed to be carried by beyond the control of those in her. A strong current had caught hold of her. Presently she passed, not a pistol shot from us. The three men were shouting and shrieking for aid; old Tom was in the bows, sitting perfectly still; I could even distinguish the countenance of the mate, as he turned it with a reproachful glance, so it seemed to me, towards the captain. Beyond her appeared a high wall of hissing, foaming breakers, towards which she was driving. The captain seemed scarcely to notice the unfortunate men; indeed his attention was occupied with attending to the brig, our position being extremely critical. I couldn’t take my eyes off the boat. Would she be able even yet to stem the current and get back into smooth water? Suddenly, however, it seemed as if the wall of foaming breakers came right down upon her, and she disappeared amidst them. A cry of horror escaped me. “We may be no better off ere long,” I heard one of the men exclaim. He had scarcely spoken when the brig struck, and the foaming waters leaped up on either side, as if about to break on board. Another sea came roaring on, and she again moved forward. Again and again the brig struck, and at last seemed fixed.

Darkness was coming on, the foaming waters roared around us, frequently breaking on board, and we had to hold on to escape being washed away. The hatches had been battened down, or the vessel would have filled. She must have been a strong craft, or she could not have held together. The passengers behaved like brave men, though they evidently thought that it was the captain’s obstinacy which had brought them into their present perilous position.

Hour after hour passed by, with no object discernible beyond the foaming waters surging round us. The men declared that they could hear the shrieks and cries of our shipmates. The captain swore at them as fools for saying so, declaring that their voices must long since have been silenced by the breakers. Every instant it seemed that the brig must go to pieces, and that we should be carried away to share their fate. Suddenly, however, I felt the brig move. The topsails were let fall and sheeted home, and we once more glided forward. In another hour we were safely at anchor in a sheltered bay within the mouth of the river.

The next morning several natives came off to us in their canoes. They were red-skinned painted savages, but appeared inclined to be friendly. By means of Mr Duncan, who understood something of their language, they were told of the accident which had happened to the boat, and they undertook to search along the shore, in the possibility of any of the crew having escaped, and been washed on to the beach. On hearing of this my hopes of seeing old Tom again somewhat revived, though I scarcely believed it possible that any boat getting into those fearful breakers could have survived. Mr Duncan and two of the other gentlemen agreed to accompany the savages.

In the evening the boat which had taken them on shore was seen coming off. I anxiously watched her. Besides those who had gone away, I distinguished one other person, he turned his face towards the vessel as the boat approached, and, to my delight, I saw that he was old Tom. “And so you have escaped, have you?” said the captain, as he stepped on board. “Yes, sir, but the others have gone where some others among us will be before long,” answered Tom, gloomily, “and those who sent them there will have to render an account of their deeds.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the captain. “I leave that to others to answer,” said Tom, walking forward.

He told me that the boat, on entering the surf, was immediately capsized, and that all hands were washed out of her. That he had managed to cling on with one man, and that when they got through the surf they had righted the boat, and picking up two of the oars, after bailing her out, had succeeded in paddling, aided by the current, some distance to the northward. On attempting to land the boat was again capsized. He had swam on shore, but the other poor fellow was drowned, and he himself was almost exhausted when met by the party who brought him back. “You see, Tom,” I observed, “your prognostications have not come true, and you may still live to get back to old England again.”

“Oh no, Jack, though I have escaped this once, I am very sure my days are numbered,” he answered; do all I could, I was unable to drive this idea out of his head.

The crew were so indignant at the boat having been sent away, declaring that the captain wished to get rid of the mate and old Tom, that I felt sure another slight act of tyranny would produce a mutiny. While the gentlemen remained on board this was less likely to happen, but they were about to leave us, and take up their residence on shore.

Some time was occupied in landing their goods and stores, and then we found that we were to proceed to the northward, on a trading voyage with the Indians, and that Mr Duncan was to accompany us. We had also received on board an Indian, who had long resided with the whites, and who was to act as our interpreter.

A fair wind carried us over the bar, and, steering to the northward, we continued on for several days, till we brought up in a deep bay, on the shore of which was situated a large native village. Large numbers of the Indians came off in their canoes, with furs to exchange for cutlery, cotton goods, looking-glasses, beads, and other ornaments. Many of them were fine looking, independent fellows, but veritable savages, dressed in skins, their heads adorned, after their fashion, with feathers, shells, and the teeth of different animals. The captain treated them with great contempt, shouting at them, and ordering them here and there, as if they were beings infinitely inferior to himself. I saw them frequently turn angry glances at him, but they did not otherwise exhibit any annoyance. One day, however, he had a dispute with one of their chiefs about a matter of barter, when, losing his temper, he struck the savage and knocked him over on the deck. The Indian, recovering himself, cast a fierce glance at him, then, folding his arms, walked away, uttering some words to his companions, which we did not understand.

The next day, Mr Duncan, who had gone on shore, returned on board hurriedly, with the interpreter, and warned the captain that the Indians intended to take vengeance for the insult their chief had received. The captain laughed, declaring that he did not fear what ten times the number of savages who as yet had come on board, would venture to do. “They are daring fellows, though, Captain Pyke, and treacherous, and cunning in the extreme,” observed Mr Duncan. “Take my advice and keep them out of the ship. We have already done a fair trade here, and the natives have not many more skins to dispose of.”

“I am not to be frightened as other people are,” answered the captain, scornfully. “If they have no skins they will not bring them, and if they have, I am not the man to be forgetful of the interests of the Company, by refusing to trade.”

This was said on deck in the hearing of the crew. “I’ll tell you what, Jack,” observed old Tom to me, “the captain will repent not following Mr Duncan’s advice. If the Indians come on board, keep by me—we shall have to fight for our lives. I know these people. When they appear most friendly, they are often meditating mischief.”

That very evening several canoes came off, and in them was the chief whom the captain had knocked down. He seemed perfectly friendly, smiling and shaking hands with the captain as if he had entirely forgotten the insult he had received.

When the savages took their departure, they were apparently on the best of terms with us all.

Story 1—Chapter 6.

The next morning we were preparing to put to sea, when two large canoes came off, each carrying about twenty men. As they exhibited a considerable number of furs, the captain allowed them to come on board, and trade commenced as usual. In the meantime, three other canoes came off with a similar number of men, and a larger quantity of furs of the most valuable descriptions. They also were allowed to come up the side like the rest.

“Jack, I don’t like the look of things,” said old Tom.

“Do you observe that the savages are wearing cloaks such as they have not appeared in before. Just come down for’ard with me.”

I followed Tom below. “Here,” he said, “fasten this case under your jacket. If the savages attack us, we will jump into the boat astern; they will be too much intent on plunder to follow us, and we will make our escape out to sea. I propose to do this for your sake. As for me, I would as lief remain and fight it out. I have mentioned my suspicions to several of the men, and advised them to have an eye on the handspikes; with them we may keep the savages at bay till we can make good our retreat.”

I asked him why he did not warn the captain. “Because he is mad, and would only laugh at me,” he answered. “Mr Duncan and the interpreter have already done so, and they are as well aware as I am that mischief is brewing.”

On going on deck, we saw the captain speaking to the Indians, and ordering them to return to their canoes. They appeared as if they were going to obey him, when suddenly, each man drawing a weapon from beneath his cloak uttered a fearful yell, and leaped at the officers and us. The captain, with only a jack-knife in his hand, defended himself bravely, killing four of his savage assailants.

Led by old Tom, I, with three or four other men, fought our way aft to join the officers, intending, should we be overpowered, to leap, as we had proposed, into the boat. I saw poor Mr Duncan struck down and hove into a canoe alongside. The captain was apparently trying to reach the cabin, probably to get his fire-arms, when he fell, struck by a hatchet on the head.

“Follow me,” cried Tom. “We may reach the boat through the cabin windows.” As he said this, he sprang down the companion-hatch, I and two others following him. The remainder of our number were overtaken by the savages before they could reach it. The last, Andrew Pearson, our boatswain, contrived to secure the hatch. This gave us time to get hold of the fire-arms fastened against the bulkheads, and to load and place them ready for use on the table. There were at least a dozen muskets, and as many brace of pistols. Had these been in our hands on deck, we should probably have driven the savages overboard, or they would have been deterred from making the attack. With them, we might now defend our lives against vastly superior numbers.

The scuffle on deck was still going on, the yells of the savages rising above the stifled groans and cries of our unfortunate shipmates. They soon ceased, and then arose a shout of triumph from our enemies, and we knew that we were the only survivors. But we too were in a desperate plight. Tom was severely wounded, and the boatswain and the other man had received several gashes. I, indeed, thanks to the way in which Tom had defended me, was the only person unhurt.

“Green, do you look after the hatchway,” said Pearson to the other man who had escaped. “Tom, do you and Jack show your muskets through the stern windows, I have some work to do. The savages think they have us in a trap, but they are mistaken.” He opened, as he spoke, a hatch which led to the magazine, and I saw him uncoiling a long line of match, one end of which he placed in the magazine, while he led the other along the cabin to the stern-port. Meantime, the savages had all clambered on board, and were shrieking and shouting in the most fearful manner, crowding down into the hold, as we could judge by the sounds which reached us, and handing up the rich treasures they found there.

“No time to be lost,” said Pearson, hauling up the boat. He went to the locker, and collected all the provisions he could find. “Jump in, Tom and Jack,” he said. “Now for the fire-arms.” He handed them in, and told us to place them along the thwarts, ready for use. “Now, Green,” he said in a low voice, “jump in.” We three were now in the boat, which was hidden under the counter from those on deck. He struck a light, and placed it to the slow match, and, having ascertained that it was burning, slipped after us into the boat, in which the mast was fortunately stepped.

“Jack, do you take the helm, and steer directly for the mouth of the harbour,” he said, cutting the painter and seizing an oar. Tom and Green did the same, and pulled away lustily. We had already got several fathoms from the vessel before we were perceived. The sail had been placed ready for hoisting. It was run up and sheeted home. The savages were about to jump into one of the canoes, and chase us, but three muskets pointed towards them made them hesitate. We were rapidly slipping away from the doomed brig. We could see the savages dancing and leaping on deck, their shouts and yells coming over the water towards us.

“They will dance to another tune soon,” muttered Pearson between his teeth.

He and the other two had again taken to the oars. Even now a flight of arrows might have reached us, but fortunately the savages had not brought their bows with them, and probably that was the chief reason why they had not ventured to pursue us. They well knew that several of their number would have been shot down with our bullets had they made the attempt. Still we could see some of the chiefs apparently trying to persuade their warriors to follow us, and we knew that though we might fight till all our ammunition was expended, we should at last be overwhelmed by numbers.

Our chance of ultimate escape seemed small indeed. “They will not come,” said Pearson. “See!” We had got half-a-mile or more from the brig, when a deep thundering sound reached our ears. It seemed as if the whole vessel was lifted out of the water, while up into the air shot her mainmast and spars, and fragments of her deck and bulwarks, and other pieces of timber, mingled with countless human bodies, with limbs torn off and mangled in a fearful manner. At the same time the canoes with those who had escaped were paddling with frantic energy towards the shore, probably believing that the Great Spirit had sent forth one of his emissaries to punish them for their treachery to the white people. We concluded that some such idea as this was entertained by them, as we saw no canoes coming off in pursuit of us.

Rowing and sailing, we continued to make our way out to the open ocean. It was blowing fresh but, the wind coming off-shore, the sea was tolerably calm, and we agreed that at all events it was better to undergo the dangers of a long voyage in an open boat than trust ourselves in the power of the revengeful savages. We had reached the mouth of the harbour, and could still see the village far off on its shore, when, to our dismay, we found the sea breeze setting in. We had accordingly to haul our wind, though we still hoped to weather the headland which formed its southern point, and get an offing.

Tom all this time had uttered no complaint, though I saw the blood flowing down his side. The boatswain and Green had, with my help, bound up their wounds. I wanted Tom to let me assist him. “No,” he said; “it’s of no use. If you were to swathe me up, I could not pull. It will be time enough for that when we get round the headland.” He was evidently getting weaker, and at last the boatswain persuaded him to lay in his oar, and try to stop the blood. The wounds were in his back and neck, inflicted by the savages as he fought his way onward to the cabin. I bound our handkerchiefs round him as well as I could; but it was evident that he was not fit for rowing, and that the only chance of the blood stopping was for him to remain perfectly quiet.

During the last tack we made I fancied, as I looked up the harbour, that I saw the canoes coming out. I told the boatswain. “We will give them a warm reception, if they come near us,” he answered.

I felt greatly relieved when we at last weathered the point, and were now able to stand along shore, though we couldn’t get the offing which was desirable.

Night was coming on. The weather looked threatening, and our prospects of ultimately escaping were small.

At last we got so near the surf that the boatswain determined to put the boat about and stand out to sea. Although the other tack might bring us almost in front of the harbour’s mouth, it was the safest course to avoid being cast on shore.

The night came on very dark, but the wind was moderate, and there was not much sea. Still the weather was excessively cold, and my companions suffered greatly from their wounds. Tom had been placed in the stern-sheets near me. Though he said less, he suffered more than the rest, and I could every now and then hear low groans escaping from his bosom. At last I heard him calling me. “Jack,” he whispered, “what I told you is coming true. I am going. I feel death creeping over me. Remember the case. Do all you know I ought to have done. I have been a great sinner; but you once said there is a way by which all sins can be blotted out. I believe in that way. Jack, give me your hand. It’s darker than ever; and I am cold, very cold.” He pressed my hand, and I heard him murmuring to himself. It might have been a prayer, but his words were indistinct; I could not understand what he said. I kept steering with one hand, looking up at the sails, and casting a glance now and then at him, while the other two men pulled away to keep the boat to windward. Presently I felt his fingers relax; an icy chill came from his hand. I knew too well that my friend was dead. It was some time before I could bring myself to tell the boatswain what had happened. “Poor fellow! But it may be the lot of all of us before another day is over,” he said; “yet, as men, we will struggle to the last.”

The night passed on, and we still persevered in endeavouring to obtain an offing, though so indistinct was the land that we could not tell whereabouts we were. What was our dismay, when morning broke, to find that we were directly off the mouth of the harbour, and at such a distance that the keen eyes of the savages on the hills around might easily perceive our sail. We at once put the boat about, hoping to get again to the south’ard before we were discovered. “It’s too late,” cried Green; “I see the canoes coming.”

“We must fight them, then,” said the daring boatswain, calmly. “We don’t just expect mercy at their hands after the treat we gave them,” and he laughed at the fearful act he had committed. Still I thought what could we three, in a small boat, with our dozen muskets, do against a whole fleet of fierce savages.

We could now see the canoes coming out of the harbour. The sea was smooth, and they would without fail venture after us. Our only chance of escape seemed in a sudden gale springing up, but of that there was little probability. I was turning my eyes anxiously towards the offing in hopes of seeing signs of a stronger breeze coming, when I caught sight of a sail. I pointed her out to the boatswain. “She is a large vessel,” he exclaimed, “and standing this way.”

“Perhaps the savages will be more than ever anxious to catch us, for fear we should persuade the people on board yonder ship to punish them for what they have done,” I observed. “They will catch us if they can,” answered Pearson; “but they will have to pay a good price yet if they make the attempt,” and he cast his eyes at the muskets which lay ready loaded. The canoes were drawing nearer and nearer, and we could now distinguish the figures of the plumed warriors as they stood up in the bows. The boat at the same time was slipping pretty quickly through the water. “The breeze is freshening,” I observed; “we may escape them yet.”

“I don’t much care if we do or do not,” said Pearson; “I should like to knock over a few of these boasting fellows; we may hit them long before they can get near enough to hurt us.” I for my part did not wish to see more of the savages killed, for they had only followed the instinct of their untutored natures, and we had already inflicted a terrible punishment on them in return. In a few minutes the breeze came down even stronger than before, and greatly to my satisfaction, the canoes appeared to be scarcely gaining on us, even if they did so at all. I continued to give a glance every now and then at the ship, for I was afraid after all she might alter her course, and stand away from us.

At length, to my joy, I saw the savages in the canoes cease paddling. They apparently were afraid of venturing farther out into the ocean, or saw that it would be hopeless to attempt overtaking us. For some minutes they waited, as if holding a consultation, and then round they paddled and made their way back into the harbour.

“Just like them,” exclaimed Pearson. “Those cowardly red-skins will never fight unless they can take their enemies at an advantage.”

We had to make several tacks towards the ship, and then when we got near enough for the sound of our muskets to reach her, we fired several as a signal. They were at length, we concluded, heard on board. She kept away towards us. She drew nearer. We saw that she was a whaler, with the English colours flying at the peak. She rounded to, and we went alongside. “What has happened?” exclaimed several voices, as old Tom’s body was seen lying in the stern-sheets. A few words told our tale. I was able to climb up the side, but Pearson and Green were so stiff from their wounds that they had to be helped up. They were far more hurt indeed than they had supposed, especially Pearson; but his dauntless spirit had hitherto kept him up. Our boat was hoisted on board, and old Tom’s body was taken out and laid on deck. We were treated with great kindness, and the captain, greatly to my satisfaction, volunteered to give old Tom Christian burial. He had, as we supposed, intended to go into the harbour to obtain wood and water, and to trade with the natives; but when he heard of what had occurred he resolved to steer for a port farther south, and he told me that he was very grateful to us for giving him warning of the danger which he otherwise would have run.

In the evening I saw my poor friend lashed up in a hammock, and committed to his ocean grave.

All night long I was dreaming of him and of the dreadful scenes I had witnessed.

The ship was the Juno. Her commander, Captain Knox, was a very different sort of person to my late captain; and from his kind manner, and the way he spoke to the officers and men, he seemed truly to act the part of a father to his crew. The ship had been out a year and a half, and it was expected she would remain another year in the Pacific.

Though I was anxious to get home, yet when the captain asked me to enter on board, I was very glad to do so. Pearson continued to suffer fearfully from his wounds. Whether the deed he had done preyed on his mind, I cannot say; but a high fever coming on, he used to rave about the savages, and the way he had blown them up. At the moment he committed the deed I daresay he had persuaded himself that he was only performing a justifiable act of vengeance. The day before we entered the harbour to which we were bound he died, and poor Green did not long survive him, so that I alone was left of all the crew of the ill-fated Fox.

Story 1—Chapter 7.

The captain of the Juno took every precaution to prevent her being surprised by the Indians. Boarding nettings were triced up round the ship every night, and the watch on deck had arms ready at hand. None of the natives were allowed to come on board, and only two or three canoes were permitted alongside at a time. We judged by their manner, though they were willing enough to trade, that they had already heard of what had occurred to the northward.

Having got our wood and water on board, we again put to sea, cruising in various parts of the ocean known to be frequented by whales. A bright look-out was kept for their spouts as the monsters rose to the surface to breathe. The instant a spout was seen all was life and animation on board; the boats were lowered, generally two or three at a time, and away they pulled to be ready to attack the whale as it again rose to the surface. I remember, the first time I saw one of the monsters struck, I shouted and jumped about the deck as eagerly as if I myself were engaged in the work. Now I saw the lines flying out of the boat at a rapid rate, as the animal sounded; now the men in the boats hauled it in again, as the whale rose once more to the surface; now they pulled on, and two more deadly harpoons were plunged into its sides, with several spears; now they backed to avoid the lashing strokes of its powerful tail; now the creature was seen to be in its death-flurry, tumbling about and turning over and over in its agony. At length it lay an inert mass on the surface, and the boats came back, towing it in triumph. Next there was the work of “cutting in,” or taking off the blubber which surrounded it; the huge body being turned round and round during the operation, as the men stood on it cutting off with their sharp spades huge strips, which were hoisted with tackles on deck. Last of all came the “trying out,” when the blubber, cut into pieces, was thrown into huge caldrons on deck, with a fire beneath them; the crisp pieces, from which the oil had been extracted, serving as fuel. It was a curious scene when night came on, and fires blazed up along the deck, surrounded by the crew, begrimed with oil and smoke, looking like beings of another world engaged in some fearful incantation.

This scene was repeated over and over again. We visited several islands in the Pacific. At some, where Christian missionaries had been at work, the inhabitants showed by their conduct that they were worthy of confidence; but at others the captain deemed it necessary to be constantly on his guard, lest they might attempt to cut off the crew and take possession of the ship, as we heard had frequently occurred.

At length, to my delight and that of all the crew, the last cask we had on board was filled with oil, and with a deeply-laden ship we commenced our homeward voyage. We encountered a heavy gale going round the Horn, but the old Juno weathered it bravely, though, as she strained a good deal, we had afterwards to keep the pumps going for an hour or so during each watch. We, however, made our way at a fair rate northward, and once more crossed the line.

It may seem surprising that I had not hitherto examined the metal case which old Tom had committed to my charge. The box itself I had resolved not to open. I did not suppose that I should be induced to act as he had done, but yet I thought it wiser not to run the risk of temptation. We for several days lay becalmed, and one evening, while the crew were lying about the decks overcome with the heat, I stowed myself away for’ard, at a distance from the rest, and drew the paper out of the case. Great was my surprise to find that it was addressed to my own father. It contained a reference to the parchment in the box, and gave a list both of the jewels, the notes, and gold. The writer spoke of his wife and infant son, and charged my father, should any accident happen to him, to act as their guardian and friend as well as their legal adviser. The letter was signed “Clement Leslie.”

“This is strange,” I thought. “Then there can be no doubt that little Clem is the very child old Tom saw placed in his nurse’s arms on the raft, and his poor mother must have been washed away when the ship went down. Those Indian nurses, I have often heard, will sacrifice their own lives for the sake of preserving the children committed to their charge, and Clem’s nurse must have held him fast in her arms, in spite of the buffeting of the waves and the tossing of the raft during that dreadful night when the Indiaman went down; and if she had any food, I dare say she gave it to him rather than eat it herself. But, poor fellow, what may have happened to him since we parted.”

I now felt more anxious than ever to reach home, and longed for the breeze to spring up which might carry us forward through the calm latitudes. It came at last, and the Juno again made rapid progress homeward. We were bound up the Irish Channel to Liverpool; when, however, we got within about a week’s sail of the chops of the Channel, it came on to blow very hard. The leaks increased, and we were now compelled to keep the pumps going during nearly the whole of each watch. The weather was very thick, too, and no observations could be taken. The crew were almost worn out; yet there was no time for rest. The gale was blowing from the south-west, and the sea running very high, when in the middle watch the look-out shouted the startling cry of “Land! on the starboard bow.” The yards were at once braced sharply up, and soon afterwards the captain ordered the ship to be put about. We were carrying almost more canvas than she could bear, but yet it would not then do to shorten sail. Just as the ship was in stays, a tremendous squall struck her, and in an instant the three masts went by the board.

There we lay on a lee shore, without a possibility of getting off it. The order was at once given to range the cables, that immediately the water was sufficiently shallow to allow of it we might anchor.

I will not describe that dreadful night. Onward the ship drove towards the unknown shore. We had too much reason to dread that it was the western coast of Ireland, fringed by reefs and rugged rocks. As we drove on it grew more and more fearfully distinct. We fired guns of distress, in the faint hope that assistance might be sent to us; but no answering signal came. Too soon the roar of the surf reached our ears, and it became fearfully probable that the ship and her rich cargo, with all on board, would become the prey of the waves. I secured the precious box and case as usual, determined, if I could save my own life, to preserve them. The lead was continually hove, and at last the captain ordered the anchors to be let go. They held the ship but for a few minutes; then a tremendous sea struck her, and sweeping over her deck, they parted, and again onward she drove. A few minutes more only elapsed before she struck the rocks, and the crashing and rending sounds of her timbers warned us that before long she would be dashed into a thousand fragments. The sea was breaking furiously over the wreck, and now one, now another of the crew was washed away. I was clinging with others to a part of the bulwarks, when I felt them loosening beneath us. Another sea came, and we were borne forward towards the shore. For an instant I was beneath the boiling surf; when I rose again my companions were gone, and in a few seconds I found myself dashed against a rock. I clung to it for my life, then scrambled on, my only thought being to get away from the raging waters. I succeeded at length in scrambling out of their reach, and lay down on a dry ledge to rest. I must have dropped to sleep or fainted from fatigue. When I came to myself, the sun was up, and I heard voices below me. The tide had fallen, and numbers of country people were scrambling along the rocks, and picking up whatever was thrown on shore. I managed to get on my feet and wave to them. Several came up to me, and the tones of their voices showed me at once that they were Irish.

Out of the whole crew, I was the only person who had been saved, and I was very doubtful how I might be treated. However, I wronged them. It was a matter of dispute among several who should take charge of me; and at length a young woman, whose cottage was not far off, carried me up to it. She and her husband gave me the best of everything they had; that is to say, as many potatoes and as much buttermilk and bacon as I could swallow. I was so eager to get home that, after a night’s rest, I told them I wished to start on my journey. I was, I knew, on the west of Ireland, and I hoped that, if I could manage to get to Cork, I might from thence find means of crossing to England. Though my host had no money to give me, he agreed to drive me twenty miles on the way, promising to find a friend who would pass me on; and his wife pressed on me a change of linen, and a few other articles in a bundle. With these I started on my long journey.

I was not disappointed, for when I told my story I was fully believed, and I often got help where I least expected it.

At length I reached Cork, where I found a vessel just sailing for Liverpool. The captain agreed to give me a free passage, and at last I safely landed on the shores of old England. I must confess that I had more difficulty after this in making my way homeward, and by the time I reached the neighbourhood of my father’s house my outer clothing, at all events, was pretty well worn to rags and tatters.

Story 1—Chapter 8.

It was the early summer when one evening I came in sight of my home. The windows and doors were open. Without hesitation I walked up the steps, forgetting the effect which my sudden appearance might produce on my family. One of my youngest sisters was in the passage. I beckoned to her.

“What do you want?” she asked; “you must not stop here; go away.”

“What! don’t you know me?” I asked.

“No,” she answered; “who are you?”

“Jack—your brother Jack,” I answered. On this she ran off into the drawing-room, and I heard her exclaim, “There’s a great big beggar boy, and he says he is Jack—our brother Jack.”

“Oh no, that cannot be!” I heard one of my other sisters reply. “Poor Jack was drowned long ago in the Naiad.”

“No, he was not,” I couldn’t help exclaiming; and without more ado I ran forward. My appearance created no small commotion among three or four young ladies who were seated in the room.

“Go away; how dare you venture in here?” exclaimed one or two of them.

“Will you not believe me?” I cried. “I am Jack, I assure you, and I hope soon to convince you of the fact.”

“It is Jack, I know it is!” exclaimed one of them, jumping up and coming forward. I knew her in an instant to be Grace Goldie, though grown almost into a young woman. “It is Jack, I am sure it is,” she added, taking my hand and leading me forward. “Oh, how strange that you do not know him!”

My sisters now came about me, examining me with surprised looks. “How strange, Grace,” said one; “surely you must be mistaken?”

“No, I am sure I am not,” answered Grace, looking into my face, and putting back the hair from my forehead. “Are you not Jack?”

“Yes, I believe I am,” I answered, “though if you did not say so I should begin to doubt the fact, since Ann, and Mary, and Jane, do not seem to know me.”

“Well, I do believe it is Jack,” cried Jane, coming up and taking my other hand, though I was so dirty that she did not, I fancy, like to kiss me.

“So he is—he must be!” cried the others; and now, in spite of my tattered dress, their sisterly affection got the better of all other considerations, and they threw their arms about me like kind girls as they really were, and I returned their salutes, in which Grace Goldie came in for a share, with long unaccustomed tears in my eyes.

Just then a shriek of astonishment was heard, and there stood Aunt Martha at the door. “Who have you got there?” she exclaimed.

“It’s Jack come back,” answered my sisters and Grace in chorus.

“Jack come back! impossible!” cried out Aunt Martha, in what I thought sounded a tone of dismay.

“Yes, I am Jack, I assure you,” I said, going up to her; “and I hope to be your very dutiful and affectionate nephew, whatever you may once have thought me;” and I took her hand and raised it to my lips.

“If you are Jack I am glad to see you,” she said, her feelings softening; “and it will at all events be a comfort to your poor mother to know that you are not drowned.”

“My mother! where is she?” I asked—“I trust she is not ill.”

“Yes, she is, I am sorry to say, and up-stairs in bed,” replied my aunt; “but I’ll go and break the news to her, lest the sound of all this hubbub should reach her ears, and make her inquire what is the matter.”

I had now time to ask about the rest of my family. My father was out, but was soon expected home, and in the meantime, while Aunt Martha had gone to tell my mother, by my sisters’ advice I went into the bedroom of one of my brothers, and washed, and dressed myself in his clothes. By the time Aunt Martha came to look for me I was in a more presentable condition than when I entered the house.

I need not dwell on my interview with my mother. She had no doubts about my identity, but drawing me to her, kissed me again and again, as most mothers would do, I suspect, under similar circumstances. She was unwilling to let me go, but at length Aunt Martha, suggesting that I might be hungry, a fact that I could not deny, as I was almost ravenous, I quickly joined the merry party round the tea-table, when I astonished them not a little by the number of slices of ham and bread which I shortly devoured. My father soon arrived. He was not much given to sentiment, but he wrung my hand warmly, and his mind was evidently greatly relieved on finding that his plan for breaking me of my desire for a sea life had not ended by consigning me to a watery grave. He was considerably astonished, and evidently highly pleased, when I put into his hands the box and case which old Tom had given into my care; and I told him how I had fallen in, on board the Naiad, with the boy I fully believed to be Mr Clement Leslie’s heir.

“This is indeed strange,” he muttered, “very strange, and we must do our best to find him out, Jack. It’s a handsome estate, and it will be a pity if the young fellow is not alive to enjoy it. I must set Simon Munch to work at once.”

“Perhaps if the Russian frigate has returned home, we may learn from her officers what has become of him,” I suggested. “We will think the matter over. Would you like a trip to Russia, Jack?”

“Above all things, sir,” I answered. “I could start to-morrow if it were necessary;” though I confess I felt very unwilling to run away again so soon from home, especially as my mother was so ill. Perhaps, also, Grace Goldie entered somewhat into my considerations.

Next morning while we were at breakfast, and my father was looking over the newspaper, he exclaimed. “We are in luck, Jack! Did you not say that the name of the Russian frigate which picked you up was the Alexander? I see that she has just arrived at Spithead, from China and the Western Pacific. If so, there is not a moment to be lost, for she will probably be off again in a few days. You must start at once. Get your sisters to pack up such of your brother’s things as will fit you, and I’ll order a post-chaise to the door immediately.”

“I shall be ready, sir, directly I have swallowed another egg or two, and a few more slices of toast,” I answered. “Munch must go with you, that there may be no mistake about the matter,” said my father. “He will be of great assistance.”

All seemed like a dream. In a quarter of an hour I was rattling away as fast as a couple of posters could go, along the road to London. I sat in a dignified and luxurious manner, feeling myself a person of no little consequence—remembering that, at the same hour on the previous day, I had been trudging along the road ragged and hungry, with some doubt as to the reception I was to meet with at home. My tongue was kept going all the time, for Munch wished to hear all about my adventures. “Well, Master Jack, I am glad to have you back,” he said. “To tell the truth, my conscience was a little uncomfortable at the part I had taken in shipping you off on board the collier, though I might have known—” he cast a quizzical look at me—“that those are never drowned who—”

“Born to end their lives comfortably in bed,” I added, interrupting him. “You needn’t finish the sentence in the way you were about to do; I was never much of a favourite of yours, Mr Munch, I know.”

“I hope we shall be better friends in future, Master Jack,” he remarked. “You used, you know, to try my temper not a little sometimes.”

As the old clerk was accustomed to long and sudden journeys, we stopped nowhere, except for a few minutes to get refreshments, till we rattled up to the George Inn at Portsmouth.

Much to our satisfaction, we heard from the waiter that the Russian frigate was still at Spithead, and as the weather was fine, we hurried down the High Street, intending at once to engage a wherry and go off to her. As we reached the point a man-of-war’s boat pulled up, and several officers stepped on shore. “That is not the English uniform,” observed Munch; “perhaps they have come from the Russian frigate.” He was right, I was sure, for I thought that I recognised the countenances of several I had known on board the Alexander. Among them was a tall, slight young man, dressed as a sub-lieutenant. I looked at him earnestly, scanning his features. It might be Clement, yet I should not under other circumstances have thought it possible. The young man stopped, observing the way I was regarding him, and I began to doubt that he could be Clement, as he did not appear to know me. I could bear the uncertainty no longer, so, walking up to him, I said, “I am Happy Jack! Don’t you know me?” His whole countenance lighted up. With a cry of pleasure he seized both my hands, gazing earnestly in my face. “Jack, my dear fellow, Jack!” he exclaimed. “You alive, and here! Happy you may be, but not so happy as I am to see you. I mourned you as lost, for I could not hope that you had escaped a second time.” His surprise was great indeed when I told him I came especially to search for him, and we at once agreed to repair to the “George,” that I might give him the important information I had to afford, and settle, with the aid of Mr Munch, what course it would be advisable for him to pursue.

He was overwhelmed, as may be supposed, with astonishment and thankfulness when I told him of the wonderful way in which I had become possessed of the title-deeds and jewels, which would, I hoped, establish his claims to a fair estate.

This matter occupied some time. “With regard to quitting the ship,” he observed, “there will, I trust, be no difficulty. I am but a supernumerary on board, and as I could not regularly enter the service till the frigate returned to Russia, the captain will be able to give me my discharge when I explain the circumstances in which I am placed.”

Having settled our plans, Mr Munch and I went on board with Clement. The captain at once agreed to what Clement wished, though he expressed his regret at losing him. My friend the doctor recognised me, and treated me, as did several of the other officers, with much kindness and politeness. I was, however, too anxious to get Clement home to accept their courtesy, and the next morning we were again on the road northward.

Clement had studied hard while on board the Russian frigate, and had become a polished and gentlemanly young man, in every way qualified for the position he was destined to hold. He was made not a little of by my family, and though at one time I felt a touch of jealousy at the preference I fancied he showed to Grace Goldie, he soon relieved my fears by telling me that he hoped to become the husband of one of my sisters.

My father, after a considerable amount of labour, proved his identity with the son of Mr Clement Leslie, who perished with his wife at sea, and established his claims to the property.

I had had quite enough of a “life on the ocean wave,” and though I had no great fancy for working all day at a desk, I agreed to enter my father’s office and tackle to in earnest, my incentive to labour, I confess, being the hope of one day becoming the husband of Grace Goldie. We married, and I have every reason still to call myself “Happy Jack.”

Story 2—Chapter 1.

Uncle Boz, or, How we spent our Christmas Day, long, long ago.

Those were some of the pleasantest days of my boyhood which my brother Jack and I spent—with Uncle Boz in his curious-looking abode on the shore of the loud-roaring, tumultuous German Ocean, or North Sea, as it is more frequently called. On the English shore, I should have said; for Uncle Boz would not willingly have lived out of our snug little, tight little island, had the wealth of the Indies been offered him to do so.

“It’s unique, ain’t it?” Uncle Boz used to say, as he pointed with a complacent air at his domicile. How Uncle Boz came to pick up that word unique, I do not know; had he been aware of its Gallic derivation, he would never have admitted it into his vocabulary—of that I am sure. Singular it certainly was; I doubt if any other edifice could have been found at all like it in the three kingdoms. It had been originally, when Uncle Boz first became its owner, a two-roomed cottage, strongly-built of roughly-hewn stone, and a coarse slate roof calculated to defy the raging storms which swept over it. It stood on a level space in a gap between cliffs, the gap opening on the sea, with a descent of some twenty feet or so to the sands.

Uncle Boz having made his purchase, and settled himself and his belongings in his new abode, forthwith began to build and improve; but as he was his own architect and builder, the expense was not so great as some folks find it, while the result was highly satisfactory to himself, whatever the rest of the world might have thought about the matter. First he added a wing; but as the room within it, though suited to his height, was not calculated for that of a tall shipmate who occasionally came to see him, he built another on the opposite side of the mansion, of the proper dimensions, observing that, should honest Dick Porpoise, another old shipmate, come that way, the first would exactly suit him; the said Dick amply making up in width for what he wanted in height.

Uncle Boz then found out that, though he could grill a chop before his dining-room fire, the same style of cooking would not suit a number of people; and so he erected what he called the Caboose, at the rear of his mansion. It certainly would not have been taken for what it was, had it not been for the iron flue which projected from the roof.

The greatest work Uncle Boz ever undertook with respect to his abode, was what he called “putting another deck on the craft.” I think he must have summoned assistance, and that, relying on the sagacity of others, he did not, as he was wont, employ his own; for when the walls were up, the roof on, and the floors laid, it was discovered that there was no staircase. He was in no way disconcerted, but he had no fancy for pulling down; and so he built a tower outside, near the back door, to contain the staircase; and having got it flush with the roof, he said that it was a pity not to have a good look-out, and so ran it up a dozen feet or so higher, with a platform and a flagstaff at the summit. Several other rooms of different dimensions were added on after this, and numerous little excrescences wherever by any ingenuity they could be run out,—some to hold a bed, and others only a wash-hand-stand, a trunk or two, or a chest of drawers. No materials seemed to come amiss. A small craft laden with bricks was cast ashore, just as he was about to begin one of his rooms. This was therefore built with her cargo, as were several of the excrescences run out from the ground-floor, while rough stones, and especially wood cast on shore from wrecks, had been chiefly employed. Then his paint-brush was seldom idle; and, as he remarked, “variety is pleasant,” he coloured differently every room, both inside and out, increasing thereby the gay appearance, if not the tasteful elegance, of the structure.

“Isn’t it unique?” he asked for the hundredth time, as with paint-brush in hand, he stood on the lawn in front, surveying the work he had just completed. There was something, however, much more unique present,—not the garden, nor the rock-work, nor the summer-house, nor the seats, nor the fountain, nor the fish pond, nor the big full-rigged ship in front, nor the weathercocks on the chimneys, but Uncle Boz himself, and his factotum and follower, Tom Bambo.

How can I describe Uncle Boz—that is to say, to do him justice? I’ll try. He was short, and he was round, and he had lost a leg and wore a wooden one instead, and his face was full of the most extraordinary krinklums and kranklums, wrinkles and furrows they might by some have been called, but all beaming with the most unbounded good nature; and his little eyes and his big mouth betokened kindness itself. As to how they did this I cannot tell. I know the fact, at all events. His head was bald, the hair, he used to affirm, having been blown off in a heavy gale of wind off Cape Horn, excepting a few stumps, which he managed to keep on by clapping both hands to the side of his head, to save the rim of his hat when the crown was carried away. But his nose—foes, if by possibility he could have had any, might have called it a snub, or a button; supposing it was either one or the other, or both, it was full of expression,—the best of snubs, the best of button noses, all that expression betokening fun and humour, and kindness and benevolence. Yes, that dear nose of Uncle Boz’s was a jewel, though unadorned by a carbuncle. And Tom Bambo—whereas Uncle Boz was white (at least, I suppose he once had been, for he was now red, if not ruddy and brown, with not a few other weather-stained hues), Tom Bambo was the colour he had ever been since he first saw the light on the coast of Africa,—jet black. In other respects there was a strong similarity. Uncle Boz had lost his left leg, Tom his right. In height and figure they were wonderfully alike. Bambo’s mouth was probably wider, and his eyes rounder, and his teeth whiter, and his nose snubbier, but there was the same good-natured benevolent expression, the same love of fun and humour; and, indeed, it was impossible but to acknowledge that the same nature of soul dwelt within, and that the only difference between the white man and the black was in the colour of their skin. Yes, there was a difference: Uncle Boz had lost his hair, while Bambo had retained, in its woolly integrity, a fine black fleece, which served to keep his cranium cool in summer and warm in winter. Bambo used to be called the shadow of Uncle Boz. A jolly, fat noonday shadow he might have been. He had followed him, I believe, round and round the world, and when at length Uncle Boz went into port, and was laid up in ordinary, Bambo, as a matter of course, did the same.

I have said what Uncle Boz was like, and the sort of house he lived in; but “Who was this Uncle Boz?” will be asked. Uncle Boz was not our uncle really, nor was he really the uncle of a very considerable number of boys and girls who called him uncle. I am not certain, indeed, that he was anybody’s uncle: at least, I am very confident that dear old Aunt Deborah, who occasionally came to stay with him, and was his counterpart, barring the wooden leg, had no family, seeing that she was always addressed with the greatest respect as Miss Deborah. The real state of the case is this. Uncle Boz was beloved by all his shipmates, and his kind heart made him look upon all his brother officers as brothers indeed. One of them, shot down fighting for his country, as he lay on the deck in the agonies of death, entreated Uncle Boz, who knelt over him, to look after his two orphan boys.

“That I will, that I will, dear brother. There’s One above hears me, and you’ll soon meet Him, and know that I speak the truth.”

“Boz, you have always spoken the truth,” whispered the dying lieutenant. “I trust in Him; I die happy.”

The action was still raging. Another round-shot took off Uncle Boz’s leg.

“I don’t mind,” he observed, as the surgeon finished the job for him; “there’s the pension to come, and that’ll help keep poor Graham’s children.”

It’s my belief that he did look after those children, as if he felt that God was watching everything he did for them, or said to them; and the best of fathers could not have managed them better. They both entered the navy, and were an honour to the service. They naturally called him uncle, and so their friends and other children of old shipmates came to call him so, we among others; and as we were always talking of what Uncle Boz had said and done, he became generally known by that name. His name wasn’t Boz, though. His real name was Boswell. He was no relation, however, to Dr Johnson’s famous biographer, and he was a very different sort of person, I have an idea. I never saw him angry except once, when some one asked him the question.

“No, sir; I have the privilege, and I take it to be a great one, of being in no way connected with the dirty little lickspittle—there!” he replied, as if with a feeling of relief at having thus delivered himself.

Miss Deborah Boswell was shorter and more feminine than her brother, seeing that icy gales, and salt-water, and hot suns had not played havoc with her countenance, but she was fully as round and jolly.

Uncle Boz was, as may have been surmised, a lieutenant in the navy. He got no promotion for losing his leg, and though he went to sea for some time after that, a lieutenant he remained, and what was extraordinary, a perfectly contented and happy one. Not a grumble at his ill fortune did I ever hear. Not a word of abuse hurled at the big-wigs at the head of affairs. And Tom Bambo,—Tom Bambo had followed Uncle Boz for many long years over the salt ocean. Tom had been picked up (the only survivor of some hundreds) from a sunken slave ship off the coast of Africa. Uncle Boz had on that occasion hauled him with his own hands into the boat. He was grateful then. Falling overboard afterwards during a heavy gale, in the same locality, where sharks abounded, when all hope of being saved had abandoned him, Uncle Boz from the topsail of the ship saw him struggling.

“I cannot let that poor negro perish,” he cried. “Pass me that grating.” Grating in hand, he plunged overboard, swam to Bambo with it, and a boat being lowered, both were picked up. Bambo well understood the risk the brave lieutenant had run for his sake.

“Ah, Massa Boz, me lub you as my own soul,” he exclaimed, coming up to him with tears in his eyes.

Uncle Boz had taught him that he had a soul.

Such were Uncle Boz, Aunt Deborah, Tom Bambo, and the house they lived in. I again repeat, I have spent the happiest days of my life with them. Holidays they really were. He seldom had less than five or six boys at a time with him stowed away in the before-mentioned little excrescences of the mansion. Summer or winter we liked both equally well. There was always a hearty, chirruping welcome for us, and even now I see before me those three honest, round, kind faces in the porch, Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah in front, and Bambo in the rear, for being generally employed in the back premises, he was last on the scene, and it was physically impossible for him to pass his master and mistress.

The Christmas holidays arrived. A jolly journey we had of it; our pea-shooters were not inactive. There were Jack, and I, and big Ned Hollis, and David Fowler, and Tom and Harry King; Ned was older than any of us, and had been at sea, and we all looked up to him greatly. The friends of Uncle Boz were mostly commanders and lieutenants, surgeons, pursers, and marine officers. Now and then he entered on his list a merchant he might have met abroad, whose sons had no home to go to. By this time the Grahams were at sea, fitted out by Uncle Boz. Uncle Boz had had a good deal of money come to him, and it’s my belief that he could have lived ten times better than he did, had he spent it all upon himself, instead of thinking only how he could do most good with it. The wheels of the chaise which contained us youngsters rolled so noiselessly over the snow, that not till the wicket opened, and a secret bell which communicated with the interior rung, did the tableau I have described appear in the porch. There it was though, in all its attractive freshness, by the time we had tumbled, some of us head foremost, out of the chaise.

There was a blazing fire and a plentiful dinner, and we were all soon as merry as crickets, telling our adventures, Uncle Boz listening as if they were important matters of state. It was bitterly cold outside, or the snow would not have remained as it did so close to the sea. We were looking forward to skating the next day on a piece of water a mile or so inland, and we were to build a snow man, and a snow castle, which Uncle Boz undertook to defend with Bambo against all assailants. Aunt Deborah not being a combatant, was to be employed in the heroine-like occupation of making ammunition for both sides, in the shape of snowballs. It was decided that we would in the first place build a castle, and we were to commence early the next morning; our only fear was that the snow might melt, but as there was a very satisfactory biting, black, northerly wind blowing, there was not much chance of that.

Our conversation all the evening was about saps and counter saps, of which Uncle Boz remarked that the red-coats ought to know far more than he did; and this led him to talk of some of the scenes in which he had taken part, and Bambo was sent for to assist his memory, and together they enthusiastically fought their battles over again. They were like Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim, except that the ocean was their field of glory, and that the cut of the two old seamen’s jibs was strongly in contrast to the figures of their brother red-coats. It was a pleasant evening, that it was. How their tongues wagged. How they flourished their legs of wood! Bambo seemed to be sitting on quicksilver, on the top of the wooden stool which he had brought in and placed near the door. His exclamations and gesticulations kept us in hearty roars of laughter, as he became interested in the account of any gallant deeds thus brought by Uncle Boz to his recollection. It is impossible, however, for me now to repeat any of their accounts. I may do so by-and-by, when I have got on a little more with my story, for story I have, and a very interesting one it ought to prove.

Breakfast over the next morning, having put all wheel-barrows, hand-barrows, and baskets we could find into requisition, we set to work to rear the stronghold to be defended. Such a castle as was the result never was seen before or since. Uncle Boz declared that he should be proud to defend it to the last gasp, Bambo echoing the sentiment. It was built on the side of the hill, with a perpendicular rock six feet high at least below it, and we all pronounced the fortress equal to those of Gibraltar, Ehrenbreitstein, San Sebastian, or any others of like celebrity. Both defenders were armed with shields—tops of saucepans—while, standing back to back, they with them defended their heads, or bravely bobbed as the snowy missiles flew towards them. We made our attacks now on one side, now on the other, they spinning round on their wooden legs with astonishing rapidity, to meet them. At length our general resolved to storm. The most difficult side was chosen—where the cliff was steepest. A feint was made on the opposite side, towards which the defenders turned all their attention. We had reached the summit. Our friends on the opposite side pushed so vehemently against the walls, that an impetus was given to the whole fabric. Thundering over the cliff it came, with defenders and assailants, and all together were buried in the ruins. Uncle Boz soon scrambled out; but where was Bambo? At length a brown stump was seen wagging faintly. “That’s his leg, haul away, boys,” shouted Uncle Boz. We hauled and dug with might and main, for we had no small fear lest our black friend should be smothered outright; but the body followed the leg, as we hauled, and happily there was not only life, but activity in him, and jumping up, before we were aware what he was about to do, he began to pelt us so vehemently, that, amid shouts of laughter, we were compelled to take to flight, and scamper down the hill, Uncle Boz aiding him in following up the victory.

That evening Uncle Boz showed us an apparatus for sending a line on board a stranded ship, whether invented or improved by him I am not prepared to say, nor whether the projectile was a rocket or a shot, or both, fired from a gun. Hollis, the eldest of our party, who had considerable mechanical talent, seemed clearly to understand its use, I remember.

Great preparations had been made for Christmas Day. Such a turkey, such a piece of beef, and such a plum pudding! We went to church in the morning in spite of the distance, and a heavy gale blowing in our teeth coming back. Fine old English holly, with many a scarlet berry on it, adorned the church; and the instruments, violin, violoncello, flageolet, etcetera, etcetera, with the voices, were in great tune and wind; and the sermon was appropriate,—“Love, goodwill towards all men,” just long enough to send us away in a happy temper, with its leading idea or principle in the heads, and may be in the hearts of some hearers. Our appetites, too, were sharpened by our walk, and the keen wind and the recollection of the appearance of our destined viands as we saw them displayed in Miss Deborah’s larder. The wind was blowing strong on shore, not softened by its passage across the North Sea; the snow began to fall; thickly and more thickly it came down. “Stop,” cried Uncle Boz, as we neared the cliff, “there’s a gun!” We listened. The low, dull sound of a gun came across the seething, tossing ocean, but the ship from which it was fired was unseen. “She’s a large ship, dismasted, possibly lost her anchors, or has no confidence in our holding ground. She is right. It is bad,” he remarked; “firing to warn us to be on the look-out for her. We’ll do that same at all events, poor souls. Where will she drive ashore, though?” Stooping down, he listened attentively for some time, then standing up, he exclaimed, “She’ll strike not far from this to the south’ard. Bambo, we must try to help them.”

“Ay, ay, sir. Dat we will,” cried Bambo.

“Then find out Dick Hawker, Sam Swattridge, and the rest. Tell them if they’ll go I’ll command them, and if they won’t, that they’re a set of cowardly so-and-soes—. No, no, don’t say that, they’ll go fast enough.”

While Bambo hobbled off to the neighbouring fishing village, where there was a small harbour, we accompanied Uncle Boz home. Near the harbour a fine boat was kept ready to launch, which, though not a professed lifeboat, from her having been fitted up by Uncle Boz, she possessed many of the necessary qualifications for dangerous service. As soon as we reached the house, Uncle Boz got out the apparatus I have described, and gave it in charge of Ned Hollis, with Tom King as his lieutenant, and the rest of us as crew. He directed us all to obey Hollis implicitly. Hollis had not only been at sea, but had already superior scientific attainments.

“Remember men’s lives may depend on the way you manage that affair, lads. Now bear it along with you to the beach, to the spot where the ship is likely to come ashore. Deb, we’ll be back for dinner I hope, and shall not have worse appetites. Perhaps we may have a guest or two,” he added, as we went out.

We had not gone far before we met two of the coastguard men, who had heard the firing. The head station, where the lieutenant resided, was at a considerable distance, and it was feared that he had gone in an opposite direction. Though the coastguard men would be of great assistance, Hollis was still to have charge of the apparatus. Uncle Boz having speedily made his arrangements, hurried off to the village, while we continued our course along the beach. Behind us was a lofty sand-hill, and Hollis ordered King and me to climb up to try and discover the ship. It was bitter work, even on the beach, much worse for the poor fellows wet through and through at sea. At first, on reaching the top of the sand-hill, we could see nothing, but soon the snow fell less densely, and through it we discovered the dim outline of a large ship, now almost buried in the trough of the sea, now lifted to the foaming summit of a wave as she drove onward towards the beach. Her masts were gone, though her bowsprit remained. The tide was carrying her somewhat along the beach, so that it seemed as if she would drift not far from the harbour itself. While we were watching, the snow ceased falling, and our interest was now turned towards the boat with Uncle Boz and Bambo in her. She had just reached the mouth of the harbour. It was perilous work. Huge seas were rolling in. A lull was waited for. Out dashed the boat. It seemed as if it were impossible she could live amid those troubled waters. How we held our breath as we watched her progress. Now it seemed as if she were overwhelmed by the curling, foaming seas; then again she emerged and struggled on, buoyantly floating on their summits. To save the ship was beyond human power, but the wish of Uncle Boz was evidently to try and pilot her in between two rocks, where her crew might perhaps reach the shore. Lives are more generally lost when a ship drives on an open beach than when among rocks. In one instance the people may cling to the rocks, but the undertow from the beach sweeps them out as often as they struggle towards it, till their strength fails, and they sink beneath the waves. With a glass King had brought, we could see the people on the deck of the hapless craft. King handed it to me. “What do you see now?” he asked.

“Women as well as men, two or three at least,” I exclaimed, almost breathless. “Poor creatures! Oh, King, suppose there were children among them!”

The ship rolled fearfully, while the seas meeting with the resistance of her already water-logged hull broke over it in showers of foam, which must have frozen as they fell on her deck. Her crew were huddled together, some forward and some with the passengers aft. For her size there appeared to be very few seamen. We told Hollis.

“When the masts went, many of them likely enough went also,” was his answer.

Hitherto they had not observed the boat. We saw Uncle Boz waving to them. There was a movement among the men. They saw him; an attempt was made to hoist a sail on the stump of the foremast. It was blown away in an instant.

“No anchor would hold; yet it is their only chance,” said Hollis. The coastguard men agreed.

The attempt was made. We saw the crew cutting the stoppers. It was a moment of breathless anxiety. “Yes, it holds,” was shouted. The ship brought up head to wind. The boat was making way towards her.

“It will never hold,” cried Hollis.

Now was the opportunity for the boat to get alongside. Should the cable part, three minutes would see the ship amid the cruel breakers. The boat seemed almost stationary; the people on deck stretched out their hands to her imploringly. Our eyes ached with gazing on her. We thought not of the biting wind, the piercing cold.

“She is driving,” cried Hollis. “But—but—see! see! Uncle Boz is alongside. Heaven protect him!”

There was a rush to the side. Several persons were lowered into the boat. We saw others descending by ropes: whether they all got in we could not tell. Some remained on deck. The boat suddenly appeared at a distance from the ship.

“The cable has parted!” cried Hollis. “No hope for them now!”

We hurried along to where we saw the ship must strike. A huge roller seemed to lift her, and with a terrific crash down she came on the sand, the foaming sea instantly dashing over her, making every timber in her tremble, and tearing off large fragments of her upper works.

“The stoutest ship ever built couldn’t stand those shocks many minutes,” observed one of the coastguard men.

Hollis had planted his apparatus. A shot was fired, and the line fell over the wreck as the sea took one poor fellow who had let go his hold to clutch it. In vain he lifted up his hands to grasp some part of the wreck. He was borne helplessly into the seething caldron below. Now he was carried towards us. We could see his straining eyeballs, and his arms stretched out. In vain, in vain. The hissing roller, as it receded, swept him far away; a shriek reached our ears, and we saw him no more. Such has been many a brave seaman’s lot. Another seaman was more successful, the line was secured, and now we signalled to those on board to secure a stouter line that we might haul it on shore. One was found, and we began hauling away, but our united strength could only just do it. How should we ever get a cable taut enough to allow of the people passing safely along it? Happily at that moment several fishermen arrived with stout poles, boats’ masts, and oars, and began planting them in the sand.

Then taking the rope in hand, they hauled it in with ease. A hawser had been made fast to the rope. That in the same way was got in, and the end secured to the poles. A traveller had been wisely placed on the hawser. The first man securing himself to it worked his way along, carrying a line with him. He was one of the mates. There were six more people on board alive, including the captain, he told us. The rest had been lowered into the boat, with the women and children. “Children out in such weather as this!” more than one of us exclaimed. But the boat; where was that? Now, for the first time, while the line which the brave mate had brought on shore was being hauled back, we had time to look out for her. I ran up the sand-hill. In vain I turned my eyes over the angry, foaming sea. Not a glimpse of the boat could I obtain. Down came the snow again. My heart sank within me. “Haul away!” I heard shouted. I ran to take my part. The big tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t tell my companions what I feared. At last I could refrain no longer. “Oh Hollis! oh King! the boat has gone,” I cried out, bursting into tears. “Uncle Boz! dear Uncle Boz and Bambo!” sobbed more than one of us.

“No fear, masters—no fear,” exclaimed one of the fishermen. “The boat is in long ago, and the lieutenant and those he has saved from a watery grave are safe on shore, and on their way up to the house by this time.”

How our hearts felt relieved, and if we didn’t shout for joy, it was because they were too full for that. Well, I must cut my story short. Three more men came on shore safe; a fourth attempting to get along, trusting to his own strength without the traveller, was washed off, and in spite of a rush made into the water to save him, was carried back and lost. The brave captain was the last man to leave the ship, and scarcely had he reached the strand than a huge sea, like some great monster, with a terrific roar struck the wreck, and literally dashed her into a thousand fragments. I must not stop either to describe the appearance of the beach strewn with fragments of wreck, with cargo and baggage, or how the people from far and near collected to appropriate what they could, eager to secure a large booty before the proper authorities arrived to take possession of the property. Bambo, who appeared to invite all those we had rescued up to the house, satisfied us that Uncle Boz was safe. We hurried on with our companions, for we were all wet through, and bitterly cold. The house was hot enough when we got inside, for there were blazing fires in each room, Uncle Boz presiding over one, Bambo over the other, with saucepans and spoons, and a strong smell of port-wine negus pervading the atmosphere. In the dining-room, into which Miss Deborah did not venture, were five or six rolls of rugs, with rough human heads sticking out of them. In the drawing-room, the dear lady’s own domain, was a large basket, serving as a cradle, in one corner, and two big chairs forming a bed in another; one occupied by an infant, the other by a little creature with fair face, and beautiful blue eyes, which would look up with bewildered gaze to watch what was going forward. Aunt Deb was deeply busied in grating nutmeg, squeezing lemons, and stirring up sugar.

“Oh, dear boys, run and change your clothes, or you’ll all catch your death of cold!” she exclaimed.

Up we went, but soon discovered that she had forgotten to warn us that most of our rooms were occupied. However, she recollected very quickly, and hurrying, panting after us, brought us all dry garments into Hollis’ room.

The captain had followed us, and arrived as we came back. Uncle Boz was about to make another jorum of negus. He looked up, spoon in hand. “Welcome on shore, ’tis no time for ceremony,” he cried out. “Always glad to receive a seaman, in distress. There, turn into my bed in the room through there. Your men shall have rugs in the other room there, till their clothes are dry.”

Where was our Christmas dinner all this time? That had the caboose to itself, and Bambo every now and then stumped off to see how it was going on, Miss Deborah also occasionally looking in for the same purpose. By the time the dinner was cooked, the seamen’s clothes were dried, and then the table was spread in the dining-room, and Uncle Boz, standing up, asked a blessing on the food, and told the shipwrecked seamen to fall to. Miss Deborah carried off certain portions of the turkey and ham up-stairs, and Uncle Boz, in like manner, took some into his best guest-chamber, the one built for his late shipmate. All I know is that every scrap had disappeared before he found out that neither he nor any of us had eaten a morsel. He winked to us to say nothing about the matter, and Bambo soon after placed on the drawing-room table some bread and cheese, and a huge pile of gigantic mince-pies. We demolished them, and I may honestly say that I never more thoroughly enjoyed a Christmas dinner, at least seeing one eaten.

I have a good deal more to say about that pair of blue eyes, now closed by sleep in the arm-chair, and those up-stairs to whom the little owner belonged; but I must cry avast for the present. Well! there is a satisfaction in toiling, and denying ourselves to do good to others, and to make them happy, and that is the reason why I have an idea that that same day I have been describing was one of the most satisfactory Christmas days I ever spent.

Story 2—Chapter 2.

More than a year had passed away since those Christmas holidays when the wreck happened, and my brother and I were again to become inmates of Uncle Boz’s unique abode. It was midsummer; the trees were green, the air warm and balmy, the wind blew gently, and the broad blue sea sparkled brightly, and seemed joyously to welcome our return.

A somewhat poetical notion; the fact being that we were so happy to get back to the dear old spot, and the dearer old people, that we could not help feeling that all the objects, inanimate as well as animate, on which our eyes rested were equally delighted to see us. Yes, I am certain of it. The yellow sand looked cleaner and yellower; the sun shone, and the wide ocean glittered more brightly; and the blue sky looked bluer, with the bold cliffs standing up into it; and the gulls’ wings whiter, as they darted through the glowing atmosphere, than we had ever seen them before. At all events, there were certain animate objects who were delighted to see us, or we must have been very bad decipherers of the human countenance. There stood Uncle Boz, Aunt Deborah, and Bambo, and another personage who presented a very great contrast in personal appearance to any one of the three. Not from being very tall, or very thin, or very grave, or very sour-looking, or very white, or very ugly. The personage in question had none of these peculiarities. Who said that Uncle Boz was ugly? He wasn’t! nor was Aunt Deborah, nor was Bambo. They were all beautiful in their way; at least, I thought so then, and do now. Well, but about this personage. There was a pair of large blue eyes—the sky wasn’t bluer, nor the sea more sparkling when they laughed; and there was a face round them very fair, with a delicate colour on the cheeks and lips. I should like to see the coral which could surpass them, polished ever so much. There was hair in ringlets, adorning the face; not flaxen exactly, though light with a tinge from the sun, or from something which gave it a bright glow. This head belonged to a little girl—very little, and fairy-like, and beautiful. A different sort of beauty to Bambo’s or Uncle Boz’s, or even to Aunt Deborah’s. I don’t indeed think that Aunt Deb ever could have been like Katty Brand, even in her childhood’s days, or if she had, she was very considerably altered since then. The blue eyes opened wider than ever with astonishment, and the lips parted, as, jumping out of the carriage, we were kissed by Aunt Deb, and had our hands wrung in the cordial grasp, first of Uncle Boz, and then of jolly old Bambo. It was evidently a matter of consideration in that little head of Katty’s how she should receive us. We settled the point by each of us giving her some hearty kisses, which I don’t think offended her much, though she did wipe her cheeks after the operation, and we very soon became fast friends.

“She is a beauty,” whispered Jack to Aunt Deb; on which Aunt Deb nodded and smiled, as much as to say, “Indeed she is.”

We were soon discussing with Uncle Boz the programme for our summer amusements. We were to have salt-water fishing and fresh-water fishing, and shooting, and boating, and egg hunting, and shells and other curiosities were to be looked for on the seashore, and long walks were to be taken; and then we were to have bathing, and to learn to knot and splice, and to cut out and rig a ship; indeed, every moment of our time would be fully occupied.

Somebody wishes to know about the owner of those blue eyes. I first saw them, on the evening of the wreck, watching Aunt Deb performing certain culinary operations at the drawing-room fire. There is a sad story connected with the beautiful little owner of which I have not liked before to speak. I mentioned a lady in one room, and a gentleman in another, and a little baby in a basket. They all now lay at rest in the burying-ground of the church we went to that memorable Christmas morning.

We little thought at the time that there would be soon so many fresh occupants. The lady soon sank under the effects of her exposure on the stormy ocean that bitter winter’s day. Her baby followed, and her husband did not survive many days. Katty alone of the family remained. She was too young to know the extent of her loss, or feel it long; and had Aunt Deborah been her mother’s dearest friend, instead of a total stranger, she could not possibly have more tenderly cared for the little orphan. This event formed a melancholy termination to those Christmas holidays, and excited the warmest sympathy in our hearts for Katty Brand. We knew well, however, that she was in good hands while Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah had charge of her. We were not disappointed. Hers was a happy life, and a brighter or sweeter little rosebud never was seen.

It may easily be supposed that she was a pet among us boys in the holidays, and each one of us would have gone through fire and water to serve her. Jack, who was somewhat emphatic in his assertions, declared that he would swim through hot pitch and burning sulphur, or sit on the top of an iceberg in the coldest day of an arctic winter, if so doing would give her a particle of pleasure. He was very safe in making the offer; for as she was the most sensible, amiable little creature in existence, it was not likely that she would ever thus test his regard. I must say that Miss Katty ran a very great chance of being spoiled between Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah and Bambo, in spite of the wise saws about training children to which Uncle Boz continually gave utterance. “The little lady mustn’t have her way, or mustn’t do that thing,” he was continually saying; but the little lady notwithstanding had her way, and did the very thing she wished. However, Aunt Deborah, with her watchful care, though loving the little creature as much as any one, managed quietly to correct the faults which would undoubtedly otherwise have sprung up in her character, and deeply grateful some one is to her for so doing. However, of that more anon. She was, of course, rather a pet than a playmate of us youngsters; but even the least sentimental among us considered her infinitely superior to any dog, even though he could have danced a hornpipe, or monkey, however full of tricks, or parrot, however talkative, which could have been provided for that purpose. As Aunt Deborah was not much addicted to rapid locomotion, nor accustomed to walk to any distance, Katty was her constant companion. Indeed, as we were out all day shooting, or fishing, or boating, with Uncle Boz or Bambo, we saw her, except on Sundays, only in the morning and evening. When by any chance Aunt Deborah was unable to go out with her, my brother Jack was always ready to take her place; and certainly no mother could have watched over the little creature with more gentle care. It happened that Aunt Deborah had caught a cold, and was compelled to keep the house; the rest of us were going out trout-fishing with Uncle Boz; but Jack made excuses for remaining behind, wishing, in fact, to offer his services to take Katty a walk, or perhaps a row in our boat, if Bambo could be spared to accompany him; if not, he proposed asking one of the fishermen from the village, should any be found sauntering about on the beach. As it happened, Bambo could not go; but Jack did not mind that, as he knew that Bill Cockle would be ready to accompany him. We left him working away at a vessel he was rigging, and waiting patiently till the afternoon, when Aunt Deborah would let Katty go out with him. We had a capital day’s sport. Uncle Boz caught ten brace of trout, I killed five, and the rest not many less. We took our dinner with us, and discussed it sitting on a green bank, under the shade of a willow, with the rapid stream flashing and sparkling by over its pebbly bed at our feet. It would be a memorable day, we all agreed, as it was a most pleasant one. What trout-fisher cannot recall some such to his memory, not to be surpassed by others in subsequent years!

When we got back we found Aunt Deb in a state of agitation at the non-appearance of Katty and Jack. Bambo had gone out to look for them, and had not returned. We, of course, ran off immediately to the beach, expecting to find them there. Neither up nor down on the beach were they to be seen. We ran to where our boat was moored in the little harbour; she was not there. We cast our eyes over the sea: there were several specks in the distance, undoubtedly boats; ours might be one of them. There were also white sails in the horizon, vessels sailing to or from Scottish ports. Every fishing-boat had gone out; Uncle Boz’s large boat was hauled up, undergoing repairs. We saw Bambo up at the village, making inquiries. Bill Cockle had gone away early in one of the boats. The women had been busily engaged in their houses, and had not watched the harbour. I did not for one moment believe that Jack would have taken Katty into the boat, and pulled out of the harbour by himself; yet how to account for their disappearance? Uncle Boz himself, tired as he was, very soon came down to us. He seemed quite calm; but loving the little girl as he did, I knew how anxious he must have felt. Having first examined the boat, “She’ll float,” he observed, and he then directed Bambo to get her gear down from the boat-house in the village. The news spread that something was wrong, and women and a few old men collected from all sides to hear about it. The children also came, and were seen talking among themselves. They had seen something unusual. We tried to elicit what it was. We, not without difficulty, discovered at last that they had seen some strange people on the beach; that they had come down in a cart or waggon, which had afterwards driven rapidly off; that they had got into a small boat, and pulled away for a lugger, which stood in to meet them. Uncle Boz inquired where the coastguard men had been at the time. They had been summoned in different directions, so that none were near at hand.

“I see it all,” he exclaimed; “the scoundrels! That is the way they take their revenge on me. They cannot have got far with this breeze; we must be after them.”

It may seem surprising that Uncle Boz should have had any enemies—that he could have offended any one; but the fact that he had is only another proof that men who act uprightly cannot at all times avoid giving offence to the bad. This part of the coast was occasionally visited by smugglers from Dunkirk, as well as from the coast of Holland. Their vessels were manned by a mixture of Dutch, French, and English, and they were in league with Englishmen of various grades, who took charge of the goods they brought over. During the previous winter, a young man, struck down by sickness, and brought to repentance, sent, just as he was dying, to Uncle Boz, and revealed to him a plot, in which he was concerned, to run a large cargo, in doing which there was great risk that the lives both of coastguard men and smugglers would be sacrificed. Uncle Boz instantly went off himself to the Inspecting Commander of the district; and so strong a force was sent down to the spot, and so sharp a look-out kept up along the coast, that the smugglers found their design impracticable, and were compelled to abandon it. Had the young smuggler survived, they would have wreaked their vengeance on him; but he was safe from them in his grave. Their rage, therefore, was turned towards Uncle Boz, as they had discovered that he had given the information, and assisted to make the arrangements which had defeated their plans. Although not wishing to act the part of a volunteer coastguard man, Uncle Boz had always set his face against the smugglers, and spoke of their proceedings as lawless and wicked. “Black is black, and white is white; and it is because people will persist in calling black white that the ignorant are left in their ignorance, and unable to discern right from wrong,” he used to observe, when speaking on the subject. It seemed almost incredible, however, that the smugglers, bad as they might be, would maliciously injure a young boy and a little child, even though they might suppose, as they probably did, that they were the children of the man who had offended them. Still, such things had been done before. There was no other way of accounting for the disappearance of Jack and Katty. Jack would never have put off in the boat by himself. Had he done so she would still be visible, and there had been no wind to upset her. He would certainly not have remained out so long willingly; besides, the account given by the children, who had seen the strangers come down to the beach and push off in a boat, seemed to settle the question. We had still to wait for a crew. Uncle Boz sent up to the house for his tools, and an old carpenter in the village lent a hand, and they, with Bambo, worked away to get the boat ready for sea. We, meantime, hunted among the rocks along the shore for any traces of the missing ones, not without a feeling of fear and dread that we might discover some; then we searched the cliffs, and every cave and cranny we could think of. Poor Aunt Deborah came down, when at length her fears had been aroused, to ascertain what had become of her little darling. I never saw her so grieved and agitated before. I was afraid that she would blame Jack; but not a word against him did she utter. On the contrary, she could only say, “Poor, poor fellow! I know that he would die sooner than let the sweet angel be injured; and if she has gone, so has he.” Before I heard her say that I had not realised what might have happened, and I burst into tears. While we were waiting, in the hopes that some of the men for whom Uncle Boz had sent might be found, one of the specks in the distance, which we knew to be boats, was seen approaching. Slowly she drew nearer and nearer the shore. We watched her anxiously. She might bring us some information. At length she was seen to be a fishing-boat. We hurried down to the beach, as with a light breeze she came skimming in over the calm sea. The first person who jumped out of her was Bill Cockle.

“Have you seen Jack? Have you seen Katty Brand?” I eagerly cried out.

Bill pulled off his hat, scratched his head, and with a look of astonishment, turning round his head as if some one had hit him, exclaimed, “No! Why, what’s happened?”

We told him. On which giving a slap on his thigh, and a hitch to his waistband, with a forcible expression, which I need not repeat, he exclaimed, “The villains! That’s what we saw, then. We couldn’t make it out. Well, I didn’t—”

“What was it you saw? What happened? Say, say!” we all exclaimed in one breath.

Cockle’s explanation was somewhat long, and sorely tried our patience. He and his mates had hauled in about half of one of their long nets, when a large lugger, they had not before seen, passed them, very nearly running them down. She stood close in, and exchanged signals with the shore. A boat in a little time was seen to come off with several people in her, and Cockle declared that he had seen a boy handed up the side of the lugger, and he was nearly certain a baby or little child. The lugger then hoisted in the boat, and made sail to the southward. As, however, there had been either a calm, or but a slight breeze ever since, from the southward, she could not have got far. This seemed to settle the question. We had now collected enough men to form a crew. We required arms and authority for boarding the lugger. Edward Grahame was with us, but though a midshipman, dressed in his uniform, with a dirk by his side, he could scarcely in his own person answer all our requirements. He was of course to go, and, to my great satisfaction, Uncle Boz gave me leave to be of the party, in consideration that it was my brother who was lost. The rest went back somewhat unwillingly to attend on Aunt Deborah. In spite of her grief, Aunt Deborah recollected that we could not live without eating, and had gone home to provide as large a store of provisions as the house could furnish. The men, meantime, got some kegs with water, and several loaves of bread and a cheese. We all ran backwards and forwards bringing the provisions Aunt Deborah had provided. We were not likely to starve, even though we might have had a chase of many days before we should overtake the lugger.

Though we had collected all the weapons to be found, we were not over well armed. “Never mind, lads,” cried Uncle Boz, “we have the boat’s stretchers, stout hearts, and a right cause, and if we can once get alongside the villains, there’s no fear but that we’ll win back our little jewel, and give them some broken heads for the trouble of heart and body they’ve caused us.”

“Yes, dat we will,” echoed Bambo, flourishing a heavy handspike over his head, with a vehemence which showed that age had not impaired his vigour. “We will treat dem as we did dem picarooning villains in de Vest Indies, ven you led de boarders, massa Boz, eh!”

“And you followed close at my side, and saved my life, Bambo,” cried Uncle Boz. “Shove away boys, lift her handsomely, she’ll be afloat directly.”

We were running the heavy boat down the beach into the water. Just as we were about to shove off, who should appear but Lieutenant Kelson, of the coastguard, with two of his men.

“There’s not much chance that he’ll ever set the Thames on fire,” I heard Uncle Boz once remark of him, from which I concluded that he was not a very bright genius. However, he was now cordially welcomed. He possessed the authority we wanted. His men were well armed, and would help us in fighting, of which I had a secret hope that we should enjoy a fair amount. I did not know what fighting was in those days. I had never seen blood drawn—human beings in the pride of manhood, shot down, and mangled and torn by shot and shell and langrage fired by brethren’s hands, writhing and shrieking in their death agony. Fighting may be a necessary evil, but an evil it is, and a dreadful one too. Mr Kelson hearing what had occurred, agreed to come, and he jumping in with his men, off we shoved amid the cheers of all who remained on shore, and their good wishes for our success. The men let fall their oars. Bob Grahame and I had one between us, and Uncle Boz steered; Kelson sitting like an admiral in his barge, and doing nothing. The little wind there had been fell completely, that was just what we wanted. If the calm continued, we should be nearly certain to come up with the lugger. Though the days were long, the sun was sinking down over the land, amid a rich orange glow which suffused the whole western sky. We were anxious before daylight had gone to catch sight of the lugger, lest we might pass her during the night. Fast as she was, however, with the light breeze which had been blowing for a short time, she might have slipped along through the water for a considerable distance. Cockle reported that she had edged off from the coast, and so having no other course to choose, we steered in the same direction, at the same time keeping a bright look-out in-shore, lest she might have afterwards kept in again, in the hopes of a chance of running some contraband. Several of the revenue cutters on the station had gone into port to refit, and the smugglers were just now indulging themselves, as do mice when the cat’s away. Numerous vessels were seen in the offing, but none of them like the lugger. We pulled steadily on. It was not likely that the smuggler would have gone much to the eastward, as she was probably bound for the coast of Holland or France. We should be certain, therefore, to come up with her. Twilight lessened, and darkness was gathering round us, when the moon, a vast globe of golden hue, rose out of the water, and as she shot upwards, cast a brilliant sparkling pathway of light athwart its surface. Never was I out in a more glorious night. Had we not had serious work before us, it was one to engross all our thoughts. Even the fish seemed to enjoy it, as we could see them leaping up on either hand. Many of them must have been big fellows, by the loud splash they made. On, on we pulled. “If we don’t soon come up with her, it will make our fellows very savage,” observed Kelson to Uncle Boz.

“Yes, we eat ’um,” cried out Bambo, who was a privileged joker.

The remark was appreciated by the other men.

“Yes Bambo, a jolly good supper we’ll make of them, the waggabonds,” sung out one of the other men.

It was time, however, for real supper, so we knocked off rowing, and provisions, with grog, were served out, and not sorry I was to rest my arms. A capital supper was made, and the crew seemed to enjoy it much. Once more, with renewed strength, we took to our oars. To pull all night long, with the chance of a fight at the end of it, is not so pleasant as lying snugly in bed; but, under the circumstances, I infinitely preferred being where I was—eagerness gave strength to our arms. We could not go on much longer without falling in with her, it was thought.

“It depends whether she is full or empty,” observed the lieutenant. “If the latter, she’ll be making the best of her way across to the Continent; but if she’s full she’ll be hovering about the coast for the chance of running her cargo. She’ll probably just now have her canvas lowered on deck, so that it will be a hard job to make her out.”

There seemed wisdom in this remark, but as she could have run some of her cargo when she stood in in the afternoon if she had had any on board, the general opinion was that she was steering a course for Dunkirk, to which a smuggling lugger frequenting the coast was known to belong, and it was thought that she must be that same lugger. All we hoped for was that the calm would continue. We were pulling steadily on, the men chatting with each other, when Mr Kelson sung out, “Silence! a sail ahead!” I could not help looking anxiously over my shoulder to ascertain what she was. I could just discern a dark object no great height out of the water.

“She’s the lugger, I really think,” observed Mr Kelson. “I hope she may have some tubs aboard.”

“I pray that she may have the dear children safe,” said Uncle Boz.

“Yes, she’s a lugger, there’s no doubt about that,” remarked the lieutenant.

Everyone was now on the alert, and I saw the men feeling that their weapons were ready for use. My heart beat considerably quicker than usual. We neared the stranger.

“Pull out of stroke, lads,” said Uncle Boz. “They’ll take us for some merchantman’s crew.”

There were several men we could see on the deck of the lugger. It was very difficult to prevent ourselves from dashing up alongside in the way our feelings would have dictated. It seemed strange, however, that they did not exhibit any alarm at our approach. Uncle Boz steered as if going to pass her, then suddenly shearing the boat alongside, we jumped on board.

“Well, what is all this about?” exclaimed a man standing aft, no one offering a show of resistance.

“That we are in His Majesty’s revenue service, and that you are our prisoners,” cried Lieutenant Kelson.

“That we have contraband on board, or that you have a right to detain us, must be proved,” said the master calmly. “Step below, you will find my papers correct; there is some mistake, I suspect.”

The lieutenant went down into the little cabin and I followed, half hoping to find Jack and Katty; but not a sign of them was there. Uncle Boz now came below; when the mate saw him he exclaimed, “Ah, sir, I know you; I was second mate of the Rosamond, wrecked near your house, when you saved our lives and treated us all so kindly. What has happened?” Uncle Boz told him.

“Then I’ll help you if I can,” said the master. “A lugger with sweeps passed us not an hour ago, quite close. I had an idea I knew the fellow, and but little honesty is there in him. Do you pull on as before, and I will follow if there comes a breeze, and lend a hand should you want me.”

There was no time for talking, and as the vessel was evidently honest, we tumbled into our boat and pulled on as lustily as before.

We soon caught sight of another vessel. “Hurrah! there she is,” cried Uncle Boz. “The fellows won’t balk you this time; but we must go alongside as we did the other.”

The lugger had taken in her sweeps, having got well off from the land. As we drew near we began to pull carelessly as before. The people on her deck evidently did not know what to make of us. They seemed, however, satisfied, for several continued to walk up and down the deck, as they had at first been doing, hands in pockets. We quickly made them draw them out though. The boat in another instant was alongside, and we were leaping on deck. Oaths in Dutch, French, and English burst from the lips of the crew.

“We are betrayed,” shouted the captain of the lugger. “But cheer up, lads. Overboard with the fellows!”

As he began to show fight, a knock on the head silenced him, and the crew on deck quickly succumbed. The lieutenant and his men jumped below, and secured several of the men in their berths. Uncle Boz and I meantime made our way into the cabin. A bright lamp hung from a beam above. On a locker was seated my brother Jack, Katty resting on one arm, while with his other hand he was feeding her with gruel from a basin held by a tall thin old Frenchman, dressed in a faded suit, of ancient cut, and a white nightcap on his bald head. I should have said had been feeding, for the process was arrested by the noise on deck. They all looked up as we entered, and Katty in her eagerness upset the basin as she sprang forward to throw herself into Uncle Boz’s arms. She instantly ran back and took Jack by the hand, crying out, “Dear Jack couldn’t help it. If he bigger, he wouldn’t let naughty smuggler carry me away.”

They had not been ill-treated; the old Frenchman especially had been very kind to them.

“Ah! yes, I have von littel grandchild lik dat at home,” he remarked.

So sudden had been our attack that we found plenty of things on board to condemn the vessel; while, of course, those concerned would be tried for the abduction of Jack and Katty. As the old Frenchman was clearly only a passenger, he was put on board the lugger we had previously boarded. I was glad that he escaped, on account of his kindness to sweet Katty and Jack, though I suspect that he was an absconding debtor. I should think, however, that his creditors might as well have tried to skin a flint as him. We carried the lugger in off the coastguard station, where more hands were put on board. Before noon we had placed sweet Katty in Aunt Deb’s loving arms, not much the worse for her excursion.

Jack went to sea, and Katty’s cabinet was adorned with numberless articles strange and beautiful from all parts of the world. Jack, of course, wherever he could get a run on shore, had to come and inspect them. By many a gallant deed he won his commander’s commission, and then Katty became his fond, devoted wife.

In that old churchyard high above the German Ocean are three small monuments placed by some loving friends of those who lie beneath. To no one more truly can the epitaph be applied than that which is cut on each tomb—that of the brother, of the sister, and of the faithful African—Hic jacet in pace.

Story 3—Chapter 1.

The San Fiorenzo and her Captain, narrated by Admiral M—.

There was not a happier ship in the service, when I joined her towards the end of the year 1794, than the gallant San Fiorenzo, Captain Sir Harry Burrard Neale, and those were not days when ships were reckoned little paradises afloat, even by enthusiastic misses or sanguine young midshipmen. They were generally quite the other thing.

The crews of many ships found it that other thing, and the officers, of course, found it so likewise. If the men are not contented, the officers must be uncomfortable; and, at the same time, I will say, from my experience, that when a ship gained the title of a hell-afloat, it was always in consequence of the officers not knowing their duty, or not doing it. Pride, arrogance, and an utter disregard for the feelings of those beneath them in rank, was too prevalent among the officers of the service, and was the secret of the calamitous events which occasionally happened about that time.

My noble commander was not such an one as those of whom I have spoken. There were some like him, but not many his equals. I may truly say of him “that he belonged to the race of admirals of which the navy of Old England has a right to be proud; that he was a perfect seaman, and a perfect gentleman.”

“He was one of the most humane, brave, and zealous commanders that ever trod a deck, to whom every man under him looked up as a father.” I was with him for many, very many years—from my boyish days to manhood,—and I may safely say that I never saw him in a passion, or even out of temper, though I have seen him indignant; and never more so than when merit—the merit of the junior officers of the service—has been overlooked or disregarded. I never heard him utter an oath, and I believe firmly that he never allowed one to escape his lips. I will say of him what I dare say of few men, that, in the whole course of his life, he was never guilty of an act unworthy of the character of a Christian and a gentleman. I was with him when his career was run—when, living in private on his own estate, the brave old sailor, who had ever kept himself unspotted from the world, spent his days in “visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction”—walking from cottage to cottage, with his basket of provisions or medicines, or books, where the first were not required.

Genuine were the tears shed on his grave, and hearty was the response as the following band gave forth the air of “The Fine Old English Gentleman, all of the Olden Time?”

And now, on the borders of his estate, visible afar over the Solent Sea (Note 1), there stands a monument, raised by his sovereign and by those who knew and loved him well, all eager to add their testimony to his worth. But yet he lives in the heart of many a seaman, and will live while one remains who served under his command. But, avast! whither am I driving? My feelings have carried me away.

After what I have said, it is not surprising that the San Fiorenzo should have been a happy ship. Her captain made her so. From the highest to the lowest, all trusted him; all knew that he had their interest at heart—all loved him. The San Fiorenzo might have been a happy ship under an inferior commander—that is possible; but I doubt very much whether her crew would have done what they did do under any officer not possessed of those high qualities for which Sir Harry was so eminently distinguished. The San Fiorenzo was highly honoured, for she was the favourite ship, or rather, Sir Harry was the favourite captain of His Majesty George the Third, who, let people say what they will of him, was truly the sailors’ friend, and wished to be his subjects’ friend, as far as he had the power. Sir Harry was a favourite, not because he was a flatterer, but because the King knew him to be an honest man.

George the Third, as is well known, was very fond of spending the summer months at Weymouth, whence he could easily put to sea in his yacht, or on board a man-of-war, placed at his disposal. He seemed never to tire of sailing, especially with Sir Harry.

Whist was the constant game in the royal cabins. Sir Harry, who did everything as well as he could, though far from a good player, often beat the King, who was an indifferent one. Lord A—, a practised courtier, was, on the contrary, a remarkably good one, and generally beat Sir Harry. When, however, Lord A— played with the King, His Majesty always came off victorious. The King used to pretend to be exceedingly puzzled.

“It’s very odd—very odd. I beat Lord A—, Lord A— beats Sir Harry, and Sir Harry beats me. How can it be—how can it be?”

The King was always anxious to stand out to sea, so as to lose sight of land. This, however, was too dangerous an amusement to allow him. Sir Harry’s plan was to put the ship’s head off-shore, and to make all sail. This satisfied the King, who was then easily persuaded to go below to luncheon, dinner, or tea, or to indulge in his favourite game. Sail was soon again quietly shortened, and the ship headed in for the shore. Sometimes the King seemed rather surprised that we should have made the land again so soon; but whether or not he suspected a trick, I cannot say. His only remark was, “All right, Sir Harry; you are always right.”

It was impossible for a monarch to be more condescending and affable than was the good old King to all on board. He used to go among the men, and talk to them in the most familiar way, inquiring about their adventures and family histories, and evidently showing a sympathy with their feelings and ideas. Did they love the old King? Ay, there was not a man of them who would not gladly have died for him. It was the same with the midshipmen and officers. He used to delight in calling up us youngsters, and would chat with us as familiarly as would any private gentleman. He showed his real disposition, when able thus to cast aside the cares of state, and to give way to the kindly feelings of his heart. I say again, in that respect the King and his captain were worthy of each other. The following anecdote will prove it:—

We had gone to Portsmouth, leaving the King at Weymouth, and were returning through the Needles, when, as we got off Poole harbour, a small boat, with three people in her, was seen a little on the starboard bow. One man was rowing, the other two persons were beckoning, evidently towards the ship. As we drew near, we saw, through our glasses, that the two people were an old man and woman, and, as we appeared to be passing them, their gestures became more and more vehement. Many captains would have laughed, or taken no notice of the old people. Not so Sir Harry—he had a feeling for everyone. Ordering the ship to be hove-to, he allowed the boat to come alongside.

“Oh, captain, is our ain bairn Davie on board?” shouted the old people, in chorus.

Sir Harry, with the benignant smile his countenance so often wore, directed that they might be assisted up the side.

“Who is it you want, good people?” he asked, as soon as their feet were safely planted on the deck, where they stood, gazing round with astonished countenances.

“Our ain son, Davie—David Campbell, sir,” was again the reply.

“Is there any man of that name on board?” inquired Sir Harry. “Let him be called aft.”

A stout lad soon made his appearance, and was immediately pressed in the old people’s arms. This son was a truant, long absent from his home. At length, grown weary at delay, quitting their abode near Edinburgh, they had travelled south, inquiring at every port for their lost son, and only that morning had they arrived by waggon at Poole, believing that it was a port where men-of-war were to be found. A boatman, for the sake of a freight, had persuaded them to come off with him, pointing out the ship which was then coming out through the Needles.

Sir Harry was so pleased with the perseverance and affection which the old couple had exhibited, that he took them on to Weymouth, when the story was told to the King. His Majesty had them presented to him, and he and Queen Charlotte paid them all sorts of attention, and at length, after they had spent some weeks with their son, dismissed them, highly gratified, to their home in the North.

Queen Charlotte was as good a woman as ever lived, and, in her way, was as kind and affable as was the King. She had a quaint humour about her, too, which frequently exhibited itself, in spite of the somewhat painful formality of the usual court circle. As an example—Sir Harry had had a present of bottled green peas made to him the previous year, and, looking on them as a great rarity, he had kept them to be placed on the table before his royal guests. As he knew more about ploughing the ocean than ploughing the land, and affairs nautical than horticultural, it did not occur to him that fresh green peas were to obtained on shore. The bottled green peas were therefore proudly produced on the first opportunity.

“Your Majesty,” said Sir Harry, as the Queen was served, “those green peas have been kept a whole year.”

The Queen made no reply till she had eaten a few, and sent several flying off from the prongs of her fork. Then, nodding with a smile, she quietly said, “So I did tink.”

To the end of his days, Sir Harry used to laugh over the story, adding, “Sure enough, they were very green; but as hard as swan-shot.”

But I undertook to narrate a circumstance which exhibited Sir Harry Burrard Neale’s character in its true colours. I need not enter into an account of that painful event, the Mutiny of the British Fleet. It broke out first at Spithead, on the 15th April, 1797, on board Lord Bridport’s flag-ship, the Royal George; the crews of the other ships of the fleet following the example thus set them. The men, there can be no doubt, had very considerable grievances of which to complain; nor can it be well explained how, in those days, they could by legal means have had them redressed. One thing only is certain, mutiny was not the proper way of proceeding. We were at Spithead, and not an officer in the fleet knew what was about to occur, when, on the 14th, two of our men desired to speak with the captain, and then gave him the astounding intelligence that the ships’ companies of the whole fleet had bound themselves to make certain important demands, and which, if not granted, that they would refuse to put to sea. The two men—they were quartermasters—moreover, stated that they had themselves been chosen delegates to represent the ship’s company of the San Fiorenzo, by the rest of the fleet, but that they could assure him that all the men would prove true and loyal, and would obey their officers as far as was consistent with prudence.

Sir Harry thanked them, assuring them, in return, that he would trust them thoroughly. He, however, scarcely believed at that time the extent to which the mischief had gone. The next day evidence was given of the wide spread of the disaffection. Affairs day after day grew worse and worse; and although some of the superior officers acted with great judgment and moderation, others very nearly drove matters to the greatest extremity.

Meantime, the delegates of the San Fiorenzo attended the meetings of the mutineers, and, though at the imminent risk of their lives, regularly brought Sir Harry information of all that occurred. He transmitted it to the Admiralty, and it was chiefly through his representations and advice that conciliatory measures were adopted by the Government. Nearly all the just demands of the seamen having been granted, they returned to their duty and it was supposed that the mutiny was at an end. Just before this, the Princess Royal had married the Duke of Wirtemberg, and the San Fiorenzo had been appointed to carry Her Royal Highness over to Cuxhaven. We could not, however, move without permission from the delegates. This was granted. Our upper-deck guns were stowed below, and the larger portion of the upper-deck fitted with cabins. In this condition, when arriving at Sheerness, we found to our surprise that the red flag was still flying on board the guardship, the Sandwich. Supposing that her crew had not been informed of what had taken place at Spithead, Sir Harry sent our delegates on board her, that they might explain the real state of affairs. The disgust of our men was very great when they were informed that fresh demands had been made by the crews of the North Sea fleet, of so frivolous a nature that it was not probable they would be granted. Our men, in spite of the character of delegates, which had been forced on them, could not help showing their indignation, and expressing themselves in no very courteous terms. This showed the mutineers that they were not over-zealous in their cause, and our people were warned that, should they prove treacherous, they and their ship would be sent to the bottom.

On returning on board, they informed Sir Harry of all that had occurred. Our delegates, at his suggestion, immediately communicated with those of the Clyde, an old fellow-cruiser, commanded by Captain Cunningham. That officer, on account of his justice, humanity, and bravery, enjoyed, as did Sir Harry, the confidence of his ship’s company. An arrangement was therefore made between the captains and their crews that, should the mutineers persevere in their misconduct, they would take the ships out from amidst the fleet, fighting our way, if necessary, and run for protection under cover of the forts at Sheerness. Every preparation was made. We waited till the last moment. The mutineers showed no disposition to return to their duty. The Clyde was the in-shore ship; she was therefore to move first (Note 2). We watched her with intense interest, while we remained still as death. Not one of our officers appeared on deck, and but few of the men, though numerous eager eyes were gazing through the ports. The Clyde had springs on her cables, we knew, but as yet not a movement was perceptible. Suddenly her seamen swarmed on the yards, the topsails were let fall and sheeted home. She canted the right way. Hurrah! all sail was made. Away she went; and, before one of the mutinous fleet could go in chase, she was under the protection of the guns on shore. It was now our turn; but we had not a moment to lose, as the tide was on the turn to ebb, when we should have had it against us. What was our vexation, therefore, when the order was given to get under weigh, to find that the pilot, either from fear, incompetency, or treachery, had declared that he could not take charge of the ship! Sir Harry would have taken her out himself; but the delay was fatal to his purpose, and before we could have moved, boats from the other ships were seen approaching the San Fiorenzo. They contained the delegates from the fleet, who, as they came up the side, began, with furious looks, to abuse our men for not having fired into the Clyde, and prevented her escaping. High words ensued, and so enraged did our men become at being abused because they did not fire on friends and countrymen, that one of the quartermasters, John Aynsley by name, came aft to the first lieutenant, and entreated that they might be allowed “to heave the blackguards overboard.”

A nod from him would have sealed the fate of the delegates. I thought then (and I am not certain that I was wrong) that we might at that moment have seized the whole of the scoundrels, and carried them off prisoners to Sheerness. It would have been too great a risk to have run them up to the yard-arm, or hove them overboard, as our men wished, lest their followers might have retaliated on the officers in their power.

No man was more careful of human life than Sir Harry, and it was a plan to which he would never have consented. The delegates, therefore, carried things with a high hand, and, convinced that our crew were loyal to their king and country, they ordered us to take up a berth between the Inflexible and Director, to unbend our sails, and to send our powder on board the Sandwich, at the mast-head of which ship the flag of the so-called Admiral Parker was then flying. That man, Richard Parker, had been shipmate with a considerable number of the crew of the San Fiorenzo, as acting lieutenant, but had been dismissed his ship for drunkenness, and having lost all hope of promotion, had entered before the mast.

Our people had, therefore, a great contempt for him, and said that he was no sailor, and that his conduct had ever been unlike that of an officer and a gentleman. Such a man, knowing that he acted with a rope round his neck, was of course the advocate of the most desperate measures. Everything that took place was communicated immediately to Sir Harry, who advised the men to pretend compliance, and, much to our relief, the other delegates took their departure. As soon as they were gone, Sir Harry told the ship’s company that, provided they would agree to stand by him, he would take the ship into Sheerness, as before intended. The men expressed their readiness to incur every possible risk to effect that purpose. The almost unarmed condition of the ship at the time must be remembered. The men set zealously to work to prepare for the enterprise. Springs were got on our cables. All was ready. The flood had made. The object was to cast in-shore. The men were at their stations. We were heaving on the spring—it broke at the most critical moment, and we cast outward. There was no help for it. Nothing could prevent us from running right in among the two ships of the mutinous fleet which I have mentioned, and which lay with their guns double shotted, and the men at quarters, with the lanyards in their hands, ready to fire at us. Our destruction seemed certain; but not for a moment did our captain lose his presence of mind. Calm as ever, he ordered the quartermaster Aynsley to appear on deck as if in command, while the officers concealed themselves in different parts of the ship, he standing where he could issue his orders and watch what was taking place. All was sheeted home in a moment, and we stood in between the two line-of-battle ships, the Director and Inflexible. The ship, by this time, had got good way on her. It appeared that we were about to take up the berth into which we had been ordered, when Sir Harry directed that all the sheets should suddenly be let fly. This took the mutineers so completely by surprise, that not a gun was then fired at us. Sir Harry next ordered the helm to be put “hard-a-port,” which caused the ship to shoot ahead of the Inflexible—we were once more outside our enemies. Springing immediately on deck, he took the command, crying out, in his encouraging tone, “Well done, my lads—well done!”

A loud murmur of applause and satisfaction was heard fore and aft; but we had no time for a cheer.

“Now clear away the bulkheads, and mount the guns,” he added.

Every man flew with a hearty will to obey his orders. And need there was; for scarcely were the words out of his mouth than the whole fleet of thirty-two sail opened their fire on us. The shot flew like hail around us, and thick as hail, ploughing up the water as they leaped along it, chasing each other across the surface on every side of the ship. We could have expected nothing else than to be sunk instantly, had we had time for consideration; but, as it was, wonderfully few struck our hull, while not a shroud was cut away, nor was a man hurt. The huge Director, close to us, might have sent us to the bottom with a broadside, but not a shot from her, that we could see, came aboard us.

“They have not the heart to fire at us, the blackguards!” observed one of the men near me.

“It may be that, Bill; but, to my mind, they’re struck all of a heap at seeing the brave way our captain did that,” answered another. “If we’d had the guns mounted he’d have fired smack into them. We send our powder aboard that pirate Parker’s ship! we unbend our sails to please such a sneaking scoundrel as he!”

“It’s just this, that the misguided chaps are slaves against their will, and they haven’t become bad enough yet to fire on their countrymen, and maybe old friends and shipmates,” said a third.

Such were the opinions generally expressed on board. It was reported afterwards that the Director fired blank cartridges, and this may have been the case, but I think more probably that her people were first struck with astonishment at our manoeuvre, and then, with admiration at the bravery displayed, purposely fired wide of us. As, however, we were frequently struck, some shots by traitorous hands must have been aimed at us from her, or from some of the other ships. In little more than two hours the bulkheads were cleared away from the cabin door, to the break of the quarter-deck (the whole space having, as I before said, been fitted up with cabins for the suite of Her Royal Highness). The guns on both sides were got up from the hold and mounted, and we were ready for action. As soon as the task was accomplished, the men came aft in a body, and entreated, should any ships be sent after us by the mutineers, that they might be allowed to fight to the last, and go down with our colours flying, rather than yield, and return to the fleet at the Nore.

Sir Harry readily promised not to disappoint their wishes.

We stood on, but as yet no sign was perceptible of chase being made after us. It was possible, we thought, that no ship’s company could be induced to weigh in pursuit. They well knew that we should prove a tough bargain, had any single ship come up with us. Should we prove victorious, every man might have been hung as a pirate. As to Parker, he dared not leave his fleet, as he ventured to call it.

Our master, although a good navigator, did not feel himself justified in taking charge of the ship, within the boundaries of a Branch pilot, and we were therefore on the look-out for a pilot vessel, when a lugger was discovered on the lee bow, and we were on the point of bearing down to her, when we made out first a ship or two, then several sail, and lastly, a whole fleet, which we guessed must be the North Sea Fleet standing for the Nore. We were steering for them, to give the admiral notice of what had occurred, when the red flag was discovered flying on board them also. They had, as it appeared, left their station in a state of mutiny, having placed the admiral and all the officers under arrest. To avoid them altogether was impossible, and before long a frigate bore down to us. Should our real character be discovered, we must be captured by an overwhelming force. Still Sir Harry remained calm and self-possessed as ever. As the frigate approached, he ordered all the officers below, and giving the speaking-trumpet to Stanley, the quartermaster, told him to reply as he might direct. The frigate hailed and inquired what we were about. “Looking out to stop ships with provisions, that we may supply the fleet,” was the answer. The people of the frigate, satisfied with this reply, proceeded to rejoin the fleet, while we, glad to escape further questioning, made sail in chase of the lugger. She was a fast craft, and led us a chase of four hours before we captured her. She proved to be the Castor and Pollux privateer of sixteen guns. Having taken out the prisoners, and put a prize crew on board, we were proceeding to Portsmouth, when the lugger, being to windward, spoke a brig, which had left that place the day before, and from her gained the information that the mutiny had again broken out at Spithead. Under these circumstances, Sir Harry thought it prudent to anchor under Dungeness until he could communicate with the Admiralty. This we did; but it was a time of great anxiety, for the mutineers might consider it important to capture us, to hold Sir Harry and his officers as hostages, and to wreak their vengeance on our men. We got springs on the cable, and the ship ready for action. During the middle watch a ship was made out bearing down towards us; she was high out of the water, and was pronounced by many to be a line-of-battle ship. Sir Harry was on deck in an instant—the private signal was made—would it be answered? Yes; but there was no security in this, as, should the ship’s company have mutinied, they would naturally have possessed themselves of it. The drum beat to quarters, the fighting lanterns were up, their light streaming through our ports. Our men earnestly repeated their request to be allowed to sink rather than surrender to the mutineers. No sight of the sort could be finer, as the brave fellows stood stripped to the waist, dauntless and resolute, not about to fight with a common foe, but one that would prove cruel and revengeful in the extreme. The wind was extremely light, and the stranger closed very slowly. The suspense was awful. In a short time we might be engaged in a deadly struggle with a vastly superior foe, and deadly all determined that it should be. Nearer and nearer the stranger drew; at length our captain hailed. The answer came: “The Huzzar! Lord Garlais! from the West Indies.” She anchored close to us, and we exchanged visits. Her people, ignorant of the mutiny, could not understand the necessity of the precaution we had taken. They were so struck, when made acquainted with what had occurred, at the bravery and determination of our ship’s company, that they immediately swore they would stick by us, and that, should any ship be sent to take us back to the Nore, they would share our fate, whatever that might be. I am sure that they would have proved as good as their word, but daylight came, and no enemy appeared. We lay here for some time, that Sir Harry might ascertain what was occurring on shore. He found that most active and energetic measures were being taken to repress the mutiny, and in a few days we heard that the ship’s company of the Sandwich had taken her into Sheerness, and allowed their late leader, Parker, to be arrested by a guard of soldiers, sent on board for that purpose by Admiral Buckner. We sailed for Plymouth, and another ship was appointed to have the honour of taking over the Princess Royal.

I must say a word or two about that mutiny. I am convinced that the proportion of disaffected men was comparatively small. The seamen had grievances, but those would have been redressed without their proceeding to the extremities into which they plunged, led by a few disappointed and desperate men like Parker. Had greater energy been shown from the first, during some of the opportunities which occurred, the whole affair might have been concluded in a more dignified manner, at a much earlier date. I will instance one occasion. Having one day got leave from the delegates of our ship, while we lay off Sheerness, to go on shore, I landed at the dockyard. I found, as I passed through it, that I was followed by the whole body of delegates, walking two-and-two in procession, Parker and Davis leading, arm-in-arm. Just as we got outside the gates, the Lancashire Fencibles appeared, coming to strengthen the garrison. As soon as the seamen got near the soldiers, they began to abuse them in so scurrilous a manner, that the officer in command halted his men, and seeing the admiral and superintendent, close to whom I at the time was standing opposite the gates, he came, and, complaining of the insults offered to himself and men, asked permission to surround and capture them. So eager did I feel, that I involuntarily exclaimed, “Yes! yes! now’s the time!” The admiral, on hearing me, turned sharply round, and demanded how I dared to speak in that way? “Because there they all are, sir, and we may have them in a bunch!” I replied, pointing to Parker, Davis, and the rest. The admiral told me that I did not know what I was saying; but I did, and I have no cause to suppose that I was wrong.

When the truly loyal and heroic conduct of our ship’s company became known, it was intended to raise a sum in every seaport town in England to present to them. From some reason, however, the Government put a stop to it, and the only subscription received was from Ludlow in Shropshire, from whence the authorities sent 500 pounds to Sir Harry Neale, which he Distributed to the ship’s company on the quarter-deck.

Note 1. The “Solent Sea” is the name of the channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland.

Note 2. The plan was proposed and executed by the late Mr W. Bardo, pilot, then a mate in the navy. He returned to the San Fiorenzo, and piloted her as he had the Clyde, when her own pilot refused to take charge.

Story 4—Chapter 1.

Orlo and Era: a Tale of the African Slave-Trade.

There exists an extensive district on the west coast of Africa, about forty miles to the north of the far-famed river Niger, known as the Yoruba country. Sixty years ago it was one of the most thickly populated and flourishing parts of equatorial Africa, the inhabitants having also attained to a considerable amount of civilisation, and made fair progress in many industrial arts.

Then came those dreadful wars, carried on by the more powerful and cruel chiefs, for the purpose of making slaves to sell to the white traders, who carried them away to toil in the plantations of North and South America and Cuba, and the prosperity of the once happy people of Yoruba was brought to an end. The savage rulers of Dahomey and Lagos now became notorious for the barbarities they inflicted on the unoffending tribes in their neighbourhood. The Yoruba country was the chief scene of their hunting expeditions. Towns and villages were attacked and burned; the able-bodied men and young women and children were carried off into slavery; the aged were ruthlessly murdered, fields and plantations were laid waste, and a howling wilderness was left behind. At length the scattered remnants of the population who had escaped from slavery and death assembled together in a spot among rocks, especially strong by nature, where they hoped to be able to make a stand against their persecutors. Here they built a town, to which they gave the name of Abbeokuta, or the place among the rocks. It increased rapidly in population and extent, for numerous were the unfortunates in search of a home, and rest, and peace.

Lagos, one of the chief strongholds of the slave-dealers, which the Yorubans most had to fear, has since been taken possession of by the British, and has been declared an English colony or settlement; but Dahomey, governed by its bloodthirsty monarch, with his army of six thousand Amazons and five thousand male warriors, still exists as a terrible scourge to the surrounding territories.

On the confines of the Yoruba country existed a beautiful village which had hitherto escaped the ravages of the relentless slave-hunting foe. It was situated on the banks of a rapid stream, which gave freshness to the air, and fertility to the neighbouring plantations. Palms, dates, and other trees of tropical growth, overshadowed the leaf-thatched cottages, in which truly peace and plenty might be said to reign. Although true happiness cannot exist where Christianity is not, and where the fear of the fetish and the malign influence of the spirit of evil rules supreme over the mind, the people were contented, and probably as happy as are any of the countless numbers of the still benighted children of Africa, Rumours of wars and slave-hunts reached them, but they had so long escaped the inflictions others had suffered, that they flattered themselves they should escape altogether. So little accustomed are the negro race to look to the future, contented with the pleasures of the passing moment, that as they did not actually see the danger, they allowed no anticipation of evil to mar their happiness. The hearts of the dark-skinned children of that burning clime are as susceptible of the tender sentiments of love and friendship as many of those boasting a higher degree of civilisation, and a complexion of a fairer hue. No couple, indeed, could have been more warmly attached than were young Orlo and Era, who had lately become man and wife, and taken up their abode in the village. They were industrious and happy, and from morning till night their voices might be heard singing as they went about their daily work. Orlo employed himself principally in collecting the various products of the country to sell to the traders who occasionally visited the district,—palm oil, and gold dust from the neighbouring rivulet, and elephants’ tusks, and skins which he took in the chase.

At length Era gave birth to a child, a little boy, which proved a great addition to their happiness, and drew still closer the bonds of their affection. Indeed no people can be fonder of their children than are the negroes of Africa.

Soon after little Sobo was born Orlo set off on a hunting expedition with several other villagers, telling Era that he must get her some fresh soft skins for their child’s bed, and that he must be more industrious than ever, as he had a family to provide for.

Era entreated him not to be long away.

“Two or three days will see me back, laden with the spoils of the chase,” was his answer, in a cheerful tone.

Era’s heart sank within her—why, she could not tell. With anxious eyes she watched him and his companions as, with bows, and arrows, and lances in hand, they disappeared among the trees.

Seldom had Orlo and his party been more successful. More than one lion, several antelopes, and numerous monkeys were killed. Even a huge elephant was conquered by their skill and cunning. The skins of the animals slaughtered were hidden in safe places, to be taken up on their return. Excited by their success they proceeded even farther than they intended. Night surprised them, and collecting together they formed a camp, with fires blazing in the centre to keep off the savage beasts roaming around.

Their supper having been discussed, they were merrily laughing and talking over their adventures when they were startled by some terrific shouts and cries close to them. They grasped their arms, but before a bow could be drawn a body of warriors rushed in on them with clubs and swords, knocking over or cutting down all who stood at bay or attempted resistance. Some endeavoured to escape, but they were completely surrounded. Several were killed by their savage assailants, and their bodies were left where they fell. The greater number were secured with their arms bound tightly behind them, and they found themselves captives to the troops of the King of Dahomey, towards whose capital they were marched away in triumph. They had heard enough of the fate which had befallen so many of their countrymen to know that they must never more expect to taste the sweets of liberty; but they were scarcely aware of the horrible cruelty to which the will of the tyrant King of Dahomey might compel some of them to submit. Bitter, too, was the anguish which poor Orlo suffered when he felt that he should for ever be separated from his beloved Era.

The journey was long and tedious, and the captives’ feet were torn by the thorns and cut by the hard rocks over which they had to pass; but whenever they lagged behind they were urged on by the long spears of their relentless captors. Arrived at the capital, they were astonished at its extent and the number of its inhabitants, and, more than all, by the vast array they saw drawn up for the inspection of the king. They had little opportunity of seeing much, for they were soon conducted into a large low building, where they were secured by iron shackles, back to back, to a long beam, scarcely able to move.

After remaining here for several days Orlo and others were separated from their companions and carried to a building on one side of the great square of the city, where all public ceremonies were performed. Dreadful shrieks assailed their ears both by day and night. They heard they were uttered by the human victims offered up by the savage king to the spirits of his departed ancestors.

They were not long left in doubt as to what was to be their fate. They also were to be destroyed in the same manner. Some of their number on hearing this sank into a state of apathy, others loudly bemoaned their cruel lot, and others plotted how they might escape, but Orlo could think only of his beloved Era, and the anxiety and anguish his absence would have caused her.

At length Orlo and nine others were taken out and told they were to enjoy the high privilege of being sacrificed in presence of their king. They were now dressed in white garments, and tall red caps were put on their heads. Their arms and legs were then bound securely, and they were placed in a sitting posture in small canoe-shaped troughs, and thus in a long procession were carried around the square amid the cruel shouts of the savage populace. At length they reached a high platform or slope in the centre of the square, on which sat the king, under the shade of a vast umbrella, surrounded by his courtiers and chiefs. Below the platform were collected a vast mob of savages, their hideous countenances looking up with fierce delight at the terrible drama which was to be enacted. Among the crowd stood several men of gigantic stature, even more savage-looking than the rest, armed with huge knotted clubs. These they knew instinctively were their intended executioners. Not one of them attempted to plead for mercy; that they knew were vain. Their eyes glanced hopelessly round, now on the assembled throng below, now on the groups collected on the platform, not expecting to meet a look of compassion turned towards them. But yes, among one group they see a man of strange appearance. His skin is white, and by his fine dress, glittering with gold, they believe him to be a great chief. He advances towards the king, whom, with eager look, he addresses in a strange language. What he says they cannot tell, till another man of their own colour speaks, and then they know that he is pleading for their lives; not only pleading, but offering a large ransom if they be given up to him. How anxiously they listen for the reply! The king will not hear of it. The spirit of his father complains that he has been neglected; that his nation must have become degenerate; that they have ceased to conquer, since so few captives have been sent to bear him company in the world of shades. Again the strange white chief speaks, and offers higher bribes. Curious that he should take so much trouble about some poor black captives they think. What can be his object? What can influence him?

He does not plead altogether in vain. The king will give him four for the sum he offers, but no more. He would not dare thus to displease the shade of his father, and the white chief may choose whom he will. The victims gaze anxiously at his countenance. It is merciful and benign they think—unlike any they have before seen. Which of them will he select?

He does not hesitate; he knows what must be passing in the hearts of those poor wretches. He quickly lays his hand on four of them, and turns away his head with sorrow from the rest. Orlo is among those he has claimed. They show but little pleasure or gratitude as they are released, and, being stripped of their sacrificial garments, are placed under charge of his attendants. The rest of the miserable captives are held up, some by men, others by the Amazonian warriors, to the gaze of the expectant multitude, who shriek and shout horribly, and then they are cast forward into the midst of the crowd, when the executioners set on them with their clubs and speedily terminate their sufferings. For several successive days is the same horrible scene enacted, the Fetish men declaring that the spirit of the late king is not yet satisfied.

Orlo by degrees recovered from the stupor into which his sufferings, mental and bodily, and the anticipation of a cruel death had thrown him. He then found that the white chief, whose slave he considered himself, was no other than the captain of a British man-of-war, cruising off the coast for the suppression of the slave-trade—not that he understood very clearly much about the matter, but he had heard of the sea, and that big canoes floated on it which carried his countrymen across it to a land from which none ever came back. Still, as this captain had certainly saved his life, he felt an affection for him, and hoped that he should be allowed to remain his slave, and not be sold to a stranger. As to asking to be liberated to be sent back to Era, he did not for a moment suppose that such a request would be granted, and he therefore did not make it. At last the coast was reached, and a ship appeared, and a boat came and took them on board. The captain had seen something in Orlo’s countenance which especially pleased him, so he asked whether he would like to remain with him; and Orlo, very much surprised that the option should be given him, said, “Yes, certainly.”

So Orlo was entered on the ship’s books, and soon learned not only to attend on the captain, but to be a sailor. His affection for his patron and preserver was remarkable. Whatever Captain Fisher wished he attempted to perform to the best of his ability, while he was attentive and faithful in the extreme. He soon acquired enough English to make himself understood, while he could comprehend everything that was said to him.

The Sea Sprite was a very fast sailing corvette, and had already, by her speed and the sagacity with which her cruising-ground was selected, made more captures than any other craft of the squadron. Her success continued after Orlo had become one of her crew. He always got leave to go on board the prizes when they were taken possession of, and his services were soon found of value as interpreter. His object was naturally to inquire about news from his own part of the country. He was not likely to obtain any satisfactory information. Some time passed—another capture was made. He returned on board the corvette very depressed in spirits, and was often seen in tears. Captain Fisher asked him the cause of his sorrows. He had learned that at length his own village had been surprised during the night by the slave-hunters of the King of Dahomey, that not one of the inhabitants had escaped, and that all had been carried off into captivity. They had been sold to different dealers, and had been transported to the baracoons on different parts of the coast, ready for embarkation. Where Era had been carried he could not ascertain; only one thing was certain—she and her child had been seen in the hands of the Dahomian soldiers, on their way to the capital. His beloved Era was then a slave; and he by this time full well knew what slavery meant. He had seen several slave ships captured, and the horrors, the barbarities, and indignities to which the captives on board were exposed. He pictured to himself the terrible journey from the interior, the lash of the brutal driver descending on her shoulders as she tottered on with her infant in her arms, her knees bending from weakness, her feet torn with thorns and hard rocks—she who had been so tenderly cared for—whom he loved so dearly;—the thought was more than he could bear. He looked over the side of the ship, and gazed at the blue waters, and said to himself, “I shall find rest beneath them; in the world of spirits I shall meet my own Era, and be happy.”

One of the officers of the ship, a Christian man, had watched him. He had before observed his melancholy manner, so different to what he had at first exhibited. Lieutenant L— called him, and asked him the cause of his sorrow.

Orlo narrated his simple history.

“And no one has thought all this time of imparting any knowledge of Gospel truth to this poor African,” said the lieutenant to himself; and a blush rose on his own cheeks. “No time shall be lost, though,” he added; and he unfolded in language suited to his comprehension, and in all its simplicity, the grand scheme of redemption whereby sinning man can be accepted by a holy and just God as freed from sin, through the great sacrifice offered once on the Cross.

Orlo listened eagerly and attentively. All ideas of suicide had left his mind. He longed to know more of this wonderful, this glorious news.

“Then, Orlo, would you not wish to please so merciful and kind a Master, who has done so much for you?” asked the lieutenant.

“Yes, massa, dat I would,” answered the African.

“One way in which you can do so, is to bear patiently and humbly, as He did, the afflictions the loving God thinks fit to send. He does it in mercy, depend on that. God’s ways are not our ways; but the all-powerful God who made the world must of necessity know better what is right and good than we poor frail dying creatures, whom He formed from the dust of the earth, and who, but for His will, would instantly return to dust again.”

“Me see, me see,” answered the negro, in a tone as joyful as if he had found a pearl of great price; and so he had, for he had found Gospel truth.

“God knows better than we,” was his constant remark after this when he heard others complaining of the misfortunes and ills of life.

The ship had now been nearly her full time in commission, and her captain was in daily expectation of receiving orders to return home. Poor Orlo’s heart sank within him. He must either quit his kind master and his still kinder lieutenant, or, by leaving the coast, abandon all hopes of ever again seeing his beloved Era. To be sure, he knew that she might long ere this have been carried off to the Brazils or Cuba; and faint indeed was the expectation that they ever should meet in this world. Then, again, another feeling arose: “I am now a Christian and she is still a heathen. How can God receive her in heaven?” But after a time he thought—“Ah, but I can pray that she may become a Christian. God’s ways are not our ways. He will hear my prayers—that I know. He can bring about by some of His ways what I cannot accomplish.” And Orlo prayed as he had never prayed before. Captain Fisher treated Orlo with unusual kindness, and, under the circumstances, he could not have been happier on board any ship in the navy.

Captain Fisher was not a man to relax in his efforts, as long as he remained on the station, to suppress the abominable traffic in human beings by all the means in his power. The Sea Sprite continued cruising, accordingly, along the coast, looking in at the different stations, till one morning, at daybreak, a suspicious schooner was seen at anchor, close in with the shore. The increasing light revealed the corvette to those on board. The schooner instantly slipped her cable and stood along the coast, while the Sea Sprite made all sail in chase. Of the character of the vessel there could be no doubt, or she would not have attempted to run from the man-of-war. The Sea Sprite stood as close in as the depth of water would allow; farther in she dare not go. There was still a possibility of the chase escaping. Orlo, as usual, was the most eager on board. He delighted in seeing his countrymen freed from slavery, and he never abandoned the hope of meeting with Era. “I pray I meet her. I know God hear prayer,” said Orlo.

The wind fell. “Out boats,” was the order. Captain Fisher went himself. The chase was a large schooner. A boat was seen to put off from her and pull towards the surf: whether or not she could get through it seemed a question. The English seamen bent to their oars; they were resolved to reach the chase before she could again get the breeze. They dashed alongside, and soon sprang over her bulwarks. No resistance was made. Poor Orlo, glancing round, discovered, to his disappointment, that she had no slaves on board. The master, it was found, had landed with the specie for the purchase of slaves. One of the slave crew—a mate, he looked like—appeared to have a peculiar thickness under his knees; Orlo detected it, and pointed it out to the captain. The master-at-arms was ordered to examine him. Most unwillingly the fellow tucked up his trousers—grinning horribly at Orlo all the time—when he was found to have on a pair of garters, out of each of which rolled thirty doubloons.

The schooner’s head being put off-shore, the boats took her in tow, till, a breeze springing up, sail was made on her for Sierra Leone. The next morning commenced with a thick mist and rain. Orlo, from his quickness of vision, was now constantly employed as one of the look-outs. He was on the watch to go aloft directly it gave signs of clearing. His impatience, however, did not allow him to remain till the mist dispersed. Away aloft he went, observing, “It must fine soon; den I see sip.” He had not been many minutes at the mast-head when he shouted, “Sip in-shore!” He had discovered her royals above the mist. Sail was instantly made in chase. Some time elapsed before the Sea Sprite was discovered. Suddenly the mist cleared, and there appeared close in-shore a large American slave ship. There was no doubt about her, with her great beam and wide spread of canvas.

Hoisting American colours, the stranger made all sail to escape. He was standing off the land; but as on that course he would have had to pass unpleasantly near the corvette, he tacked in-shore, and then bore away along the surf, hoping thus, with his large sails, to draw ahead and escape. The light wind appeared to favour him, but Captain Fisher determined that it should not. Ordering the boats away, he took one with a strongly-armed crew, and pulled to windward to cut off the chase, while two others went to leeward, so that his chance of escaping was small indeed. The slave captain seemed to think so likewise. He dared not meet in fight the true-hearted British seaman. Regardless of the risk he and his own crew would run, of the destruction he was about to bring on hundreds of his fellow-creatures, the savage slave captain put up his helm, and ran the ship under all sail towards the shore.

“What is the fellow about?” exclaimed Captain Fisher. “If that ship is full, as she seems to be, she has not less than four or five hundred human beings on board, and he’ll run the risk of drowning every one of them.”

It was too evident, however, that this was the design of the slaver’s captain. His heart was seared. Long accustomed to human suffering in every possible form, he set no more value on the lives of his cargo than if they had been so many sheep, except so far as they could be exchanged for all-potent dollars. On flew the beautiful fabric—for beautiful she was, in spite of her nefarious employment—to destruction. With all her sails set, through the roaring surf she dashed, then rose on the summit of a sea, and down she came, striking heavily, her ropes flying wildly and her sails flapping furiously in the breeze. What mattered it to the slaver’s crew that they left their hapless passengers to perish! Their boats were lowered, and, with such valuables as they could secure, and some of the slaves which, for their greater value, they wished to save, they made their escape to shore, leaving the ship, with the American colours flying, to her fate.

Captain Fisher and the other boats now closed with the wreck, while the corvette also was standing in. When close as she could venture to come, she anchored, and the master came off from her in a whale-boat and joined the other boats. Terrible was the sight which now met the eyes of the English seamen. Orlo beheld it, too, with horror and anguish. As the ship rolled fearfully from side to side, the terrified negroes forced their way up on deck, and in their wild despair, not knowing what to do, many leaped into the raging breakers which swept by alongside, and, helplessly whirling round and round, were soon hidden beneath the waves. One after the other the poor wretches rushed up on deck; many, following the impulse of the first, leaped overboard to meet a like speedy death; others, clinging to the wreck, were washed overboard; some of the stronger still clung on; but many yet remained below.

“This is sad work,” exclaimed Captain Fisher. “We must save these poor people at all hazards.”

A cheer was the reply, and, the men giving way, the boats dashed at great hazard through the surf to leeward of the wreck; but here it seemed almost impossible to board her from the heavy lurches she was making, sending the blocks and spars and rigging flying over their heads, and threatening to swamp the boats should they get alongside. Still Captain Fisher and his gallant followers persevered. He was the first on board, and Orlo leaped on the deck after him. The scene appeared even more horrible than at a distance. The negroes, as they could get clear of their manacles, climbed up from the slave deck, and ran to and fro, shrieking and crying out like people deprived of reason. Some ran on till they sprang overboard; others turned again, and continued running backwards and forwards, till the seamen were compelled to catch them and throw them below till the boats could be got ready for their rescue. The captain ordered Orlo to try and pacify them. He answered, that their extreme terror arose from the idea which the slaver’s crew had given them, that the object of the English in taking possession of the vessel was to cut all their throats. Orlo did his best to quiet their fears when he learned the cause, assuring them the reason the British seaman had come on board was to do them good, and to try and save their lives. It was some time, however, before they would credit his assertions. The ship’s barge had now been brought in and anchored just outside the rollers, while the cutter was backed in under the slaver’s counter. Three of the slaves at a time were then allowed to come up, and were lowered into the boat, from which the whale-boat took them through the surf to the barge, and that when full ultimately carried them to the corvette. The process was of necessity slow, the toil was excessive, and the danger very great; but the British seamen did not shrink from it. Orlo had from the first, while acting as interpreter, been scanning the countenances of all he met, making inquiries of those who could understand his language (for all could not do so) if they could give him any information about his beloved Era. Again and again he went below, but the darkness prevented him from distinguishing any one, and the shrieks, groans, and cries from making his voice heard, or from hearing what any one might have said.

Night closed on the hitherto unremitting labours of the gallant crew. They had thus saved two hundred poor wretches, but upwards of two hundred remained on board when darkness made it impossible to remove them. Still, could they be left to perish, which they probably would if left alone? The slaver’s crew might return, and either attempt to land them, to keep them in captivity, or burn the ship, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the British. The risk of remaining was very great, but several officers volunteered. Orlo’s friend, Lieutenant —, claimed the privilege, and Orlo begged that he might remain with him. The last performance of the boats was to bring off some rice which had been found in the captured schooner, and cooked, thoughtfully, by the captain’s orders, in his coppers, in readiness for the liberated negroes. Plenty of men were ready to remain with Lieutenant —. Without this supply of food, few, probably, of the slaves on board would have survived the night; even as it was, many of those who were rescued died on their passage to the corvette, or on her decks. Lieutenant — and his brave companions had truly a night of trial. The wind increased, the surf roared louder and louder as it broke around them, the ship rolled and struck more and more violently, till it seemed impossible that she could hold together, while all this time the unhappy captives below were shrieking and crying out most piteously for help. Poor creatures! they knew not how to pray, or to whom to pray. They thought and believed, and not without reason, that a Fetish, or spirit of evil, had got possession of them, and was wreaking his malice on their heads. Orlo gladly, by the lieutenant’s orders, went frequently below to try and comfort them, and to assure them that by the return of daylight fresh efforts would be made for their rescue. Still great indeed were their sufferings. Many, both men, women, and children, died during that fearful night, from wet, cold, fear, and hunger, as they sat, still closely packed on the slave deck. Orlo’s kind heart made him suffer almost as much as they were doing—the more so that he felt how little could be done to relieve them.

At length the morning dawned, when it was found that the ship had driven considerably farther in towards the beach. As daylight broke, people were seen collecting on the shore; their numbers increased; they were gesticulating violently. Did they come to render assistance to their perishing fellow-countrymen? No; led on by the miscreant whites who had formed the crew of the slave ship, and deceived by their falsehoods, they had come to attempt the recapture of the ship. The corvette had, of necessity, stood off-shore for the night. Lieutenant —, hoisting a signal of distress, prepared to defend the prize to the last. He examined the shore anxiously. The slaver’s crew and their black allies were bringing boats or canoes to launch, for the purpose of attacking the ship. Should the wretches succeed, he knew that his life and that of all his companions would be sacrificed.

At length the corvette was seen working up under all sail. She approached; her anchor was dropped, and her boats, being lowered, pulled in towards the wreck. As they got near, the people on shore, balked in their first project, opened a hot fire of musketry on them. The boats had not come unarmed. The larger ones were immediately anchored, and, each having a gun of some weight, opened a hot fire on the beach. This was more than the slave-dealers had bargained for. They were ready enough to kill others, but had no fancy to be killed themselves. Several times the blacks took to flight, but were urged back again by the white men, till, some of the shot taking effect on them, the beach was at last cleared.

The wreck was now again boarded. Lieutenant — and his men were found almost worn out; the hold was full of water, and the ship was giving signs of breaking up. No time was to be lost. The larger boats anchored, as before, outside the rollers, and, by means of the smaller ones, communication by ropes being established, the negroes were, a few at a time, hauled through the surf. Many were more dead than alive, and several died before they reached the corvette. Some were brought up by their companions dead, and many were the heartrending scenes where fathers and mothers found that they had lost their children, husbands their wives, or children their parents. Orlo had held out bravely all the night, but his strength, towards the morning, gave way, and Lieutenant —, seeing his condition, directed that he should be carried back to the corvette, which he reached in an almost unconscious state.

This living cargo was composed of all ages. There were strong men and youths, little boys, women, young girls, and children, and several mothers with infants at their breasts. How fondly and tenderly the poor creatures pressed them there, and endeavoured to shelter them from the salt spray and cold! Fully two hundred were carried on board the corvette during the morning, and it was found that the immortal spirits of nearly fifty of those who had been left on board during the night had passed away. The last poor wretch being rescued, the wreck was set on fire, both fore and aft; the flames burst quickly forth, surrounding the masts, from which still floated that flag which, professing to be the flag of freedom, has so often protected that traffic which has carried thousands upon thousands of the human race into hopeless and abject slavery. The seamen instinctively gave a cheer as they saw it disappear among the devouring flames.

The labours of Captain Fisher and his brave crew were not over. They had to provide food and shelter for fully four hundred of the rescued negroes. Rice, as before, was boiled, and cocoa was given them, and those who most required care were clothed and carried to the galley fire to warm. Among the last rescued was a young woman with a little boy, on whom all her care was lavished. Though herself almost perished, before she would touch food she fed him, and when some clothing was given her she wrapped it round him. She had been found in the fore part of the ship in an almost fainting condition, where she had remained unnoticed, apparently in a state of stupor, with her little boy pressed to her heart. Orlo had been placed under the doctor’s care. It was not till the next morning that he was allowed to come on deck, where his services were at once called into requisition as interpreter. Though unacquainted with the language of many of the tribes to which the captives belonged, he was generally able to make himself understood. A sail had been spread over part of the deck, beneath which the women and young children were collected. The doctor, when about to visit it, called Orlo to accompany him, as interpreter. Among them, sitting on the deck, and leaning against a gun carriage, with her arm thrown round the neck of a little boy, was a young woman, though wan and ill, still possessing that peculiar beauty occasionally seen among several of the tribes of Africa. Orlo fixed his eyes on her; his knees trembled; he rushed forward; she sprang up, uttering a wild shriek of joy, and his arms were thrown around her. He had found his long lost Era and their child. “Ah! God hear prayer; I know now!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Wife soon be Christian, and child. God berry, berry good!”

Happily, the next morning the corvette fell in with another man-of-war, between which and the schooner the rescued slaves being distributed, all three made sail for Sierra Leone. The blacks were there landed, and ground given them on which to settle. Orlo begged that he and Era and their child might also be there set on shore. He did not go empty-handed, for, besides pay and prize-money, generously advanced him by his captain, gifts were showered on him both by his officers and messmates, and he became one of the most flourishing settlers in that happy colony. At length, however, wishing once more to see his own people, and to assist in spreading the truth of the Gospel, which he had so sincerely embraced, among them, he removed to Abbeokuta, where, with his wife now a Christian woman, and surrounded by a young Christian family, he is now settled, daily setting forth, by his consistent walk, the beauties and graces of the Christian faith.

Whenever any of his friends are in difficulties, he always says, “Ah! God hear prayer! You pray; never fear!”

Story 5—Chapter 1.

My First Command and how it ended. The Old Admiral’s Yarn.

I had been at sea about five years, and had seen some pretty hard service, when I was appointed to a dashing frigate, the Tiger, on the West India station. Our captain had never been accustomed to let the grass grow on his ship’s bottom, and he took good care to keep that of the Tiger pretty clean. Those were stirring times. England was engaged in a fierce war, both by sea and by land, with the larger proportion of the civilised nations in the world, and it was more easy to find an enemy than a friend wherever we sailed. I cannot say that we had any complaint to make with that state of things, as we came off generally the victors, and made lots of prize-money. The more of the latter we got the more we wanted, and we spent it as lavishly as if there would be no end of it. We had taken several prizes, when we received notice that a large French privateer was in those seas, committing a good deal of havoc among our merchantmen. It is said that everything is fair in love and war—in war, it may be the case; in love, nothing is fair that is not straightforward and honourable. Our captain considered that stratagem in war was, at all events, allowable, and he used to disguise the frigate in so wonderful a way, that even we ourselves, at a little distance, should not have known her. By this means many an unwary craft fell into our clutches. One day we lay becalmed, with our seemingly black and worn sails hanging against the masts, our ports concealed by canvas, painted to represent the weather-beaten sides of a big merchantman, our yards untrimmed, and all our rigging slack. At length a breeze was seen coming towards us, bringing up a large ship. When the stranger was within a couple of miles the wind fell. We were soon convinced that our trap was well baited, for we saw the stranger lower three boats, which came rapidly towards us. We, in the meantime, lowered three others, well armed and ready at a moment’s notice to pull off in chase, when the enemy should discover his mistake. Not, however, till the Frenchmen were close up to us, did they find out that we were not what we appeared. We saw by their gestures of astonishment that they suspected all was not right. Before, however, they had time to pull round, our boats were after them. I was in one of them. We were alongside in two minutes—they attempted to defend themselves; they had better have been quiet; a few were knocked overboard and hauled in by our fellows, and all three boats were taken. We found that we had got the captain and second and third officers of the stranger among our prisoners, and that she was the privateer of which we were in search. The Frenchmen frantically tore their hair, and swore terribly at us for the trick we had played them. “Ah! you perfides Anglais, had we been on board our ship, you would not have taken us so easily,” exclaimed the French captain. “Then, sir, you are welcome to go back and fight it out!” answered our captain. “All, morbleu lion!” cried the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, “I know what sort of fellows you are in this frigate, and I would rather stay where I am with a whole skin than return to be riddled by your shot. If my ship escapes, though, do not blame me.”

“Certainly not; but I have no intention that she shall escape!” said our captain, with a bow, directly afterwards ordering all the boats ahead to tow us towards the enemy. They pulled on till we got her well within range of our guns, when the painted canvas being cleared away, we opened fire. In five minutes she hauled down her colours. We found on board the crew of a large English West Indiaman, captured that morning, and supposed not to be far off, though not in sight. Depend on it we whistled with right good will for a breeze. It came at length, and disguising ourselves as before, and having the French ensign over the English, we and our big prize made sail in chase. Greatly to our delight, the merchantman was seen standing boldly towards us, attracted by the firing. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the French prisoners—they would have done their best to warn her off had they dared, but they could only make grimaces at each other, and hurl low muttered curses on our heads, while their richly-laden prize was recovered by us. She was a West Indiaman—the Diana. I cannot say much for the beauty of the goddess of the night, for she was a huge wall-sided ship, capable of stowing away a vast quantity of sugar and molasses, articles much in request at the time in Europe. The French prize crew were being removed when the captain sent for me. My heart fluttered unusually. “Mr Brine, you have behaved very well, very well indeed, since you joined this ship, and I have much confidence in you,” he began. I bowed at the compliment—I had an idea that it was deserved, though I did not say so—I had done two or three things to be proud of, and I knew that I stood well in the captain’s opinion, although I was not yet a passed midshipman; “I accordingly place you in command of the Diana, more willingly than I should any other midshipman. You are to take her to Bristol or Plymouth, and remember that she is of no small value to us.” I thanked the captain for his good opinion of me, but begged to have a mate capable of navigating the ship, should I fall sick or lose my life; and I named Tony Fenwick, another midshipman, my junior, and a great chum of mine. I had an old follower, Paul Bott, who had been to sea with my father. His name was short, but he was a tall man. I asked if he also might come. The captain granted both my requests, and allowed me to pick out six other men for my crew. I felt wonderfully proud as I walked the deck of my first command, and certainly no two happier or better satisfied midshipmen could be found than Tony Fenwick and I, as we navigated the sugar-laden Diana across the Atlantic. We only wished that we could meet a letter of marque of our own size, which might attempt to interfere with us. What thought we of tempests or foes, the possibility of wreck or recapture? We both of us hoped soon to obtain our promotion, for those were the days when a post-captain of nineteen commanded one of the finest frigates in the navy, and had dared and done deeds as gallant as any which naval history can record, and requiring knowledge, judgment, and discretion, as well as bravery. Old heads were often worn on young shoulders, though there were plenty of harum-scarum fellows, as now, who did no good to themselves and much harm to others, whenever they chanced to be placed in command. We had a fine passage across the Atlantic—Cape Clear was sighted, and we expected, in a few days at most, to carry the Diana safe into port. Fenwick had the first watch on deck one morning—daylight had just broke when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, “A sail on the weatherbow—a large ship!” I heard Fenwick’s reply, and jumped on deck, for I always slept in my clothes ready for work. The stranger, we concluded, was probably an English cruiser. The Diana was kept accordingly on her course; still, not free from suspicion, we narrowly watched the stranger’s movements. I was looking in another direction, when I heard Tony utter a loud exclamation, not complimentary to the French, and looking round, when it was now too late to escape from her power, what was my annoyance to see the hated tricolour flying from the stranger’s peak! Still neither Tony nor I had any thought of yielding up our charge without a struggle. “She’s a big one to tackle, and we shall have a squeak for it at best!” observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance. All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have saved us. The men showed their opinion of what was to happen by slipping down one by one below, and putting on their best clothes, as sailors always do when they expect to fall into any enemy’s hands. I have known some to do so when they expect to be wrecked, with but little prospect of saving their lives. Now they had good reason for what they did, for the Frenchman, should they take our ship, were sure not to leave us more than we had on our backs, even if so much. All we could do to escape, we did, but in vain. Before long, we found ourselves under the guns of a French seventy-four, the Droits-de-l’Homme, one of the squadron, with troops on board, intended for the invasion of Ireland. With sad hearts, Tony Fenwick, Paul Bott, and most of our crew found ourselves conveyed on board our captor, which soon afterwards made sail for France. It was the winter season; the nights were long, the weather tempestuous. When near the coast, two sail were seen—large ships, supposed to be British; we devoutly hoped that they might prove so. The Droits-de-l’Homme made sail to escape them. Shortly afterwards two other ships were seen steering so as to cut her off from the land. They were undoubtedly enemies. Though surrounded, as they supposed, by foes, the Frenchmen made every attempt to escape, but fortune was against them. “We caught a Tartar t’other day—the Mounseers have caught half-a-dozen!” observed Tony, as we watched what was going on through one of the main-deck ports. A heavy squall, as he spoke, carried away the fore and main-top-masts. It was no easy matter for us to refrain from cheering at the accident, but the probability of getting a clout on our heads, and being sent below for our patriotism, kept us silent. “There’s no fear now, that before many hours are over we shall be under our own flag again,” whispered Tony to me. “The same mishap which has occurred to the Frenchman may befall our friends,” I answered. “There are but two frigates in sight, but I hope that they are more than a match for a French seventy-four.”

The Frenchmen were so busy with clearing away the wreck of the masts to be ready for their foes, that no one thought of us and the other English prisoners they had on board. The gale increased; the sea ran high; the English frigates were seen to be reefing topsails. “Why, they are not going to desert us, I hope!” exclaimed Tony. “No, no, they are getting under snugger canvas for more easy handling, depend on that,” I answered, laughing; “they are after us again—hurrah!” Before long the largest frigate approached, and suddenly hauling up, fired her broadside, which would have proved most destructive, had not the Droits-de-l’Homme hauled up likewise, the troops which were posted on the upper-deck and poop replying with a heavy discharge of musketry. Fortunately, perhaps, for us, though we did not consider it so at the time, one of the French officers thought of sending us to join the other prisoners in the cable tier, out of harm’s way. Most unwillingly we descended, though we should have run a great chance of having had our heads knocked off without the honour and glory. On getting below we found ourselves placed under guard, in almost total darkness. The big ship rolled and tumbled in a way which made it appear as if the waves alone would wrench her asunder; the great guns roared with greater frequency, the musketry rattled, the shot from the active frigates came crashing on board and tearing through the stout planks; there was the tramp of men bearing their wounded comrades below; their shrieks and groans, as the surgeons attempted in vain to operate on their shattered limbs; and the rush of water which came through the ports, with the fearful rolling of the ship. All these various sounds gave us an idea, and not a pleasant one, of the work going on above our heads. Now and then, too, louder reports and more terrific crashes told of guns bursting, and masts gone by the board. Hour after hour passed by, and still the fearful uproar continued. We prisoners would all of us rather have been on deck, notwithstanding the more than possibility of having our heads knocked off, than shut up in the dark, bilge-water smelling, stifling hold. “I say, these Frenchmen fight bravely, but I wish that they would give in; it would be wiser in them, and they must before long,” observed Fenwick, as he sat on a cask by my side, kicking his heels against the staves.

“All in good time,” I answered. “But consider that this ship carries more guns than the two frigates put together, and of heavier metal; and aboard here there are more than twice as many men as will be found between them. There will be a tough fight before we get our liberty, but we shall get it, never fear.” While we were speaking there was a cessation of firing. “Can she have struck?” was asked by many of our fellow-prisoners. We waited in breathless suspense. No intimation was given to us of what had occurred. “The frigates cannot have given up the fight, of that I am certain,” I exclaimed. “Maybe they have just hauled off to repair damages, and will be at it again,” suggested Paul.

He was right. Like the voice of a giant awaking out of sleep the big ship’s guns began again to roar forth, quickly followed by a duller sound, showing that her enemies were replying with as much energy as before. For long the battle raged furiously. How we unfortunates, like rats in a hole below, longed to be on deck, that we might see what was going forward! Again there was a cessation of firing. What could have happened? Had the Frenchman struck? That either of the English frigates had done so of course none of us would believe. It was a time of awful suspense to us all. One thing was certain, that though the battle might have ceased the war of the elements was raging more furiously than ever. From the way the ship rolled it was evident that she was dismasted. Various sounds, the cause of which seamen alone could understand, were heard. “I suspects, sir, as how we’re in shoal water; they’ve let go an anchor,” said Paul, calmly, though he knew full well the peril of our position. “But it doesn’t hold, d’ye see, sir.” Signal guns were heard. A few minutes passed, to most of us the time appeared far longer. A dull, ominous roaring sound reached even to our ears down in the depths of the ship. “We are among the breakers!” I sung out, jumping from my seat; and scarcely were the words out of my mouth when a cry was heard from above, and words of compassion reached our ears. “Pauvres Anglais! pauvres Anglais! Montez bien vites; nous sommes tous perdus!” The sentinel rushed from his post and we prisoners sprang on deck. Fenwick and I, with Paul and a few others, stopped, however, to help the more weak and helpless, for among them were women and children, unable to take care of themselves. The early dawn, as we reached the deck, revealed a scene of horror rarely equalled: breakers on every side, the masts gone, the decks slippery with human gore, and the ship driving to destruction. At a little distance lay one of the English frigates, the surf breaking over her, her fate sealed. The other was observed standing off from the Penmark Rocks, which threatened her with instant destruction. “Can she be saved?” asked Fenwick, for, in spite of our own danger, we had been intently watching her. “If her sticks stand and she is well handled; if not, Heaven have mercy on the souls of all on board, for their condition will be worse than ours!” I said, in a sad tone. “The people in the other frigate, already on shore, are badly enough off, but the sea as yet does not appear to break heavily over her.”

“As it will, howsom’dever, over us, before the world’s a minute older,” cried Paul; “I’ve been cast ashore more than once with your honoured father, Mr Brine, and the advice he gave us was, ‘Lads, hold on to the wreck till the time comes for getting ashore.’ He wished to say, ‘Don’t let the sea take you off the wreck if you can help it, but just hold on till you see that you have a fair chance of setting foot on land in safety.’”

This advice was not thrown away. In another instant a terrific shock was felt; the wild seas dashed furiously over the huge wreck; shrieks arose from every part of the ship; horror and dismay were depicted on the countenances of all around us. As the foaming waters came rushing over the decks many were swept helplessly away.

We and our men kept together, holding fast by the upper bulwarks. We could make out clearly a village on shore, and crowds of people, who lined the beach but were unable to render us any assistance. There were no lifeboats in those days, no apparatus for carrying ropes to a stranded ship; boats were indeed launched by the hardy fishermen, but were quickly dashed to pieces against the rocks. Rafts were built, but those who ventured on them were swept off by the furious seas. Others tried, by swimming, to convey a rope from the ship to the shore, but in vain. Thus the day closed, and a night of horrors commenced, during which numbers were washed away. Still my companions and I kept our posts. All this time not a particle of food could be obtained, as the hold was under water. Paul had observed a small boat uninjured. He told me of it; I undertook to carry a line safely by her to the shore. Fenwick and Paul agreed to accompany me, and we had no lack of other volunteers among our men. At low water we three, with seven others, stood ready to launch her. We allowed a heavy sea to roll by, “Now in with her, boys, and give way,” I shouted. Through the boiling cauldron we pulled. None, indeed, but stout-hearted British seamen could have made way in such troubled waters. Sea upon sea came rolling on after us. On the summit of one we reached the beach. Before another sea could follow we had leaped out and dragged our boat high up above the power of the waters. We set to work, and had the satisfaction of saving the lives of several of the French crew; but, unhappily, the rope parted, and in vain we endeavoured to secure another.

A second night passed—a third came, and few were saved. We remained on the beach to afford all the aid in our power to those still on the wreck. What occurred on board was not known to us till afterwards. The Frenchmen endeavoured to launch one of their largest boats, but discipline was at an end. In vain the officers ordered the men to keep back—it was right that the sick and wounded should first be removed. No one obeyed; a hundred and fifty men crowded into her. They shoved off, a sea rushed on, they were hid from view; the shattered boat and their lifeless corpses alone reached the shore. Eight hundred human beings, it is supposed, had by this time perished. Those few who now reached the shore, aided chiefly, I have a right to boast, by my party, reported the dreadful condition of the remainder. Numbers were dying of hunger; the decks were covered with corpses; expedients too horrible to be believed for sustaining life had been proposed. A fourth day came, and with it a more serene sky. The sea went down. “A sail! a sail!” A man-of-war brig and an armed cutter appeared. Their boats quickly approached, but the sea still broke so violently over the wreck that they were unable to get alongside. The famishing survivors, therefore, constructed some rafts, to be towed off by the boats, but many of those who ventured on them were swept away by the surf. About a hundred and fifty were, however, conveyed on board the brig that evening, leaving still nearly four hundred human beings on the wreck to endure a sixth night of horrors. The sufferings of many were more than human endurance could sustain, and next morning, when the men-of-war’s boats returned, half of the hapless beings were found dead. We, meantime, when our services could be of no further avail, found ourselves, being in an enemy’s country, marched off as prisoners; but I am bound to say that we were treated with the greatest kindness by the French. The spot where the wreck occurred was, we found, the Bay of Audierne, and the town near it that of Plouzenec. Here we met part of the officers and crew of the British thirty-six-gun frigate, Amazon, which had been wrecked with us. Her whole ship’s company (six men only excepted, who had stolen the cutter and were drowned) had, by means of rafts, landed in safety by nine a.m. of the morning the frigate went on shore. This might have been partly owing to the position of the ship, but more particularly to the admirable discipline maintained on board. We rejoiced to find that the other frigate, which was the Indefatigable, of forty-four guns, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, had escaped the danger which threatened her. Fenwick and I were sighing over the prospect of our expected captivity, and the destruction of all our hopes of promotion, when the captain of the French ship, who had been among the last to leave the wreck, sent for us, and, complimenting us on our behaviour, assured us that as we had been fellow-sufferers with him and his people, we and our men might rely on being liberated without delay. To our great joy we and our companions were shortly afterwards placed on board a cartel and sent to England without ransom or exchange, an act of generosity on the part of the French worthy of note.

Story 6—Chapter 1.

Our First Prize—A Yarn.

Away on her course, before a strong north-easterly breeze, flew her Majesty’s brig Gadfly. Every stitch of canvas she could carry was set, each sail was well trimmed, each brace hauled taut, and it might have been supposed that we were eager to reach some port where friends and pleasure awaited us. But it was far otherwise. We were quitting England and our home, that spot which contains all a seaman holds most dear, and were bound for a land of pestilence and death, the little delectable coast of Africa, to be employed for the next three years in chasing, capturing, or destroying, to the best of our power and ability, all vessels engaged in the traffic of human flesh. We touched at the Azores, and reached Sierra Leone, the chief port on that station, without meeting with any adventure worth relating. We remained there a week to wood and water, to perform which operations we shipped a dozen stout Kroomen. These people come from a province south of Sierra Leone, and are employed on board all vessels on that coast to perform such occupations as would too much expose Europeans to the heat of the sun. They are an energetic, brave, lively set of fellows, and very trustworthy; indeed, I do not know how we should have got on without them. They work very hard, and when they have saved money enough to buy themselves one or more wives, according to their tastes, they return to their own country to live in ease and dignity. As they generally assume either the names of the officers with whom they have served, or of some reigning prince or hero of antiquity, it is extraordinary what a number of retired commanders and lieutenants, not to speak of higher dignitaries, are to be found in Krooland. Sierra Leone has been so often described that I will not attempt to draw a picture of its romantic though deceitful beauties. Its blue sky and calm waters, its verdant groves and majestic mountains, its graceful villas and flowering shrubs, put one in mind of a lovely woman who employs her charms to beguile and destroy those who confide in her.

On turning to my log, I find that on the —, at dawn, we unmoored ship, and under all plain sail ran out of the river of Sierra Leone. As soon as we were clear of the land we shaped a course for the mouth of the Sherbro River, a locality notorious for its numerous slave depots. On our way thither we chased several sail, but some of them got off altogether, and others proved to be either British cruisers, foreign men-of-war, or honest traders; so that not a capture of any sort or kind did we make. It was for no want of vigilance, however, on our part; early and late, at noon and at night, I was at the masthead on the look-out for a sail. I knew that if I did not set a good example of watchfulness, others would be careless; for I held the responsible post, with all the honour and glory attached to it, of first lieutenant of the Gadfly.

“Mr Rawson,” said the captain one day to me, in a good-natured tone, as I was walking the quarter-deck with him, “you will wear yourself out by your never-ceasing anxiety in looking out for slavers. There may be some, but my opinion is that they are a great deal too sharp-sighted to let us catch them in the brig. We may chance to get alongside one now and then in the boats and up the rivers, but out here it’s in vain to look for them.”

He was new to the coast, and the climate had already impaired his usual energy.

“Never fear, sir,” I answered; “we may have a chance as well as others; and at all events it shall not be said that we did not get hold of any slavers for want of looking for them.”

The next day we made the land about the mouth of the Sherbro River, and had to beat up against as oppressive a wind as I ever recollect experiencing. One is apt to fancy that the sky and water in that climate must always be blue. Now, and on many other occasions, instead of there being any cerulean tints in any direction, the sky was of a dirty copper tinge, or rather such as is seen spread out like a canopy over London on a calm damp day in November; while the sea, which rolled along in vast and sluggish undulations, looked as if it was formed of sheets of lead of the same hue. Looking astern, one almost expected to see the wake we ploughed up remaining indelible as on a hard substance. Over the land hung a mist of the same brownish-yellow hue, hiding everything but the faint outline of the coast.

“This is what I call a right-down regular Harmattan,” said the master, who, like me, had been before in that delectable clime. The rest of the officers were new to it. “It will put the purser’s whiskers in curl if he gives them a turn round with a marline-spike. Don’t you smell the earthy flavour of the sands of Africa?”

“In truth I think I do,” said Jenkins, the second lieutenant, one of a group who were collected on the weather side of the quarter-deck. “I can distinguish the lions’ and boa-constrictors’ breath in it, too, if I’m not mistaken. Not much of Araby’s spicy gales here, at all events.”

“Blue skies, and verdant groves, and spicy gales sound very pretty in poetry, but very little of them do we get in reality,” said the master. “And when there is a blue sky there’s such a dreadfully hot sun peeps out of it, that one feels as if all the marrow in one’s bones was being dried up. But this won’t last long. We shall have a change soon.”

“Glad you think so,” observed Jenkins; “I’m tired of this already.”

“I didn’t say the change would be for the better,” answered the master. “We may have a black squall come roaring up from off the land, and take our topsails out of the bolt-ropes, or our topmasts over the side, before we know where we are, if you don’t keep a bright look-out for it; and we shall have the rainy season beginning in earnest directly, and then look out for wet jackets.”

“A pleasant prospect you give us, Smith,” said I. “I wish I could draw a better, but my experience won’t let me differ from you.”

The fog and the heat continued, and the wind, which put one in mind of the blast of a furnace, was equally steady, so, that we slowly beat up till we got close in-shore. It was dark when we made our approach to the mouth of the Sherbro, and when we were off it we furled everything, and let the vessel go where she might, in the hopes that should there be a slaver inside ready to sail she might take the opportunity of running out while the land-wind lasted, and, not seeing us, might fall into our clutches. Every light was dowsed on board, and the bells were even not allowed to be struck. There we lay, like a log on the water, or, as Jenkins said, like a boa-constrictor ready to spring on its prey. Besides the regular look-outs, we had plenty of volunteer eyes peering into the darkness, in hopes of distinguishing an unsuspecting slaver. We of course kept the lead at the bottom, to mark the direction we were driving; but we did not move much, as the send of the sea on shore was counteracted by the wind blowing off it. Everybody made sure of having a prize before morning. Jenkins said he was certain of having one, and the master was very sanguine. The first watch passed away, and nothing appeared, but neither of them would go below.

“I think we must have driven too much to the southward,” said Jenkins to the master, growing impatient. “The written orders for the night are to hold our position. Don’t you think we had better make sail back again?”

“What! and show our whereabouts to the slaver, if there is one?” answered the master. “Besides, we haven’t driven the sixteenth of a mile, except off-shore; and there isn’t much odds about that. Hark! did not you hear some cries coming from in-shore of us?”

We listened, but if sounds there were they were not repeated; and as Jenkins had the middle watch, I turned in, desiring to be called if anything occurred. I was on deck again just as the light of day was struggling into existence through the heavy canopy which hung over us; and as the sun, which must have been rising in the heavens, got higher, so the mass of vapour over the land increased in density and depth. At first it hung just above the mangrove bushes, and we could see the tops of a few lofty palm-trees on shore, and some distant mountains popping their heads above it; but by degrees they and the whole scene before us were immersed in it.

The people’s breakfast was just over when the captain came on deck.

“No success, Mr Rawson, last night,” said he. “We’ll try my plan now. I’m convinced that there must be slavers up that river; so we’ll send the cutter and pinnace up to look after them. Desire Mr Jenkins to be prepared to take the command of them, and let Mr Johnston go also.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” I answered. “Shall I get the boats ready, sir?”

“Yes, you may, at once,” was the answer.

And the boats’ crews were soon busily engaged in making the necessary arrangements for their departure. With three cheers from the ship, away they pulled towards the mouth of the Sherbro. We watched them anxiously; for although the wind was off-shore, the swell which rolled in threw up a heavy surf on the bar, which at times makes the entrance to that river very dangerous. There was, however, every probability of Jenkins finding a smooth place to get across, and if not, he was ordered to return.

The crews gave way with a will, and the boats flew across the dark, slow, heaving undulations, now on the summit of one of the leaden rises, and now lost to view from the deck. At last they reached the irregular line of white foam, which danced up glittering and distinct against the dark mass of land and fog beyond. Into it they seemed to plunge, and we saw no more of them, for the wall of breakers and the height of the swell entirely shut out all view beyond. With hearty wishes for the safety of our shipmates, we hoisted the topsails and ran off the land.

When we had run some eight or ten miles by the log, it came on a dead calm, and there we lay, rolling and tumbling about, as the master said, like a crab in a saucepan, without being able to help ourselves. At length it cleared up a little in the north-west, and a line of whitish sky was seen under the copper. The line increased in size and blueness, till our topsails were filled with a fine strong breeze from that quarter. The brig was then kept away, in order to run down to the southernmost extremity of our station.

I had just gone aloft to have a look round, when my eye fell on a sail broad on our starboard bow, which, from the size of her royals, just appearing above the horizon, I judged to be a large square-rigged vessel. I descended to the cabin to inform the captain, and to ask leave to make sail in chase.

“What, another of your phantom slavers, Rawson?” he answered, laughing. “Make sail, by all means; but I’m afraid we shall not be much the wiser.”

Hauling up a little, I soon had every stitch of canvas on the brig which she could carry, with starboard fore-topmast studding-sails. We drew rapidly on the chase, and in half-an-hour could see nearly down to her topsails. The breeze freshened, and we went through the water in earnest.

“A thumping brig; there’s no doubt about it,” said the master. “Observe the rakish cut of her sails; one can almost smell the niggers on board her.”

“She’s carrying on, too, as it she was in a hurry to get away from us,” I remarked.

“So she is,” said the captain, coming on deck. “But it strikes me that those slave-dealers generally send faster craft to sea than she appears to be. It’s only some of your wise governments who don’t care about the slavers being caught who send out slow-coaches, which are fit for nothing but carrying timber.”

“Then why should she be in such a hurry?” I observed.

“A sail right ahead!” sang out the man at the mast-head.

“Because she’s in chase of something else,” remarked the captain, laughing. “Hand me the glass. I thought so. What do you make out of that ensign which has just blown out at her peak?”

I took a look through the telescope.

“A Yankee brig, sir,” I exclaimed, in a tone of vexation. “I should not wonder but what she is an American man-of-war, after all.”

Well, though it must be owned that the Yankees can build fine and fast ships when they wish to do so, and want them to go along, I must say that the chase sailed as badly as any ship-of-war I ever met. We came up with her hand-over-hand, and we were soon sufficiently near to exchange signals, when we made out that she was the United States brig-of-war the Grampus, in chase of a suspicious-looking craft to the southward.

Exchanging a few courteous expressions with the American captain, who stood on the weather side of the poop eyeing us with a look of envy, we passed rapidly by him.

“If you make yon stranger a prize, I think we ought to go shares,” he said, laughing. “We sighted her first.”

“You shall have the whole of her if you overhaul her first,” answered our captain.

“Then I calculate we may as well give in, for your legs are a tarnation deal longer than ours, it seems.”

The sun, which now shone forth for a brief space, glittered on the bright copper of the brig as she lifted to the send of the sea, and the foam flew over her bows and washed fore and aft along her dingy sides as she tore through the water; but it would not do, the little Gadfly laughed her to scorn, and, as we headed her, seemed impudently to kick up her heels at her in contempt at her slow ways. We were not long in coming up with the chase, nor in making out by the cut of her canvas, her short yards, and heavy-looking hull, that she was no slaver. As soon as we fired a gun, and hoisted our ensign and pennant, she hove-to, and on sending a boat on board we found that she was the Mary Jane, of Bristol, a steady-going old African trader. She had been carrying sail, both because she was on her right course, and because she could not tell but what the Grampus might be a slaver or pirate, anxious to overhaul her.

The master, who was a very civil old fellow, came on board, and gave us some valuable suggestions. He had witnessed some of the horrors of the middle passage, and was a strong advocate for the abolition of the slave-trade.

“Africa will never improve while it exists, and it will exist as long as people find it profitable, and the governments of the world either encourage it or only take half measures to abolish it. I am sorry to own, too, that people nearer home gain too much by it to withstand the temptation of assisting those engaged in it, and I know for certain that many English merchants have account-currents with slave-dealers, and send their vessels out here full of goods expressly for them.”

I afterwards found that what he said was perfectly true. After taking some luncheon with us, he tumbled into his boat and stood on his course, while we hauled our wind to return to the northward.

“We have not made our first prize yet, Rawson,” said the captain, as I took dinner with him in his cabin that day.

“No, sir; but I hope we soon shall,” I replied. “Better luck next time!”

As chance would have it, just after sunset we again fell in with the Grampus, and passed close to her.

“You didn’t find many woolly heads on board that ’ere craft, I calculate?” said a voice from the main rigging, followed by a loud laugh from several persons.

“No,” I answered, indignantly, thinking of the conversation with the master of the Mary Jane. “But there’s a time coming when your people will bitterly regret that woolly heads or slavery exists in your country, and will wish that you long ago had done your best to abolish it. Good night, gentlemen!”

There was no answer, and we rapidly flew by each other.

For two or three days we cruised about as unsuccessful as before, the weather continuing fine; but the sky giving indubitable signs of the approach of the stormy and rainy season, we beat back along shore to pick up our boats. The wind had been veering about for some time, and at length seemed to have made up its mind to enjoy a stiffish blow out of the south-west. This, of course, would have kicked up a considerable surf on the bar, and as Jenkins had orders, as soon as he saw signs of such being the case, to come out and look out for us, we were in hourly expectation of falling in with the boats. We had, however, seen nothing of them, though we kept a very sharp look-out, and had almost got up to the mouth of the river, when, in the afternoon watch, I bethought me that by way of a change I would go aloft, and try if a fresh pair of eyes would see farther than those of the man stationed there. I had been up about five minutes, when my eye fell on the white canvas of a largish vessel standing along shore under easy sail. She had a most suspicious look; indeed, I felt convinced that she, at all events, was a slaver. I was on deck in an instant, and, hurrying into the captain’s cabin with a look of triumph, though I tried to be perfectly calm and unconcerned, I uttered the words, “A sail on the lee beam!”

“Very well, Mr Rawson. What does she look like?” said the captain.

“She’s a large topsail schooner, sir, and she’s without doubt a slaver,” I answered quite calmly, as a matter of course.

“What, another of your slavers?” he answered. “I’m afraid they’ll all turn out Flying Dutchmen.”

“Not this time, sir, I’m certain,” I replied. “Shall we make sail in chase?”

“Oh, certainly—certainly!” he replied. “I’ll be on deck immediately myself.”

I flew on deck, and, without waiting for him, sang out, in a cheery voice, to the boatswain, “Turn the hands up! Make sail!” The pipe sounded along the decks with a shriller sound than usual, I thought, and the news that a suspicious sail was in sight having already travelled below, the men were all ready, and flew aloft before the last sound of the order was given. The gear of the courses was overhauled whilst the topgallant-sails and royals were being loosed, and in a few seconds all plain sail was made on the brig. The stranger, who had not apparently before seen us, was not long in following our example. He set his foresail, topgallant-sail, and royal, gaff-topsail and flying-jib, in addition to the canvas he had been before carrying, and, putting down his helm, stood off-shore on a bowline, with the intention of crossing our bows. The reason of his doing this was, that to the northward a long and dangerous reef ran off from the shore, so that he had no other means of escape. We had him, indeed, partly embayed, and yet, if he was able to carry on, it was clear that he might still manage to get out ahead of us. The Gadfly sailed well, and carried her canvas admirably, but so did the stranger; and, by the way every sail on board her was set, it was evident he was in earnest in doing his best to weather on us.

“What do you think of that fellow now, sir?” I said, as the captain came on deck. “There’s no mistaking what she is.”

“Why, Rawson, I think you are right this time, at all events,” was the answer. “Stand by the royals, though. We must not carry the masts over the side; and she will go along as fast without them.”

I saw it was time, indeed, to take in our lighter canvas, for, as we were obliged to haul more up, the masts were bending like whips, and the green seas came washing in bodily to leeward, while the spray flew in sheets over our weather bulwarks. The day wore on, and evening was fast approaching, with every prospect of a dirty night; the wind was increasing, and dark masses of clouds came rolling up from the south-west, and flying over in the opposite quarter, though as they came on faster than they disappeared, the sky overhead soon got pretty full of them. The stranger, meantime, was carrying on in gallant style—not an inch of anything did he slack. He seemed to think that it was neck or nothing with him. It must be understood that while his course was about west, and that nothing off that could he venture to go, we were able to keep rather more away. There was no chance, however, of our getting him under our guns before dark, when he, of course, would do his best to double on us. It was an exciting time, and even the most apathetic on board would not go below. We were longing to get near enough to give her a shot or two with any probability of hitting her. All this time the sea was getting up, and as she was evidently a sharp, shallow vessel, this much impeded her progress. Instead of, as when we first saw her, gliding gently through the waves, or putting them gracefully aside with her bows, she now rose and fell as they passed under her, and hammered away at them as she strove to make her onward progress.

We caught one bright gleam of the sun on her copper as she lifted on the top of a wave, just as the glowing orb of day sank into the water, and in a few minutes darkness would cover the face of the deep. Now was to come the tug of war, or rather, the trial of our patience. The moon had not yet risen, although it soon would, but, in the meantime, she might tack and stand away to the southward, or she might pass ahead of us.

“Try her with a shot, Mr Rawson,” said the captain. “If we could hull her, the fellow would heave-to.”

“I would prefer knocking away some of her wings, and thus secure her, rather than trust to such slippery gentry,” I thought, as I elevated one of the lee guns and fired.

The shot went over her or between her masts, for no damage was done. It showed, however, that she was within range.

“Have another slap at her,” said the captain. “But I do not think there’s much chance of hitting her with the sea we have on.”

This time the gunner took aim, but with no better success. Another and another shot was fired with the same want of result, and nothing seemed in any way to daunt the chase. Darkness had now come on in earnest, and we could just distinguish the schooner’s sails through the gloom. A number of sharp eyes were kept on her, though they at times almost lost sight of her, and the dark clouds which hung overhead, to increase our difficulties, every now and then sent down deluges of rain, which still more impeded our prospect. After some time the captain, who had been below, returned on deck.

“Whereabouts is the chase, Mr Rawson?” he asked.

“Right away under the lee cat-head,” I answered, “She was there a moment ago.”

I looked again. She was nowhere to be seen. I flew to the binnacle; we had not in any way altered our course.

“Provoking enough,” observed the captain, coolly. “But I thought it would be so.”

I had nothing to say in return, but I did not despair of seeing her again.

“She must have tacked,” said the captain, “and hopes to get away to the southward of us before the morning.”

“I think not, sir,” I answered. “I suspect she’ll hold her course; for, when last seen, she was drawing near us, and she hopes to pass ahead of us in the dark; but if we can but get a gleam of moonlight to show us her whereabouts, we may yet clip her wings for her before she gets away from us.”

Almost as I was speaking, the moon rose above the waters undimmed by a cloud, its pale light revealing the schooner just where I expected her to be. A cheer burst from the lips of many of the anxious watchers.

“Now or never is the time to knock some of her spars away!” I thought, “Shall we give her another shot, sir?” I asked of the captain.

“Yes; you may give her a broadside, Mr Rawson, and slap it into the fellow’s hull. He deserves no mercy at our hands. But stay; we might run the chance of killing some of the unfortunate blacks who may be below.”

Going round to the guns, I elevated them as much as possible, and told the captains to try and hit her masts. The order was given to fire as each gun could be brought to bear. No easy task, let me observe, for so much did the brig heel over, that the men in the waist were up to their knees nearly all the time in water. It was a night to try the mettle of fellows, and none could behave better than did outs. The wind howled and whistled as it rushed through the rigging, the waves roared and splashed as we dashed through them, and threw their white crests over us, the masts seemed to bend, and the hull to utter unusual groans of complaint as we tasked her powers to the utmost. Darkness was around us, an enemy at hand, and a dangerous short, under our lee; but all hands laughed and joked with the most perfect unconcern. Again the moon was obscured, and on we tore through the foaming waters. There was no use in firing, for no aim could then be taken. Once more the clouds cleared away, and the moonbeams shone on the hull and sails of the schooner with all her canvas set, just about to cross our fore foot.

“Now’s your time, my men!” I sang out, as I sprung forward, luffing up at the same time, so as to get our broadside to bear on her.

The foremost gun was the first fired, followed by the others in succession. Nothing daunted, the fellow was holding on, his jib-halyards alone having been carried away, and the jib was slashing about under his bows.

“By Jupiter! he’ll weather on us now, if we don’t take care and slip away in the wind’s eye,” I exclaimed.

The captain thought so too; and again ordering me to fire right at her hull, a yaw was given, and gun after gun as they were brought to bear was poured into the slaver. The effects of the shot made her fly up into the wind. Several of her braces and halyards were cut away, and, she now nearly a wreck, we in a few minutes were close aboard her. “Hands, shorten sail.” In three seconds Her Majesty’s brig was under topsails, hove-to alongside her prize.

“Mr Rawson,” said the captain, addressing me, “there will be some difficulty in boarding that vessel, and I wish that you would go in the gig and take possession of her. She is our first prize, remember, and it would not do to let her slip through our fingers.”

“Ay, ay, sir. Gig’s crew away, then?” I sung out, as I stepped to the binnacle to take the bearings of the schooner from us. Luckily I did so, for we could only then just distinguish her, and a dark mass of clouds driving across the moon shut her out completely from our sight. “Bear a hand there, and lower away the gig!” I sung out, for I was anxious to shove off before the brig entirely lost her way through the water.

It was not particularly pleasant work in the heavy sea there was running having to grope about in the dark for a craft manned probably by desperadoes, who would be too happy to cut our throats if they had the opportunity. I had a brace of pistols, and a few cutlasses had been thrown into the boat. Thus prepared we cast off, and the men bent bravely to their oars as the boat topped the heavy seas over which we had to pass. The brig showed a light for us to steer by, but the schooner was in no way so civil. On we pulled, however, in the hope of hitting her, but though we had gone over fully the distance I calculated she must have been from us, yet nothing of her could we see. I was almost in despair, and as while looking for her I could not attend carefully to the boat’s steering we shipped two or three heavy seas, which almost swamped her, and we had to bale them out as fast as we could. For some time the men lay on their oars, just keeping the boat’s head to the seas while we looked round for the chase.

“She has gone! The rascal took the opportunity of the last shower to sneak off,” I thought. “Pleasant. But patience; c’est la fortune de la guerre.”

Disconsolate enough I was steering back for the faint glimmer of light which I believed proceeded from the lantern on board the Gadfly, when I fancied I heard the loud flapping of a sail near us. I looked earnestly into the darkness.

“There she is, sir,” sung out the coxswain.

“You’re right. Give way, my boys,” I cried; and in a few minutes we were alongside the schooner.

Not a rope was thrown to us, nor was any assistance offered, so we had to scramble on board as best we could. It was fortunate that we met with no resistance, from which we afterwards found we had had a narrow escape, when all our lives would have been sacrificed. As we leaped down on board over the bulwarks we found only one man on deck, on the after-part of which he was walking by himself, evidently in a furious rage, by the manner in which he cursed and gesticulated. As the light of the lantern fell on his countenance I thought I had never seen one with a more diabolical expression. He was a little man, slightly built, with dark weather-beaten, and sharp features, excessively ugly. His eyes were small, but black as jet, and I fancied that I could see them twinkling even in the dark. The crew had all been sent below, but we soon roused them up, twenty in number; fierce, cut-throat-looking villains most of them were. The between-decks we found crowded with slaves; and we found, when we came to count them, that there were three hundred men, women, and children, so closely packed that they could not lie down even to rest. They had suffered dreadfully during the chase, with the fright and heat, and from having the hatches battened down. Our first business was to shorten sail, which we made the Spaniards and Portuguese who formed the crew go aloft to do; and we then edged the schooner down to where the brig was, and lay-to close to her.

The master of the slaver, when at length he became convinced that there was no help for what had occurred, grew more calm, and he then told me that everything he had in the world was embarked on board that craft, that he had set his canvas and made every sheet and tack fast, when, sending all his people below, the hatches being battened down, he himself had taken the helm, determined to weather us or to run his vessel under water.

“I should have escaped, too,” he continued, “if your cursed shot had not carried away my topsails while all the hands were below. A quarter of an hour more and you might have looked for me in vain.”

I did not tell him how nearly we were missing him after all; indeed I had enough to do to watch him and his crew, and to see that they did not play us any trick. All the men I confined in the fore peak, after securing all the arms I could find, while I allowed him to turn into his own berth, where he slept, or pretended to sleep. I never passed a more anxious night, what with the stench and the groans of the wretched slaves, and the risk of a crew of desperadoes rising on us. We kept, however, as close to the Gadfly as we could, and hailed every time the bell was struck, to say all was right. Towards morning the wind moderated and the sea went down, and at daylight a prize crew came on board to set the schooner to rights. This we were not long in doing, as her damages were slight, and such as, had the slaver’s people been more determined, they might without difficulty have repaired. There was by that time merely a light breeze, and as soon as we got the canvas on the schooner we found that we could sail round and round the brig, so that it was fortunate we had managed to wing her before the sea went down, or we should have had no chance with her.

While the slave captain was still asleep, and the rest of his crew were below, one of the fellows shoved his head up the fore hatchway, and asked to speak with me. I told him to come aft, and I recognised him as a Portuguese whom I had taken once before in the West Indies. With an affrighted look he glanced towards the round-house on deck, where the captain was sleeping, and motioned me to come as far from it as possible.

“I have run every risk, senhor, to come and warn you of danger, in the hope that you will be lenient to us,” he began. “That man in there, senhor, is the very devil. Don’t you recollect him? You took him in the Andorinha, off the Havannah. He was really her master, though he pretended to be the mate.”

It had struck me from the first that I had seen the fellow’s face before, but I could not recollect where.

“Yes, I remember him,” I replied. “But what of that?”

“Why, senhor, you know what a desperate fellow he was then, and he has not altered. Even last night, when we rounded to to prevent your sinking us, he called us all aft, and asking us if we would stick by him, proposed heaving some shot into your gig as you came alongside, knocking you and your people on the head, and while your vessel was looking about to pick up the sinking boat, in the dark to try and slip away from you. He was in a furious rage when we would not consent. Some were afraid of the plan miscarrying, and of being caught notwithstanding, and hung for murder. Others were unwilling to kill you, as you never ill-treat your prisoners, of which number pray rank me, and while he was still urging his project you jumped on board. You had a narrow escape though, senhor, for he was nearly pistolling you as you appeared, to set us the example.”

So I felt, especially when I saw the diabolical-looking little villain soon after appear on deck. I promised the informer that I would not forget him, and would be on my guard, though I did not give him any credit for disinterested motives in mentioning what had occurred. I had no difficulty by daylight in recognising my friend the captain, nor shall I again forget his ugly mug in a hurry. He also saw that he was known, and had the impudence to claim me as an old acquaintance.

Everything being put to rights on board the schooner, I handed her over to a mate and the crew, who were to take her to Sierra Leone. Before leaving her, however, I had all the slaves up on deck, a third at a time, and had them washed and cleaned, as also the hold, as well as circumstances would allow. A great number of the poor wretches died before they reached their port; not on account of bad weather, or the length of the voyage, but from their having been a long time confined in the barracoons previously to their being embarked. The little captain and most of his crew, however, we sent on board the Gadfly, as it would not have been prudent to trust him in the schooner.

With a flowing sheet our first prize stood away for Sierra Leone, and three hearty cheers accompanied her on her course.

“We’ve not made a bad night’s work of it, master,” said I, as I sat down to breakfast with him.

“No,” he answered, “if the prize ever reaches her port.”

“Why should you think she will not?” I asked.

“It’s better not to be too sanguine. There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip,” was the reply.

“Too true an adage,” I felt. “I’m sure I’ve found it so in my course through life.”

We, meantime, stood in-shore to look for our boats. The night closed in without our meeting with them, till at length we became seriously alarmed for their safety. The next day, when just off the mouth of the Sherbro, two black objects were descried from the mast-head. We made towards them, and with no little satisfaction welcomed our shipmates on board. They had had hard work of it, with damp fogs or rain nearly half the time, and without having enjoyed any other shelter than such as the boats and a sail could afford. Poor Jenkins was ill with fever, as were several of the people, and they were for some time on the doctor’s list. We now shaped a course for Sierra Leone, to assist in the condemnation of our prize. We found her arrived there safe enough, and having been taken with slaves on board, there was no doubt of her capture being legal. We were not sorry to get rid of the little slave captain and his crew. He kept up his character to the last, and I never met a man so energetic and daring in doing evil. Before we left we discovered that he was trying to induce some other slave captains and their crews to join with him in cutting out a condemned slaver which lay in the harbour; but it appeared that they considered the risk of the undertaking too great to attempt it. He formed afterwards several other similar projects, and was finally shipped off to the Havannah as too dangerous a character to remain in the colony.

We afterwards captured a number of slavers, but none of them afforded us so much interest and gratification as the taking of our first prize.

Story 7—Chapter 1.

Cast away on a Sand-Bank: or, My Experiences of Life on the Ocean.

Midshipman wanted for a first-class India trader! “Oh! mother, that will just do for me!” I exclaimed. “Do let me go; I shall be back in no time, and have all sorts of yarns to tell you.” I pressed and pressed. My mother saw that I should do little good by remaining longer at school, or thought so at all events, and I gained my point. Within a month I found myself on board the good ship Betsey Blair, of six hundred tons, Captain Joseph Johns, master, gliding over the Atlantic at the rate of nine knots an hour, bound out to Singapore. We had two mates, a surgeon, two midshipmen besides myself, one of whom was making his first voyage, and three apprentices who had never before been to sea, with a crew, including the boatswain, of five-and-twenty hands. I did not find things quite as pleasant as I had expected, from reading “Tom Cringle’s Log” and Captain Marryat’s novels, and other romantic tales of the sea. Captain Johns was every inch a sailor. He told us midshipmen that he intended we should become sailors, and he began by sending us aloft the first calm day to black down the rigging and grease the masts. I began to go aloft with my span new uniform on. “No! no!” he said, calling me down, “the second mate will serve you out a shirt and trousers fit for that work.” The mates laughed and the men laughed also. I got the shirt and trousers, and spent a couple of hours aloft, making good use of tar-brush and grease-pot, till my clothes were as black as the rigging and as greasy as the masts. It was my first real lesson in the duty of a seaman. I am now much obliged to our worthy master. I mention it to show that the realities of a midshipman’s life on board a merchantman, if the captain does his duty, are not quite what young gentlemen anticipate.

We had a quick passage to Singapore. There discharging our cargo, which, from that important mart of the East, was distributed in small craft in all directions among the numberless islands of those seas, we got ready for our return home, having to call at Melbourne on our way. Having taken in our cargo, we polished up, and hearing that several passengers were coming on board, we midshipmen put on our best uniforms to receive them, flattering ourselves that, as the paint-brushes and polishing leathers had been kept going, we and the ship cut a very respectable appearance. Captain Johns was proud of his ship, and prouder still of keeping his crew in perfect order. We had several passengers, a Mr and Mrs Haliday and three children, a Mrs Burnett, Mrs Magnus, and a Mr Turner, a merchant. The ladies were going home, I believe, on account of health. My chief friend on board was the surgeon of the ship, Mr Gilbert. He was a young man, but very intelligent and scientific, and took a pleasure in imparting the information he possessed. There seemed thus every prospect of our having a pleasant voyage home. Mr Crawford was the first mate. I was in his watch. Our second mate was a Mr Morgan. With colours flying, our smart little ship stood out of the harbour of Singapore. The weather was fine and the sea smooth.

“Do you think we shall have this sort of weather all the way home,” asked Mr Haliday, who was a timid man, and anxious about his wife and family.

“Well, sir, I have made three or four passages, when we carried the fine weather the whole way out and home, but if we do not, we must do our best and trust to God, Mr Haliday, that is my maxim, and I have always found it hold good. I have been at sea ever since I was a boy, and in more hurricanes and gales of wind than I can well count up, and yet I never was shipwrecked, and here I am alive and well,” answered Captain Johns, to whom the question had been put.

“But, captain, there is a saying, ‘the pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last.’”

“That, I rather think, means to refer to those who tempt God, and a man who has to run into danger in the way of duty is not to my mind doing that. We must trust God whatever happens, Mr Haliday. Even if the stout little ship were to be cast away, He would find a means for our escape if He thought fit.”

I overheard this conversation, and it made a strong impression on me. For some time the fine weather continued, when it came on very thick, with baffling winds. For three days or more we had been unable to take an observation. The chief mate had the morning watch. Soon after I got on deck I heard him sing out, “Keep a sharp look-out there forward!” Then stepping aft he said to the man at the helm, “Keep the ship north-by-west.” The wind, I should say, at this time was west-by-south, and we were going nearly nine knots through the water. The events of that morning were vividly impressed upon my memory.

“Mr Jennings,” said the first mate to me, “what is that black look in the water ahead!”

I ran forward. The look-out man declared that it was the reflection of a heavy black cloud hanging just over the ship.

“It is no such thing!” exclaimed the mate, sharply looking over the gangway. “Hard up with the helm! All hands on deck! Wear ship!”

I, with the watch on deck, flew to the braces. The ship wore round, but almost before we could touch the ropes a terrific crash was heard, and she struck heavily aft. The following sea drove her broadside on to the reef, part of which we now saw clearly rising out of the water not a cable’s length from us. The first crash sent the captain and other officers rushing on deck, while cries and shrieks arose from the poor passengers in the cabin. The next sea which struck her, after she had touched, came flying over us, and there seemed scarcely a possibility of our saving our lives. “Lads!” shouted the captain, “obey my orders, and I will do my best for you. See to cutting away the masts. Clear the rigging as the masts are cut away. Mr Jennings, clear the pinnace for launching.” Another midshipman was sent down to entreat the passengers to remain quiet below till the boats were ready, assuring them that they would run great risk of losing their lives if they came on deck. Although the masts were quickly cut away, the ship continued to lurch heavily upon the reef, and it seemed that she must quickly go to pieces. She now lay completely on her beam ends, so that it was difficult to stand on her deck. I had made the pinnace ready for launching, but she was a heavy boat, and though all hands exerted themselves to the utmost, we could not manage it, our good captain getting his leg jammed in the attempt. We hauled him up to the weather bulwarks, where he held on, still giving his orders. Our next attempt was to launch the jolly-boat. To do this we had to hoist her up to the davits on the upper quarter. When placing oars, and a couple of good hands in her, we watched our opportunity, and, after a sea had broken over us, quickly bailing her out, allowed her to glide into the water. Captain Johns ordered the men to pull to the rock which we had at first seen, and which lay a short distance inside the reef. We had a small well-built lifeboat. To preserve her from injury was of the greatest importance. We got her up in the same way to the upper davits and launched her in safety. As soon as this was done the ladies and children were brought up from the cabin, which was already half full of water, and, being placed in her, she pulled away for the jolly-boat. The ladies’ husbands watched them anxiously. It was impossible to say at what moment the ship would break up. So terrific were the blows she was receiving that it seemed scarcely possible she could hold together many minutes; indeed, already portions of her had been torn away, and were seen floating to leeward.

In the next trip the men passengers and the young seamen were taken to the jolly-boat.

“Do you, Jennings, and you, Mr Gilbert, go in her,” said the captain.

“No, sir, thank you, I will stay by you,” I answered.

“I order you both into the boat. I am not to be disobeyed,” he exclaimed.

Of course we could not refuse. Already the jolly-boat, when we got into her, was very full, and there seemed some risk of her being swamped. Just then one of the seamen struck his boat-hook down alongside. “Why, the water is quite shallow here!” he exclaimed. “Overboard lads! The ladies shall run no risk on our account;” and six or eight men instantly jumped into the water, holding on to the boat, it being tolerably smooth under the lee of the rock where she lay.

By the last trip the master came off, bringing some charts and nautical instruments, which he had secured. “What about food?” some one asked. A small quantity, it appeared, had been secured, but not a drop of fresh water had been brought off. The master now ordered some of the men to get into the lifeboat, and we were pretty evenly divided among the two.

“How far off are we from the Australian coast?” asked Mr Haliday.

“Four hundred miles at the nearest,” was the answer. “It is true, my friends,” said the master, “but half-a-mile off there is a sand-bank. We will make for that, and there pray that God will give us the means of escape.” The grey dawn broke soon after we reached the bank, where we landed in safety. “Now, my friends,” said the master, as we stood grouped around him, “let us lift up our hearts in thankfulness to that merciful God who has thus far preserved us.” Hearty and sincere was, I feel assured, the prayer that rose from that barren sand-bank. We thanked God for preserving us, and we prayed that He might yet watch over us, and carry us in safety to land.

The bank was scarcely more than a hundred and fifty yards long, and about a third of the width. Still we had reason to be thankful. Not a life had been lost, in spite of the fearful risk we had run. Had a gale been blowing, however, not one of us could have escaped. As the sun rose our clothes quickly dried, but its rays soon became fearfully hot, and beat down upon our unprotected heads. The master was suffering all this time from the injury he had received, and was obliged to lie down. He, however, first directed the two mates to return with the boats to the wreck, to bring off whatever they could find likely to be of use, and anxiously we watched them as they pulled away. Our lives depended upon the success of their expedition. Meantime, the hot sun increased, and we all began to suffer from thirst. It was sad to see the poor little children crying for water when there was none to give them. Some of us, with pieces of board, began to dig in the sand, hoping to find water, but after making several deep holes we came each time to the coral rock. That, however, was moist and free from salt. Though the amount of fluid we could obtain was trifling, it afforded us some slight relief to lick the bare rock, and helped to cool our tongues. At length the boats returned. Eagerly we all hurried down to welcome them, and haul them up on the beach. A shout of joy arose when we found that the jolly-boat had a cask of water on board, besides some provisions—a cheese, some potted meat, and some biscuit. How thankfully we poured the sweet liquid down our throats. Captain Johns, however, would allow only half-a-gill to each of us, all sharing alike. These things might prolong our lives for a short time, but yet our hopes of escaping were small indeed. The wreck still hung together, but the wind appeared to be again getting up; indeed, there was so much sea, that the captain was afraid of sending back the boats. Anxiously that night passed away, but our courage was kept up by the captain’s cheerful and manly voice.

“Trust in God, friends,” he continued to say, “that is the best advice I can give you. As I have said before, I will do my best, and I hope all you will do your best, and let us never despair.” Next morning, in spite of the heavy sea running, the mates pushed off in the boats in the hopes of obtaining further supplies from the wreck. Dangerous as was the undertaking, the condition of our party on the sand-bank was not less perilous, for should the boats be lost, our fate, in all human probability, would be sealed. We watched them anxiously. Now they appeared on the crest of a sea, now they were hidden by the foaming breakers. At length they were altogether lost to sight from the sand-bank. We stood, our hands on each others’ shoulders, our necks stretched out, eagerly watching for their return. Now a dark object was seen. We thought it was one of the boats. No, it was a piece of the wreck. Another and another piece appeared. Some drove on to the beach, and we hurried down to secure them. At length I saw the lifeboat drawing near. Alas! was the other lost? “See! see! she is astern of her!” cried someone. On they both came, and we hurried down to welcome them. Both of them came laden. In the jolly-boat were some sails, and several casks of provisions, and in the lifeboat, among other things, a small keg of lime-juice. The surgeon spied it out, and literally shouted for joy. “It may be the saving of our lives,” he exclaimed; “and will at all events keep scurvy at bay.” That night we were able to erect a tent for the poor women and children, as also for some of the men passengers, and two or three of the seamen and boys who were suffering from exposure. Still my friend the surgeon looked grave.

“Jennings,” he said to me, as we were taking a turn together, “there is one thing I dread more than all others—the want of water. What we have will go a very, very short way, and then—! My lad, do you know what it is to die of thirst—the throat becoming drier and drier, the tongue swelling, and getting as hard as shoe-leather, and blacker and blacker, the sight growing dim, the voice failing?”

“A fearful picture!” I said. “What is to be done?”

“Why, we must go off at all risks, and see if we cannot get materials from the wreck to form a still. The ship struck at high water, I observed, and possibly what we want, even though washed out of her, may be obtained at low water. Will you go off with me to make the search?”

I, of course, agreed, and the second mate steered the lifeboat. A fresh crew was quickly found, and we put off from the bank.

“Another night may see the wreck broken up, and we may lose everything,” observed the surgeon. We pulled on. The wreck had by this time driven up so far on the reef that at dead low water part of the coral rock was exposed, and we could wade up to her. We hunted about till we came upon some copper piping. “This is valuable,” exclaimed the surgeon. We next found a boiler, and afterwards a large cistern, still inside the vessel. We got it out, though not without difficulty, and on board the boat. Several tools, an iron ladle and some solder were also found; indeed, we regretted that the jolly-boat had not come off, that many more things might have been landed. All we could hope was that the weather would continue moderate, and that other articles might be saved on the following day. We returned in safety with our prize. As soon as we landed, the surgeon summoned the blacksmith and his mate to his assistance, and a fire being lighted, immediately set to work to erect a still. A shout of joy was raised when the first fresh water was seen to issue from it. We lay down that night with one of our chief causes of anxiety removed. “We may thank God for this,” said the master, summoning all the people round him. “Now I have a proposal to make. It is clear we cannot remain on this reef for ever. I wish to know whether those who are fit to assist in the work will undertake the building of a boat, in which we may reach the mainland.” A considerable number held up their hands to signify their readiness to assist in what he proposed. “Then, my friends,” he said, “I will divide you into three parties—one to assist Mr Gilbert in distilling the water, another to visit the wreck and obtain all the materials which can be saved, while the third will be employed in building the boat.” All agreed to this proposal, and early next morning, as soon as daylight broke, we were on our feet ready to commence work. I was employed with the second mate in going off to the wreck, while the first mate and the master assisted the carpenter’s crew in building the boat. We were fortunate in obtaining all sorts of articles, amongst others, useful tools and a supply of clothing. With the articles we found, the surgeon improved his machinery for distilling the water, and at length he produced nearly thirty gallons a-day. Our provisions, however, were getting short, and at length we were reduced to half-a-pound of flour a-day, which we made up into puddings with salt-water—very heavy dough, but it stopped our hunger and kept us alive. It took us just a month from the day the boat’s keel was laid till she was launched. It was a day not to be forgotten. The ladies and children stood round cheering lustily. We called her the Hope. She sat well on the water, but leaked considerably. We had therefore to haul her up again, and stop the leaks. When again launched she was found to be thoroughly watertight. It took us two days to get her rigged and stowed. All the casks we had been able to save were filled with water, Mr Gilbert working day and night to obtain a supply. At length, after a residence of five weeks on the sand-bank, which would assuredly have proved our grave, had it not been for the invention of our surgeon, we bade the sand-bank farewell, and stood towards Moreton Bay, on the Australian coast. The wind was fair and moderate. About thirty of us were on board the Hope, while six preferred trusting their fortunes to the lifeboat. The wind shifting, when we were, according to our calculations, about twenty leagues off the land, drove us to the mouth of the Brisbane river. A somewhat heavy sea was running, but the Hope behaved beautifully, and our captain knew the entrance. What an idea it gave us of perfect rest, when, after being tossed about for so many days, we glided up the tranquil river! The settlers came down as we reached the shore, and warmly welcomed us. “Thanks, friends, thanks!” said our good master, “but before I thank you I desire to thank One by whose means we have been preserved,” and kneeling down, the fine old man poured out his heart in prayer. I am thankful to say that one and all of us followed his example, and if we did not pray with as much fervour and earnestness as he did, I believe that the prayer and the gratitude we expressed came from our hearts.

Story 8—Chapter 1.

Owen’s Revenge—a Tale of the Sea.

I was then scarcely ten years old. My father possessed a fine estate, and we lived in the greatest luxury. I had ridden out by myself on my pony, and had reached a somewhat secluded part of the park, where the bridle-path passed among grassy knolls, and tall trees, flinging their branches across a narrow dell, formed a thick canopy overhead, and gave a somewhat gloomy aspect to the sequestered spot. It was one I seldom visited, and I was wondering whether sprites or fairies, good or bad, of whom I had heard the country people speak, really came there to gambol and play their pranks, when a figure started up from behind a bush with a menacing gesture, and before I could make my pony gallop on to escape him, I found the rein seized by a stout man with bushy whiskers, a sunburnt countenance, and, as I then thought, very unpleasant features. He appeared to me much older than he probably really was, comparing, as I naturally did, his fare with those on which I was most accustomed to look. Though his features were rough, he was tolerably well dressed, and did not look like a common ruffian who designed to rob me. For more than a minute he held my rein in the attitude of forcing back my pony, and glared fiercely at me.

“I have come to look at you, that I may know you again when we meet,” he exclaimed at length; and, to my surprise, the tone of his voice was that of a gentleman. “You have deprived me of my inheritance—you have come between me and fortune and happiness and the only things worth living for in this world, and I am determined to have my revenge. While we remain together on earth, I will pursue you—whatever your course in life may be, I will find you out; I will balk you in your dearest wishes—I will prove your bane in whatever you undertake—I will destroy your happiness—I will stand like a lion in your path, and bar your progress. I will not injure you in life or limb—I might kill you, but I will not do that—as you have injured me by legal means, so will I keep within the law in taking my revenge, but it will be a full one notwithstanding. Now go, youngster, and my bitter curses go with you! You may tell your fond father and mother what you have heard; their love cannot protect you—their anger cannot overtake me. Before they could decide what to do I shall be far away beyond their reach; and tell them that, though they may not for many a long day hear of me, that I bide my time. Now go—go—or I may be tempted to do more than I intended, and remember that I hate you!”

He flung the pony’s head from him, making the animal rear and almost fall back over me, but I stuck on, and, digging my spurs into his flanks, dashed on along the path, leaving the man gazing fiercely at me with his fist clenched and his arm extended in the direction I had taken. When I again took one more alarmed look round, he had disappeared. My first impression was that the man was mad, but still his curses and his threats and fierce looks frightened me, and I must own that I felt somewhat inclined to cry. I did not, though, but galloped on as hard as I could till I reached the house. Giving my pony to a groom, I ran up into my room without speaking, and, locking myself in, burst into a fit of tears. Two hours afterwards my mother, wondering at my non-appearance in the drawing-room, came to my door, and when I opened it and exhibited my scared countenance, she inquired if anything dreadful had happened. “Oh no—nothing,” I answered. “Only an odd man appeared in the woods, and said something strange—but it’s all right now.” This was the only account I ever gave of the adventure. It was surmised that I had met a gipsy, who probably hoped to extort money from me. My father made inquiries in every direction, and gave notice that he should prosecute any rogues and vagabonds found trespassing on his property.

I, however, could not help often thinking over the adventure, and wondering what the man could have meant when he said that I had come between him and fortune. I determined to try and get my mother to solve the mystery, so one day I asked her, casually, if my father had inherited his estate, or how it was that he became possessed of it. She seemed surprised at the question, but told me, with some hesitation, it seemed to me, that he had gained the property a short time before, after a long-contested lawsuit. Somebody coming in prevented me from asking further questions, and my mother never again alluded to the subject.

Story 8—Chapter 2.

Three years passed by. I had been seized with an ardent desire to go to sea, and as my parents had never been in the habit of thwarting my wishes, they could not refuse me this somewhat unreason able one in a young gentleman heir to some fifteen thousand a year. What they might have done had I been an only son I do not know, but as I had several brothers and sisters, they considered, I conclude, that should I be expended in fighting my country’s battles, my place as heir might readily be supplied by my next brother, who highly applauded my determination. To do him justice, however, I am very certain that he had no selfish motives in so doing; indeed, his great wish was to be allowed to go also, and share my fortunes.

The matter settled, while my father wrote to our county member to beg that he would look out for a good ship for me, I wrote to my tailor, directing him to make me a uniform without delay, and to arrange my outfit. Young gentlemen with large expectations are as fond of fine clothes as are sometimes poor ones; and on the day my uniform arrived, and during three months or so afterwards, I took every opportunity of wearing it in public. Young as I was, I was made a good deal of in the neighbourhood, and it thus became pretty widely known that I was about to go to sea; or, as I told people, with no small amount of vanity, to become an officer in the navy.

I believe that very few young gentlemen ever went to sea with a better kit than I had when I at length was directed to join the Ianthe frigate, of forty guns, commanded by Captain Hansome. I found that I was not thought nearly so much of on board as I had been in our county, at those houses where five or six flaxen-haired young ladies formed part of the family. I remember that Jack wrote me word, however, that they had begun to make fully as much of him on one occasion when it was supposed that war would break out, and on another when it was reported that the frigate had been sent to the West Indies; but that might have been only his fancy.

My father was unwell, so the steward took me to Portsmouth, and he, not liking the look of the somewhat foam-covered Solent Sea, sent me off under the charge of a waterman in a shore boat to the ship, which lay at Spithead. We had a dead beat, and I was very sick before we got half-way across. The first lieutenant was on deck as I crawled up the side.

“You have not been to sea before,” he observed, glancing at my woe-begone countenance, and then at the numberless articles handed up after me. “A pity your friends hadn’t any one to tell them that a frigate has no lumber-room for the stowage of empty boxes. Boy! send Mr Owen here.”

The lieutenant did not wait for an answer, and I stood expecting some other remark to be made to me, but he did not deign to address me again. While looking about and wondering at the strange appearance of the frigate’s deck, of which I had no previous conception, I saw a broad-shouldered man, with large whiskers and a sunburnt countenance, in the uniform of a master’s mate, appear from below, and approach. He touched his cap to the lieutenant, without looking at me, and asked for what he wanted him.

“To take charge of this youngster, Mr Owen,” answered the lieutenant. “You must dispose of his traps as you best can. The superfluous ones will, I doubt not, be soon expended. Introduce him to the mess, and see that he gets into no mischief.”

“Ay, ay, sir. I have had many a youngster to look after in my time (some are now post-captains), and I know how to treat them,” he answered, glancing at me with as much indifference as if I were a lady’s poodle committed to his charge.

There was a sympathy between the lieutenant and the mate—the first might have been an admiral as far as age was concerned, the second a post-captain. Without speaking, he led me into the midshipman’s berth. There were a good many people seated round the table, of all ages—assistant-surgeons, and clerks, and master’s-assistants, besides midshipmen and master’s mates, as passed midshipmen were called.

“Let me introduce to your favourable notice, gentlemen, Mr Harry Nugent,” he said, leading me in by the hand with much ceremony, but speaking in a tone which sounded somewhat sarcastic. It struck me as odd at the time that he should have known my name, as the lieutenant had not told him. “I must go and look after his traps,” he added, as the rest of the party made room for me.

They treated me kindly enough, offering me dinner, which had just been placed on the table, but the food looked very coarse, and I was too sick to touch anything. They soon drew from me all the information I had to give about myself, and when they learned that I was an elder son, with large expectations, and was to have what seemed an unlimited supply of money, some of the older ones treated me with far more respect than at first.

“I wonder what could have induced you to come to sea, to be kicked and cuffed by your superiors, till you are big enough to kick and cuff others in return,” observed an oldster, John Pearson I found was his name. “If I had had a tenth of your tin, I’d have stayed on shore to the end of my days. The sea is only fit for poor beggars like you and me, Owen. Isn’t that the case?”

A curious expression passed over Owen’s countenance, and a frown settled on his brow, as, having disposed of my property and just retaken his seat, he answered:

“I suppose Nugent comes to sea to show us what a pleasant life it may prove to a man of fortune, eh!”

“No!” I answered, with simplicity. “I came to sea because I have read of Howe and Jervis and Nelson and Collingwood, and because I expected to find it a field of fame and glory, as they did.”

There was a general laugh, in which the youngsters joined the loudest.

“A sucking Collingwood!” cried one.

“A field of water, which the ship has to plough,” said another, who set up for a wit.

There was no end to their remarks.

“Never mind, Nugent,” remarked Owen. “We’ll soon get you out of those antiquated notions.”

He was as good as his word, and I soon learned to look at a life at sea in a very different light to what I had done when I determined to follow it. Still, pride made me resolve to stick to it, and when I wrote home, to speak as if I were thoroughly satisfied with my choice.

Two days after I joined, the frigate sailed for the Mediterranean. Owen did his best to gain my confidence, and so far succeeded, that, being placed in his watch, I was his constant companion. I was at first shocked at his opinions and open acknowledgment of his very lax morals, and though in the latter respect he might not have been much worse in reality than others in the mess, I observed that by degrees some of them, especially Pearson, began rather to tight shy of him. Often I remarked an expression on his countenance which was most disagreeable, and two or three times as I looked at him the idea came across my mind that I had seen him before. Once, and only once, I thought he must be the person who had so frightened me years before in the park, but I dismissed the idea as preposterous, as that person was a great deal older than Owen, who, besides, seemed too careless, easy-going a fellow to do anything of that sort. In the Mediterranean, that most delightful of stations to a man who has plenty of money in his pocket, we visited a number of places. Whenever Owen went on shore he took me with him, and did not scruple to make use of my purse, in order, as he said, that he might initiate me into the mysteries of life.

Those who are acquainted with what a midshipman’s life on shore often is, may easily conceive the description of scenes into which he introduced me. With the wariness of the serpent, however, he took care not too early to shock my moral sense, and therefore only gave me glimpses of the scenes to which I have alluded. We were at Naples for some months. As my father had begged the captain, whenever duty would permit, to give me every opportunity of seeing all that was to be seen in the places we visited, I constantly got leave to go on shore, and being under charge of so old and staid a Mentor as Owen, I was allowed to remain away from the ship for several days together. Night after night we went to the opera; then to some billiard or gambling-rooms; and finally repaired to some place to sup, when Owen took care to order the richest viands and the best wines at my expense. He drank hard, though he did not get drunk exactly, and he encouraged me to drink, telling me that it was a manly thing, and that after a little time I should be able to drink as much as he could with impunity. One day I returned on board feeling and looking, I doubt not, very ill. While Owen was on deck, Pearson, who was always very kind to me, took me aside, and asked me, in the gentlest and most friendly way, how I spent my time on shore. I told him exactly how I had been employed.

“Take my advice, youngster, and follow a better leader than Owen seems to be, or rather act as your own sense of right and duty would prompt you,” he said, in a kind tone. “I most heartily wish you well, and admire the spirit which prompted you to come to sea, when you might have lived luxuriously on shore. You have everything before you which can make life pleasant, but if you follow the course into which it is very clear Owen intends to lead you, your life itself will be shortened, and you will be incapacitated from enjoying the advantages you possess.”

I felt the truth of what Pearson had said, and told him that I would follow his advice. The next day I was engaged to go on shore with Owen. I did not choose to refuse to go, but resolved to be cautious how I complied with any of his proposals. He had told the captain that we were to ride out to visit some spot of interest in the neighbourhood, and I had fully intended going. When we got on shore, he declared that he had hurt his leg, and could not ride, and proposed resorting to a billiard-room. To this, as I did not know what to do with myself alone, I did not object, but after playing for some time, he declared that it was very slow work, and suggested that we should go to a gambling-house near at hand, where we might obtain liquor and refreshments of all sorts. I fortunately knew the character of the place, and remembering my promise to Pearson, positively refused to accompany him. He looked astonished at first, and then set to work to overcome my scruples. I was firm, and thank Heaven I was, for if a man breaks a newly-formed resolution to act rightly, he is very apt to go back to his old courses, and to continue in them more recklessly than before.

“If you don’t want to lose your money don’t play high stakes, and if you are afraid of getting drunk, I’ll watch that you don’t take more than is good for you,” he whispered to me. “But don’t sit there like a booby.”

“I should be one if I followed your suggestions, for I have no taste for either gambling or drinking, and I do not want to get it,” I answered, firmly. “Once for all, I will not go.”

He uttered a faint laugh as he said, “What has come over the fellow? However, lend me five sovereigns, and I’ll try my luck. If I lose, I shall be in your debt; if I win, I will pay you double.”

“I want no profits,” I answered, giving him my purse, from which he helped himself. “I’ll take a stroll along the shore of the bay, and come back for you in time for the opera.”

Taking back my purse, without waiting to hear what he said, I hurried out. On returning to the billiard-room, after a pleasant walk, at the hour I had named, Owen was not there, and I was told that an English officer, who had been desperately wounded in an affray, was lying in a house close by, and apparently dying. I hurried to the spot, and found, as I expected, Owen. He was unconscious, and so I engaged some porters, and had him conveyed immediately on board, where I knew that he would receive better treatment than elsewhere from our surgeon. When he came to himself, and heard that I had had him brought on board, he was very angry at my interference, though the surgeon assured me that by my promptitude his life had been saved. According to his account, he had received his wound from an assassin, who, probably mistaking him for some one else, had rushed out and struck him with his dagger; but the surgeon, who was not among his admirers, hinted that this was impossible, and that there would have been no great loss to the world had the wound been half-an-inch deeper. He was a long time recovering, and as he never offered to repay me the five pounds I had lent him, I concluded that his wound had made him forget the matter.

Pearson lost no opportunity of strengthening me in my resolution not to yield to any temptations Owen might throw in my way. The latter, however, was not easily to be turned from his purpose. Again and again he tried to prevail on me to accompany him on shore, laughing at my scruples, and accusing me of parsimony and meanness. I did not give him credit for any other motive for his wish to have me as his companion beyond the very natural one of a desire to enjoy the use of my purse. When he found that he had lost his influence over me, and that the move he attempted to regain it the more I kept aloof from him, his whole manner towards me in private changed, though in public, especially in presence of the captain and lieutenant, it was as friendly as before.

I now found myself subject to a number of petty annoyances, of which I was nearly certain that he was the author, though I could not trace them completely. My hammock was over and over again cut down by the head, to the risk of breaking my neck; my chest was rifled, and articles of value in it destroyed, and even my uniforms were so injured, that at last I could scarcely appear respectably on the quarter-deck. When my watch was over, and I came down to meals, I found that the worst of everything had been kept for me, often food that was scarcely eatable. At the mess-table, though still pretending great regard, he lost no opportunity of making sarcastic remarks, and placing me on every occasion in a wrong position. I found, too, that stories greatly to my prejudice were put about, of a character difficult if not impossible to refute. Had it not been for Pearson, my existence on board would have been intolerable, but as he never in the remotest degree benefited by my purse, his interest in me was above suspicion, and he stoutly maintained that the stories were false, and invented by some one wishing to do me an injury. Had my friends wished to disgust me with the sea, they could scarcely have adopted a better plan than engaging Owen to treat me as I had every reason to believe he was now doing. I should, in truth, have been completely disgusted, but my pride came to my aid, and prevented me from making any complaint. In other respects, I liked a sea life, and as Pearson, who was much respected, sided with me, many of the better-disposed midshipmen remained my friends. Thus passed the first three years of my naval career.

Story 8—Chapter 3.

The frigate was ordered home to be paid off. I had found out one thing, that fortune will not secure uninterrupted happiness even to a midshipman. I had begun to suspect, also, that the romantic notions I had entertained of fame and glory were in a great degree illusory; at all events, that there was a great deal of hard, matter-of-fact, and somewhat dirty, disagreeable work to be gone through. I discussed with Pearson the advisability of my leaving the service. He asked me what I should do with myself if I did? I confessed that I did not know, and that I had no desire to go back to school, to a private tutor, or to college.

“Then stay in the service, and see the world,” he answered. “I have heard of a ship fitting for the Pacific, on board which my friends can procure me a berth, and I have no doubt that you can also get appointed to her if you apply in time.”

I took his suggestion, wrote immediately to my father to beg that he would make interest to have me appointed to the Sappho frigate, fitting at Portsmouth, and, though he was greatly surprised at my taste, he did not refuse my request. After a short stay at home—sufficiently long to recount my adventures in the Mediterranean, and to grow tired of doing nothing—I joined my new ship at Spithead the day after she came out of harbour. I found Pearson on board, but some of the officers had not joined, nor had the ship her full complement of men.

Pearson liked the captain and officers he had seen, and expressed an opinion that we should have a very pleasant voyage.

I anticipated great pleasure in visiting Peru and Mexico, and the numerous strange islands in the Pacific of which I had read, and perhaps Australia, and China, and Japan, and longed to be away. The evening before the ship was to sail, Pearson came into the berth where I was sitting alone, and said:

“I must prepare you for what is not likely to be pleasant. Owen has joined; but follow my advice—receive him as an old shipmate, take no notice of his former conduct, and treat him frankly, and you will probably conquer his hostility. At all events, he knows by this time that I will not allow him to play you the tricks he before did with impunity.”

On going on deck, I saw Owen talking to a group of mates and midshipmen. He expressed no surprise at finding Pearson and me on board, and though there was an unpleasant look in his eye, there was nothing to find fault with in his manner.

We had a quick passage round the Horn.

Owen appeared either very greatly changed, or proved that to his other arts he could practise hypocrisy. Our captain was a religious man, and, what was rare in those days, used to invite the officers in to read the Bible with him. Owen, who used to say that he had never been into a church since he came to sea, was among the most constant in his attendance, and completely won the confidence of the captain, who spoke of him as an excellent man who had not received his deserts. Owen, on the strength of this, insinuated that my religious principles were very defective, and offered to instruct me. He made a commencement, and might have succeeded in instilling principles not such as our excellent captain supposed he would, but directly the reverse, had not Pearson, to whom I repeated what he said, again interfered, and threatened to expose him if he continued to utter such sentiments. He excused himself by declaring that I had mistaken his meaning; but Pearson knew well enough that I had not; and I soon saw by his change of manner that he was devising some new scheme to do me harm.

When once, however, among the coral islands of the Pacific, we were so constantly employed in looking out for reefs and rocks, that we had little time for polemical discussions. Although the inhabitants of some of the islands had in those days already become partially civilised under missionary teaching, a large number were fierce and treacherous savages, and in our intercourse with them we were compelled to be very wary, to avoid the fate of Captain Cook, and that of the crews of many other ships which had been cut off in those seas. We had already discovered that the Pacific can be anything but tranquil at times, by two heavy gales we had already experienced, but of late we had light breezes and calms. At length our water began to run short, and it became necessary to obtain a supply without delay. A look-out was therefore kept for an island where it could be procured. Before long an island was sighted, and three boats were ordered away to explore it. Owen commanded one of them, and I was ordered to go in her. I was glad enough to get on shore, though I would rather have been with any one else.

As there appeared to be no inhabitants, we were to land at different places, so as the more readily to find water. We steered for a point which would take us farther from the ship than the other boats. All hands were in high spirits with the thought of a lark on shore. A narrow passage was found in the surrounding reef, and we ran the boat into a beautiful and sheltered bay, with the trees coming down on either side almost to the water’s edge. If water was to be found here it would be easy to fill the casks and roll them down to the boats. In vain we hunted about in every direction—no water was to be found. Owen then ordered the men to dig; but they were unsuccessful. Some time was thus occupied, but he declared that he would not return without finding water, and that we must divide, some to push farther inland, and others along the shore. Greatly to my disgust he ordered me to remain by the boat, and I observed, as he spoke, that evil look with which he often regarded me. He led one party along the shore to the right, while he sent another more inland. Only one boy was left with me. They had been gone some little time, when the report of a gun from the ship reached my ear. It was the signal of recall. Another soon followed; I hoped that the absent parties would hear the signal, or would soon return. A third, and then the report of several guns in quick succession reached my ear. There was evidently danger to be apprehended. I had little doubt, on observing the changed appearance of the sky, that a gale was expected, though in the sheltered bay where the boat was I had not remarked any threatening signs. All I could do was to keep the boat afloat, so that we might shove off directly the other parties arrived. I looked eagerly out along the shore, but no one was to be seen. The ship had ceased firing; indeed, from the appearance of the sea outside, it was evident that the gale had commenced, and that she had been compelled, for her own safety, to stand off-shore. Our only resource, therefore, would be to wait till the gale should have blown itself out, and the frigate could come back to pick us up. I now became very anxious, for I thought that Owen must have observed the change in the weather, and that something must have occurred to have prevented him from returning. I was eagerly looking about in every direction, when I caught sight of some persons running among the trees towards the boat. I soon distinguished some of the boat’s crew, with Owen among them. They had good reason for running fast, for behind came a crowd of savages, shouting and shrieking, and brandishing clubs and spears. Now and then our people would face about, fire their pistols, and then again retreat. As they drew near, Owen shouted to me to be ready to hand out the muskets, which lay in the bottom of the boat. The boy and I did as we were directed, but the savages, believing that their enemies were about to escape them, made a dash forward, and two of the crew lay gasping on the sand, struck down by their clubs, while the foremost scrambled into the boat to escape a similar fate. The first impulse of each man as he got on board was to seize an oar to shove off, Owen setting the example; but as soon as the boat was afloat, the muskets were taken up, and a volley fired into the midst of the savages, who were wading in after us. It had the effect of keeping them back till we were out of their reach. Yet what a fearful predicament we were in—a storm raging outside, while we dare not approach the shore. The savages had canoes, so that we could not even wait under the lee of the land for fine weather. Owen announced his determination to stand out and run before the gale. We had a fine sea boat, capable of going through very heavy weather. Oh, the horrors of that voyage! We thought of the fate of our companions left on shore, that was undoubtedly ere this sealed. Our numbers were fearfully diminished.

Owen told us to be thankful, as we had thus more food left to support our lives. I thought that it mattered very little whether we had more or less food, for even should our boat weather the gale, it was very improbable that we should fall in with the ship again, and must be starved, at all events. On we ran through the passage in the reef. As we got clear of the land, it required all Owen’s skill to steer the boat amid the fearful seas, which threatened every instant to engulf her. Four hands continued baling, without stopping; and even these could scarcely keep the boat from foundering. On, on we flew. Night came on, still the gale did not abate. Owen’s countenance, as the darkness closed around us, looked grim and firm; but there was a look of horror (it was not common fear) in his eye which I can never forget. He kept his post, steering the boat through that livelong night without uttering a word. Day came back, and there he sat as before, keeping the boat on the only course which could afford us a possibility of escape. Not till then would he allow the coxswain, who had escaped, to take his place. On we went as before, all day long. “Where were we going?” we asked ourselves. No one could reply. Food was served out; few had an inclination to eat. It was fortunate, for we had but a scanty allowance, and still less to drink—a bottle of rum and a small keg of water. Another night and a day, and again a night, and one of our number sank exhausted. Owen still kept up, looking fierce and determined as ever. Day came, and land appeared right ahead—a high, rocky, and tree-covered island; but there was a barrier reef round it, over which the seas, rising with foam-covered summits, beat furiously. Our utter destruction seemed inevitable. To haul our wind and stand off was now impracticable. Owen stood up, and, casting a glance around, steered boldly on. I saw that there was a break in the wall of foam, but a very narrow one. We had little time for thought before we were among the raging breakers. A sea came roaring; on. I felt the boat lifted, and the next moment was struggling with grim death in the yeasty waters.

Story 8—Chapter 4.

As I came to the surface I caught a glimpse of the shore, and struck out for it, but it seemed far distant. I swam like a man in his sleep; in vain, my strength was failing me, a mist came over my eyes, and I could no longer see the shore, when I felt a powerful hand grasping my shoulder, and ere long was conscious that I had been hauled out of the water and placed high up on the warm sand. I opened my eyes at length, and the first object on which they rested was the vindictive countenance of Owen, as he gazed at me. I say vindictive, because that was the expression which had often puzzled me. Yet why should he nourish such feelings towards me?

“So you are alive, are you?” he remarked, when he saw that I had regained my consciousness. “It might have been better for you had you gone with the rest, for we are the only survivors. However, I had too long a score with you to lose you, if I could bring you on shore safe.”

“Then I am indebted to you for my life,” I remarked.

“Yes, but the debt is not a heavy one, and you may think me entitled to very small thanks; for let me tell you your existence here will be no sinecure. I intend to make you slave and toil for me as you have never toiled before. At length I have you in my power. Ha, ha, ha!” And he laughed wildly. “Your wealth will avail you nothing here, your refinement, your education, your romantic aspirations. You are now my slave, and I your master. Ha, ha, ha!”

This greeting was not calculated to aid my recovery, but, in spite of it, my strength returned, and I was able to get up on my feet.

“I am ready to obey you,” I said calmly. “You saved my life, and it is my duty to serve you as far as I have the power.”

“Always talking of your duty!” he exclaimed, with a sneer. “It shall not be a light one, let me tell you. Now, as you can walk, find some food—shell-fish and water. I don’t ask for impossibilities, but take care you do not touch any till I have eaten.”

I must obey him, so, observing some rocks, I hurried towards them, and with my pocket-knife cut off as many mussels and other shell-fish as I could carry. He had had a flint and steel and a powder-flask in his pocket, and had thus without difficulty kindled a fire. While he dressed and ate the shell-fish he sent me off to look for water. I went with the fear every instant of falling into the hands of savage natives, and it was not till I discovered the small size of the island that I began to hope that there might be none upon it. I hunted about for some time, till I at length came upon a stream of pure water bubbling out of a rock. My difficulty was to convey it to Owen. Some cocoa-nut shells were lying about. One less split than the rest I filled with water, but the greater part was spilt before I reached him. He cursed me for an idle hound for not bringing a larger supply, and sent me back for more. Fortunately, I observed some shells on the shore. These I slung round my neck, and with them brought as much water as he could require. Not till then did he allow me to cook any of the shell-fish I had collected. He had eaten all he himself had dressed. He then ordered me to collect materials for a hut, and when I expostulated, as I had only my pocket-knife to work with, he struck me with a stick, and said I must see to finding a better tool. Still, as I had determined to do my utmost to please him, I set to work to collect all the pieces of drift timber I could find. To my satisfaction, I discovered also the boat’s sail and some rope cast on shore, and these articles, with a number of thin sticks which I succeeded in cutting, I piled up near where he sat, and asked him what else he required.

“To help me build my hut,” he growled out.

By fixing the thinner sticks into the sand, fastening them at the top, and stretching the sail over them, I formed something like an Indian wigwam, strengthened by the heavier pieces of driftwood. I observed that Owen moved about with difficulty, and looked ill, but he made no remark on the subject.

“Now go and collect dry leaves and grass for my bed. Be off with you,” he exclaimed, glaring fiercely at me.

I obeyed as before, but when I returned, time after time, laden with bundles of grass, not an expression of approval even did he utter. Thus he kept me employed for the greater part of the day, and when I proposed collecting some grass for my own bed, he told me that I could not occupy his hut but must form one of boughs for myself. Such is an example of the way he treated me, not for one day only, but for day after day, not one passing without my being struck and cursed. It is wonderful that I could have borne it, but I was not weary of my life, and I had resolved to show my gratitude to him for having preserved it. I was very anxious, however, to escape, and whenever I could get away from him, I used to go to the highest part of the island to look out, in the hopes of a ship appearing. With indefatigable labour, I cut out a long pole and fixed it in the ground, with a part of my shirt, as a signal, fastened to the end. When Owen found out what I had done, he ordered me to take it down, and not again to visit the hill.

“Ah! ha! youngster, you’ve friends you wish to return to, and wealth you long to enjoy. I have neither, and I don’t intend to let you go while I can prevent it.”

This was almost more than I could bear, and I could not trust myself to reply to him. I might fill a volume with my extraordinary life on that islet in the Pacific—how I slaved on for that determined, stern, evil-disposed man. Constant occupation enabled me to keep my own health. I found cocoa-nuts and numerous roots and fruits, and invented various ways of cooking them. I even made clothes of the bark of the paper mulberry-tree, so that I was able to save my own before they were quite worn out. Thus months passed away. I might have lived there from youth to old age, as far as the necessaries of life were concerned, but it was dreary work. Owen grew worse and worse, and I became convinced that his days were numbered. He did not seem to be aware of the state of the case, though rapidly growing weaker. I may honestly say that I felt deep compassion for him. I told him at last that I thought him very ill, and feared that he would not recover.

“Don’t flatter yourself with that. I shall recover sufficiently to make you wish that you had never seen me,” he answered, as he raised himself on his arm and glared fiercely at me.

I thought that he uttered but an empty threat which he had no power to execute. Still he lived on, and I tended him as if he had been a friend or brother. I had made my hut at some little distance from his. I had one night gone to sleep, leaving him not worse than he had been for some time past, when I suddenly awoke with a start, and hearing a noise looked out. What was my horror to see Owen stalking stealthily along with a huge piece of heavy driftwood uplifted in his hands, as if it were a club. I darted out on the other side of the hut as down came the log with a crash above where my head had just been laid, and a fearful shriek rang through the night air. I expected to see Owen following me, but he lay, as I looked back, across the ruins of my hut. I slowly approached—he did not move—the timber had fallen from his grasp. I touched his hand. He was dead.

I must bring my tale to a close. I was convinced that the wretched man was mad, though, from what afterwards came to my knowledge, there was more reason than I had supposed why his madness should have taken the form of hatred towards me. I cannot describe how I managed to pass the many dreary days I was destined to spend in solitude on that island, or how I was at length rescued by a South-Sea whaler, and ultimately fell in with my own ship, on board which I was heartily welcomed, having long been given up as lost. Owen’s death excited universal horror. Pearson told me that he had been directed by the captain to examine his papers, among which he found parts of a journal, in which he described his bitter disappointment on discovering that the estate which he thought would be his had gone to another, and how, considering himself wronged, he had resolved to wreak his vengeance on the head of the person who had obtained what he conceived ought to have been his; how he had gone to see me, and finding that I had resolved to enter the navy, how he had formed the diabolical plan which he had attempted to carry out, but in every step of which he had been so mercifully frustrated.

I immediately wrote home to say that I was alive and well, with an account of my adventures, and expressed a hope that my letter would arrive in time to prevent Jack from being spoilt by the flatteries and indulgences he might receive as an elder son, advising that, if he appeared the worse for them, to effect a radical cure he should be forthwith packed off to sea.

Story 9—Chapter 1.

Paul Petherwick the Pilot—a Tale of the Cornish Coast.

The Sea-Gull Pilot-boat, hailing from Penzance, and owned and commanded by old Paul Petherwick, lay hove-to, one winter’s day many years back, in the chops of the Channel. The dark-green seas rose up like walls capped with snow on either side of the little craft; now she floated on the foaming, hissing summit of one of them, again to sink down into the deep watery trench from which she had risen. Thus, as rising and falling, her white staysail glancing brightly, she looked not unlike the sea-bird whose name she bore.

Old Paul was the only person on deck, and he had lashed himself to the bulwarks. His white hair, escaping from under his “sou’-wester,” streamed in the wind, and ever and anon he turned his head aside to avoid the showers of spray which flew over him, covering his flushing coat with wet. Again he would look out in search of any homeward-bound vessel which might need his services. His heart was heavy, for the previous night a fearful sea had struck the cutter, and washed his mate, Peter Buddock, and another man overboard. The latter had seized a rope, but it had slipped from his grasp; and poor Buddock was carried far away, his shriek of despair as he sank beneath the waves being his last utterance which reached the ears of his shipmates.

Another of Paul’s crew, an old hand, had been injured by a blow from a block, and the rest were young men, willing and active enough, but not able to take entire charge of the cutter. Still, old Paul was a determined man, and as long as there was a chance of meeting a vessel to pilot up Channel, and as long as the cutter could keep the sea, he would not give in.

Hour after hour passed by. Suddenly the crew, sitting round the stove in the little after-cabin, heard a loud report, followed by a deep groan. The trysail gaff had parted, and, falling, had struck the old pilot to the deck. They carried him below, and placed him in his berth. Not a moment was to be lost if their own lives were to be saved. The helm was put up, and the little craft, paying off under her head-sail, before the rough sea, which came roaring onwards, had reached her, was running up Channel towards the Cornish coast. Old Paul continued to groan, seeming unconscious, and evidently suffering great pain. One or other of his young crew every now and then went below to ask him the right course to steer, for not even the outline of the coast could be seen. It was getting very dark, and thick flakes of snow were beginning to fall. The old pilot probably did not comprehend them; not a word could he utter. They endeavoured, therefore, to rig a spar on which to set the trysail; but no sooner did they hoist it than it was carried away, and at length they gave up the attempt in despair. They could not, therefore, heave the cutter to, and were obliged to run on. One of them went below, and endeavoured by every means he could think of to bring the old man to consciousness. The darkness increased as the night advanced, and the snow came down thicker and thicker. On flew the cutter.

“We must be nearing the land,” said Jacob Pinner, the best seaman of the crew. “I wish that the old man would rouse up. I don’t like the look of things, mates, that I don’t.”

Scarcely had he spoken when a deep, sullen roar, easily distinguished by a seaman amid the howling of the tempest, struck on the ears of the crew. “Breakers! breakers ahead!” they shouted.

“Port the helm—hard a-port!” cried a deep voice. It was that of the old pilot. The sound of the breakers had reached his ears even below, and roused him up. The order came too late. At that moment there was a loud crash; the cutter struck, and her rudder was carried away. The following sea lifted her and carried her on, while other seas came roaring up, and hissed and foamed round her. Though they covered her with sheets of spray, her crew were still able to cling to the rigging and preserve their lives. Providentially, most of the hours of the night were already spent, for they could not long have endured the cold and wet to which they were exposed. When daylight broke they found that they were near the end of a reef, about a mile from the shore. The gale had greatly abated. The tide was low. Inside of the reef there was smooth water. If they could launch their boat, which had remained on deck uninjured, they might save themselves before the return of the tide, when the cutter would be sure to go to pieces. Though the little boat narrowly escaped being stove in, the attempt was successful. The shore was reached. It was close to Paul Petherwick’s house, some miles to the eastward of the port to which the cutter belonged.

Close to the spot where Paul and his crew landed, on the shore of a romantic bay, stood the residence of Sir Baldwin Treherne, known as the Manor House. Sir Baldwin was lord of the manor—a kind, warm-hearted, generous man. He had himself been at sea in his youth, but on coming into his estate had given up the profession. He had learned when at sea, probably from experiencing some of the hardships sailors have to endure, to sympathise with them, and to feel for their sufferings. He had seen through his telescope, while dressing in the morning, the wreck on the reef, and had immediately set off to find out what assistance could be rendered to the crew. He met the old pilot and his people not far from the shore, and insisted on their coming at once to the Manor House to be warmed and fed. Paul Petherwick would indeed have been unable to have reached his own home, as his strength and spirits were already exhausted. As the day advanced the wind again increased, and when the tide rose the Sea-Gull, battered by the waves, was seen quickly to disappear.

Great was old Paul’s grief as he watched the destruction of the vessel. “God’s will be done,” he said, bowing his head. “My poor wife and children, what will become of them? With her goes all the means I have of supporting them, and part of her cost is still unpaid.”

The kind baronet overheard him. “Paul, we have known each other a good many long years,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I should like to make you a Christmas-box. Let you and me go off to Plymouth to-morrow, and see if we cannot fall in with as fine a cutter as the Sea-Gull. It won’t do to be letting our ships knock about the chops of the Channel this winter weather without you to show them the way up; so I’ll find you a craft, and may she have better luck than the poor Sea-Gull!”

“Oh, Sir Baldwin, you are very good; so good, I shall never be able to repay you,” exclaimed Paul Petherwick, respectfully pressing the kind baronet’s hand.

“I am paid beforehand with all the blessings I enjoy,” answered Sir Baldwin. “They came to me without my having toiled for them, far less deserved them; I am bound to make the best use of them in my power, so say no more about the matter.”

A new cutter was found and purchased, and named the Lady Isabel, after Sir Baldwin’s wife; and for many a day, in summer and winter, Paul Petherwick sailed her in pursuit of his calling.

Story 9—Chapter 2.

There was not a finer lad in the country round than Sir Baldwin’s third son, his blue-eyed, light-haired, merry, laughing boy Harry. When he came home from school for the summer holidays, Harry declared his fixed intention of going to sea. Sir Baldwin, after several conversations with his son, felt convinced that it was his settled wish to enter the navy, and forthwith set about obtaining a berth for him as a midshipman on board a man-of-war. There was but little difficulty in doing this; for, after a short peace, England was again at war with France and Spain and other countries, and ships were being fitted out as fast as they could be got ready. Harry was in high glee. The dream of his life was to be realised. He had not talked about the matter. People often, when they are very earnest in wishing for a thing, do not talk about it. Sir Baldwin took him to Plymouth; his outfit was soon procured, and he was entered on board the Phoenix, a dashing 36-gun frigate, destined for the West India station; a part of the world where there was every chance of her having plenty of fighting. Captain Butler, her brave commander, lost no time in getting his crew into an efficient state by exercising them constantly at their guns, and in shortening and making sail. Harry Treherne thus rapidly acquired a knowledge of the profession he had chosen. He had determined to be a good sailor; he gave his mind to the work, and considered no details beneath his notice; consequently, everybody was ready to give him instruction; he gained the confidence of the officers and the respect of the men.

“A sail on the lee bow!” shouted the look-out man at the mast-head.

The cry made the captain and officers on deck turn their glasses in the direction indicated. The helm was put up, and at length, through the haze of a warm summer morning, the stranger was discovered, with her mizen topsail aback and her main topsail shivering, evidently awaiting the arrival of the Phoenix. She was clearly an enemy’s frigate, heavily armed. The Phoenix had been disguised to look as much as possible like a corvette, a much smaller class of vessel, and it was more than possible that the Frenchmen might find that they had caught a Tartar.

“We shall have some glorious fighting,” cried little Tommy Butts, the smallest midshipman on board. “We shall thrash ’em in quarter less no time. I hope that we shall have to board; that’s the way I should like to take the enemy.”

“Why, your cutlass would run away with you, Tommy,” said a big mate, who delighted to sneer at Tommy. “It is a shame to send such children as you to sea.”

“His spirit may run away with him,” observed Harry. “Never mind what old Hulks says; Nelson was a little chap, and he did a few things to be proud of.”

Many a joke and laugh were indulged in as the men, stripped to the waist, stood at their guns, while the frigate approached her powerful antagonist. At length, as she got within range, the Frenchman opened his fire, the shot flying through the sails and wounding severely the masts, yards, and rigging. Not a gun, however, was discharged on board the Phoenix in return till it could take deadly effect. The Didon, the French frigate, however, from fast sailing and clever manoeuvring, always managed to keep in such a position that the guns of the Phoenix could not bear on her. At length the English losing patience, ran right down on the Didon to windward, and thus the two antagonists were brought broadside to broadside.

This was the longed-for moment, and the British crew made up for the previous delay by working their guns with a rapidity which soon strewed the decks of the enemy with the dead and wounded, damaged her hull, and cut up her rigging.

Again the French ship got clear; but, as she had lost several of her sails, the Phoenix was more of a match for her. Once more the antagonists closed, this time in a deadly embrace, the bow of the Didon running into the quarter of the Phoenix.

“We have you now,” cried the gallant captain, lashing, with the help of some of his men, the bowsprit of the enemy to his own mizen mast.

While he was so employed, Harry Treherne and Tommy Butts saw a Frenchman taking deliberate aim at him. Tommy had got hold of the musket of a marine who had fallen wounded.

“See, Harry, what a little chap can do!” he exclaimed; at the same moment firing at the Frenchman, who fell, his musket going off and sending the bullet flying just above the captain’s head.

Captain Butler saw the act, and nodded his thanks, for he had no time to speak. The next proceeding was to bring a heavy gun to fire through a port which had been formed by enlarging one of the cabin windows. Several seamen fell, picked off by the French marines, till the gun was in its place. When, however, it once opened fire, its effects were terrible indeed, full twenty of the Frenchmen being struck down at the first discharge.

Meantime the English marines kept up so hot a fire on the Didon’s forecastle, that the seamen could not venture on it to fire the gun which had been placed there. At length, however, the antagonists separated, both presenting a woeful appearance.

Instead of the clouds of canvas swelling proudly to the breeze with which they had entered into action, rope-ends and riddled sails hung drooping down from every mast and yard. The fight was not over; the crew of the Phoenix busily employed themselves in repairing damages, and, having knotted and spliced the rigging, and trimmed sails, she stood towards the Didon.

With the first fresh puff of wind the foremast of her opponent went over the side, and at the moment she was about to open her fire the brave captain of the Didon hauled down her colours, finding that he could neither escape nor fight with any prospect of success. Loud cheers burst from the British crew. This was Harry’s first fight. It was indeed a hard-fought one. Twelve men had been killed and twenty-eight wounded of the crew; while the Didon had lost no less than twenty-seven officers and men killed, and forty-four wounded, out of a crew of 330, while the Phoenix went into action with only 245 men. She and her prize arrived safely at Plymouth. She only remained long enough to refit, and once more was at sea, and on her way back to the West Indies.

Harry’s next exploit was of a different character. Passing near the Isle of Pines, two schooners and a brig were discovered far up a bight, protected by a battery. There was little doubt that they were privateers, and likely to do damage to British shipping.

“We must cut those vessels out,” observed the captain.

The frigate stood off the land as if she was going away, but at night once more stood back. As soon as she was well in with the land she hove-to, and three boats were manned and lowered. Harry was appointed to go in one of them. They were to pull up the harbour and attack the three vessels, and, if necessary, one boat’s crew was to land and storm the fort. With muffled oars they pulled up the harbour. They could just make out the vessels as they lay floating in silence on the calm water, a light wind blowing off-shore. The boats got close up to the brig before they were discovered. The enemy then, who had rushed to their guns, which were run out, opened a hot fire from them, with muskets and pistols; but the boats being close the shots passed over the heads of their crews. With loud cheers the British sprang up the sides of the brig. The crew bravely stood to their arms, but were speedily overpowered by the impetuosity of the boarders, and were cut down or driven below, some in their terror leaping overboard.

While Harry Treherne and his crew remained on board, the other two boats proceeded to the attack of the schooners. He, meantime, having secured the prisoners below, sent some of his hands aloft to loose sails while the cable was cut, and in a few minutes the captured brig was standing out of the harbour. The roar of the guns, the clashing of steel, and the rattle of musketry had aroused the garrison of the fort, which opened fire on the brig. The shots fell around her, and several went through her sails, but no one was hurt. As he passed near the schooners he listened anxiously for the signal which was to announce their capture. First one loud cheer and then another told him that the work was done, and they were soon perceived following under all sail, little heeding the fire from the fort. Harry Treherne, with all the officers and men engaged, was warmly commended for the spirited way in which the exploit had been performed. It was not the only deed of naval daring in which he took an active part.

At length the frigate was ordered to Bermuda on her way home. Within a short distance of that island a suspicious vessel was seen from the mast-head. Sail was made in chase. The stranger on discovering the frigate did her utmost to escape, steering to the eastward, the wind being from the west. A stern chase is a long chase. The night was clear and the stranger was kept in sight. When morning dawned the frigate had scarcely gained on her. This made the captain still more eager to overtake her. All that day the chase continued—the frigate gaining, however, somewhat on the stranger, a large fore-and-aft schooner. At length, at sundown, it fell calm, and fears were entertained that, should a mist rise, the schooner might escape during the night. The captain therefore, sent three of the boats to capture her. They had been discovered some time before they got alongside. Boarding nettings were up, small-arm men were stationed at the bow and stern, and as they drew near the guns opened a hot fire with grape and canister. Still the British seamen, not to be daunted, dashed on, and, climbing up the sides and cutting their way through the nettings, in another minute the schooner’s deck was won. She proved to be a Spanish privateer, a very fine new vessel. A light breeze at daybreak enabled the frigate to come up with her. The prisoners were transferred to the frigate, and the command of the prize given to old Hulks, the mate, who had been Tommy Butt’s tyrant; and Harry Treherne was sent as his second in command, with orders to proceed to Plymouth.

Old Hulks had several failings: whenever spirits came in his way he could not refrain from them. Harry had, therefore, the chief charge of the schooner. It was the winter season, and as they approached the chops of the Channel the weather became very bad. Old Hulks, however, declared that he must be home by Christmas, and ordered Harry to crack on all the sail the schooner could carry night and day. Harry had taken his observations as long as the sun could be seen, but for some days the sky had been obscured by clouds. He believed that they were not far from the Land’s End, and well over to the British coast. Old Hulks insisted that they were too far to the southward, and ordered the schooner to be headed more to the northward. Night was approaching. It was Christmas Eve. The wind was strong, and a heavy snowstorm prevented the possibility of their sighting the land.

“Never mind, Harry; we shall see it in the morning,—about Plymouth, I take it, and I shall be at home in plenty of time for our Christmas dinner, and you shall dine with me, as you won’t be able to get to your own place.”

“I wish that I could think so. We are nearer the English coast than you suppose,” said Harry.

“Well, heave the schooner to at midnight,” answered old Hulks. “I shall go below—call me then; it’s fearfully cold.”

Harry was compelled to obey the orders of his superior. He, however, kept as good a look-out as he possibly could, wishing anxiously for midnight. The hour was approaching. The wind blew stronger and stronger, and the snow came down, covering the deck, and making it impossible to see beyond the bowsprit end. Suddenly there was a loud crash—the vessel groaned from stem to stern, the foremast went by the board. Loud cries arose: “We are on the rocks! We are on the rocks! Heaven protect us!”—was echoed from mouth to mouth.

Story 9—Chapter 3.

A large merry Christmas party was assembled under Sir Baldwin Treherne’s hospitable roof. All sorts of games had been carried on till a late hour, and everybody was in high spirits.

“Oh, if dear Harry was here it would be perfect,” exclaimed one of his sisters, the gentle Mary, who had been his chief playmate in his childhood.

“Oh, Harry is all right, enjoying the warm weather in the West Indies, instead of being frozen as we are here.”

“Lucky dog!” said one of his brothers.

They all went to bed at last. More than one prayer in the house was offered up that night for young Harry’s safety.

Christmas morning came. The sky was overcast, the snow was falling thickly. Sir Baldwin had promised to visit during the day a poor family; the mother lay dying.

“I cannot begin this blessed day better than by a work of love,” he said to himself, as he looked out on the snow-covered landscape. “If I put it off till the afternoon she may no longer be here.”

He never allowed the weather to prevent him from going out. With a thick greatcoat on, a stout stick in one hand, he set forth through the snow on his errand of mercy, long before the rest of the family had left their rooms. He was just going into the cottage when he met Paul Petherwick, with his pilot-coat, sea-boots, and a spy-glass under his arm, accompanied by several of his crew, carrying oars and coils of rope and other ship’s gear.

“What, Paul, are you going to sea such a morning as this—Christmas morning, too?” asked the baronet, in a tone of surprise.

“Yes, Sir Baldwin, that I am; for you see, sir, I was one Christmas day, as you will remember, tossing about on yon stormy sea till my craft was driven on shore, and I and my crew well-nigh lost. I should have been thankful if any brother pilot had been out on that morning to have towed the Sea-Gull into port. For what I know, there are some poor fellows out of their reckoning; and if I can fall in with them, and pilot them up Channel, I shall be doing as I should like to be done by.”

“You are right, my friend. Heaven protect and prosper you,” said the baronet. “You’ll come up in the evening to hear the carol-singers. There’ll be a cup of mead ready for you, and for your people, too, if they will come.”

“Thank ye, Sir Baldwin; we’ll come,” said several voices, and the pilot’s crew hurried down to their boat.

The pilot vessel made several tacks along shore before stretching out to sea. She had made her last tack, and was standing off the land when, near the very reef on which the Sea-Gull was lost, Paul thought he saw the mast of a vessel. He called for his spy-glass. The boy brought it to him. Just then the snow cleared off somewhat.

“There are some poor fellows clinging to it, too,” he exclaimed. “Ease off the jib-sheet! Down with the helm! we must beat up to them.”

“Poor fellows! poor fellows! I hope that they will hold on till we reach them,” he exclaimed several times, as he himself went to the helm, that he might make the vessel do her best, for tide and wind were against her. Just then a large ship hove in sight, with a signal for a pilot. “She can wait; these poor fellows cannot,” he said, as he looked towards her. “She would have paid us heavy pilotage, too.”

As the Lady Isabel drew near the wreck, one of the people on the mast was seen waving a hat feebly. The others appeared to be lashed to it, but unable to move. The cutter was hove-to and the boat lowered. There was a broken sea running, and it was a work of difficulty and danger. Six men were clinging to the mast, most of them more dead than alive from the wet and cold.

“Take our young officer off first, pilot,” said one of the men; “he’s furthest gone.”

Two of the most active of the pilot’s crew climbed the mast, and brought down the almost lifeless form of a young midshipman. Only two other men could be carried in the small pilot-boat at a time.

“Why, if it isn’t Master Harry Treherne!” exclaimed old Paul Petherwick, as he received the lad in his arms, and deposited him in the bottom of the boat. “Pull, my sons, pull! the sooner we get him between the warm blankets the better.”

Harry Treherne, for it was indeed he, was quickly conveyed on board the Lady Isabel, and placed in the old pilot’s bed, where, with the aid of a glass of grog (the sailor’s specific in all maladies—in this instance the best that could be applied), he soon regained his consciousness. His first inquiries were for the rest of his crew. Five had been saved, but the rest, with old Hulks, had been lost. The cutter was now rapidly nearing the small harbour close to the manor house.

Sir Baldwin saw her coming, and having observed her manoeuvres near the wreck, was sure that she was bringing some shipwrecked seamen on shore.

“We have got some one here who will be glad to see you, Sir Baldwin,” said Paul, as he and his men lifted a sailor wrapped up in blankets out of the boat.

“Father, dear father, I am all right! don’t be alarmed. Only rather weak from having been out in the cold all night,” cried a voice which Sir Baldwin recognised as that of his son Harry.

“Paul, you have repaid me, and more than repaid me,” exclaimed the baronet, after the first greetings with Harry were over. “I knew that you would. Do what is right and kind on all occasions, and good will come out of it somehow or other, though we do not always exactly see how it is to be. That is what I have always said, and what has happened is a strong proof that what I have said is true.”

The shipwrecked seamen were received into the manor house, and carefully tended. Harry was almost himself again by the evening, and all agreed that that Christmas Day, if not as merry, was as happy as any that the family had spent. They had many great blessings to be thankful for, and among them, not the least to the parents’ hearts, was that their sailor-boy, after all the perils he had gone through, had once more been restored to them in safety.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Three Admirals"

Chapter One.

The Dragon off the Bonins—A conversation between Tom Rogers and Archie Gordon—Gerald Desmond on the sick-list—Threatenings of a typhoon—It strikes the ship—She runs before it—The ship hove to—The bowsprit carried away—A marine Will-o’-the-wisp—Enter a bay in one of the Bonin Islands—Tom, Gerald, and Billy get leave to visit the shore—A beautiful cavern—Land on the island—Their discoveries—Fishing—Interrupted by sharks—A picnic—Boat drifts away from the shore—Tom swims off—Narrow escape from a shark—See the ship in the offing—Pull after her—A hurricane coming on—Fearful danger when re-entering the harbour.

Her Majesty’s corvette Dragon, lately commanded by our old friend Jack Rogers, who had been superseded by Commander Rawson, was on her passage across the wide Pacific, bound for Esquimault harbour, Vancouver’s Island, from Japan, to which she had been sent with despatches.

The wind being fair, the screw was at rest, and she was under all sail, looking as trim and taunt a little man-of-war as a sailor’s heart could desire. Her stay in Japan had been short, so that no leave had been granted, and even the officers had seen little of the country and people; though, as they hoped to return before long, that did not much matter. As it was of no great importance that the Dragon should soon get back to Vancouver’s Island, Commander Rawson had received directions to visit the Ladrone Islands, somewhat to the southward of his course, in order to obtain particulars of an outrage, said to have been committed on an English subject by some of the mongrel inhabitants of those islands, which have for some centuries belonged to Spain.

The smooth sea shone brightly in the rays of the sun, undimmed by cloud or mist. In all directions the snowy wings of sea fowl could be seen, now dipping towards the ocean, now rising into the blue ether, showing that land was at no great distance. As the wind was from the northward, the air was cool, though the shady side of the ship was generally sought for by the watch on deck, except by a few whose heads seemed impervious to the hot rays of a tropical sun.

Two midshipmen were slowly pacing the port side of the quarter-deck, where a few feet of shade afforded them shelter from the heat. The one, a somewhat short, well-knit lad, with open countenance, well tanned, and blue laughing eyes, his whole appearance giving promise of strength and activity; the other, a tall youth with sandy hair, and pleasant features well freckled. Though tall, he was too well built to be called lanky, and showed that he possessed both strength and activity.

“I say, Archie, I do envy those fellows of the Eolus going on to China; they will see all sorts of fun, for the Celestials are sure not to give in in a hurry. The Eoluses will have the same sort of work that my brother Jack and your cousin Murray went through in the last Chinese war, when they were midshipmen.”

The speaker was Tom Rogers, the youngest brother of Captain Jack Rogers; his companion was Archie Gordon, Captain Alick Murray’s cousin.

“Gerald was dreadfully cut up at not being able to remain on board the Eolus, and having instead to come back with us to return home; but Captain Adair’s letter was peremptory, and, as the newspapers say, I hope that he will hear of something to his advantage. Gerald would have been better pleased had his uncle let him know why he was sent for.”

“He has no great cause to complain, seeing that the climate of China is none of the most delectable, and he would have run the risk of being shot into the bargain,” observed Archie. “I wish that I had the chance of going home, and finding myself the possessor of a tidy fortune with a title.”

“But then there’s the honour and glory, and the fun, and the pig-tails to be captured, and the loot, and the chance of serving in a naval brigade and seeing some work on shore, just as the Shannon’s people did in India, with a fair prospect of promotion at the end of it.”

“If a body happens not to be shot, ye ken,” observed Archie, who, though every bit as eager as Tom for the sort of work he described, took a pleasure in differing in opinion from him whenever he could.

“We will not, however, bother poor Desmond about the subject until he is well again,” said Tom. “I really believe that he fell sick through vexation, though he was happy enough to be with us once more.”

“He is much better to-day,” remarked Archie, “and I hope by to-morrow that the doctor will let him come on deck again, although he may not be fit for duty for a day or two more.”

Mr Mildmay, the first lieutenant, who was officer of the watch, paced the deck, spyglass in hand, now and then going on to the bridge and sweeping the horizon with his glass, while he frequently called to the look-outs on the forecastle and fore-yardarm to keep their eyes open. Jos Green, the master, was also continually there, or else consulting the chart in his cabin, for that part of the ocean was comparatively little known, and cruel reefs might exist, not marked down.

“The first lieutenant and the master seem very fidgety,” remarked Tom.

“So would we be, I suspect, if the responsibility of navigating the ship rested with us,” answered Archie. “After all, no one suffers by being sufficiently careful; that’s the rule my cousin gave me when I first came to sea.”

“And a very good rule it is, too, no doubt about that,” observed Tom. “My brother Jack is as careful of his ship, and everything connected with her, as an old lady is of her best silk gown on a Sunday morning, though any one, to hear him talk, would suppose that he was the most harum-scarum fellow alive, always excepting his old shipmate, Captain Adair. He is, however, staid and steady enough in reality. I was very glad to hear that he got his post rank at the same time as my brother Jack did; and now the three old messmates, as they delight to call themselves, are post-captains, and will some day, I hope, be admirals. I wish, however, that they had not to wait so long. Your grave cousin Murray is as fit to be an admiral now as he will be twenty years hence, and, unless not a few fine fellows die off, it will take the best part of that time for any of them to get their flag.”

“It is encouragement for us, though,” observed Archie; “for if they have all been posted without any great amount of interest, we may hope to get promoted in consequence of our good conduct.”

“Yes, but then remember that they have seen a great deal of service, and should the piping times of peace return, we may find it a hard matter to get employed and be able to exhibit our good conduct.”

“Weel, mon, we’ll hope for the best, and may be some other nation will kindly think fit to come to fisticuffs with old England, and give us something to do,” said Archie.

“There’s every chance of that, I should think,” said Tom. Just then seven bells struck in the afternoon watch. “I’ll go and see how Gerald is getting on, before I have to come on deck again; it’s dull work for him lying all by himself.”

Tom found his old messmate, whose cot was slung a little way outside the berth, so that he might have the advantage of the air coming down the after-hatchway, sucking lustily at an orange which he grasped in one hand, while he held a book in the other. He was so absorbed in its perusal that he did not notice Tom. Suddenly he burst into a loud fit of laughter.

“Capital fun; I should have liked to have seen it!” he exclaimed; “soused over head and ears a second time. Ah, ah, ah!”

“What’s the joke?” asked Tom.

“I’ve just got to where old Peregrine Wiffle tumbles into the water a second time, when he is showing how he saw the small fish playing under the wharf, and was picked up with a boat-hook.” Tom and Gerald had a good laugh together.

“You don’t seem very bad,” observed Tom.

“No; the fever, or whatever it was, that had got hold of me, has cut its stick, though I don’t feel quite as nimble as I ought to be,” answered Gerald. “I believe that the disappointment of not going to China, and the thinking over what my uncle Terence can want me home for, had more to do with it than the climate, the hot sun, or anything else, and I intend to ask the doctor to let me go on deck to-morrow, by which time I shall have finished my book, and I want to have a look at any of the islands we may happen to pass. There are some curious shaped ones, I am told.”

“Yes; we have sighted some. One seemed to rise three or four hundred feet in a pointed peak, right out of the water, and it was not, I should say, an eighth of a mile in circumference. It is marked on the chart as Lot’s wife. A solitary existence she must lead all by herself.”

“Whereabouts are we?” asked Desmond.

“At noon, when we were passing that curious rock, our latitude was 29 degrees north, and our longitude 14 degrees east. We shall next sight the Bonin Islands, or Rosario, which is another lofty island, little more than a rock, standing up out of the sea.”

“Do ask the doctor if I may get up, Tom; I should be sorry to pass these places without having a look at them,” exclaimed Desmond. “I can finish my book by-and-by.”

Just then the officer spoken of, Mr Hussey, came out from the gun-room. He was a short, somewhat stout gentleman, with a good-natured expression of countenance, and a merry twinkle in the eye, which showed that he could enjoy a joke, and was likely to utter many a one himself. His naturally florid complexion was deepened into a still more ruddy hue by exposure to the hot suns of the tropics.

“Do, doctor, let me get up; your physic has done me an immense deal of good, and I feel quite well already,” said Desmond.

The doctor felt his pulse. “You get up!” he exclaimed. “What do you think yourself made of?” trying to look grave.

“Arrah, shure, sugar and spice and all that’s nice! that’s what midshipmen are made of. But shure, doctor dear, you will not keep me here, stewing by myself, when I might be enjoying the pure air of heaven?—for I really am well, doctor.”

“You mean to say that you have finished your book, and have got tired of lying in bed,” was the reply. “Well, if you promise to be a good boy and keep in the shade, you may dress and go on deck, but I cannot undertake to scratch you off the sick-list yet.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Desmond; “I will do everything you tell me, and take as much medicine as you think fit to prescribe. I do not want to do duty yet, as I’ve got a hundred pages more of ‘Tom Cringle’s Log’ to read, and I cannot gallop over a book as some people do.”

“Well, well, possibly the ship may manage to take care of itself without you,” said the doctor, as he passed on.

Whereupon Desmond began to put on his clothes, a task which he accomplished with Tom’s assistance. He felt himself, however, much weaker than he had expected, as he made his way upon deck, though he tried hard to show that he was himself again. He received a friendly greeting from his messmates, and Mr Mildmay congratulated him on being able once more to make his appearance.

There was plenty to amuse those who had a taste for natural history even when no land was in sight, and the doctor, who was a great naturalist, was constantly on the qui vive, for the sea teemed with squid, medusae, polypi, and flying-fish. Several of the latter came through the ports, when there was a general scramble for them, the midshipmen, who were on the watch and the most active, coming in for the largest share. A short time afterwards the unhappy fish made an appearance, well fried, on their mess-table. Whales, too, were sporting in all directions, tempted to the locality by the abundance of food which the before-named creatures afforded. Several old whalers among the crew could scarcely restrain their impatience, and, could they have obtained leave, would have gone off with such gear as they could have prepared to attack the monsters of the deep.

Since the Dragon had left Japan, the weather had been remarkably fine, with calms and light winds. But the calms lasted scarcely long enough to have the fires lighted before the ship was again under sail. That evening, however, a long heavy swell began to come from the north-east; the undulations rapidly increasing in size, making the ship roll from side to side, until her chains touched the water. Desmond, in common with two or three of his messmates, and most of the ship’s boys and marines, began to feel very uncomfortable.

“What’s going to happen?” he asked; “I’m mighty quare about the region of the stomach.”

“I suppose we are going to have a gale of wind, as a change,” answered Tom, who had never been ill since he first came to sea. “We shall have to shorten sail, I’ve a notion, before long, to be prepared for blustering Boreas, when he thinks fit to visit us.”

The whole appearance of the sky and sea quickly changed. The wildfowl, which had been hovering around the ship, winged their flight to the nearest islands where shelter could be found. The atmosphere was pervaded with a peculiar glare by the rays of the sun coming through the clouds of a dull ochreous red, giving the ocean, the ship, her canvas and sides, the same unnatural tint.

As the summits of the swells, till now as smooth as glass, rose higher and higher, they formed crests of foam, which sparkled in the ruddy light, like masses of jewels. Hitherto there had not been sufficient wind to steady the ship as she made her way amid the heaving billows. Mr Jay, the second lieutenant, was now the officer of the watch; he made a sign to Tom.

“Rogers,” he said, “go and tell the commander that the weather is getting much worse.”

“Be quick about it, too,” exclaimed Green; “there is no time to lose.”

Commander Rawson was quickly on deck. After taking a rapid glance round, he shouted out, “All hands shorten sail.”

The watch below came tumbling up on deck. The topsails were lowered, and the topmen, like bees, swiftly swarmed aloft, laying out on the yardarms.

“Hold on by your teeth and eyelids, Billy,” said Tom to his old friend Billy Blueblazes, as he sprang up to his station in the main-top. The canvas was speedily reduced to closely-reefed fore and main-topsails and fore-staysail. It was hard work to hold on, for the ship rolled even more violently than before. The wind, however, did not come as soon as was expected, but it was impossible to say at what moment it might strike her. That it would come with no ordinary strength, and without further warning, there was every reason to believe.

The crew, having performed their task, were called down on deck. There was something in the appearance of the sea and sky, and the heaviness of the atmosphere, which made even the toughest old seaman feel an extraordinary depression of spirits, though he might not have suspected the cause.

“Faith! I’m sorry I did not remain quietly in my cot,” said Desmond; “it seems to me as if the world were coming to an end. I should not be surprised to see flames spouting up out of the sea. It looks as if some big fires were burning away under it.”

“Don’t you ken, Gerald, that the water would be putting the fire out,” observed Archie; “though from the appearance of some of those islands there has been fire enough below them at one time or other. They have all been raised up out of the ocean by volcanic agency.”

“I am not disposed to dispute the truth of your remark,” said Desmond; “I only wish the sea would get quiet, and let us glide comfortably over it, instead of kicking up such a disturbance.”

While the midshipmen were speaking, the ship had continued her uneasy course, slowly rising to the summit of a huge billow and then gliding down into the deep trough.

Suddenly a loud roar was heard, and it seemed as if some mighty monster of the deep had struck a prodigious blow on the side of the ship. Over she heeled until the water rushed in at her lee ports.

“Up with the helm. Furl the main-topsail. Take another reef in the fore-topsail. We must run before it,” cried the commander, hoping to steer clear of any islands or reefs which might be ahead.

The ship quickly rose to an even keel, and dashed forward amid the foaming seas, rolling, however, even more violently than before. So rapidly did the waves follow, that many struck her stern; not, however, before her dead lights had been closed. So tremendous were some of the blows, that it seemed as if her masts would be shaken out of her. The doctor and purser, who were sitting in the gun room, were thrown off their seats sprawling under the table, fully believing that the ship had struck a rock, and that all hands would soon be struggling for their lives.

As soon as things could be got to rights, Tom helped Desmond below, and he was glad enough to again turn into his hammock, which he had before been so anxious to quit.

“Shure we have got Harry Cane aboard of us, Mr Rogers,” observed Tim Nolan, who was in Tom’s watch, and took the liberty of an old shipmate to address his officer with a freedom on which others would not have ventured. They were both stationed together on the forecastle, looking out ahead.

“I wish that the gentleman would be good enough to take himself off, then,” answered Tom, “or he may be playing us a scurvy trick, by sending our craft on some of the ugly reefs which abound hereabouts.”

“We’ll be after keeping a bright look-out for that, sir,” said Tim.

“We may be on a reef before we can see it,” observed Tom. “For my part, if I did not believe that Providence was steering us, I should not be at all comfortable.”

The ship continued to drive on before the gale. The second lieutenant came forward, but he had to confess that his eyes were of little value to pierce the dark gloom ahead. The foam-crested waves could alone be seen, rapidly rising and falling. Tom’s eyes ached. He was not sorry when he was relieved. Still, neither he nor any one else felt inclined to go below; no one could tell what might happen. The thick clouds hung down like a dark canopy, apparently just above the masts’ heads. The thunder, which had been rumbling in the distance, now began to roar loudly, while flashes of forked lightning came zig-zagging through the air, threatening every instant to strike the ship. But, though they played round on all sides, none touched her. The commander had ordered the fires to be got up, so that the ship might be under steam, ready for any emergency.

Hour after hour the typhoon continued to howl even more fiercely than at first. Frequently a blast would strike the ship, making her tremble as if some solid mass had been hurled against her. Then there would come a lull for a few seconds, then another blast would suddenly strike her in a way that made every plank shake throughout her frame. Even the most hardy on board wished for day. The morning light brought no abatement of the gale.

Onward went the ship, now plunging into a vast hollow, which threatened to engulf her; now she rose rapidly to the top of another sea, while on either side they appeared to be vying with each other, which could leap the highest and accomplish her destruction.

The officers were gathered aft, the men in the waist, holding on firmly to the stanchions, or anything to which they could secure themselves. Each time that the ship plunged her head into the seas, the masts bent, as if every moment they would go by the board. At length a lull came, and the commander, having consulted with Green, fearing dangers ahead, determined to bring the ship to, an operation attended by considerable risk, as a sea striking her at the moment might sweep her deck. A favourable opportunity was waited for. The crew stood ready to lower the fore-topsail and hoist the main-topsail, which had been closely reefed. Both tasks were accomplished; the officers were anxiously watching the seas as the ship rode over them, but happily she was safely rounded to, and now lay with her main-topsail to the mast, though scarcely had she got into that position, than a fierce foam-crested sea, roaring up, struck her bows and deluged her decks, but shaking herself clear, like a thing of life, she sprang forward, while the water rushed through the ports. The lull continued, and many hoped that the gale was breaking; but in less than an hour another furious squall struck the ship, and nearly laid her over on her beam ends. Once more she rose, her stout canvas having stood the severe trial to which it had been put, and she rode with comparative ease for a few minutes.

The seas, however, seemed to become more broken than ever. A prodigious one came roaring towards the weather bow. The Dragon appeared to see her danger, and struggled to avoid it, but the next instant she pitched headlong into a deep hollow, when another monstrous wave, rising apparently half as high as the foretop, fell completely down on her deck. For a few seconds, her commander and his officers feared that she would never again rise. No orders could be issued, and nothing could be done. The crew stood silently at their stations, not uttering a word, or showing that they felt the fearful predicament in which they were placed.

The ship remained, as it were, fixed in the sea; then with a sudden jerk she burst her way through it, but her stout bowsprit was broken short off, and the next sea threw the wreck of it across the forecastle. The commander’s voice was now heard in tones vying with the howling of the gale. The crew, obedient to his orders, rushed forward to secure the bowsprit with lashings; while the boatswain, with another gang, lost not a moment in setting up fresh stays, to prevent the foremast being carried away.

This, with the loss of one of the boats, and the forepart of the bulwarks stove in, were the chief damages hitherto received by the Dragon during the gale. It was not over, however. Again the sun set, and the wind continued to rage with unabated fury. The watch below had been ordered to turn in, but few of the officers had done so, and, though tired out, still remained on deck. Tom and Archie were standing aft, close together, when the latter suddenly grasped Tom by the arm.

“Oh, mon! what’s that?” he exclaimed, pointing to the main-topmast head, which appeared crowned by a ball of pale fire.

“It has a curious appearance; though I never saw it before, my brother Jack has told me about it. It is a sort of Jack-o’-lantern, or Will-o’-the-wisp, or, as Gerald once called it, ‘Saint Vitus’ dance.’ I believe he meant to say Saint Elmo’s fire.”

While the midshipmen were gazing up, the flame descended rapidly down the mast, running first along the main topgallant yardarm, then returning, down it came, to the main-topsail yard, where it glided out to the extreme end. Here it rested for some seconds, as if it had not made up its mind what next to do. Presently back it came to the mast, and darted out to the lee yardarm. It had not yet finished its journey. Once more gliding back, it ascended the mast, when it made its way by the main-topmast stay, on to the foremast and there went gliding backwards and forwards along the yard.

“I wish it would come down on deck, and then we might have a chance of catching it,” said Tom. “I have read somewhere that a man going aloft with a bucket, clapped it over the light, and brought it down a prisoner. It is a sort of gas which is driven about through the air until it finds something to rest on. Why it goes moving up and down in that curious way I don’t know, nor does anybody else, I believe. I wish the doctor were on deck,—he would tell us.”

“Shall I call him?” asked Archie.

“I don’t think he would thank you,” said Tom. “Let him rest in quiet; perhaps before he can get on his clothes the fire will have disappeared.”

Tom was right. In another minute the luminous ball, gathering itself into a point, shot upwards and vanished.

“That’s a good sign,” they heard Green observe to the first lieutenant; “we shall have the gale breaking before long.”

Before the watch was out the hurricane had sensibly decreased, showing that the master was right in his prognostication. The sea continued, however, to tumble the ship about terribly until the morning dawned, when the clouds began to disperse, and as the sun rose they appeared to fly before his burning rays. By noon the sky was perfectly clear, when, an observation having been taken, the commander determined to run under the lee of one of the Bonin Islands, which were sighted shortly afterwards. Steam had been got up, and the vessel made rapid way, though she continued to roll considerably, moved by the now glass-like swell, which still came in from the north-east, showing that, although a calm rested on the waters where she was, a storm raged in another part of the ocean.

Several islands were now seen rising out of the water on the port bow, and as the Dragon drew near trees could be distinguished on the hills, showing that they were not as barren as they appeared to be at a distance. Rounding the southern end of one of them, she went on at half speed, feeling her way with the lead until she opened a sheltered bay between two high projecting points. Running in she brought up within a quarter of a mile from the shore in perfectly still water. Everybody was glad enough to be at rest after the tumbling about they had had during the last few days. They were not allowed, however, to enjoy many minutes’ quiet; all hands were speedily set to work to repair damages.

“We should be thankful that we have escaped so easily,” observed Archie Gordon, who had been surveying the shore through his telescope. “Look there, Tom, at those tall trees stretched on the ground with their roots in the air; it must have taken a pretty hard blow to break them down. I can see some stumps sticking up, showing that others have been snapped off by the wind. It is a mercy that we weathered it out as well as we did.”

Tom took the glass. “I should have been sorry to have been under them,” he answered, “and I only hope that no poor fellows were living on shore, or they would have run great risk of being crushed. It makes me think of the old song—

“‘A strong nor’-wester’s blowing, Bill;

Hark I don’t ye hear it roar now?

Lord help ’em, how I pities them

Unhappy folks on shore now!’

“I hope the commander will let us take a run on shore, however, before we sail.”

In the course of a couple of days the repairs were nearly finished, but as there was a good deal of painting to be done, the commander resolved to remain at anchor another day. Green and the second lieutenant had been employed during the time in surveying the island, but their surveys were not complete.

“I say, Gerald, we must get our trip some way or other,” said Tom to Desmond. “You’d be the better for a run ashore, and I’m sure, if you suggested the idea to the doctor, he will say so, and get Mr Mildmay to let us have a boat.”

Gerald followed Tom’s advice.

“Of course, my boy,” answered the good-natured doctor; “if you find anything curious, remember to bring it off for me.”

“That I will, sir,” said Tom.

The doctor having spoken to the first lieutenant, Tom went up boldly and asked for the use of the jolly-boat.

“You can have her; but remember you must be on board again in good time,” answered Mr Mildmay.

Tom and his party were quickly ready, carrying some fishing-lines, as well as some baskets to bring off any wild fruit they might happen to find. Tom and Gerald were below making their preparations, when Billy Blueblazes came out of the gun-room.

“Holloa!” he exclaimed; “I’ve got leave to go with you. I suppose you’ll take some grub?”

“We’ll be afther finding that on shore,” answered Desmond; “game, or fish, and fruit. I propose we carry a couple of muskets; we shall be sure to find something or other.”

“Elephants or rhinoceroses,” suggested Billy.

“Not quite such big beasts as they are,” answered Tom. “We should find them rather too cumbrous to stow away in our game-bags.”

“But we’ll take some bread, and rum, and some cold beef—they are not likely to grow on the island, at all events; or potatoes either, or a pot to boil them in,” remarked Desmond.

The articles they fancied would be required were quickly collected.

“Shure, if we haven’t forgotten the powder and shot!” exclaimed Desmond, as they were committing the things to the charge of Tim Nolan, who was to accompany them, that he might stow them away in the boat. Pat Casey, the other Irishman who had been saved from the savages, with Jerry Bird, formed the crew of the boat. Bird and Nolan were tried, steady men. Casey, who was accustomed to a savage life, might be useful in searching for fruits or any animals which might be found in the island. He was also a first-rate fisherman, having had plenty of experience during his residence with the Indians.

The party shoved off soon after the second lieutenant and master had left the ship.

“The only thing I’m sorry for is that Archie is not with us,” said Tom. “However, we are sure to have plenty of fun of some sort or other.”

At the further end of the bay was a small piece of sandy beach, towards which Tom steered the boat. As there was no surf, they ran her up on it, and stepped out without difficulty. A nearer acquaintance, however, showed them that the country was not of so tempting a character as they had at first supposed. There were a few trees close to the beach, some of which had been broken in two by the storm, and now lay prostrate on the ground. Even larger trees, a species of mahogany, lay uprooted in all directions, so that they found it very difficult to make their way among them. Still, by dint of climbing over the fallen trunks, and cutting a road through the brushwood, they had made some progress, when they discovered a circle of rocky hills, in many places almost precipitous. It seemed almost hopeless to attempt climbing over them, especially as Desmond acknowledged that he “did not feel very well up to that sort of work,” and they would have had likewise to carry their muskets, provisions and cooking utensils.

“As we have not much time to lose, I propose that we go back to the boat, and try and find another landing-place further along the coast,” said Tom.

His plan was agreed to; and launching the boat, they again took to their oars. After rounding a rocky point, which formed the eastern side of the bay, they pulled along for some distance in the hopes of finding another landing-place, from whence they could make their way into the interior. As there was no surf, and the sea was perfectly smooth, they kept close in with the land. In many places high cliffs rose precipitously out of the water. As they pulled along at the foot of one of these cliffs, Tom shouted out—

“Holloa! there’s a big cavern directly ahead of us; the water seems to run right up into it, and I should not be surprised if we could get up some distance in the boat.”

They stopped rowing, to survey the mouth of the cavern. It appeared to be upwards of thirty feet in height and almost of the same width. Everybody, of course, was eager to explore the cavern; and rowing gently, that no risk might be run of knocking the bows of the boat against a rock, they made their way into the cavern. By just keeping the oars moving, the boat glided on. Ahead, all was darkness, so that it was impossible to ascertain how far the cave penetrated into the land. As soon as their eyes got accustomed to the subdued light which existed at a distance of thirty or forty feet from the entrance, the beauties of the grotto began to dawn on their sight. Glittering stalactites, of a thousand fantastic forms, hung down from the high and vaulted roof, while at either side appeared columns and arches like those of some ancient temple, tinted with numberless delicate hues, the extreme points of the stalactites glittering like bright gems as they were reached by the reflected rays of the sun, which penetrated far down into the depths beneath, illuminating every object below its glassy surface. So beautifully clear was the water, that when the party in the boat looked over the sides, they could see right down to the bottom of the cavern, which appeared to consist of masses of rock, forming caves and hollows, covered with the richest marine vegetation. Here were corals of various tints, blue and yellow, red and white: amid them the ocean fan expanded its vast leaves; from the lowest depths sprang up the sea-green stems of the fucus, twining round columns which sank far down, and afforded them support. Here feathery tufts of green vegetables floated upwards in the clear water, while others of various strange shapes and hues formed recesses and arches, twisted and knotted in a variety of ways. Fish, of varied forms and brilliant colours, darted in and out among the openings, some rising close up to the boat, as if curious to ascertain the character of the visitors to their submarine palace.

“I wish the doctor were here to tell us their names,” exclaimed Tom. “Look there, at those odd creatures. What can they be?” The fish at which he pointed were flat, of an oval form, and of a rich silvery colour, delicately striped downwards with azure bands. They swam in a perpendicular position, aided by two long and slender fins, one curving upwards from the back, of a considerable length, and the other curving downwards from the opposite side. There were many others differing in form, but all of the most beautiful colours, darting and gliding in and out, but, being apparently of a less curious or more timid disposition than those which had excited Tom’s astonishment, did not venture near the boat. There were cray-fish, too, of large size, and enormous crabs, and star-fish, and sea-urchins, and bivalves of various sorts clinging to the rocks, with open mouths, to catch any unwary creatures coming within their reach.

After enjoying the scene for some time, by giving a few strokes with their oars the midshipmen allowed the boat to proceed further up the cavern. Most of the party were hanging over the water with their noses just above the surface, some with their hands trying to catch any of the fish which might venture near, when a cry from Tim made them spring up.

“Shure, he’ll be afther catching some of us, if we don’t look out,” exclaimed the Irishman, and at that moment they saw rising out of the far depths of the cavern an enormous shark, his eyes glaring like two glowing coals, as with open jaws he came nearer and nearer the boat.

“He’ll be after swallowing the whole of us,” cried Tim. “Back water! back water!” To the Irishman the shark probably appeared much larger than it really was.

“He won’t do us any harm; but just keep the oars out of the water,” said Tom, who was, of course, obeyed, and the shark glided alongside the boat, which he kept eyeing with suspicious glances.

“Would you be afther wishing to have one of us?” asked Desmond. “Then I hope you’ll be mistaken; unless, Billy, you wish to be kind to the baste, and let him have your arm as a treat.”

“Thank you,” said Billy; “I’d rather not. It wouldn’t give him much trouble to bite it off, though.”

“We must not be disappointed in our expectation of exploring the cavern by a brute like that,” exclaimed Tom. “Hand me the boat-hook.” Standing up, he struck the point with all his might against the nose of the monster, which at that instant sank with a suddenness which made Tom lose his balance, and had not Desmond and Billy seized him he would have been overboard.

“He’s more afraid of us than we are of him,” said Tom. “Now let us get as far up the cavern as we can.”

They pulled cautiously on, Tim standing up in the bows, and feeling ahead with the boat-hook. The mouth of the cavern seemed to grow smaller and smaller, until only a point of light remained. Suddenly Pat Casey, who was pulling with Jerry Bird, declared that he felt something seize the blade of his oar.

“It’s the shark, perhaps,” said Tom. “We have the muskets ready. I’ll give him a shot, and that will make him keep his distance. Wait until he tries it again.”

Tom took the musket, and stood up ready to fire.

“There! he’s got my oar in his jaws,” cried Pat.

Tom fired. The flash revealed for an instant the sides and roof of the cavern, which seemed to glitter as if studded with thousands of jewels, while ahead all was pitchy darkness, showing that they had not yet got to the extremity. The sound of the report, greatly increased in loudness, went echoing amid the arches and pillars, until it died away in the far distance, proving the great extent of the cavern.

Whether the shark was hit or not, it was impossible to say; but the bullet tore off the point of Pat’s oar, showing that Tom had taken good aim.

Jerry Bird now suggested to the midshipmen that it would be prudent to pull back, as without torches they could not see where they were going. There might be, for what they could tell to the contrary, some big sea monster squatting up at the further end, who might crunch them up without ceremony.

Though Tom had no apprehensions on that score, he agreed to return, proposing, should the Dragon remain at anchor another day, to explore the cave with a supply of torches. The boat was accordingly cautiously pulled round, and made her way towards the mouth. It was curious to watch the arch growing higher and higher, and the light gradually increasing. They had almost reached the entrance, when, on either side, not one, but several sharks, came gliding up. One, bolder and bigger than the rest, seized the blade of an oar, crunching off the end; and the other men had to keep a watchful eye to save theirs from being destroyed. Tom fired the other musket, and declared that the bullet went through the shark’s head. As the monster did not appear the worse for it, Desmond and Billy doubted the fact. Not until Tom had fired several times, and the boat had got to a considerable distance from the cavern, did the sharks leave her.

“There’s one thing certain: that’s not a place to bathe in, nor would it be pleasant to tumble overboard hereabouts,” observed Tom, gravely. “I never can see those black monsters, with their wicked eyes, floating near and looking up at one, without feeling uncomfortable.”

They had to row farther than they expected. At last they saw a narrow opening in a reef of rocks, within which they made out a small bay, with a sandy shore, where they could land with ease and draw up the boat. The country beyond, too, looked far more tempting than they had yet seen. The water in the passage was deep, so that they had no difficulty in making their way into the bay. As yet they had seen nothing of the second lieutenant’s and the master’s boats, which, supposing the island to be of small size, they had expected to meet coming round from the opposite side.

“We shall probably see them if we cut directly across the island,” observed Tom.

They were not disappointed in the bay. The beach was exactly what they wished for. They hauled the boat up, and agreed that she could be left without danger.

“But I hope you fellows are not going to begin a long march without some food,” observed Billy, who was noted for his excellent appetite. “We have no game, nor have we caught any fish. It’s lucky that we brought some food, as I advised.”

Wood was collected, and a fire quickly made. As they had brought cold meat and bread with them, they had only their potatoes to cook. This operation was superintended by Tim, while the rest of the party searched for any other productions of the island which might add to their repast. They had not gone far when Tom exclaimed—

“Why, there are some cocoa-nut trees, and very fine ones, too. I thought there were none on the island.”

“They are cocoa-nut trees, sure enough,” said Desmond, “and with cocoa-nuts growing on them. How to get them down is the question, for the stems are too stout to allow us to swarm up.”

“‘Where there’s a will there’s a way’; up we must climb, some way or other,” said Tom, who never liked to be beaten.

On reaching the spot, they found not only cocoa-nut trees, but yams and bananas, covering the ground in the wildest profusion, the latter climbing up the surrounding branches, from which the ripe fruit hung temptingly down.

On examining further, they discovered the remains of a fence, showing that the ground had been enclosed, for the purpose of forming a garden, at some probably distant period.

“Bless the man whoever planted these,” said Jerry Bird; “he had a thought for any poor fellows who might be wrecked here some day or other. If others would do the same at all the desert islands they visit, the lives of many castaway seamen might be saved.”

The yams, from growing wild, were not likely to be worth much, but the bananas, notwithstanding the latitude, appeared to be very fine. In vain, however, they gazed up at the cocoa-nuts. Jerry, though an active man, vowed that he could not attempt to reach the top unless they could get a rope over one of the branches. While they were discussing the matter, Pat Casey, who had been helping Tim, came up, having also caught sight of the cocoa-nut trees from a distance.

“Bedad, I’ll be afther doing it,” he exclaimed; and running back to the boat, he returned with three or four fathoms of rope. This he twisted into a huge grummet round the tree, leaving space enough for his own body to get in also. Then slipping it behind his waist, he began to swarm up, shoving the rope on the opposite side of the tree each time he moved on, as high as his shoulders. In a wonderfully short time he reached the top of the tree.

“Stand from under,” he shouted out, as he threw down a cocoa-nut, which very nearly hit Billy, who had not attended to his warning. Several cocoa-nuts split by their fall, but Billy, rushing forward, seized one of them before all the milk had run out. This example was followed by the rest: Seeing this, Pat secured several about his neck, and then getting into his grummet he descended. That one tree gave them as many nuts as they could require.

“We ought not to take more than we want,” said Tom; “though before we shove off, we will get a supply for the ship.”

Tim now shouted out that the “taters” were cooked, and returning to the camp-fire, the party enjoyed a very satisfactory repast with the aid of the bananas and cocoa-nuts. After this they made their way for some distance inland, passing large forests of tamanas, or mahogany trees, which appeared to cover the greater part of the island. Excepting in the deserted plantation, they could discover no other fruit-bearing trees or roots, but they observed traces of some wild animals, which Pat asserted must be hogs.

As there was some risk of losing themselves, and there was nothing to induce them to continue their ramble, they returned to the boat. Desmond, seconded by Billy, now proposed that they should set to work to fish, that they might carry a supply with them on board.

Tom agreed, and Pat having collected a quantity of crabs which he found among the rocks, to serve as bait, they once more embarked. They pulled out towards the mouth of the bay, just inside of a high reef, which completely shut out the sea from their view. Here, so clear was the water, that although fully three fathoms deep, the bottom could be clearly seen, covered with masses of coloured coral and sea-weeds of various shades and tints. Amid them they observed beautiful fish of all sizes and tints, gliding in all directions, now disappearing under some cavern, now darting again into sight.

“As the creatures can see us and our lines, we shall have no chance of catching any,” said Tom.

“Just try, your honour,” exclaimed Pat; “they’re mighty hungry bastes, and not accustomed to the look of white faces, so that they will not know what we’re afther.”

The hooks were accordingly baited with crabs, and scarcely was the first line let down than a big fish caught it, and was immediately hauled up.

“I told you so,” cried Pat exultingly; “we shall have as many as we like to catch.”

All were now eager to get their lines overboard, and no sooner had the hooks sunk towards the bottom than the fish, attracted by the tempting bait, dashed forward and seized them.

“We’ll mighty soon have a boat load,” exclaimed Pat, as fish after fish was hauled in.

Suddenly a change came over the scene. From out of a cavern, far down below the reef, a huge form appeared, very similar to the monster which had attacked the boat in the stalactite cave. Rapidly and noiselessly it glided up, and before Billy, who just then felt a bite, saw its approach, it had seized the fish which had bitten at his hook. Billy gave a pull, expecting to haul up his fish, and very nearly got his fingers cut through by his line, as the shark, finding something tickling his throat, darted off with it. Bird, seeing what had happened, cut the line, and away dashed the shark. The monster had put the other fish to flight, and it was some time before they returned. Scarcely had they assembled, and a few more had been caught, than, other sharks appearing, the lines were immediately drawn up, to save them from the fate Billy’s had met with. As these pirates of the deep appeared, the smaller fish darted off in all directions.

“Shure, it matters very little to them whether they are caught by one of us or by those black brutes, excepting for the honour of the thing, and the pleasure of tasting a crab’s leg before they die,” observed Desmond.

These interruptions prevented the party taking note of time. They had got no small number of fish, still they were eager to catch a boat load; and Tom, who ought to have looked at his watch, forgot to do so.

Thus hour after hour passed by, until they all began to get hungry, when Desmond proposed going on shore and cooking some of their fish. The idea was too good a one to meet with dissenting voices; and returning to the beach, they quickly made up their fire, the embers of which had remained burning, and soon had three or four fine fish roasting on sticks round it, under the superintendence of Pat Casey. So busy were they with this interesting occupation, that no one had observed the changed appearance of the sky. The fish were, as Pat declared, “just done to a turn,” and Tom and Desmond and Billy were served, the latter having filled his mouth with a dainty morsel, when they were startled by the booming sound of a gun. Another followed. It was evidently fired for their recall.

“We ought to have got back before this,” exclaimed Tom, starting up and looking seawards.

The rest followed him, carrying the cooked fish down to the beach. What was their dismay to find, on reaching it, that the boat, which had been hauled up, had been floated by the rapidly rising tide, while a strong gust of wind had driven her a considerable distance from the shore, from which she was drifting further and further off.

Not a moment was to be lost. Tom felt that he had been guilty of an act of indiscretion in remaining so long on shore, and in not having seen that the boat was properly secured. He had not forgotten those huge monsters of sharks, which had been prowling about, but there was only one way by which the boat could be regained. Somebody must swim off to her. These thoughts rapidly passed through his mind. The swim itself was nothing; he had often swum ten times further without fatigue. But those sharks! He recollected the shudder which had passed through him as he had seen them approach the boat not two hours before. Without saying anything, he had quickly thrown off his clothes.

“Shout, all of you, as loud as you can,” he exclaimed. “Good-bye, Desmond; good-bye, Billy,” he said, shaking hands. “If I am swallowed by one of those brutes, say it happened while I was doing my duty.”

Without another word, Tom plunged in, and the rest of the party, rushing forward up to their knees, began splashing the water about, and shouting at the top of their voices.

“I cannot let him go alone,” said Jerry Bird, as soon as he saw what the midshipman was about. Throwing off his jacket and shirt, he followed Tom, shouting out lustily.

“I am coming, Mr Rogers,” he cried; “you climb in on one side of the boat, and I will on the other.”

Tom was within a couple of fathoms of the boat, when to his horror he saw a dark fin, just rising above the water. It was stationary, however. Perhaps the savage brute was merely surveying the boat, and wondering what strange creature it was.

Tom, undaunted by the sight, swam on. He might manage to scramble on board before the shark caught sight of him.

“Do not lose heart, Bird,” he cried out, for he guessed that his companion would have seen the shark’s fin; “the chances are that he won’t attack two of us.”

A few strokes more, and Tom had got hold of the gunwale of the boat; Jerry had seized that on the other side.

Tom, being in no way fatigued, easily held himself up, and, having got his left leg over, was about to drag up the other, when Jerry threw himself in and tilted the boat over to the side he was on. It was a fortunate movement, for the shark ran his snout against the side, missing Tom’s foot almost by a hair’s breadth. Tom felt the brute’s head strike against the boat, and well knew what had happened. It made him draw his breath quickly; but he had work before him. Without stopping a moment, he and Jerry, seizing the oars, rapidly pulled the boat back to the beach. Their companions gave way to a hearty cheer as they reached it.

“Thank Heaven, you have escaped,” said Desmond. “I saw what happened; my heart sank so low that I thought it would never get up again to its right place. However, ‘a miss is as good as a mile’; now the sooner we are away from this the better.”

Tom’s and Jerry’s clothes having been handed into the boat, they dressed themselves, while the rest of the party pulled down the bay.

“I vote we eat the fish while it’s warm,” said Billy Blueblazes, whose appetite (as Gerald used to say of him) “no dangers could daunt.”

“Just hand me a slice, and I’ll eat it as I pull.” This proposal was seconded by the looks of the men, and Tom accordingly passed portions, with some biscuit, forward. The crew ate the fish with gusto. They were wise in so doing, as they might have a long pull before them. Another and another gun was heard.

“Those guns were not fired in the harbour,” observed Tom; “the ship must have put to sea.”

Gerald agreed with him; but as yet the reef, which ran across the mouth of the bay, concealed her from sight. The wind had lately been blowing from all quarters—now down the harbour, now directly across it—until at length a heavy squall came in through the entrance.

“We shall have a strong wind in our teeth, and a pretty heavy pull,” observed Tom to Gerald. “I wish we had not spent so much time here; and I shall justly get the blame, if anything happens.”

“It won’t much matter who gets the blame if we happen to be all drowned,” answered Gerald. “However, as we were known to have gone in this direction, the captain will probably stand along the shore to pick us up; and the chances are that we shall be safe on board within an hour or so.”

The men had now to bend their backs to the oars to force the boat over the heavy seas which came rolling in through the narrow entrance. Under other circumstances, Tom would have put back and waited for an improvement in the weather; but the signal of recall was peremptory, and he considered it his duty to try and get on board at all risks. The sea, which had been so calm when they pulled along the coast, was now tossed into heavy foam-crested billows, which came rolling on in rapid succession, bursting with loud roars against the rock-bound shore, and casting sheets of spray over the reef.

“We must heave our cargo overboard,” said Tom, when he saw the heavy seas come tumbling in. “The lighter the boat is the better.”

The fish, with which they hoped to regale their shipmates, were quickly thrown overboard.

“Shure, a fine feast we are giving to the sharks,” observed Desmond, as he was engaged in the work. They retained, however, a dozen or so of the cocoa-nuts, in case they might be required for food. So slow was the progress they made against the sea and wind, that it was almost dusk before they got clear of the land. Tom had been keeping a look-out to the westward, the side on which he expected the ship to appear.

“There she is,” he exclaimed at length; “but she is under sail, standing to the south-east, and I see no smoke coming out of her funnel.”

Gerald agreed with Tom that such was the case. They asked Jerry Bird, the oldest seaman on board, to give his opinion.

“You’re right, sir,” he said; “to my mind something has happened to the machinery. Either the shaft or the piston rod is broken, and they cannot get the screw to work. The commander, of course, did not like to remain in the bay, with the chance of a hurricane blowing right into it; and so he got up the steam, and was probably standing along the shore to look out for us, when the accident, whatever it was, happened; and the only chance he had of saving the ship was to go about and stand on the course he is now doing. Maybe he will come about again before long to look for us.”

Tom and Gerald were very sure that the commander would not desert them, at the same time they felt far from comfortable at seeing the ship at so great a distance off. The wind was rapidly increasing; the seas came rolling in far more heavily than before, while the spray from their foaming crests being sent over the boat, soon thoroughly wetted through all hands. This, of course, no one cared much about; the question was whether their small boat would live in the furious sea they were likely to encounter before they got on board. If Jerry Bird was right, the ship herself must endeavour to get a good offing from the island in case a hurricane should come on. Of that there now seemed every probability. The gloom of night had rapidly increased, and now they could only distinguish the ship from the light which she showed over her quarter. Was it intended for a signal to them, or had the other two boats not yet returned to her? As the night advanced, the weather became worse and worse.

“It’s that old rascal Harry Cane at his tricks again,” cried Tim; “I wish that he had waited a bit, and let us get comfortably on board.”

“Never complain, Tim,” observed Pat; “maybe we shall be glad that we haven’t left the boat; we have got a harbour under our lee, and plenty of grub on shore, and that’s what many a poor fellow has wished for, and not been able to find.”

Tom and Gerald were excessively anxious to get on board, and determined to persevere as long as they possibly could. The men strained at their oars with hearty good will. Now the boat mounted one sea, rapidly to descend into the trough of another. Tom steered her carefully, keeping her head to the seas. He full well knew that at any moment one of the heavy tops of those seas falling on board might swamp her. Bird frequently looked over his shoulder with an anxious glance.

“Beg pardon, Mr Rogers, but it won’t do,” he said at length; “the keener we put about and run back into the harbour, the better chance we shall have of living through this night; what has happened to the ship I cannot tell. But, while it’s blowing like this, dead on shore, we shan’t get on board to-night or to-morrow either.”

Tom and Gerald at length saw that Jerry Bird was right. They could no longer distinguish the Dragon’s lights. Either a thick mist had arisen, or she had got too far off for them to be seen; indeed, the shore itself, as the boat sank into the hollow of the sea, was invisible.

“We must look out for a smooth, and pull the boat round, lads,” cried Tom.

“Arrah! shure, that will be a hard matter to find,” said Tim Nolan, as if to himself.

Watching for an opportunity, Tom, when in the trough of the sea, got the boat round. “Give way, lads! give way!” he shouted out. Not that there was any necessity for saying that; the men knew well enough that their lives depended on their pulling as hard as they could. Any moment a sea, rolling up astern, might break over them. Tom stood up to look out for the entrance to the harbour, which he believed they must be approaching, but he could see nothing but one unbroken line of foam bursting over the reef. The land rose from the shores of the bay. On the highest part Tom recollected having observed a large clump of tamana trees, which, as they had pulled down the harbour, he had noted as a good land-mark for entering. In daylight it could easily be seen, but in the darkness he could scarcely hope to make it out against the sky, while the boat tumbled and rolled about in the way she was now doing. Still, it was their only hope; should she strike a reef on either side of the entrance, she must in an instant be dashed to pieces, and all hands be washed amidst the foaming breakers.

“Now, Desmond, use your eyes as you never have before, and try and see that clump of trees, or find out the passage.”

Gerald strained his eyes. “I think I see a dark spot almost ahead,” he said at length.

“If you do, that must be the entrance,” observed Tom. “I can see no other; it is our only chance; the boat will not live long in the sea which is now getting up.”

Tom steered towards the point Gerald indicated. On sped the boat. The loud roar of the breakers as they neared the shore almost deafened them, and Gerald, though sitting next to Tom, had to shout to make him hear.

“That’s the passage, I’m sure of it,” he cried out.

“You’re right,” answered Tom. “Give way, lads!” The boat rushed on. A tremendous sea, with a huge crest of foam, came roaring up astern, and threatened to overwhelm her. The men saw it, and redoubled their efforts. On either side rose a wall of white foam dashing directly over the rocks beneath which they had been fishing. An instant later and the boat would have been swamped; but on she flew, surrounded by spray, and in another minute was floating in comparatively smooth water within the sheltering reef. At that moment the hurricane burst forth, sending the breakers flying in sheets over the reef, howling fearfully as it went rushing amid the trees of the forest, tearing off huge limbs, and laying many low, while vivid flashes of lightning were followed by peals of rattling thunder, adding yet further to the wild uproar of the elements.

“Thank Heaven, we are safe!” exclaimed Gerald.

“We may rightly acknowledge that; but what has become of the other boats and the old barkey?” said Tom.

Chapter Two.

Land—Bury the boat—Take shelter under a rock—The hurricane rages—The night passes by—Desmond shoots at a wild beast—Storm abates—No ship—Boat missing—Boat discovered—Tim’s pork chops—Digging out the boat—Pat charged by a wild boar—Flag-staff set up—No ship appears—A hut built—Explore the island—Miss the hogs, but kill some birds—Preparations for the voyage—Turtle—Billy’s exploit—Leaky condition of the boat—Search for pitch—Tom and Desmond set out to explore the island.

Tom steered the boat up the bay towards the beach they had so lately left. It no longer afforded an easy landing place, for the waves came rolling in, even through the narrow entrance, creating a surf on the sandy shore, and scarcely had her stern touched the beach than a sea burst on board, not only wetting every one through, but nearly washing several articles out of her. All hands therefore jumped out.

“Now, lads, a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together,” cried Tim. In another minute the boat was hauled up the beach, and they began taking out the things and carrying them to the spot where they had left their fire burning. Fortunately, the muskets and ammunition, though wet, had been saved, as had the articles of value in the boat, together with a compass which Tom had thoughtfully brought, although they had hitherto had no use for it. The ashes of their fire were still alight, but they at once found that the exposed beach was not the spot where they would exactly wish to encamp.

“We must find some sheltered place, where we can put up our tent,” said Tom to Desmond. “A high overhanging rock would suit us best, but it won’t do to be under these tall mahogany trees, which may at any moment crash down upon our heads, and we have already had a specimen of how they are likely to behave.”

“I’d rather get into a snug cavern, if we can discover one,” said Desmond. “But how is that to be found in the dark?”

“I’ll soon twist up a couple of torches such as I used to make when I was Prime Minister of the Cannibal Islands,” cried Pat Casey. “I think we could find our way to the left, where I saw some big rocks this morning, and I should not be surprised to find tolerable shelter under them.”

“We ought to be there as soon as possible,” observed Tom, “for we shall probably have the rain down upon us before many minutes are over,—and the hurricane has only just begun, we must remember. Get your torches made as soon as you can. Before we leave this we must look after the boat, and haul her farther up the beach; it is impossible to say how high the water may rise with a hurricane setting on the shore.”

They accordingly hurried back and ran the boat some feet farther up, but beyond that they found it impossible to move her.

“If we leave her as she is, she’ll sure to be blown away,” observed Jerry Bird. “If I may advise, sir, I’d make a sort of dock all round her, and fill her up with sand, so as to sink her in it. It will cost us some little trouble to clear it out again, but it will be better than having her knocked to pieces.”

Tom and Desmond highly approved of Jerry’s proposal. All hands, therefore, set to work with the boat stretchers to make the dock, which was very easily and quickly accomplished. They then filled her up with sand, almost to the gunwale.

“She will be steady enough now, sir,” said Jerry.

As soon as the work was finished, they returned to their former encampment, carrying the boat’s mast, yards, sails, and oars with them, to assist in forming a tent, while the rest of her gear they placed for safety high up on the bank. Pat had quickly twisted up some torches from the fibre of the cocoa-nuts, and now loading themselves with all their property, they set out, he leading the way. Scarcely had they commenced their march, than they felt themselves almost taken off their feet; a loud crash was heard, and down fell a large tree, close to where they were, torn up by the roots. Happily they were on the weather side. They hurried on, keeping as much as possible in the open ground. Another blast came with redoubled fury, almost blowing out Pat’s torches, which burnt, indeed, with so much rapidity, that there seemed but little probability of their being able to reach the point towards which they were steering, by their light. They had not gone far when two torches had burnt out. Heavily laden as they were, they could not move very fast. Tim Nolan alone was staggering under the boat’s sail, an oar, a musket, and a basket of provisions. Jerry Bird had the breaker of water hung at his back, and was equally heavily laden.

It was a great relief to Tom when he heard Pat shout out, “Here are the rocks, though not the sign of a cave can I see.”

“Perhaps, if we skirt along them, we may find a still more sheltered place than this,” observed Tom.

The party accordingly moved on, and just as Pat announced that his torch was beginning to burn his fingers, they found themselves in a recess of the rocks, where they were well sheltered from the wind, although they would obtain no protection from the rain when it should begin to fall. The end of the torch afforded them sufficient light to collect sticks for a fire, and by its light they were able to put up their tent. The side of the rock affording a back, it was made to slope from the rock down to the ground, so that the heaviest rain would run off. There was just room for all hands to get under it, closely packed; and after the fatigues of the day, they were very thankful to obtain such shelter. As far, indeed, as they themselves were concerned, they had no reason to complain. They had shelter, fire, food, and water.

“Let us see what you have brought, Billy?” said Gerald.

Billy produced three fish, which he had hung over his back. “I thought that we should want something for supper, and it is always wise to carry one’s grub with one,” he observed.

“Much obliged to you for your forethought,” said Gerald; and Tim and Pat were summoned to cook the fish. The fire had been made up close under the rock, so that it was not much influenced by the wind. In a short time Tim announced that the supper was ready, “smoking hot,” when a bottle of rum was produced from the provision basket.

“Now, lads,” said Tom, as he poured out the liquor. “I do not want to stint you of your grog, but recollect that we have but a small supply, and my belief is that it may be many days before we get back to the ship, so a glass apiece is all I can give you.”

The grog was mixed, and the seamen, with their young officers, sat round the fire, thinking just then very little of the past or future. The fish were pronounced excellent; while they sipped their grog one or the other alternately spun a yarn or sang a song. Tom Rogers must be excepted. He felt his responsibility as commanding the party, and he could not get over the consciousness that he ought to have returned at an earlier hour to the ship. This thought weighed down his spirits, although he tried not to allow his companions to discover his uneasiness. He felt also very anxious about the ship. If Jerry Bird was right in supposing that an accident had happened to the machinery, she might, during the hurricane, be exposed to the greatest possible danger; and if she was wrecked, they might have to remain for many months on the island, before they could find an opportunity of escaping.

Tom, before he came to sea, had often read about living on a desert island with one or two pleasant companions, and had thought that it would be very good fun. When the reality rose vividly before him, he could not but confess that he would rather be keeping watch on board, with a prospect of returning home to see his father, mother, and friends. When, however, it came to his turn to sing, he trolled forth, in his rich deep voice, “Cease, rude Boreas,” or some other sea song of the same character, as if he had no anxious thoughts to trouble him. The blazing fire which they kept up served to dry their clothes.

When, about an hour later, the rain came down, as it is wont to do in the tropics, they all crept under the tent, taking care to carry the muskets and such things as would be damaged by the wet with them. Tom, in spite of his fatigue, lay awake for some time. He was thankful that they were safe on shore, and had been able to find a sheltered position for their encampment. The wind roared and howled in the most terrific manner among the forest trees. The very earth seemed to shake, as if it would topple down the high rock above them; but although branches, and sometimes large shrubs, torn up by the roots, flew over their heads, none fell on their tent. Sometimes, for several minutes together, crash succeeded crash, as huge trees were levelled with the ground. Then there would come a lull, and the wind would whistle mournfully, or rather moan, but only to recommence roaring more lustily than ever.

Tom wondered how his companions could sleep so soundly amid the uproar. The light of the fire, which came through the side of the tent, fell on their forms stretched out with their heads against the rock; while, in the lulls of the tempest, he could hear them all snoring away in concert. He was sufficiently well acquainted with the natural history of the Pacific Islands to be aware that there were no wild beasts to interfere with them, excepting the hogs, whose traces they had seen; and he had every reason to believe that the island was uninhabited. He thought it possible, however, that the rocks at the top of the cliff, loosened by the hurricane, might come tumbling down on their heads; but as only earth and small branches had hitherto fallen, he hoped that they would continue in their places. At all events, even should he and his companions move away, they were not likely to find more secure shelter. Should refuge be sought under the trees, they might prove still more treacherous. He kept an eye on the fire, fearing that a sudden blast might whisk the embers into the tent; but, as the canvas was thoroughly wet, that would take some time to burn. He got up two or three times, and, by standing with his back against the cliff, he avoided the rain which poured in torrents scarcely more than a foot in front of him. Excepting where the glare of the fire was cast upon the white tent on one side, the black rocks on the other, and the shrubs in front, all was pitchy darkness, though, on looking upwards, he could distinguish the tops of the trees waving to and fro against the sky. “I pray that the dear old Dragon may have escaped this!” he ejaculated more than once, as the hurricane, with apparently renewed strength, again and again hurled itself against the island. At length Desmond roused up.

“You must have had your two hours’ watch or more. Tom,” he said. “Just lie down and get a snooze; we may have a long pull before us, and there won’t be much room for sleeping in the boat.”

Tom, not sorry to be relieved, lay down, while Desmond took his place.

How long Tom had been sleeping he could not tell, when he and the rest of the party were aroused by a shot fired close to their oars, and, looking up, they saw Desmond with the musket at his shoulder, which he had just discharged.

“What did you fire at?” asked Tom.

“At a bear, or a wolf, or some big baste or other, to be shure,” answered Desmond. “Whatever it was we shall find out, for it cannot be far off. I hit it, I am certain of that, for it gave a terrible growl, and bolted back into the bushes.”

The fire had by this time almost burnt out, giving forth a faint glow, which scarcely afforded light sufficient to see any objects except those close to them, so that it would be useless to attempt searching for the wild beast which Desmond asserted he had shot. He acknowledged that he had dropped asleep, and that, on suddenly awakening, he had seen the animal’s eyes glaring at him not ten yards off. Tom, on looking at his watch by the declining light of the fire, saw that it was nearly dawn. A change for the better had occurred. The strength of the hurricane had much abated, though the tree tops still waved backwards and forwards as the wind whistled and howled amid the branches, but it was with abated breath, while the rain had completely ceased. On looking up, small spaces in the clouds could be seen, through which, here and there, a star glittered brightly.

Jerry Bird, who ought to have been on the watch before, now took Desmond’s place, and the party settled down again to wait for morning. Sailors are accustomed to short snatches of sleep. Even half an hour or less of rest was not to be despised, so that in less than a minute they all again had their eyes closed in happy forgetfulness of where they were. Tom required no calling; he had scarcely forgotten in his sleep what had happened, and no sooner had the pale light of early morn driven away the darkness of night, than, opening his eyes, he crept out of the tent over Bird, who had just dropped off. “I will let the rest sleep on, and see how things look,” he said to himself. As he made his way over the fallen trunks towards the bay, he kept looking out to discover some accessible part of the hill, by which he might climb to the summit of the rock, under whose shelter they had slept, and which he supposed to be the highest point thereabouts, in order that he might obtain a wide view of the ocean around. He at length found a part, from whence by a little climbing he might reach the top of the hill. He had began his ascent, when he heard Desmond’s voice shouting to him, and sitting down he waited for his messmate to come up. The rock was more rugged and uneven than they had at first supposed. Sometimes Desmond helped him up to a ledge, then he hauled Desmond after him. Here and there shrubs grew in the crevices of the rock, which assisted them in their ascent. At last they stood together on the top. On casting their eyes around, they could nowhere see the ship; indeed, they scarcely expected that she would have been in sight. As far as the eye could range to the southward and eastward, foam-crested giant waves leaped up and down, but already their motion was becoming less rapid, and they seemed to be tumbling lazily and slowly against each other, as if weary of their late exertions, though the breakers incessantly burst on the rocky coast, sending masses of foam flying far inland.

“Even should the ship appear, we are not likely to be able to get out to her to-day,” observed Desmond, pointing to the entrance of the bay, through which the seas came tossing and foaming. “It seems a wonder how we got through last night.”

“We may indeed be thankful to heaven that we were not swamped,” said Tom; “but I should not be surprised if we find, within a few hours, should the ship appear, that we can get off to her. There has scarcely been time for the sea to go down since the hurricane ceased blowing; I do hope that the other boats got on board, or they will have run great risk of being lost.”

“Perhaps our shipmates landed,” observed Desmond; “and we shall meet them before long. I should be very glad to know for certain that Archie and Jos Green and Mr Joy are safe, though it is a terrible thing to think that the ship may have been cast away.”

“We will hope for the best,” answered Tom; “and now we will go down and see how the boat has fared. I am somewhat anxious about her, though I don’t see how we could have secured her better than we did.”

The descent was nearly as difficult as the climb up the hill, and they ran a great risk, when leaping from rock to rock, of slipping off and tumbling a dozen or more feet at a time down to the next level. They had nearly reached the bottom, when they saw Billy Blueblazes and Jerry Bird looking up towards them. The countenances of both wore an aspect of dismay.

“What has happened?” asked Tom.

“The boat has gone!” answered Billy; “we can’t see her anywhere, not even a bit of her wreck.”

“Faith! that’s bad news,” exclaimed Desmond; “but did you look everywhere? for, remember, everywhere means a good wide space.”

“No, we did not go right up to the spot, for there was no use in doing that,” answered Billy.

“Then we will, and perhaps we may discover some signs which may indicate the direction in which she has been driven,” said Tom.

They accordingly set off. Tom observed what Billy had failed to do, that the shape of the beach was greatly altered, the wind having driven the sand far higher up than usual, so that in some parts it had risen to the height of the bank on which grass and shrubs grew. Indeed, a portion of the grassy ground had itself been covered up by the sand.

“What shall we do without the boat?” cried Billy; “we shall have to spend our lives here, I suppose, if the ship has been lost, and the men say that they think she had very little chance of escaping.”

“I hope they are wrong in their conjectures,” answered Tom; “and as for the boat, I am not quite so certain that she is lost, although we may have some trouble in finding her.”

On arriving at that part of the beach where the boat had been left, Tom looked round in every direction, and examined carefully the bushes and herbage along the edge of the beach.

“If she was driven in this direction, she would have broken some of these bushes, but they do not appear to have been injured,” he observed. “Now, let us see whereabouts she lay. Do you think you can tell, Bird?” The seaman examined the ground.

“I remember coming through just such a clump of bushes as these, directly after I left her; and look there, sir, there is her rudder and a stretcher,” and he enumerated other articles belonging to the boat. Then stepping back, he said, “I’m sure it was just hereabouts where she lay.”

“Then, depend upon it, here we shall find her. Don’t you see the sand has blown over her, and she is safe enough within it. To save ourselves trouble, we will dig a line parallel with the beach, and another at right angles, and the chances are we shall strike some part of her gunwale before long.”

“Shall I go and call the other men?” asked Billy.

“They are cooking the breakfast, sir,” observed Bird.

“Let them go on by all means,” said Tom; “if we find the boat we will come back afterwards and dig her up.”

They immediately set to work, under Tom’s directions, but the sand had risen even higher than they had supposed, and as they had only the boat’s stretchers and their hands to work with, it was a slow business.

“I’ve thought, sir, of a quicker way of finding her than this,” observed Jerry; and taking his axe, he cut a short pole with a sharp point, and ran it down though the sand, along the line which Tom had marked out. “There’s something here, sir,” he cried out at length, and forthwith a hole was dug at the spot. Jerry then plunged down his hand. “No doubt about it, sir; there’s the boat’s side, and if the weight of the sand has not bulged her out, she will be all to rights.”

“I have no fear on that score,” observed Tom. “The sand has probably driven up around her, and afforded her sides support. I am very thankful that we took the precaution of banking her up as we did, or I am pretty sure that she would have been rolled over and over, and knocked to pieces.”

The party having satisfied themselves as to the safety of the boat, returned to their camp, where they found Tim and Pat busily engaged over a huge fire in cooking pork chops.

“Why, where did these come from?” asked Tom.

“Shure, sir, they are from a porker which we found in the bush. It’s my belief it’s the very baste Mr Desmond shot last night. He was not quite dead, and showed some fight, but we finished him, and cut him up in a jiffy.”

“I congratulate you on your success,” said Tom.

“To tell you the truth,” said Desmond, “I was half dreaming at the time; and I was not quite sure this morning whether I had shot anything or not, but I’m mighty glad to find that my dream has come true.”

The pork chops were found very satisfactory, and it was still more so to know that there was an abundance of animal food in the island; for if there was one hog, there would to a certainty be many more; at the same time, they would have prevented the increase of roots which would otherwise have afforded nourishment.

“As hogs live here, there, are probably acorns and nuts of various sorts, so that even should the cocoa-nuts and bananas run short, we need be under no apprehension of wanting vegetable diet,” said Tom to Desmond. “Again I say we have good reason to be thankful that we have landed on an island so abounding in provisions.”

“I wish we had brought off some tea, coffee, and sugar,” said Billy. “I should have enjoyed my breakfast much more.”

“Be thankful for what you have got,” observed Tom.

Before setting out to commence the digging up of the boat, Tom suggested that they should form some rough spades, without which the operation would be a very tedious one. They had fortunately brought with them two axes for cutting fire-wood, and with these Jerry and Pat managed to chop out from the fallen branches six rough spades. They would have finished them off in better style had Tom allowed them. Having ascertained the exact position of the boat, by running down a pointed stick, they commenced operations. They were much surprised at the enormous pit they had to dig before they even reached the gunwale of the boat. The digging was easy enough; the labour consisted in heaving the sand to a sufficient distance. All hands were getting very hungry. Billy, as usual, was the first to cry out.

“What do you say to dinner, Rogers?”

Tom looked at his watch, and directed Pat to go to the camp and prepare dinner, while the rest continued to work as before. It took them till noon to clear away the sand as far down as the gunwale, as of course it was necessary to dig a much wider space all round the boat than simply her width. The sun, too, had now become excessively hot, and the only coverings they had for their heads were straw hats.

Tom suggested that they should stick some large leaves or small branches into the bands, by which means a more effectual shelter could be formed for their heads. In spite of the heat, they returned with good appetites to the camp.

“Bedad, it’s fortunate we have got anything to eat at all,” exclaimed Pat, as they approached. “Just as I came up, what should I see but a couple of porkers poking their noses into the tent; in another minute they would have got hold of the meat and fish I had hung up ready for cooking. I would have turned them into pork pretty quickly, but before I could get hold of a musket, they had scampered away back into the woods; but we’ll be even with them before long. When I went to look for the rest of the hog, if the bastes hadn’t eaten up their brother, barring the hide, and that they had been quarrelling over, by the way it was torn to pieces.” There was an ample supply of pork, and fish, and bananas, cocoa-nuts and vegetables, for that day’s dinner Tom had to consider what provision should be made for supper, and the next day. Eager as he was to get the boat dug out, in case the ship should appear, he would not allow his companions to work for a couple of hours or more, for fear of their suffering from a stroke of the sun, whose fierce rays beat down with terrific force on the sand. Pat, who was well inured to a far greater heat, under the line itself, in the meantime took one of the muskets, “to try and kill some game,” he said, “or one of the porkers which had lately paid him a visit.”

The rest of the party lay down in the shade under the rock, to prepare themselves for their afternoon’s work. Pat had been absent for some time, and a couple of shots had been heard; but lately no sound had reached them, when again they heard a report at no great distance. Presently he was seen scampering along, a big boar close at his heels. It appeared as if the next instant the creature’s tusks would have run into him, when he seized the branch of a free and threw himself up upon it, while the animal ripped off the hem of his broad trousers. Luckily the canvas gave way, or Pat would have been brought to the ground. The boar looked up at his late opponent as if he still meditated vengeance; but suddenly seeing the party under the cliff, he came towards them, tearing up the ground in his fury, with his sharp tusks. Fortunately the other musket was loaded.

“Stand by, for advance or flight,” cried Tom, seizing the weapon. Bird grasped the boat-hook, while Desmond and Tim each took an axe, Billy, having no arms, fulfilled the latter part of the order, by beginning to climb up a ledge of the rock on one side of the cliff. It was a moment of dreadful suspense, for, should Tom miss, he well knew that the boar’s tusks might, in the next instant, pierce him through. Fortunately the animal caught sight of Billy as he was climbing up the cliff. This for a moment distracted his attention, and, instead of coming directly at Tom and his companions, it swerved a little on one side. Seeing, however, that Billy had got beyond its reach, it once more came galloping towards them, singling out Jerry, who was the most conspicuous object, for its attack. Tom waited until it got within twelve feet, when he fired. The bullet hit the animal, but did not stop it. Jerry sprang on one side to avoid its charge, and then drove his boat-hook into its neck, bearing it to the ground. On this Tim and Desmond sprang forward, and, before it could again rise, dealt it several heavy strokes with their axes, preventing it from committing any further mischief.

“Hurrah; you’ve finished the baste, I hope,” cried Pat, who had been watching the proceedings from his bough, and now came hurrying forward.

“I’d somehow or other missed a couple of pigs, when I caught sight of this big fellow taking a snooze in the sun. I was creeping up to him, when he opened his wicked eyes, and if I hadn’t taken to my heels he would have had his tusks through and through me. At last I stopped behind a free and gave him a shot; but he didn’t mind it at all, at all, by reason that the bullet flew over his head, and I had again to run for it. However, ‘All’s well that ends well,’ and, sure, we will be having him for supper, with the greatest pleasure in the world.”

After this specimen of rat’s sportsmanlike qualities, Tom resolved not to trust him with the musket again, as it was necessary carefully to husband their powder and shot. As, however, Pat possessed very good qualifications for a butcher, he was left to cut up the boar, while the rest of the party returned to the boat, he being directed to rejoin them as soon as he had secured the joints.

Digging out the boat was severe labour, as to prevent the sand slipping back it had to be thrown several feet on either side of the boat. They then had to cut a channel down to the water. Tom soon saw that they could not hope to get their boat afloat for another whole day at the soonest. Diligently as they worked, the sun was sinking rapidly towards the horizon before the boat was free of sand. They examined her anxiously, fearing that her sides might have been forced out; but, as far as they could ascertain, she had received no material injury.

“We must take another look-out for the ship, before it gets dark,” exclaimed Tom; and he and Desmond set off to ascend the hill, from whence they could obtain an extensive view of the ocean around them. In vain they strained their eyes; no sail was in sight—not a speck appeared above the horizon. The sea was rolling in lazy undulations, here and there flecked with foam, which sparkled brightly in the rays of the setting sun, while the sea-fowl were once more venturing forth from their rocky homes in search of prey.

“She must have run a long distance before the gale, and it will take her some time to beat back,” observed Tom. “We must not give her up yet.”

“I should think not, indeed,” answered Desmond. “It would have been rather inconvenient if she had come, and we had not got the boat afloat. However, we must manage to get a signal-staff set up to-morrow morning, in case she should appear, that they may know where we are, and send in to help us.”

Tom agreed with Desmond, and they accordingly arranged to cut a flag-staff the first thing the next day, and manufacture a flag which might be seen from the ship. Descending the rock, they returned to their companions, who were still hard at work. Pat, however, had been sent back, to light the fire and prepare supper. The party continued digging in the sand until darkness at length compelled them to give over. They had no little difficulty in making their way back to the camp, until their eyes were gladdened by the sight of Pat’s blazing fire.

“We must compliment you on your pork chops,” exclaimed Billy, holding up the remains of one which he had been discussing with the help of his clasp knife. “I’ll trouble you for another, as soon as it’s done brown.”

“You’re welcome to it, sir; and, bedad, I’m mighty better pleased to be cooking his hams, than for him to have had his tusks through mine,” answered Pat.

The supper was pronounced excellent, though they had nothing but cold water from a neighbouring rivulet with which to wash it down. Tim suggested that a thimbleful of rum would be mighty pleasant.

Tom refused to serve out any of their limited supply, having determined to keep it in case of emergency. Although he did not express his fears to his companions, he could not help dreading that some accident might have happened to the Dragon. The night passed quickly away. As soon as it was daylight Tom and Desmond ascended to their look-out place. They were again doomed to disappointment. The sea had become perfectly calm, a light air occasionally only rippling the surface.

“It will take her a good many hours to get up to our island, even if she is now only just out of sight,” observed Tom. “Still we must get a flag-staff set up, in case she should appear before we can launch the boat, and we shall be fortunate if we can do that before night.” As soon as breakfast was over, Tom having told the men what was wanted, all hands went in search of a tree fit for the purpose. None, however, were discovered. At last it was agreed that a young cocoa-nut tree must be cut down. This was soon done by Jerry and Tim, while the rest recommenced their attempt to free the boat. All hands were required to get the flag-staff to the top of the rock and set it up. The three men offered their handkerchiefs, which with others belonging to the midshipmen formed a tolerably sized flag. As they had no halyards, it was fixed with rope yarns to the top of the staff, before it was set up. A crevice was found in the rock, into which it was driven, and fixed on either side with large stones.

“That will show clearly enough where we are, and if they can count the number of handkerchiefs, they will know we are all right,” observed Desmond.

“I trust that the ship will come,” said Tom, though he could not throw much confidence into his tone. “Now, lads, we must go back and dig away at our boat. I should like to see her afloat to-night or early to-morrow morning.”

In spite of the heat, they toiled on, not even returning to the camp for dinner; Pat instead being sent to bring provisions and water. Notwithstanding their perseverance, the work was not finished when Tom set off alone to have another look out from Flag-staff Hill. He was soon seen coming back.

“Not a sign of her,” he said; and taking up his spade he resumed his labours. A heap of sand still remained between the boat and the water, that had to be removed before she could be launched.

“We must get rollers under her, or it will be more than we can do to drag her into the water,” observed Jerry, as he stamped his foot into the soft yielding sand under her keel.

“You are right,” said Tom, “and we must make them the first thing in the morning.”

The songs sung and yarns spun that evening were not so cheerful as they had been; indeed, all hands were so sleepy that they were glad to turn in as soon as supper was over. Tom hoped against hope, that the next morning the ship would appear, had no accident happened to her. Even without her machinery she would surely be able to beat up to the island by this time.

Tom was at the flag-staff as soon as the light enabled him to see his way up the hill. He waited, gazing anxiously at the horizon, while the ruddy glow which suffused itself over the sky, announced the rising of the sun. But no sail appeared. “She will not come at all,” he exclaimed to himself; “she must have been driven on the rocks during that fearful night, and probably all hands have perished. Poor Archie, I wish he had come with us, and I am very, very sorry for all the rest.”

Tom, however, well knew that he must not give way to his melancholy forebodings, and that, at all events, it was his duty to try and keep up the spirits of his companions. On returning to the tent he put on as unconcerned a countenance as possible, and sat down to breakfast as if he had nothing on his mind. The high flavour of the pork showed him that they must, in the first place, look out for another hog, and some means must be found for preserving it. Pat asserted that the hams were still very good, and Tom suggested that they should be immediately smoked, until salt could be scraped from the rocks, or obtained by evaporation. “You see we have got plenty to do, and even if we spend a month here, we shall have no time to be idle,” he observed.

Jerry and Tim, before they recommenced digging, cut with their axes a number of rollers, which were then placed under the boat’s keel, when with renewed ardour all hands set to work to clear away the intervening sand. It took, however, much longer than they had expected, and another day was drawing to a close before they could attempt to begin launching her. She was moved, however, but a few feet cut of the hollow in which she had been imbedded, as there was no object to be gained that night by putting her in the water, although the bay was now so smooth that she might have floated in perfect safety.

Tom made his usual visit to Flag-staff Hill, and came back with the same report as on the previous evening.

“Before we launch our boat,” he said, when he rejoined the party at breakfast, “we must dismantle our tent; and indeed it is not wise to wear out our sail by using it as a roof. We may want it, and we shall certainly require the oars. I therefore propose, should the ship not appear by noon, to build a hut in the place of the tent, and we shall then have shelter, should we require it, at night. We cannot tell what we may need. The hurricane season is not yet over, we may depend upon that. We came in for the first blow, and there may be several others before the weather becomes settled.”

“What! Do you think the ship’s not coming back for us?” asked Billy, in an anxious tone. “I should like to change my clothes, and I wish we had some tea and sugar, and some hard tack, and pepper, mustard, and all sorts of things.”

“As to the ship’s coming back, it’s possible she may not,” observed Tom. “If she does not, we must manage to do without the things we should like to have, and make the best of those we have got.”

“That’s the right sort of philosophy,” observed Jerry Bird, who knew that he might take a liberty which another man might not, and talk freely to his officers.

As soon as breakfast was over, the oars and gear of the boat were carried down to the beach, when, with the help of rollers, she was, all hands hauling together, after some labour, run into the water.

As Tom had feared might be the case, it was soon discovered that, either from the hot atmosphere or the pressure to which she had been subjected, she leaked considerably. The leaks, however, it was hoped, would partially fill up, though she would require some fresh caulking, and a coat of tar, or some substitute, if tar was not to be procured. The hour of noon approached, and, in spite of the heat, Tom and Desmond climbed to the flag-staff. They looked around the horizon, and then at each other.

“I am afraid she will not come at all,” exclaimed Desmond.

“I feared as much from the first,” answered Tom.

“Then what do you propose doing?” asked Desmond. “I don’t wish to have to live on here month after month, or for what we can tell year after year, while our fellows are fighting the Chinese, and all the rest of the world, perhaps.”

“No, nor do I,” said Tom. “We must fit our boat as well as we can for sea, and try and make our way, either back to Japan, or to the Ladrones, to which we were bound; but, as I said before, it won’t do to put to sea until the hurricane season is over. Even in fine weather it will be a pretty long trip in an open boat; but people have gone as far, or much farther, and what others have done we can do.”

“I am ready for anything you think best,” answered Desmond, “and I am sure the rest will be, but we must try and fit the boat for a long voyage, and the sooner we set about it the better.”

“It will be a difficult job to do that without tools,” observed Tom.

“Faith, I forgot that,” remarked Desmond. “Still, as you often say, ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way.’ As we shall want our sail, we must try and manufacture some thick matting instead of canvas, to fix over the bows to raise the gunwale a foot or two, to keep out the sea. Then for provisions, we shall have to salt down as many hogs as we can kill, dry a stock of yams, and carry our water in cocoa-nut shells.”

“I am glad, Gerald, that you have thought about the matter; that’s just what I was going to propose,” said Tom.

“Of course,” cried Gerald. “I have been thinking of that and a number of other things besides while I was digging in the sand, though I did not like to talk about them until the time came for action.”

Thus the two midshipmen discussed their plans for the future. On their return to the camp, as the time fixed upon by Tom had passed and the ship had not arrived, the tent was dismantled and Tom set the men to work to cut poles of sufficient length to serve for rafters and uprights. Their tent had answered so well that it was agreed that the hut should have a roof of the same shape. The walls were formed by closely interlacing the uprights with creepers, which also served to bind on the large pandanus leaves which they used for covering the roof. The hut being nearly completed, Tom and Desmond set out, armed with their muskets, to try and kill a hog or some small game. Billy wanted to go, but Tom advised him to remain and assist in finishing the hut.

“If one of those fellows were to run at you, what could you do without a weapon of some sort?”

“But I’d take the boat-hook,” said Billy.

“A wild bear would be afther laughing at it in your hands,” observed Desmond.

Though they saw several hogs, which animals seemed to abound in the island, they were unable to get near enough to obtain a fair shot. While in search of hogs, their object was also to explore the island. They made their way across to the northern side. It consisted of deep indentations and high rocks, to the top of one of which they climbed; they could make out in the far distance another island to the north of them. Though they narrowly scanned the ocean in every direction, no sail was to be seen.

“I am determined not to give her up altogether,” said Tom; “but still, if she has escaped shipwreck, I cannot account for the commander not coming to look for us. My only idea is that by some mistake or other he supposes we were lost, and that being driven a long way to the southward, he does not think it worth while to come so far out of his course.”

On their way back they caught sight of a large number of good-sized birds perched thickly in a tree, apparently intending to roost there for the night. Having drawn their bullets, they loaded with small shot, and firing into the midst of the birds, they brought down a dozen, which proved to be a species of pigeon.

“We have got something for supper, at all events,” cried Desmond as he ran to pick up the birds and to finish off a few which were still fluttering on the ground.

Their ill-success in hog-hunting made them determine the next day to go out fishing in the boat. It need not be said that either Tom or Desmond paid periodical visits to the flag-staff. So often had they been disappointed that they at last gave up all expectation of seeing the ship. Their fishing excursion, though not as successful as the first, had produced a good supply of fish, some of which they ate fresh and the rest they dried in the sun and smoked over a wood fire. They had, however, to keep baling nearly the whole of the time. This satisfied them that they must caulk the boat before they could venture out to sea in her. All hands were now busily employed in a variety of ways. Pat had woven some baskets with long grass, and Billy and Tim, each carrying one, went out in search of salt, of which they found a plentiful supply in the hollows of the rocks, close down to the sea.

Tom and Desmond searched in all directions for trees which might yield pitch or a gum of some description which would serve to pay over the outside of the boat, but they searched in vain.

“We must find some substitute for pitch, or we cannot accomplish our voyage, that’s very certain,” said Tom.

The boat was constantly kept wet; at last they tried sinking her for several hours together, but her planks would not swell sufficiently to stop the leaks. They were almost in despair.

“Had we only a good supply of powder, we might live in luxury on fish, flesh, and fowl, with plenty of vegetables; but without the powder, should we get a continuance of had weather, we may be reduced to the vegetable diet,” said Desmond, as they were sitting round the fire at supper.

“As to the hogs, we may be pretty sure of catching them,” observed Pat; “we can soon find out their runs, and by digging pitfalls it won’t be long before a porker will find his way in.”

“Then the sooner you can manage to dig a pitfall and catch a porker the better,” said Tom.

“That will be the very thing I’ll set about to-morrow morning, with Tim as my mate,” answered Pat.

Tim agreed, and so it was arranged.

“I should like to get half a dozen hogs well salted and smoked, so that there may be no fear of the meat turning bad,” said Tom; “we cannot tell how long our voyage may last, and it will not do for us to run short of provisions if we can help it. We must also catch and cure a supply of fish, and they, with the yams, will serve us for provisions. Nothing else will be likely to keep, though perhaps we may obtain birds and vegetables at some of the islands we may pass.”

“But it won’t do to land, sir, unless we know the people who inhabit them,” said Pat. “Where I was living so long they would have knocked any visitors on the head and eaten them up, to a certainty.”

“My belief is that the people on this side of the equator are generally well disposed towards strangers,” said Tom. “I heard the commander say so only a short time ago, and he had been reading some books on the subject.” So altogether Tom was persuaded and imbued his companions with the same idea that the proposed voyage could be performed without any extraordinary risk, and all hands looked forward to the time when they might venture to commence it—not that they were tired of remaining on the island—but even the men had no wish to spend their days there, and the midshipmen were naturally anxious to be employed on active service. Next morning, Tom, having gone as usual to the flag-staff to take a look out, as he was descending, saw several dark objects moving on the sand of the bay below him. Some were far up on the dry sand, others nearer the water. “Those must be turtle,” he said to himself; “we may catch some of them if we are quick about it, before they return to the water.” He hurried back to the camp and told his companions what he had seen. They all followed him as fast as they could scamper towards the bay. Each man got hold of a stick or weapon of some sort. The instinct of the turtle telling them that enemies were approaching, those farthest up the beach began to make their way, vigorously working their fins, towards the water. Tom and Desmond, who were ahead, managed to get their sticks under a good-sized one, which they turned over without much difficulty, and they then attacked three others in succession, throwing them over on their backs. The rest of the party had now come up. Jerry and Tim, in the same way, turned over two more. Their success encouraged Billy, who, being ambitious, tackled a big fellow, which was scrambling away at a great rate towards the water. Billy, who was as courageous as a lion, seized hold of its fins, and in an instant he was covered over with showers of sand thrown up by its other fin, while the turtle showed no disposition to stop. Billy shouted to his companions to come and help him. Pat, who though the last on the field, having just turned a turtle, rushed forward and seized the big fellow by the other fin; but the creature had got good way and was not to be stopped by the united efforts of the midshipman and the Irish sailor, who in another instant were dragged into the water. It was still too shallow for the turtle to swim, but it used its four flappers with so much effect against its two assailants, as to give them a thorough shower-bath.

“We must have him; help, help!” shouted Billy; “don’t let him go, Pat!”

“That I’ll not, shure!” answered Pat, who maintained his hold like grim death to the hind flapper. “Tim, me darlin’, be quick here, or the baste will be off. Jerry, man, lend a hand.”

“Rogers, Desmond, do come and help, or the fellow will get away after all our trouble,” shouted Billy.

Thus summoned, the whole party came to the assistance of the two heroes, Tim in his eagerness toppling over on his nose in the shallow water. He quickly, however, recovered himself, and he and Jerry seizing one of the fore flappers, and Tom and Gerald the other. They managed to stop the progress of the unfortunate turtle, though not until they had all been well wetted.

With a heave they turned the turtle over and dragged it up again on the dry beach. By this time nearly all the other turtle had escaped; but another big fellow had just got into the water, and was paddling off, when Pat in his eagerness threw himself upon it, shouting to his companions for help. Billy dashed forward, when Pat at the same moment contrived to turn over the turtle, but, unhappily for poor Billy, his foot slipping, down he fell with the turtle on the top of him; though his head was above water, the turtle almost smothered him with water and sand, which its flappers sent flying into his face.

“Help, help!” he kept crying out. Pat, in his efforts to release the midshipman, also slipped down under the turtle, which was all the time working itself into deep water, and dragging its assailants, who still held on, with it.

Tom and Gerald, however, came to their rescue; but already the turtle had got into water of sufficient depth to enable it to recover its proper position, and with such good effect did it use its flappers, that, in spite of the exertions of the midshipmen and Pat, who had to choose between being drawn into deep water at a risk of being drowned or seized by a lurking shark, or losing their prize, they instinctively let go, and the turtle diving, joined its more fortunate companions who had escaped. As, however, more turtle had been caught than the party could possibly eat, they had no cause to complain.

“Hurrah! I don’t mind the wetting,” cried Billy, as he shook himself like a spaniel on coming out of the water. “We shall live for many a day like aldermen.”

“There’s little chance of our eating them up before they turn bad,” observed Desmond.

“You need not fear that, sir,” said Pat; “we will build a house for them, where they will live as happy as princes till we want to cook them?” His plan was to form an enclosure with a roof over it to protect the turtle from the rays of the sun, and to keep them well supplied with wet sea-weed.

“I wonder I did not at once think about that,” said Tom. “We will do as you propose immediately.”

The axes were soon at work, and the enclosure was formed of sufficient size to contain all their turtle, before they returned to breakfast, dragging with them one of the smaller turtle, which was destined to serve them as food for the day. They had turtle steaks for, breakfast, turtle soup for dinner, and turtle again at night.

“It is a pity we have not some port wine, and cayenne pepper, and some lemons,” cried Billy.

“We have no cause to complain, since we have abundance of salt,” said Tom. “For my part, I think we have every reason to be thankful for the ample supply of food with which we have been provided.”

As day after day went by the hope that the Dragon would return became fainter and fainter. Tom made up his mind that if they were to escape from the island, they must perform the voyage in the boat; but as he examined her again and again he could not help confessing that she was but ill-suited for the undertaking in her present state. Whenever they went out fishing they had to keep constantly baling, so that they ran a great risk of going down. He had no anxiety about provisions, though there would be a difficulty in preserving them sufficiently to stand the constant exposure to the sun and wet. That risk must, however, be run. He charged Pat and Tim to thoroughly salt and smoke the pork and fish. He directed them also to clear out a number of cocoa-nuts to serve as bottles for holding water. Pat had succeeded in catching two hogs in his pit-fall, and when the subject of carrying water was discussed, he offered to sew up the skins, so as to form two big leathern bottles.

“Where will you find the needles and thread to sew them up?” asked Tom.

“The needles! shure, I’d be afther makin’ them from bone, and there would be no difficulty in finding the thread.”

Though Tom allowed all preparations to go on, his mind was not at all easy in regard to the condition of the boat, and Desmond agreed with him that, unless her leaks could be stopped, it would be madness to put to sea.

While the men, therefore, continued working at their several tasks Tom had assigned to them, assisted by Billy, who was not fond of long walks, he and Desmond continued their search for pitch or something which would answer as a substitute. Desmond had heard of pitch springs, and looked about for them for some time, until Tom recollected that such were alone found in volcanic regions, and that they could only expect to discover some vegetable substance.

At last they determined to explore the whole of the island, which would occupy them some two or tree days.

Taking one of the muskets, they filled their wallets—which Pat lad manufactured for them of plaited grass—with a store of dried yams, salt pork, and fish, which they carried in case they should be unsuccessful in obtaining game. They charged Billy, should the Dragon appear, to fire off the musket left behind, and also to light a beacon fire on the summit of Flag-staff Hill, the smoke of which they would probably be able to distinguish from any part of the island. Bidding farewell to their companions, they first directed their course towards the south-east end of the island, which, as it had a rocky and barren appearance, they had not yet visited.

Chapter Three.

Tom and Desmond discover a wreck—Horrible scene—Find tools and stores on board—Return with their treasures to the camp—Visit the wreck in their boat, and bring back stores—The boat fitted for sea—Last night on shore—Setting sail—Steer for Japan—Wind changes—Stand to the south—A long calm—Followed by a shark—A breeze, but against them—Running short of provisions—Reduced to yams and oil—Boat run down by a whaler—Desmond and Tim missing—Tom and Jerry find them.

Tom and Gerald trudged manfully forward on their survey of the island. The path was very uneven. They kept as near to the coast as they could, and frequently they could only make their way, on account of the ruggedness of the rocks, by turning inland. They had to clamber over fallen trunks or to cut a path with their axe through thick creepers. At other times they had to climb wild rocks and rugged hills, then to descend again, either into some valley running up from the shore or to the shore itself. Their object being, however, to examine the productions of the island, they generally kept away from the beach. They had made good eight or ten miles, when, ascending a rocky height, they obtained a view of the sea and a line of coast for some distance. Suddenly Tom stopped and put his hand on his companion’s arm.

“Tell me, Desmond, what do you think is that dark object out there? It is curiously shaped, like—or, is it—”

“A vessel, to be sure,” exclaimed Desmond, whose eyes had been turned towards the spot. “How could she have come there without our seeing her?”

“She may possibly have been there for some time,” said Tom. “Certainly she must have been wrecked during a gale before we landed here, and she appears to be thrown high up on the rocks.”

As they got up to the vessel, they saw that she had been driven on shore between two ledges, where she had remained fixed. It had probably been high tide when she was wrecked, as the water had completely left her. After much difficulty, by scrambling along over the rocks, the midshipmen got alongside, then hauled themselves on board by some ropes which were hanging over the bows. The vessel was a fore-top-sail schooner. Her masts were still standing, and her canvas was hoisted, though torn to tatters, now fluttering in the breeze. A horrible odour came up from the main hold as they went aft, and on looking down what was their horror to see three bodies, one apparently a white seaman, from his dress, the other two evidently blacks, from the few rags still hanging to their remains. The two midshipmen anxious to accomplish the survey of the vessel, hastened aft. About the companion hatch and on the bulwarks, the wood had been chipped off, as if by bullets, and there were other signs that a severe struggle had taken place at some time or other on board. They descended the companion ladder; at the foot were stains of blood, traces of which were discovered on the steps. They expected, from the odour which pervaded the whole vessel, to find some festering body in the cabin, but no human being, either dead or alive, was there. They discovered, however, what had evidently been the captain’s log-book, by which it was shown that the vessel was the Ark, of Brisbane, Queensland, and that she had been engaged in carrying labourers from various islands to serve as apprentices for three years in that colony. How she had come thus far north it was impossible to say. The last entry in the log showed that she was in the latitude of the Caroline group; so that if she had been deserted there, she must have drifted several hundred miles. Tom and Desmond concluded that the blacks must have risen on the white crew, and that the latter, after defending themselves desperately, must have been overcome, while the former had probably swum on shore. One thing was certain, that a terrible tragedy had been enacted on board. The dead bodies below could tell no tales; probably they had fallen in the struggle and been left there by their companions. Perhaps the blacks, after murdering the crew, had steered to the northward, fancying that their own islands lay in that direction.

“We may suppose anything we like,” said Tom; “but we shall not get nearer the truth. However, we will take care of the log, and see if anything more can be got out of it. We will see now if the vessel contains anything likely to be useful, and if there is, we must send and fetch it without delay, as another gale might knock her to pieces.”

Before they could further continue their search they had to come up and take fresh air; and they then again descended into the little cabin. No sooner had they commenced their search than they found a set of carpenter’s tools, some parcels of nails, and several other articles which they required for repairing their boat.

“These are indeed treasures,” said Tom, as he examined them. “Now, if we can only find a cask of tar, we shall be fortunate.”

“That most likely is forward, or in the hold,” said Desmond.

“Ugh! I don’t like having to go into the hold,” said Tom; “but we must go down, if we do not find what we want forward.”

Nearly all the articles they wanted most were in the after cabin: a quadrant, a chart, canvas and rope, sail-maker’s needles, twine—indeed, almost everything they could possibly require. They at once placed, ready for packing up, the things which were of the most value to them, such as some of the tools, the quadrant, and chart, a spy-glass, and other articles. They then, as they were unwilling to remain longer on board than was necessary, made their way forward. Almost one of the first objects which their eyes encountered as they examined the fore hold was a cask of tar, which had been got up apparently for use; there were also oil, turpentine, white lead, and brushes.

“I only wish we had time and skill, and we might, instead of repairing our own boat, have built another better fitted for our intended voyage. Perhaps we could get the vessel off?” suggested Desmond.

“You would not say that if you saw her at high tide, when the water must flow in and out of her, for her bottom is like a sieve,” answered Tom. “We must not think of launching her, or of building another boat; but we may improve our craft, so as to make her thoroughly seaworthy.”

As the tackles were at hand, they at once hoisted the tar-barrel on deck; but by this time it was impossible to remain longer on board, and therefore, doing up the more valuable articles in two parcels, Tom having first descended, Desmond lowered them over the side to him. Altogether their packages weighed a good deal; but, delighted with their acquisition, they trudged along right merrily, hoping to get back before night.

“We shall astonish them,” exclaimed Desmond, “when they see us and the things we have brought.”

They had no little difficulty in getting back, and had frequently to stop and rest; but eager to join their comrades, they persevered, and at length, as night closed on them, they caught sight of the welcome fire under the cliff. Pat had just concocted their potful of turtle soup, and had some yams roasting in the embers. He and the rest could scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the treasures Tom and Desmond had brought. The men were all eager to set off the next day. Tom, however, determined to go in the boat, as there was a landing-place not far off, and the weather promised to be fine. Next morning they accordingly launched their boat, carrying several cocoa-nut shells with which to bale her out, not forgetting to take also a supply of provisions.

The wind was off the land, the water smooth; and setting the sail, they skimmed merrily along outside the reefs, keeping a bright look out for any which might be just below the surface.

The only disagreeable part of the expedition was the necessity of keeping two bands constantly baling. This showed how utterly impossible it would have been to have attempted the proposed voyage before the boat had been repaired. They found a sandy beach about a quarter of a mile from the wreck. Here they hauled the boat up, and all hands at once eagerly hastened on board. Pat suggested that the first thing to be done was to bury the bodies, so that they might search the hold without inconvenience; and he and Tim agreed to perform the disagreeable task. Having found an old sail, they placed the remains in it. Among the articles on board were a couple of spades, so that having dragged the bodies to a piece of soft ground inside the rocks, they quickly dug a grave, in which the white man and the blacks were placed together.

“They’ll not fight there,” said Tim, “whatever they may have done while they had life in them.”

The hold was then washed down, after which some cases of gun-powder having been found, Tom devoted a portion to fumigating the hold. They were now able to search the vessel thoroughly. Almost everything they could possibly require was discovered in her. Still Tim was seen searching about, as eagerly as at first. At length he gave a shout.

“Hurrah!” he cried out, “here is the treasure, my boys;” and he produced a box of tobacco, in which was still a considerable portion of its original contents. “It will serve us for many a day to come.”

Some pipes were also found, and Tom at once gave the men leave to take a smoke, for which they were truly grateful after the unpleasant duty they had performed. The midshipmen in the mean time were engaged in selecting the articles which they considered would be of the most use, so that should any accident happen to the wreck before they could return, they might at all events have secured the most necessary things.

In Tom’s eyes the cask of tar was the most valuable. The voyage had apparently been a long one, as nearly all the provisions had been exhausted. A small barrel of biscuit, with a few pieces of beef at the bottom of a cask, were almost the only provisions remaining on board. There was, however, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and they did not forget to carry off some cooking utensils, as well as a few cups, plates, a tea-pot, some knives and forks, as also several articles of clothing, which would enable them to enjoy the luxury of a change of linen.

Tom at first thought of shifting their head-quarters to the little bay where their boat was drawn up; but on consideration, as it was in an exposed situation, he and Desmond agreed to return to their original camp. They found a sufficient amount of planking to raise the boat’s gunwales, and to put a small deck forward and some lockers aft. Altogether they were highly satisfied with the treasures they had obtained, and having laden their boat, they once more put off. The wind again favouring them, they had a pleasant sail back to the bay. It was night by the time they landed their stores and had conveyed the articles of food to their encampment.

Tom and Desmond were in much better spirits than they had been before. They had now, as they could make their boat seaworthy, great hopes of performing their intended voyage. They had a good store of provisions, with a compass, chart, quadrant, and almanac, so that they could direct their course in any direction which was considered advisable. They were still in some doubt whether they should go on to the Ladrones or steer for Japan. In the latter case they would be likely to fall in with an English man-of-war, but the voyage must be difficult, and they finally decided to be guided by the winds and the state of the weather.

Japan was certainly nearer, but they might make a port at which no Englishmen were settled, and it was very uncertain how they might be treated by the natives. They hoped, too, that the Dragon might have escaped and managed to reach the Ladrones, where, as she would without doubt remain some time, they might be able to rejoin her.

None of the party, unfortunately, had much practical knowledge of carpentering. Pat, from having lived so long among the savages, was the most skilful and accustomed to turn his hand to all sorts of work. They trusted, however, for success to the right exercise of their wits. They had to make a couple more trips to the wreck, to bring away various articles which they thought might be of use. They then, without further loss of time, commenced operations.

The first task was to fix on a false keel, about half a foot in depth, to enable the boat to sail closer to the wind than she would otherwise have been able to do. It took some time, as they were greatly afraid of injuring the original keel. Fortunately, they had found some long screws, which much assisted them.

“I have a bright idea,” said Tom, as they were about to begin. “We’ll nail on a length in the first place two inches deep, which we can firmly secure with iron hoops to the side of the keel, and into that we can run our screws, so that there will be no risk of splitting the keel.”

This plan was carried out.

“To my mind, no carpenter could have done it better,” exclaimed Jerry, as he surveyed the work.

The fore-part of the boat was next decked over, a piece of canvas being nailed down on the top of it, and well painted, thus rendering it perfectly water-tight. On the same principle they formed some large lockers aft, and another amidships, in which their heavier previsions could be stored.

These being made water-tight, would materially assist in keeping the boat afloat should a heavy sea break on board of her. The gunwale was then raised a foot all round, and a bulwark placed athwartships, abaft the forecastle deck, from which, extending some feet further aft, a sliding hatch was fitted, so that in reality their boat was half decked over. They lastly gave her a thick coat of tar outside, and two coats of paint all over inside. She was rigged with a mainsail, a mizen, and a foresail, to which they added a sliding bowsprit, so that a jib could be set in light winds, with a flying gaff topsail. Having plenty of canvas and spars, they also fitted a square sail; some sand-bags served for ballast, although the stores they intended to take would reader them at first unnecessary. Tom had, however, half a dozen spare ones made, which could be filled from the beach of any island at which they might touch, as their stores became exhausted. Altogether the craft was made thoroughly seaworthy. They had been working hard all day, the last touch was given, and after a critical examination she was pronounced complete.

“Now, lads, we will launch her,” cried Tom.

By means of the rollers placed under her keel, this was done without much difficulty, and all hands jumped on board. Ballast was then placed in her, and she was found not to make a drop of water.

“For my part,” exclaimed Tom, anxious to encourage the rest, “I should be ready to sail right across the Pacific in her.”

“And so should I,” cried Billy and Desmond in chorus.

“Pardon me for saying it, sir; there are two things we cannot carry enough of to do that—water and fresh provisions,” said Jerry Bird, the oldest seaman of the party. “If we did not meet with a hurricane or too heavy a gale for the boat, we might of course get across. Such voyages have been performed before now, but no man would willingly undertake one if it could be avoided.”

These observations of Jerry set Tom thinking. “We must calculate the quantity of water we can carry, and go on an allowance from the first,” he said to Desmond. “We must do the same also with regard to our yams and all our other provisions, or, after all the pains we have taken, we might run short, which would not be pleasant.”

“I should think not,” remarked Billy. “I don’t mind how long we remain in the boat, but I should not like to be on short commons.”

The weather promising to be fine, the boat was anchored close in shore, being also secured by an additional warp fastened to a stake driven into the ground. Their intention was to carry their provisions and stores on board the next morning and immediately sail. With the writing materials he had found on board the schooner, Tom wrote a short account of their adventures, and their intentions as to their future proceedings, and corked the paper up in a bottle. This they lashed carefully to a stake close to the flag-staff, which they felt sure would be visited should any vessel come off the island.

“At all events, our friends will some day or other learn what has become of us if we are lost,” said Desmond.

“Oh, pray don’t talk about that,” cried Billy; “I can’t bear to think about, anything so dreadful.”

It was some time before Tom, who felt the responsibility of the undertaking resting on his shoulders, could go to sleep. He thought over what had to be done, and how he should act under the various circumstances which might occur.

Just as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, he awoke. He immediately got up and went out to look at the state of the weather. As far as he could judge, from the sheltered position of the hut, it was as fine as it had been for some days past. “Thank Heaven, we shall commence our voyage under favourable auspices, at all events,” he said to himself. Then he shouted—

“Rouse up there, rouse up!” His companions were quickly on foot. Billy wanted to have breakfast immediately. Tom would not hear of it.

“No, no, we must get the cargo on board, and then we will take our last breakfast on the beach,” he answered.

The party now loaded themselves with the various articles which were to be taken from the hut. The heavier stores had been housed close to the beach. Tom took a look round to see that nothing was left behind. They then all set off to the boat, which floated in the calm water of the bay. Some time was occupied in loading her and stowing the stores judiciously away, so that those first required might be uppermost. Their live stock were the last articles carried on board, consisting of a couple of turtle, which they hoped would live and serve them for fresh provisions. The survivors of those in the pen they allowed to scramble back into the water, a proceeding at which Billy sighed deeply.

“Can’t we tow them after us,” he said, “or haul them on board as we might want them, or during calms make them tow us?”

“Bosh!” was the only answer Tom made to Billy’s remark. It was with considerable anxiety that Tom watched the depth to which the stores, as they were placed on board, gradually brought down the boat. They had still more water in cocoa-nuts and pigskins to bring on board. He, soon saw that should they meet with bad weather they might have to heave overboard a considerable portion; still, as long as the sea remained smooth, she was not considered much overloaded.

Pat having lighted a fire on the beach, the party sat down to take their last breakfast on the shore. It was a hearty one, it may be supposed, as after this they could not venture to have more than one hot meal in the day. They had found a small cooking apparatus on board the wreck, which could be heated either by an oil-lamp or by wood chips.

“All hands on board,” cried Tom at length. He stood the last on the beach. Having a gain cast an eye around to see that nothing was left behind, he once more gave a look at the boat. “She is indeed deep in the water—almost too deep,” he said to himself. “She will, however, I trust, weather any gale we are likely to meet with. We must, at all events, run the risk, and trust to providence to take care of us.”

Having cast off the warp, Tom waded out to the boat and got on board. Before giving the order to weigh anchor, he saw that everything was properly stowed, and that the chart, quadrant, and compass were in the locker ready for use. The wind in the bay was very light, but by the colour of the water outside, it could be seen that a breeze was blowing, though from what quarter it was difficult to determine.

“Now, lads, we will get up the anchor and pull away into the offing, though one cheer before we go for our island home.”

A cheerful hurrah burst from the lips of the party, the anchor was lifted and stowed, and the oars being got out, they pulled merrily down the harbour. The entrance to the passage was as smooth as the rest of the bay. Having at length got well into the offing, Tom and Desmond had to decide in which direction to steer. The chart showed them Guam, the principal of the Ladrone Islands, much further off than Yokohama, on the coast of Japan, towards which they proposed steering. The wind, too, was from the north-east, and should it continue from the same point, they might reach some place in the latter islands, much sooner than they could hope to arrive at Guam. Still, as they had taken it into their heads that the Dragon would touch at Guam, they were far more inclined to go there than to Japan. When Tom, however, considered the risk of running short of water and of fresh provisions, he decided that they ought to attempt to reach Japan. Desmond agreed with him, and he accordingly at once put the boat’s head to the north-west. The wind was so light that both the jib and gaff-topsail were set, and the boat which, at a distance, would have looked like a little cutter, stood well up to her canvas.

“She will do it, sir,” said Jerry Bird. “She is going better than four knots an hour now, and if there comes a stiff breeze, we shall get six out of her.”

Tom was not quite so sanguine as to that; indeed, when he came to heave a log which he had fitted, he found that she was making really only three and a half knots, though that, considering the lightness of the wind, was very good. The little island on which they had spent so many days drew gradually astern. They could see others away to the northward. They concluded that they were also uninhabited, or, if there were any people on them, that they were not likely to afford them any assistance. At last the island itself faded from sight, and as the sun went down they floated in the midst of a watery circle. Tom, with Desmond and Jerry Bird, had taken the helm one after another, for Billy had had no experience, and neither of the other men could be trusted to steer by the compass. As it got dark Tom wisely took in the gaff-topsail and jib, while he kept a hand always ready to lower the mainsail, should a sudden squall strike the boat. There appeared to be little chance, however, of that, for scarcely had the sun gone down than the wind fell to a perfect calm, and the boat lay motionless on the water.

“Don’t you think it would be well to take to the oars?” asked Desmond.

“If we were certain of making good our passage in this direction. I should say so, but before exerting our strength we must see from which quarter the wind will next blow. It may be in our teeth, and all our labour will have been in vain.”

Tom divided the crew into two watches: he, Billy, and Pat taking one; Desmond, with Jerry Bird and Tim, being in the other. Tom took the first watch, as he had an idea that the weather would change before midnight.

“You need not sit up, Billy,” he said. “If you are wanted I’ll call you. Tim will tend the main halyards and keep a look-out forward.”

Billy, who was always ready for a caulk, lay down in the stern sheets. Tim kept himself awake by alternately singing snatches of Irish songs and whistling. Tom himself had some difficulty in keeping awake. He had lighted the binnacle lamp, by which he saw that the boat’s head was turned now to one, now to another point of the compass. Several times he got up to look about; though no sailing vessel could near them, a steamer might, and often and often he fancied he heard the sound of one in the distance. Hour after hour passed by; he looked at his watch, which had fortunately kept good time. At midnight he roused up Desmond, charging him to keep a good look out for any sudden squall. “Which way it may come it is impossible to say, but I think very likely from the point for which we are steering,” he observed.

Bird was of the same opinion. “We’ll not be caught napping, sir,” he said, as Tom lay down, thankful for the prospect of getting some rest. Desmond managed to keep awake, and amused himself by listening to Pat Casey’s yarns, which were so extraordinary that Desmond fancied he must be drawing upon his imagination, though he did not think fit to say so. The middle watch passed away much as the first had done. Now and then a whale or some vast fish was heard blowing or splashing in the water, but nothing could be seen, the sound travelling over the smooth surface to a great distance.

“We will let the first watch have their sleep out,” said Desmond. “It is a pity to rouse them up until daylight, though you, Pat, can lie down.”

“Shure, it’s only my tongue that’s been kept hard at work, and that will get along very well without any rest, so with your leave I’ll sit up and keep Jerry company,” answered the Irishman.

Scarcely an hour after this, Desmond, who fancied he was awake, was sitting near the tiller, with his hand placed mechanically on it, when he felt it suddenly move. There was a rushing sound, the boat heeled slowly over. Tom, who even in his sleep felt the movement, jumped up, and finding the boat heeling over, “Let go the main-sheet,” he shouted to Pat, who, being in the land of dreams, had neglected to lower away on the main halyards. Once aroused, he quickly obeyed the order, and the boat happily righted. Fortunately, the stores being well stowed, nothing shifted, or it might have gone hard with them. Tom’s first act was to look at the compass. The wind, as he had expected, was from the north-west. Desmond was keeping the boat close on the starboard tack, heading away to the southward of west.

“I was afraid so,” exclaimed Tom. “However, we will try what we can do. Perhaps it will shift again to its old quarter; but if it holds as it now does, we shall have a dead beat to Yokohama, and it may be many a long day before we get there. We will give it a fair trial, however, in case the wind should change.”

Daylight soon came. Tom gazed anxiously around.

“We will heave to and go to breakfast. Should the wind continue as it is for a couple of hours, we will then bear up at once and run for Guam. It is a sign to us that that must be our destination.”

Having boiled their kettle, they took their first breakfast on board the boat.

“Follow my example, and make a good one,” said Billy. “If it comes on to blow, and we should have to heave any of our cargo overboard, it is as well to save as much as possible.”

The men, at all events, were inclined to follow the midshipman’s advice; and after breakfast Tom got out his chart and pricked off their course and present position.

“With this wind we shall soon sight the Bonins, so that we shall not have lost much time. We shall, I hope, make Bailey Islands before dark; after that our course must be south by east, which will carry us clear of several rocks and reefs to the westward, and I hope that if we have a good breeze we may sight one of the more northern of the Ladrones in the course of a week or ten days, and Guam is about three hundred miles further south.”

Desmond fully agreed to Tom’s proposal, and the time they had fixed on having arrived, and the wind blowing as strongly and steadily as ever, the helm was put up, and the boat was steered on the proposed course. Although the Bonins were seen, night came on before they sighted Bailey Islands; and Tom, afraid of running on them in the dark, steered more to the eastward than he otherwise would have done.

Before the first watch was set he addressed his companions, urging them one and all to keep a vigilant look out ahead, both day and night. “We have not the advantage, recollect, of a large vessel, when a rock or reef may be seen from the mast-head,” he observed. “Should there be any sea running, the first intimation we may have of our danger may be by finding ourselves on the top of a coral rock. We must be always ready, at a moment’s notice, to alter our course, and get out the oars should the wind fail us. By that means we may escape the dangers we must expect to meet with. Remember, the chart we have got is an old one and may be inaccurate, so that it would be unwise to trust completely to it.”

“Very important remarks, and I hope the men in my watch will remember them, as I shall myself,” said Desmond.

Though the wind was fair, they ran on all night, under the main-sail, foresail, and mizzen, in case they should suddenly have to haul up to avoid any danger upon which they might be running. “As soon as we have daylight we will set the square sail, and make up for lost time,” said Tom. The wind held fair, but towards morning it began to fall, and by daybreak it was again perfectly calm.

“Suppose the wind springs up next time from the southward, are we to run north?” asked Billy.

“Wait until that time comes,” answered Tom. “We have now laid a course for Guam, and Guam I hope we shall reach some day or other.”

As the sun rose the heat became very great, increased by the glare from the ocean, which shone like a sheet of burnished gold. Having a second suit of sails, Tom had the mainsail rigged as an awning, which, as the sun got higher, served to shelter their heads, and to prevent the risk of a sunstroke. The awning, however, could only be kept up as long as it remained calm, when it was of course most required. Although some progress might have been made by rowing, Tom was unwilling to fatigue his crew, thinking it better to husband their strength for any emergency which might occur. At the usual hour Tom piped to breakfast, which was made to last as long as possible. Tom’s great difficulty was to find occupation for all hands. Unfortunately they had no books except the nautical almanac, which was not interesting reading. Yarn spinning is very well in the evening when men have done their work, but few can go on all day either as listeners or narrators. Even singing songs becomes somewhat monotonous, especially when the list is small and the singers have already trolled them forth over and over again. Their chief amusement was watching the coveys of flying-fish which rose every now and then from the ocean, and darted through the air, their bright scales glittering in the sun. Occasionally a whale spouted forth a jet of vapour and spray with a loud noise like that emitted by the safety valve of a steam engine; while albicores, bonitos; and dolphins, with various other fish, could be seen here and there, sporting and tumbling, as they came to the surface, sending a circle of wavelets extending far and wide around. Sea birds also flew through the blue ether, their wings appearing of snowy whiteness as they caught the rays of the sun in their rapid flight.

Jerry Bird proposed getting out the oars. “Maybe, sir, if we pull on for a few hours we may fall in with some craft becalmed; and though we may wish to continue the voyage in our boat, we may have a talk with her people, hear the news, and maybe get a glass of grog.”

“Or slice of plum pudding, or pot of jam,” put in Billy.

As there appeared to be no signs of a breeze springing up, Tom agreed to Jerry’s proposal, and the oars were got out, Billy taking one of them, at which Gerald promised to take a spell when he got tired. Heavily laden, however, as the boat was, they could scarcely send her ahead at the rate of two knots an hour; but even that was something; and supposing they could row for fifteen hours, night and day, thirty miles might be made good during the four and twenty.

Jerry, to keep up the spirits of his companions, led off with a song, when Tim and Pat followed him; and thus they continued until Tom piped to dinner. They indeed seemed much happier than when doing nothing. As soon as dinner was over they again took to the oars, and pulled on steadily until dark; but no land was seen, nor was a sail in sight. Indeed, so limited was their horizon, that they were likely to pass low islands without observing them. The night was as calm as the day; but, as the men required sleep, Tom kept only two oars going. When the sun rose the next morning it shone on the same polished surface as on the previous day.

“Not an air in the heavens,” said Jerry, in answer to Tom’s inquiries, as he rose from his sleeping-place in the stern sheets; “and, to my mind, there won’t be.”

“We must have patience,” said Tom, preparing to take a morning bath by jumping overboard.

“Be careful, sir, and look out for sharks,” observed Jerry. “I would not, if I were you, go far from the boat.”

“I will follow your advice. Keep the oars splashing, and that will frighten them off, if any are near,” said Tom.

Plunging in, the midshipmen swam round and round the boat several times. Billy jumped overboard, but being of opinion that he was likely to prove a tempting morsel to Jack Shark, very quickly begged Jerry to help him on board again. The midshipmen having dressed themselves, the men imitated their example. They were splashing about round the beat, when Pat shouted out—

“Bear a hand; get on board, mates. I caught sight of the fin of a big fellow not twenty fathoms off; he’ll be after trying the taste of our legs, if we don’t look sharp.”

The midshipmen stood ready to help in the men, for they also had seen the ominous black fin. Jerry, who had an especial dread of sharks, quickly threw himself over the gunwale, with the assistance of Tom, while Desmond and Billy helped up Tim. Pat, who was farthest out, caught hold of the bobstay and was hoisting himself on board by the jibboom, when a cry of dismay escaped him.

“He nearly had me, the baste; for I felt his jaws touch my foot.”

That this was not imagination was proved by the blood running from Pat’s heel, where the lips, though fortunately not the teeth of the monster, had struck him. A second later, and Pat’s foot would have been off to a certainty. The shark was directly afterwards seen swimming alongside the boat and casting a malicious leer at those on board.

“It will be a lesson to us in future not to swim away from the side,” observed Tom.

“It will be a lesson for me not to go overboard at all,” said Billy. “I’ve no fancy to become food for a shark.”

Another night passed. Tom found at noon the next day that, instead of thirty, they had not made good twenty miles. The fact was that at times they were not rowing at all; at others only two oars were going, when not more than one mile an hour was made, and even when four were rowing, they had to exert themselves to move the boat at the rate of two knots an hour. Still progress was being made. They should in time reach the most northern of the Ladrones, where they might venture on shore without fear of being killed and eaten, as would certainly be their lot on any of the islands further to the south-west. Rowing all day under a burning sun is not conducive to health, and though none of the party were actually ill, they began to long for a breeze, which would send them more rapidly on their course; while their spirits, which had hitherto been kept up, also flagged considerably. Each day, too, they made less progress than on the former one, a sign that their strength was somewhat failing. They had hitherto had an ample supply of food. The salt junk found on board the wreck had been kept to be used only in case of necessity. Of their turtle, one had been killed, and they had feasted on it for a couple of days, until the remainder grew bad, and they were compelled to throw it overboard. One morning Pat, who had taken charge of the animals, announced that the other was dead, having died during the night, and that unless it was quickly eaten it would be lost. This proved to be the case, especially to Billy’s regret, who saw the tempting morsels swallowed by the shark, which had, since its first appearance, followed the boat. The still more alarming announcement was that several of their hams, which they had fancied so well cured, were also getting bad. Some were consigned to the maw of the voracious shark, though others, which were only slightly tainted, were kept until the continued heat rendered them uneatable. Pat could not make it out, but it was discovered on examination that neither the smoke nor salt had penetrated to any depth, and that they would have done better to have cut the meat in thin strips and attempted thus to preserve it.

“Well, we shall have fish enough and roots, before we attack the junk; we must husband the biscuit and other things,” observed Tom.

He accordingly put all hands on an allowance. It was with no small anxiety that he examined the cured fish, which he was grieved to find emitted far from a pleasant odour; still, as it was at present eatable, he continued to serve it out.

“It is not often I have known a calm last so long as this,” exclaimed Jerry, when a whole week had passed, and not a breath of air had filled their sails. “We would have been better off on shore had we known what was coming.”

“We should not grumble,” observed Tom. “We have got upwards of a hundred miles to the southward; when a breeze does come we shall have so much less distance to make.”

“But the food and the water, sir?” exclaimed Jerry.

“We must touch at the nearest island we sight and obtain a fresh supply,” was the answer.

Day after day the shark had followed the boat, and while his hideous snout was seen, or that triangular fin of his, it would have been useless to put over a fishing-line, as it would certainly have been carried off. When, however, the fresh provisions ran short, Gerald and Tom determined to try and get rid of their fearful foe. The three men and Billy, who, though fat and short, pulled a very good oar, were rowing as men do who have been at the task many hours, in a sort of mechanical fashion, when Tom exclaimed—

“Load the muskets, Desmond, and if we cannot kill that brute astern, and get a few slices out of his carcase, we will, at all events, drive him away.”

The muskets had been kept clean and ready for use. They were soon loaded, when the midshipmen, bringing the weapons to their shoulders, took, as they thought, a steady aim and fired. The shark instantly sank out of sight. Whether they had hit him or not, they could not tell, but it was possible that the bullets, being deflected by the water, had glanced clear of his head. They at once reloaded, expecting that he would return; but though they looked down into the clear water astern and on either side, the monster was nowhere to be seen.

“He won’t trouble us again,” said Desmond. “I feel pretty sure my bullet went into him.”

“And I think mine did,” said Tom; “but neither could have killed him, or he would have floated up.”

“Then the sooner we get out the lines and try and catch some fish for supper the better,” exclaimed Billy.

Taking off the heavy leads, two of the lines were baited with pieces of rancid pork and allowed to tow astern. The lines had been out for some time, but not a bite had been obtained.

“Perhaps the lines are not deep enough, or the bait is not as good as it should be,” observed Desmond, beginning to haul in upon his line. He had got it in a third of the length, when he felt it torn from his grasp, and he caught sight of a monster running off with it. The next instant, as Desmond had the line round the thwart, it snapped short off. Away went hook and line. Directly after, Tom’s line, hanging over the other quarter, without any warning was snapped off.

“It’s that brute of a shark come back again,” cried Tom. “Get the muskets, Desmond, and if we can entice him near, we will settle him this time.”

“He’s too knowing for that, sir,” observed Jerry. “You may fire away every shot you’ve got—he’d see them coming, and be out of the way before they reach him.”

Tom, not believing this, determined to try once more. He got out another piece of pork, and fastened it to the end of one of the broken lines.

“The hooks will puzzle his inside,” said Desmond, “when he begins to feel them. He’ll think twice before he has another bite.”

The muskets were loaded, and the midshipmen standing up, kept their eyes closely watching the bait, which floated on the surface, two or three fathoms astern.

“There he comes,” cried Desmond. And as the shark, turning on his back, exposed the white of his belly, they both fired. The brute disappeared, and so did the bait, sinking like a rocket until lost to sight.

“We have finished him this time, at all events,” cried Desmond. “He’ll not take any more of our hooks.”

“Yes, but we have lost the slices out of his back,” cried Billy; “and, unless we can now catch some fish, we shall be on short commons for supper.”

Hoping that they should not be again troubled by the shark, fresh lines were got out. No fish, however, took the bait; either none came near, or it was not suited to their tastes. Supper consequently consisted only of biscuits and tea; but the warm tea was a great comfort after the heat of the day. The watch kept the lines down all night, but still without success. Two more days went by with little variation. Now and then their hopes were raised seeing a ripple far away on the surface; but, if caused by wind, it died away before it reached them. They were now on a short allowance of water; that in the skins had either evaporated or leaked out, the store in the cocoa-nuts had soon been exhausted, and they had only the boat’s breaker, on which they had already commenced. A few biscuits and a portion of the salt beef, which was at the best scarcely eatable, and possessed but slightly nutritive qualities, alone remained. Still they had enough to keep them alive for three or four days, perhaps for longer; but before that time, should a breeze spring up, they might at all events reach Faralon de Pajaros, the most northern of the Ladrones. There were other small islands marked down to the westward, one of which they might sight; and, if so, Tom determined to land, and try to obtain water and any food they might be able to find. They would most likely be able to get shellfish from the rocks, which would be an improvement on the junk. It was night. Desmond had the watch, and Tom was lying down fast asleep. He was aroused by hearing Desmond sing out, “A breeze! a breeze! All hands make sail!” Tom in a moment was on his feet. He looked around him and up at the stars.

“From which quarter does it come?” he asked.

The binnacle lamp had not been lighted. A light was soon struck. Tom examined the compass. “It is dead against us,” he exclaimed, with almost a groan.

“It is coming on very strong too, sir,” observed Jerry. “It would be better not to set the mainsail, until we see what happens.”

As Jerry had feared, the wind became stronger, and they presently had as much as the boat could stagger under, with only her mizzen and foresail set. The sea, however, was not as heavy as might have been expected. Tom kept the boat’s head close to it, and she rode easily over the fast-rising billows. The hatch, which had hitherto been of no use, was shipped, and kept out the seas which occasionally broke on board. The boat was much lighter than when she had started; indeed, as Jerry observed, “she would have been the better for a few more sand-bags in her bottom.” Tom was delighted at her behaviour.

“She rides beautifully over the seas,” he exclaimed. “I should have been sorry not to have given her a trial. The wind will very likely change before long, and we shall have a quick run to Faralon. I wish that I knew more about it, but if we can get water and cocoa-nuts and shellfish there, we must not complain. We can afterwards make our way without difficulty to Guam, having plenty of islands to stop at in our course.”

Tom said this to keep up his own spirits and those of his companions. They had not as yet begun to suffer from hunger, but he well knew that they should in a few days unless they could reach land. They had none of them calculated on the contingency which had occurred. The gale continued all day. At night the sea went down, and the wind fell considerably, but still blew from the southward. The boat was put about, as Tom and Desmond agreed that they must try and beat up to Faralon, which they might hope to sight in two or three days at the utmost. By daylight the wind had fallen sufficiently to enable them to set all sail, but they agreed that it would have been better to have had a dead calm, so that they might have pulled the boat in the direction they wished to go. At present, however, there was too much wind to enable them to do that.

Tom, who had hitherto bravely kept up his spirits, began to feel far from happy, although he did his best not to allow his companions to discover this. He could not help reflecting that in three or four days their water and provisions must come almost to an end. They had not enough now, even to keep up their strength, and it might still take two or three weeks before they could reach an island inhabited by civilised people. He, however, did his best not to communicate his feelings to his companions.

“I wish we had gone to Japan,” exclaimed Billy Blueblazes. “We should have been there long ago, and I don’t like these short commons—that I don’t.”

“I acted for the best,” answered Tom. He could not say another word: he felt more for his companions than himself.

The two Irishmen were looking very woe-begone. All Pat’s fun had left him; he had just strength enough to tend the jib sheets. Tim was stationed at the foresail, while Jerry stood by the main halyards.

Tom and Desmond, who had never played tricks with their constitutions, which were remarkably good ones, suffered much less than the rest, but even they felt themselves growing weaker and weaker. They had each day taken an observation. According to the chart they were nearly up to Faralon, but no land appeared in sight. Each day Tom had lessened the allowance of food and water; he now took stock of what remained. Half a dozen yams had been discovered, and these, beaten up with some oil, were all they had to sustain life. It was nauseous at best, but they ate it greedily. Another night came on; the sea was tolerably smooth, the sky was overcast, and a thick mist arose, although it still blew very fresh. The boat was kept under easy sail, close-hauled. Tom had the first watch with Billy and Pat. It was unusually dark, so that it was with difficulty that he could see the length of the boat. Before night came on Tom had again examined the chart.

“I am convinced that by noon—perhaps earlier—to-morrow at latest, we shall see land,” he said.

“I agree with you,” exclaimed Desmond. “On the strength of it, I propose that we have a glass of grog apiece.”

“You’ll not be afther laughin’ at us, shure, Mr Desmond?” said Tim. “If we could but have a dhrop of the creature, it would cheer our hearts mightily.”

“Indeed, I am not,” said Desmond, producing the bottle from one of the after lockers. It was but a quarter full of rum, but even the small portion mixed with water which Desmond served out was sufficient to restore energy, to the almost exhausted party. The remainder he carefully put by for the next day. After this the watch below lay down and went to sleep.

Tom sat at the helm. Every now and then he told Pat to keep a bright look out.

“Arrah, sir, it will be a hard matter to do that, since I cannot see half a fathom before my nose.”

“There cannot be much use in looking out,” said Billy. “If we were near the land we should have seen it before dark; and as we have not fallen in with a single vessel since we left the Bonins, we are not likely to meet with one to-night.”

“That’s not sound reasoning, Billy,” answered Tom. “We must, until the fog lifts, make more use of our ears than our eyes. We may hear breakers ahead in time to avoid them if we listen attentively.”

They were silent for some time. Tom’s chief object in speaking was to keep his companions awake.

“Billy,” he said, after some time, “did you hear anything?”

“Yes; I fancied I heard a bell strike.”

“More than once?”

“Yes; four times.”

“So did I,” said Tom; and he took out his watch, intending to look at it by the light of the binnacle lamp, when at that instant the lamp went out. The oil had been exhausted, and there was no more in the can. Pat, he had reason to fear, had taken a pull at it unperceived.

He struck a match, and saw it was just ten o’clock. There could be no doubt, then, that the bell they heard was that on board a ship; still it was so faint that she was probably a long way off.

Tom could now only steer by the wind, which, however, he believed was holding steady. He had settled with Desmond to go about at four bells, and to keep on the starboard tack until midnight, then again to go about. He had just ordered Pat to let fly the jib sheet, and had put down the helm, when, as the boat was in stays, Pat sang out—

“A sail right ahead!” What was Tom’s horror at that instant to see a vast pyramid of sail towering above him. The next moment a crash was heard; the stranger’s stem struck the boat’s bow. At the sound Desmond and Jerry sprang to their feet. Instinctively they knew that they had been run down, and simultaneously they uttered shouts of “Help, help!” Ropes were hove to them by the look-out men on the stranger’s forecastle. Tom put one into the hands of Billy, who was too much alarmed to know what to do, while he himself grasped another. Pat had caught hold of the dolphin striker, and was making his way up to the bowsprit. Jerry grasped another rope, and all three swarmed up until they met friendly hands to assist them. Tom supposed that Desmond and Tim were following, but, as he looked back, what was his dismay to see the boat drifting away. The crash he had heard convinced him that her side must have been stove in, and that she must sink almost immediately.

“There are two men clinging to the craft you ran down, sir. In mercy’s sake, lower a boat and pick them up,” he shouted out.

“Aye, aye,” was the answer.

And he thankfully heard the order given to shorten sail and bring the ship to the wind. Rushing aft, he found a party of men preparing to lower a boat. He begged to go in her. Before she was in the water Jerry joined him, and, together with three other hands, they shoved off. He then saw that she was a whaleboat. One of the men, an officer he concluded, took the steering oar.

“Desmond! Tim!” he shouted out.

No answer came. The boat must have gone down, but they could both swim well.

“Do you know the bearings?” he asked of the mate.

“Aye, aye! I guess I do,” was the answer. “We will give them another hail presently.”

The boat pulled on. Then Tom, standing up again, halloed, the rest of the party joining him. An answer came from right ahead. Tom recognised Desmond’s voice. With renewed zeal they pulled on and looked around. Tom could distinguish the boat through the gloom, just above the water.

“Bear a hand,” shouted Desmond again, and they were up to the boat.

She had gone almost over, her side being only above water. Desmond was clinging to it.

“Here, take him off first,” he said; and the crew of the whaleboat lifted Tim on board. Desmond sprang after him. Scarcely had they got clear of the wreck of the boat than she went down.

“Thank Heaven, you are safe,” exclaimed Tom, as he rung Desmond’s hand, as if they had been long parted. “Did you not hear our first hail?”

“No; I suppose it was when I was dragging poor Tim up. He got a blow on the head, I think, and was very nearly slipping off. As the boat broke clear of the ship I was on the point of hauling myself up, but I could not bear to desert him.”

“Just like you,” said Tom. “I hope he will recover.”

“No fear of that. We Irishmen have good hard heads. If there is a doctor on board he will soon bring him round.”

“Have you a doctor on board?” asked Tom of the mate.

“I guess we have; a smart man he is, too,” answered the mate. “Are there any more of you to pick up?”

“No, thank you,” replied Tom; “all the officers and ship’s company of our craft have been rescued.”

“What craft was she?” asked the mate.

“The jolly-boat of her Majesty’s ship Dragon,” answered Tom.

“And how did you happen to be out here?” Tom explained that they had lost their ship, and that they were steering for Guam, where they expected to find her.

“I guess you’ll not do that, for we put in there a week ago, and there was no British man-of-war there at that time.”

This was unsatisfactory news. The mate had not time to ask many more questions before the boat was alongside. Tom and Desmond, on reaching the deck, found the master, who informed him that he was Captain Paul Sibley—that the ship by which the boat had been run down was the whaler Columbia, of Boston. “I am very sorry for the accident,” he added, “but I do not see that any one was to blame. It could not be helped. We could not see you, and you could not see us, and of course the weakest went to the wall, or rather to the bottom. However, now you are on board, you are welcome to remain until we can put you on board your ship, or set you on shore wherever you wish to land. I guess it won’t be on any of the Solomon Islands of New Hebrides, where they have an ugly fancy for eating their visitors.”

“Thank you,” answered Tom. “If our ship is not at Guam, where we expect to find her, we must consider at what other place it would be best to land, so that as soon as possible we may get on board a ship of war.”

“Well, well, there, is no hurry,” answered the captain. “And just now, the best thing you can do is to get off your wet clothes and turn in. I will have some shakedowns made up for you young gentlemen in my state cabin, while your three men can go forward, and the doctor will look after the one with the broken head.”

Tom, Gerald, and Billy thanked the good-natured captain for his kind offer, but hinted that, as they had had nothing but mashed yams and oil for the last two days, they should be thankful for something to eat.

“Not very pleasant fare. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good; so, though I ran you down, you are better off than you would have been starving on such food as that, I guess. Here, Peter, light the galley fire, and get some food as quick as possible. Hot tea in the mean time; and look after the men forward—they want food as much as their officers.”

The black steward, who had been asleep, came out rubbing his eyes, and hurried to obey the orders he had received; while the captain ushered his guests into the cabin, and soon produced three blankets.

“There, strip off your wet duds, and wrap yourselves in these,” he said, “while I make up your beds.”

The three midshipmen, weary and hungry as they were, indulged in a laugh, as they sat with the blankets over them, like three Indian squaws looking at each other, while the kind captain completed the arrangements he had promised.

The steward quickly returned with a pot of hot tea, and the captain produced a box of American crackers, which soon took off the edge of their appetites.

“There, lie down now, until Peter is able to bring you mere substantial fare,” said the captain.

They followed his advice, Billy carrying a handful of crackers with him, munching which he soon fell fast asleep. They were roused up, it seemed to them, a moment afterwards by the steward, who announced that supper was on the table; when they again, not unwillingly, wrapped in their blankets, sat down to discuss some basins of hot soup and slices of cold beef, which, as Billy observed, “was a great improvement on the raw salt junk, which had so long been their only substantial fare.”

At length the captain, observing that all three were nodding over the table, advised them to return to their beds; and scarcely had they put their heads on their pillows, than they were fast asleep.

Chapter Four.

Kindly treated on board the American whaler—Looking out for whales—A whale killed—Cutting in and trying out—The master goes off in chase—The second mate lost overboard—Sandwich Islander endeavours to save him—The boats disappear—No appearance of the master and first mate—A gale—The boatswain assumes command and plays the tyrant—Will not search for the captain—Hides the nautical instruments—The boatswain dashes Tom’s quadrant to the deck—Night—The midshipmen turn in—The ship strikes—Boatswain and crew put off—Leave Tom and his companions on the wreck—Weather moderates—Land seen—They build a raft—Voyage to the shore—See a savage on it—Turns out to be Pat Casey—Night on shore.

When Tom Rogers at length awoke, he found the captain, Doctor Locock (the surgeon), and the first mate seated at dinner.

“Well, young gentlemen, do you find yourselves well enough to join us?” asked the former.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, slipping into his clothes, which he found perfectly dried by his side. He aroused his companions, and they were all three soon seated at table, where plates had been laid for them. They were thankful to hear from the doctor that Tim, though still in his hammock, was in a fair way of recovery, and would be on deck in a day or two.

They now gave a fuller account of their adventures than they had done on the previous night. The possible loss of the Dragon was discussed, and from the captain and mate’s observations the midshipmen’s hopes were somewhat raised that she might have escaped shipwreck. Their opinion was that, as her machinery was damaged, she would have run to Hong-kong, the nearest place at which it could be repaired; and that it would take several weeks before she could get back to the Bonins to look for them. That their captain would return they felt sure, unless he was convinced that they were lost.

“At all events, as we are about to fish off there, we will take a look round the neighbouring islands on the chance of discovering the wreck, and rescuing any of her people who may have escaped,” said the master. “If we fail in that, we may fall in with a British man-of-war, and you shall be put on board. If not, we will land you at Yokohama or Kagoshima, from whence you can without difficulty get to Hong-kong.”

Tom, as spokesman, thanked the captain for his kindness, adding, “I feel sure that the British consul at any place at which you may land us will reimburse you for the expense to which you may be put on our account.”

“We won’t talk about that, my young friend,” answered the American captain. “We will set off the loss of your boat against that; and I am only too happy to have saved your lives, and to have rendered any service in my power to British officers in distress, for I tell you it is my belief that you would all have starved before you got to Guam, or any other island at which you could have landed in the Ladrones.”

“I guess that they don’t value midshipmen at a long figure in your service,” observed the mate, as if he doubted that the Dragon would return to look for them.

“That depends on the sort of midshipmen they happen to be,” answered Tom, putting on a modest air. “We flatter ourselves that we are not likely to be neglected. Now, if we happened to have all been like Billy Blueblazes there, who, from the quantity of beef he consumes, is undoubtedly a heavy cost to her Majesty, our captain might have considered it his duty to leave us to find our own grub for the future, and thus save our beloved country a heavy expense.”

“I see,” said the mate with a wink, discovering that Tom was not a person out of whom he could take much change. “And pray may I ask if that young gentleman’s name is really Billy Blueblazes? It’s a curious sounding one, at all events.”

“It’s the name by which he is known among us, at all events,” answered Tom. “The captain may in his supreme wisdom call him Mr William Blewitt, or when he is gazetted, on obtaining his lieutenancy, he may possibly be designated by the last-mentioned appellation; but Billy Blueblazes he will be called by his messmates while he remains afloat.”

The midshipmen went for a short time on deck, where they found Jerry and Pat, who seemed well pleased at the way they had been treated by the crew, who, though rough enough in appearance, were far less so than the seamen of many merchant vessels.

“They have, howsumever, already tried to persuade Pat and me to join them, as they have lost two or three men since they came out; but you know, Mr Rogers, that an old man-of-war’s man is not likely to desert his flag, and least of all to join a greasy, stinking whaler,” said Jerry in a whisper, not wishing to be overheard.

Tom and Gerald paid Tim a visit, and found him almost himself again. “If it had not been for you, Mr Desmond, I should have lost the number of my mess—that I know; and though I cannot make a fine speech about it, you know that an Irishman’s heart can be grateful. If you ever come to Barry Shingle, there is an old mother I’ve got; and a couple of sisters, who will be showing you what they think of the matter. I have been thinking, as I lay here, what a sorrowing there would have been if you had not held on to me after I got that crack on the skull.”

On returning to the deck, Tom and Desmond found Billy Blueblazes fast asleep on the companion hatch; and as they could scarcely keep their own eyes open, they followed the captain’s advice and turned in, where they quickly forgot what had happened and where they were. They awoke up for a short time to take supper, and very soon went off to sleep again. Indeed, even Tom felt that he required sound rest for two or three nights, to set him up after the hardships he had gone through.

The voyage of the Columbia had hitherto been fortunate; she had, however, lost two of her boats stove in, and three hands drowned. She was already half full, and Captain Sibley hoped in the course of a few more months to be able to return home. The midshipmen were politely and kindly treated, and agreed that they ought to be thankful at finding themselves so well off. They were anxious, before leaving the ship, to see a whale captured, and to witness the operation of cutting out and trying in, which the doctor described to them.

Hitherto it had been almost calm since they came on board. The ship had but slightly changed her position; still a look-out was kept for whales, as at any moment one might appear. The midshipmen were asleep, when one morning, just at daybreak, they were aroused by the sound of feet hurrying overhead, and springing on deck, they saw the crew busily engaged in lowering two of the boats.

“There! and there again!” shouted the look-out, meaning that a whale, which he had some time before seen, had come to the surface was spouting. Tom immediately sprang into the rigging, and on looking out, he saw a whale spouting about a mile to windward. In less than a minute after the people had come on deck half dressed, the boats started away with six men in each, including the headsman and boat’s steerer. The captain went as headsman in one, and the first mate in the other. The water bubbled and hissed under the bows of the boats, as the eager crews urged them forward.

“I wish I had gone in one,” cried Tom.

“So do I,” said Desmond; “but I doubt whether we should have found ourselves of much use, and as the captain would have considered us in the way, we should have had very little chance. However, we can see the fun, and if we get a breeze we may beat the ship up to the whale.”

The boats made good way, but before they got near enough to fire their harpoons into the monster, it sank beneath the surface.

“The whale has disappeared! How provoking!” cried Desmond.

“Don’t suppose that. Depend upon it, the captain has not given up the chase yet. The whale must soon come to the surface again to breathe,” said Tom.

He was right. The whale rose at no great distance from where it had gone down, and somewhat nearer the ship. The boats were quickly up to it, and before it had done spouting, two harpoons, with a deadly force, were shot into its side. The boats backed off speedily to return to strike into it a number of lances. The whale, feeling a sudden pain, lifted up its flukes and disappeared. The line was quickly run out, and before long the creature again came to the surface and attempted to swim away from its foes; but it had not gone far, before it began furiously to lash the water with its flukes, beating it into a mass of foam and blood. The boats kept clear, their crews well knowing that one blow of that mighty tail would dash their boats to splinters. It was the last effort of the monster, which soon rolled over on its side perfectly dead. A cheer from the boats’ crews, which was heard over the water, announced their success, when, securing tow-ropes to the whale, they dragged it alongside without loss of time, and the operation of cutting out was commenced.

Two of the crew descended with sharp spades, when they cut off the head of the whale, which was at once secured under the counter. A large hook being then fastened in a hole cut in the blubber at the head end of the animal, the operator commenced cutting off a strip about three feet broad, in a spiral direction, and a tackle having been fixed to the hook, this was drawn up on board, the body of the whale turning round and round. As the blubber was thus hoisted up, it was cut into pieces, known, as blanket pieces, and thrown into huge cauldrons arranged along the deck. As soon as the carcase was stripped of this, its outer coating, it was allowed to float away, and the spermaceti oil in the head astern was dipped out with small buckets at the end of poles, until the whole was extracted. This oil, the most valuable part of the whale, was then boiled separately, and stowed in casks. Now commenced the operation of trying out. Fires were lighted under the huge try-pots, the crisp membranous parts of the blanket, after the oil had been extracted, serving as fuel. The blubber was boiled until the oil rose to the surface, when it was skimmed off and placed in casks. In daylight the men thus employed looked grim enough, but at night, as they worked away, stripped to their waists, the fire casting a glare over their smoke-begrimed figures, they seemed more like a group of demons engaged in some diabolical work, than human beings. The midshipmen could scarcely recognise those with whom they had been talking familiarly the day before.

The whale, which was a large one, gave, the captain told them, eighty barrels of oil. It took the crew upwards of two days to try out and stow away that quantity.

“I should have to be precious hard up before I turned whaler,” observed Billy Blueblazes. “It is hot work at night, but it must be terrible in a calm, with the blazing sun beating down on the poor fellows’ heads.”

Several days passed away after this before another whale was seen. A breeze, however, having sprung up, the ship stood to the northward. There was some sea on and the weather looked changeable, when one afternoon, as Tom and Gerald were enjoying a read at some of the captain’s books in the cabin, Billy rushed in, exclaiming—

“Here’s a school of whales close to us. Come up and have a look at them, or perhaps they will be off.”

Sure enough, when the midshipmen came on deck, they saw half a dozen or more whales spouting together, which, as the captain told them, were young bull whales. The crew were standing ready to lower the boats as soon as they should get the captain’s order. The weather appeared to clear a little, and eager to obtain one or more of the frolicsome monsters, he determined, in spite of the threatening aspect of the weather, to go off in chase. He, as before, went in one boat, and the first mate in the other. The boats were, however, apparently seen by the whales, which immediately separated and went off in different directions. One, however, after making several turns, came directly towards the captain’s boat.

“’Faith! I wish we were with him,” exclaimed Desmond. “He is sure to have that one.”

The captain, making a sign to his men not to move their oars, waited silently for the young bull, which came close up without discovering its foe. When at length it did so, it swerved on one side, at that moment receiving the deadly weapon just behind its hump. No sooner did the whale feel the pain than, apparently terror-stricken, it seemed unable to move; but as the captain was again about to fire, suddenly recovering itself, it darted off like an arrow, spinning the boat so quickly round that she was nearly upset.

Away went the whale dead to windward, towing the boat at a rate of nearly fifteen miles an hour, right against a head sea which, as she ploughed through it, was formed in a high bank of surf on either side, while she was almost concealed by the showers of spray flying over her. The second mate, who was at some distance, seeing the whale coming, pulled up in time to shoot his weapon into its side, when both boats, being fast, were towed almost as rapidly as had been the captain’s. In vain the boats attempted to haul up closer, so as to strike their lances more deeply into the animal.

Tom and Gerald, borrowing spy-glasses, ran aloft to watch the proceedings, but at so great a speed had the whale gone that, in a short time, neither it nor the beats could be seen by the naked eye. From the mast-head the midshipmen could just observe three objects like specks upon the ocean, and at length they entirely disappeared beyond the horizon. The wind had now freshened.

“We must go and lend a hand,” said Tom, “as I suppose the second mate will beat the ship up to the boats.”

They accordingly descended; but before they were half-way down, the fearful cry reached their ears of “A man overboard!” On looking astern they saw him struggling in the waves. Who he was they could not tell. Hastening to the deck, they found the helm put down, the hands raising tacks and sheets to bring the ship about. In the mean time some oars and a hen-coop had been hove into the sea, but the man, whoever he was, seemed to have very little notion of swimming, as his efforts to reach them were unavailing. Tom’s first impulse was to leap overboard. Gerald, holding him back, exclaimed, “You could not save the poor fellow; he would carry you down, if you attempted to get near him.”

“But I could tow the hen-coop up to him,” said Tom.

“Stay where you are, young gentleman,” said the doctor. “See! there is a man gone to his assistance;” and they then caught sight of a Sandwich Islander in the water. He had slipped quietly overboard and was making his way towards the drowning man. Just then the sun dipped beneath the horizon, looking angry and red, while the sky threatened a stormy night. Only one small boat remained, which was lowered immediately; the ship was brought to, and Tom, with Desmond, Jerry, and two of the crew, jumped into her; but by this time they had lost sight both of the drowning man and the Sandwich Islander. The sea, which was every moment getting up, broke over the bows of the boat as they pulled towards the spot where the men were last seen.

“Who is the poor fellow?” asked Tom of one of the crew.

“Our second mate. He has been queer for some time, and I don’t expect we shall find him.”

This was painful intelligence. Tom felt it his duty to persevere. At length they heard a cry. It came from the Sandwich Islander. They could not see him, but they caught sight of a hen-coop, which assisted them in directing their course. Just then Tom, who had taken the bow oar, standing up to look out, saw two heads. “We shall be in time, even now. Pull away!” he sang out.

The mate had apparently got hold of an oar.

“I see him,” shouted Tom to the Sandwich Islander. “Wait another minute, and we will take you on board;” and he pointed towards the mate. They were not twelve fathoms from him, when a loud shriek escaped him, and, letting go the oar, he threw up his arms and sank from sight. They pulled round, still hoping that he might re-appear, but it was in vain. The Sandwich Islander came swimming rapidly up to them, and without waiting for assistance threw himself over the bows.

“A shark got him,” he said; “and would have had me in another minute.”

It was not without some danger of being swamped that the boat regained the ship’s side. Until the return of the captain and first mate the ship was under the command of Mr Betts, the boatswain, who appeared to be a rough hand; although Tom concluded that he was a good seaman, who would act for the best, and endeavour to get up to the boats and take the officers on board. Tom at once offered his and his companions’ services to work the ship. Indeed, she was so short-handed that without their assistance she could with difficulty even be put about.

“I suppose those who are eating the owner’s bread should work for the owner,” was the gruff answer, as if he declined the offer for himself.

This, however, mattered very little to Tom. As the wind increased he felt more and more anxious for the fate of the absent ones. In order not to miss them, it was necessary to make short boards, so that all hands were kept constantly at work, putting the ship about every quarter of an hour, while lanterns were hung over the weather side to show her whereabouts should the boats have got clear of the whale. The gale became stronger and stronger. The canvas was taken in, until the ship was under closely reefed topsails. The sea got up more and more, frequently breaking over her bows, so that it seemed too probable that the boats, before they could reach her, would be swamped. Already it would be a difficult matter for them to get alongside. Tom, having discovered that there were some blue lights on board, burnt one every now and then, hoping that they might be seen and encourage the crews of the wave-tossed boats. The surgeon told him that he still had some hopes that they might escape, as boats had often done in a heavy sea, by hanging on under the lee of a dead whale, which served as a breakwater.

“In that case we must take care not to go too far, or we may get to windward of them, and they might not venture to leave the shelter which the whale affords them,” observed Tom. On this he proposed to the boatswain to “heave to.”

“We are not up to them yet,” was the answer. “I was at sea before you were born, young gentleman. Leave me to judge what is best to be done.”

Tom made no reply. “We have got a queer character to deal with,” he observed to Desmond. “However, we must try to manage him, although it will be a serious matter to us, as well as all on board, if we do not recover the poor captain and mate.”

No one turned in; indeed, all hands were required to put the ship about, and all night long she was kept on tack and tack without any answering signal. The doctor continued to fire at intervals one of the six-pounder guns on deck, but no signal was heard in return. When morning broke, the boatswain at length consented to heave to. Neither of the boats had been seen, and those on board began to despair. The gale showed no signs of abatement, while the sea had continued to increase. High-tossing waves, crested with foam, rose up around, while the sky was obscured by dense masses of dark clouds.

“Will your whaleboats live in a sea like this?” asked Tom of the boatswain, who in his character as commanding officer was standing aft.

“I guess they could, young man, if they are handled as we know how to handle them,” was the answer.

“Then we may still hope to find the captain and mate,” observed Desmond.

“If that whale did not smash up one of the boats with her flukes. If he did, twelve people would prove a heavy cargo in a sea like this, and she is likely enough to have been swamped.”

“I am afraid that some such accident must have occurred,” observed Tom.

“I guess you may not be far wrong,” was the unsatisfactory remark.

On going into the cabin for breakfast they found Doctor Locock resting his head on his hands, with his elbows on the table.

“Poor Captain Sibley! He and those with him are gone, I fear. I would have given all I possess to save him. A kinder-hearted man never commanded a ship. His poor wife and children! And the second mate gone! Only that rough diamond in charge, without men enough to handle the ship. It will prove a very serious matter to us, I fear, young gentlemen, even should we ride out the present gale and bad weather continue.”

“With our party of six we shall have no difficulty in managing the ship,” observed Tom. “My eldest messmate and I are thorough navigators; and though we cannot assist in following up the object of the voyage, we shall be able to take her into a port where she can obtain another master, with more officers and men. I should propose steering for Hong-kong, where we are certain to fall in with American merchantmen, and probably a man-of-war; but, before we leave this neighbourhood, I should wish to make a thorough search for the missing boats. Notwithstanding what the boatswain says, I am not satisfied that they are lost.”

“Do you think it possible that they can have escaped?” asked the surgeon, looking up.

“I think it possible, though I dare not say it is probable,” answered Tom. “They may have killed the whale and hung on under the lee of its body, or they may have run before the wind and succeeded in reaching one of the small islands to the eastward. The weather has been so thick that they might easily have passed us without discovering our signals.”

These remarks of Tom’s greatly cheered the poor surgeon, who grieved for the loss of his friend the captain, and he was also naturally very anxious about his own fate.

“With any other man than Betts I should have less fear; but I know him to be an obstinate, self-opinionated, unprincipled fellow, and very ignorant at the same time,” he observed. “If he were utterly ignorant of navigation there would be less danger; but he knows something about it, and has an idea that he is a first-rate navigator, and fully capable of taking charge of the ship.”

“We must take our observations and keep our reckoning carefully, and we may then be able to correct his errors,” said Tom.

As he spoke, a gruff voice was heard to exclaim, “What’s that you say?” and the boatswain, who had been standing at the door of the cabin, walked in, casting furious glances at the doctor and the three midshipmen.

“So you think I know nothing about navigation, do you?” exclaimed the man. “I’ll soon show you what I know, and as this cabin is mine, unless you can keep civil tongues in your heads, out you shall go and find berths forward.”

Tom, remembering that a soft answer turneth away wrath, replied, “We have no wish to dispute your authority, Mr Betts, and shall be glad to give you all the assistance in our power. If the captain were here, and both the mates had been lost, he would have wished us to take observations and help him navigate the ship.”

“The captain was one man, and I am another. He might have liked what won’t suit my fancy. So now, as I’m captain, I’ll beg you to keep your hands in your pockets until you receive my orders to take them out. You understand me?” Desmond, who was not so much inclined to keep his temper as Tom, was firing up at the boatswain’s impudence, when Tom put his hand on his mouth, and turning to the boatswain, said, “Very well, Mr Betts; we understand each other. But without boats, even if my people were able to help, you could not attempt to catch any more whales, and you have not even a sufficient number of men to take the ship home, so that you must put into a port to get fresh hands. If you take my advice you will, as soon as the gale is over, shape a course for Hong-kong, but before we leave this part of the ocean I would strongly urge you to make a diligent search in all directions for the boats.”

“We might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay. The boats are swamped, I’m sure of that, and don’t intend to lose time by hunting for what we shall never find,” answered the boatswain, as he took the captain’s seat at the table.

Tom had considerable difficulty in restraining Desmond from saying anything which might irritate the man. Billy ate his breakfast in silence, stowing away an ample supply of provender to be ready for all emergencies. The doctor made no remark, fearful lest anything he might say should irritate the boatswain, whom he knew was capable of any act of tyranny.

As soon as the meal was over, Tom and Desmond went on deck.

“I wouldn’t give way to that fellow,” exclaimed the latter. “He’ll be wanting us to take the ship round Cape Horn to Boston, and then get the credit of bringing her home himself. The best thing we can do is to clap him in irons and take command ourselves. The doctor would side with us, and so would two or three of the ship’s company, if not all of them; for, depend upon it, they must be aware that he is no navigator, and would not wish to trust the craft to him.”

Tom, who was averse to this proceeding, replied, “It might turn out very well if we were first to fall in with a British man-of-war; but suppose we met an American, we might be accused of running away with the ship. Rest assured that the boatswain and some of the men would be ready to swear to anything which would suit their own purposes.”

“I would risk that,” said Desmond. “The doctor’s word would be taken before that of the boatswain, and any American officer would at once see that our statement was the true one.”

“Suppose we were to fail in our attempt to seize the boatswain, he would murder us all, or at all events clap us in irons, and accuse us of mutiny and an attempt to seize the ship.”

“Arrah! now, what’s come over you, Tom?” exclaimed Desmond. “You’ll not persuade me that you’re afraid of carrying out my plan.”

“No,” answered Tom, smiling. “I only want to look at both sides of the case, as Archie Gordon would have done if he were with us. I fully agree with you, that if the fellow refuses to go to Hong-kong we must compel him by some means or other; but, it would be wrong in us to seize the ship unless we are assured of the incapacity of the boatswain, by which her safety and the lives of all on board would be imperilled. In that case we should be justified in acting as you propose.”

“And isn’t he incompetent?” exclaimed Desmond. “The doctor says so. If he had been a good navigator he would not have been serving as boatswain.”

“If he will agree to go to Hong-kong or Sydney, or even to the Sandwich Islands, and let us assist him in navigating the ship, well and good, as we can leave her at any of those places, and he can obtain a fresh crew.”

Tom’s remarks satisfied Desmond that they ought to wait and see how the boatswain would act. A look-out was kept in every direction for the boats, but hours went by and still they did not appear. As the day drew on the wind began to abate, and the sea proportionately to go down. The boatswain had turned into the captain’s berth and gone to sleep, and no one felt inclined to awaken him. Tom, Desmond, or Billy were constantly going to the mast-head to look out for the missing boats, still hoping that they might appear. Desmond had gone into the cabin, where he heard the boatswain snoring loudly.

He returned on deck.

“Now would be our time to seize the fellow,” he said to Tom. “The doctor has a brace of pistols and a fowling-piece. I found another brace in the first mate’s berth. I will speak to Jerry, and he can easily let Tim and Pat know what we are doing. Peter, I am certain, would side with us by the way he looked when he saw the boatswain take the captain’s seat. The rest of the men would be very easily won over; and if not, after we have clapped the boatswain in irons, we must make them prisoners. We can easily tackle the watch on deck, and then master those below as they come up.”

“Your plan is a good one, and I dare say would succeed, but I hope we shall not have to carry it out,” said Tom. “We have had no proof that the boatswain will not act reasonably, and I again repeat that I do not consider we should be justified in taking the ship from him until he has shown by his conduct that he is likely to endanger our lives, and the rest of those on board.”

The midshipmen had the after part of the deck to themselves, while the ship was hove to. Only two of the crew could be seen; one of them was the boatswain’s mats, who, with the carpenter, were the only men remaining on board capable of taking charge of a watch.

Tom and Desmond were now wishing that the boatswain would come up, in order that they might learn in what direction they were to steer. They were both indeed getting so sleepy that they could scarcely keep their eyes open, and much longed to lie down, even for a couple of hours. At last the boatswain made his appearance.

“May I ask, Mr Betts, what you intend doing?” said Tom, in as polite a tone as he could command.

“What’s that to you?” asked the boatswain, gruffly. “You are only passengers, and will have to go where the ship goes.”

“I had no intention of dictating to you,” replied Tom; “but because we are passengers, we naturally wish to learn when we are likely to get on shore.”

“That must depend upon circumstances,” said the boatswain, evasively. “I am in command of this ship, and intend to keep it, unless the captain and mate should come on board.”

“We are perfectly ready to obey you, and to assist you in carrying the ship, either to Hong-kong, or Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands, or Sydney, where you may obtain fresh hands to take her home, and all I ask is that you will tell me for which of these ports you intend to steer.”

“I have not made up my mind upon the matter,” answered the boatswain.

“Perhaps you expect that we may still find the captain and boats crews; and if we were to work to windward during the night, and run back to-morrow over the same course, we may fall in with them, should they have kept afloat during the gale,” said Tom suggestively, for he was afraid of saying that this was the course he would advise.

“Wait until you see what I do,” said the boatswain. “As you may be wanted on deck, I advise you to turn in and get some sleep; the ship is hove to now, and for what I can tell, hove to she will remain for some hours longer.”

Tom and Desmond agreed that they had better follow the boatswain’s advice, and accordingly they went below. They found Billy Blueblazes snoring away, not troubling himself about what was likely to happen. Throwing themselves on their beds, they were both in another minute fast asleep. They expected to have been called to keep watch; but no one arousing them, fatigued as they were, they slept on until daylight. Tom was the first to awaken; he roused up Desmond and Billy, and all three went on deck together, where they found that the wind had again freshened up from the old quarter, and that the ship was standing close hauled to the eastward. The carpenter had charge of the deck, but they could get nothing out of him. The doctor soon afterwards came up. Tom inquired whether he knew the boatswain’s intentions?

“He has not thought fit to enlighten me, but I conclude from the course he is steering that he intends visiting the Sandwich Islands,” was the answer.

“I wish that he had thought fit to steer in the opposite direction,” observed Tom. “However, we may perhaps find one of our ships there, and should then have no reason to complain.”

“I hope that you will keep to your intention of taking an observation every day, and ascertaining our position,” said the doctor, in a low voice, so that he might not be overheard.

“You may depend upon that,” answered Tom.

“I conclude that you can tell whereabouts we now are?” said the doctor.

“Not unless I can learn at what hour sail was made and we began to stand on our present course,” was the reply.

When Tom inquired of the carpenter, he received an evasive answer, and on going forward to learn from Jerry, Tim, or Pat, they all said that they had gone below at night, and had not been roused up. Some of the crew replied that it was in the first watch, others that it was in the middle watch.

“At all events, I hope to ascertain our latitude if the weather clears, and perhaps we may get an observation in the afternoon, or a lunar at night,” said Tom. “But a good look-out must be kept ahead, for I know that there are numerous small islands and reefs, one of which may bring us up if we are not careful.”

The doctor assisted the midshipmen to search for a sextant and nautical almanack, but, to their surprise, neither were to be found. “The chronometer was,” the doctor said, “he knew, in the captain’s cabin;” and they at last began to suspect that the boatswain had managed to get hold of the mate’s as well as the captain’s sextant and charts, and had shut them up in the cabin he had appropriated. What his object was in so doing it was difficult to say, unless he thought that he should keep the midshipmen more in his power by preventing them from knowing whereabouts they were.

Just before breakfast the boatswain came out of his cabin, carefully locking the door behind him. After remaining on deck some time, he returned and took his seat without uttering a word either to the surgeon or to the midshipmen, although he swore away at Peter for not being quick enough in bringing him what he asked for. Tom took no notice of this, but after waiting some time, said in his usual polite way—

“I should be much obliged to you, Mr Betts, if you can supply me with a sextant, and the use of the chronometer, as I should like to ascertain our position.”

“Then you won’t be obliged to me, for I don’t intend to let you have them,” answered the boatswain. “I can take care of this ship, and I won’t have any one interfering with me.”

“I do not wish to interfere,” said Tom. “I only desire to take an observation for my own satisfaction.”

“Then you won’t have the satisfaction,” said the boatswain. Desmond bit his lip, and Tom expected to hear him every moment say something, which would be sure to enrage the boatswain.

“At all events, if I can get a look at a chart, I shall be able to calculate where we are although that may not prevent this obstinate fellow from running the ship on a reef, and it will be a mercy if that is not her fate,” thought Tom.

“I believe the man has gone out of his mind,” said Desmond, when he found himself alone with his two messmates. “It is a pity we did not put him in irons at first, and we might now have been on our way to Hong-kong.”

“We did what was right,” observed Tom, “and whatever happens that will be a satisfaction.”

They hunted about for a chart, but the boatswain had locked that up also, and refused to allow Tom to look at it. The wind continued tolerably steady during the day, though the weather looked unsettled, and the sea appeared again to be getting up. As the ship was kept under her topsails and spanker, with two reefs down, no fresh sail was made, and the boatswain did not order the midshipmen to perform any duty. The doctor seemed to feel the loss of the captain very much. He had until that morning entertained a hope of finding him, but this he now abandoned, and having no confidence in the boatswain’s skill as a navigator, he seemed to have made up his mind that the ship would be cast away, and that all on board would be lost. He had hitherto appeared to be of a cheerful disposition, but he now sat all day moodily in his cabin, with a book before him, although his eye scarcely glanced at its pages. Tom and Gerald tried to induce him to come on deck, but he shook his head, declaring that he did not feel able to walk. Billy endeavoured to amuse him by telling him one of his funny stories, but not a smile came over the poor doctor’s face. At dinner the midshipmen had all the conversation to themselves. The boatswain did not address even a word to them. This did not, however, disconcert them in the least, and they continued talking away as if there was no such person present, so that he was well pleased to get up and go on deck.

The same weather continued for a couple of days. The boatswain kept a watch on the midshipmen to prevent them taking an observation. Billy, however, found a quadrant in the second mate’s cabin, and watching his opportunity when Mr Betts was below, brought it up on deck to Tom and Gerald. They had fortunately carefully compared their watches with the chronometer, and the doctor had concealed a nautical almanack.

“Arrah!” exclaimed Desmond; “we shall be able to make something of an observation, although not as correct as we should wish.”

Tom took the quadrant and was looking through it, when he suddenly felt it dashed from his hand, and falling on deck it was broken. Turning round he saw Mr Betts, who had stolen up behind him.

“So you fancy I cannot navigate the ship, do you; and must needs try and take an observation yourself? Do you and your mates try that prank again, and I’ll land you all on the first island we sight, where you may follow your own pleasure, if the savages don’t knock you on the head and eat you; and if some one doesn’t take you off, which is not very likely, there you will remain to the end of your days.”

Gerald was beginning to answer this rude address, when Tom stopped him.

“We do not wish to have a dispute with you, Mr Betts, though we have a perfect right to take an observation, or to do anything else which does not interfere with the discipline of the ship,” said Tom, as he turned away, feeling that it was better to avoid any dispute with the boatswain.

Tom accordingly signing to his companions, they all left the deck, allowing the boatswain to pace up and down by himself.

Towards evening he sent the steward to them, and told them that he expected all three to keep the middle watch.

“Your men will have the first watch,” he said, “and I would advise you to be on deck directly you are called.”

As there was no reason to object to this they agreed to do as the boatswain wished. They accordingly turned in for the first part of the night. They had been asleep some time when a fearful crash was heard. They, all three being awake, quickly slipped into their clothes.

“I knew it would be so,” exclaimed the doctor, whom they met in the cabin; “we shall none of us see another sunrise.”

“I hope things won’t be so bad as that,” said Tom; “the ship seems to be moving forward; perhaps she has merely touched a coral reef and has scraped clear. We will go on deck and ascertain how matters stand.”

The cries and shouts which reached the cabin showed that something serious had happened. Scarcely had Tom and his companions gained the deck, than again the ship struck with greater force than before, every timber quivering from stem to stern. The foremast went by the board, carrying with it the main-topmast, when a sea striking the ship swept over her. The wild shrieks for help which followed showed that some of the crew had been borne away.

“Can you see land?” asked Desmond of Tom.

“No; we are on a coral reef, and our chances of escape are very small.”

Just then they heard the boatswain shouting out to the crew to lower a boat, the only one remaining.

“Don’t let us go in her,” said Tom; “if the ship holds together, we shall be better off where we are: when daylight comes we can form a raft, and if there is any land near we may get there on it.”

Both Desmond and Billy agreed to do as Tom proposed.

Just then Jerry came up. “I’ll stick by you, whatever you intend doing,” he answered, when Tom told him what he proposed.

In the mean time, the boatswain, with the survivors of the crew, had lowered the boat, and were throwing various things into her. Jerry made out Tim and Pat among the people about to go off.

“Where are you going to?” he shouted. “Mr Rogers says he’ll stick by the wreck, and you’ll not be deserting him, I hope?”

“That I’ll not. Tim Nolan is not the man to desert his officer,” answered Tim, as he made his way to the after part of the ship, where Jerry was. Pat either did not hear Jerry, or determined to go off in the boat if he could. The doctor and Peter, who had come on deck, seemed undecided. It was evident from the dislike Peter had for the boatswain that he was unwilling to accompany him. The boatswain, with six other men, who alone remained of the crew, disappeared over the side into the boat. The doctor, seized by a sudden impulse, rushed to the side of the ship, shouting—

“Take me with you! take me with you!” but the oars had been got out, the boat shoved off, and was already tossing among the broken water on the lee of the ship, several fathoms off.

“You are safer on the wreck than in that boat,” said Tom, as the doctor came back.

“Dat you are, Massa Locock,” said Peter. “See dare where de boat go.”

Through the gloom the boat could just be distinguished, surrounded by leaping masses of foaming water. The party on board watched her with anxious eyes, until she disappeared in the darkness.

“Hark!” cried Peter. “Me tink I hear a shriek; dat come from de boat; depen’ upon it we no see her ’gan.”

As, however, she must have been by this time a long way to leeward, Tom thought it impossible that any human voice could have come up against the wind still blowing as it did. Tom and Desmond, with the rest of the party, discussed the probability as to where they were. They must have passed over a sunken reef, on which the ship had first struck, and had then run right on to another part of the reef, somewhat higher, where she had become fixed. This was probably on the inner or lee side. Though the sea broke over the fore part of the ship, the after part was tolerably dry, and hopes were entertained that she would hold together for some hours, and, should the wind go down, perhaps for days, which would enable them to provide for their safety. After the doctor had sufficiently recovered to take part in the discussion, he suggested that perhaps she might be got off.

“You wouldn’t say that, sir, if you had been forward when she struck,” answered Jerry. “She is entirely stove in, and must have twelve or fourteen feet of water in her by this time. It will be a hard job before long to get any provisions.”

“Then the sooner we set about it the better,” said Tom, “if we can manage to find our way in the dark.”

“De lamp in de cabin is still ’light—me get him,” said Peter, who soon returned, carefully shading the lamp, when he, Jerry, and Tim made their way below, hoping to reach the fore hold, where the bulk of the provisions were stowed. They were, however, very soon convinced that it would be utterly impossible to get up anything until the tide had fallen, as the sea was rushing in at the bows, and completely flooding the hold.

“Then we must try what we can do at daylight, for at present it would be useless to attempt getting anything up. We will see, however, what is to be found in the afterpart of the ship.”

Peter recollected that there were some eases of biscuits and other articles, which it was necessary to keep dry. His report encouraged Tom to hope that they should not starve.

“Now, my lads, the first thing we have to do is to collect all the spars and loose plank we can get hold of, to form a raft. We are likely to find land either on one side or the other, perhaps not far off, though we are unable to see it now, and we must manage to reach it and carry provisions for our support, as we are not likely to find much more than cocoa-nuts and fish. One satisfactory thing is that the people hereabouts are not cannibals, and are generally disposed to be friendly to white men, so that if the island we may reach is inhabited we are not likely to be ill-treated.”

Tom by these remarks and by keeping up his own spirits, prevented his companions from losing theirs. Even the doctor began to hope that they might escape. All hands now set to work to collect materials for the raft as far as could be done in the dark, and to drag them up to the weather side of the quarter-deck, where there was not much risk of their being carried away. Altogether they managed to secure a number of spars and pieces of the bulwarks and a good supply of rope of various sizes. The cabin bulk-heads with other portions of the vessel which could easily be torn away would give them wood enough to make a raft of sufficient size to carry the whole party as well as provisions. By lashing underneath two rows of casks, it would be sufficiently buoyant.

They were thus employed until daylight, when Tom, who had sprung up to the poop to look out, exclaimed—“A ship in sight! a ship in sight! she’s only just hull down.”

His shout brought the rest of the party up around him, and all were eagerly looking out in the direction be pointed. As daylight increased, Tim began to rub his eyes—

“Arrah now, ill-luck to it; but my ship has just turned into a white rock,” he cried out. “Shure but it’s a mighty disappointment.”

The expectation of speedy deliverance was thus suddenly destroyed; but the shipwrecked party continued looking round on every side, in the hope of discovering land. The light yet further increasing, Tom’s countenance brightened as he observed what looked like the masts of a ship rising, far off, out of the water.

“Why, I believe those are three cocoa-nut trees,” he cried out cheerfully. “I see several others away to the eastward.”

“If there are cocoa-nut trees, there must be land too, for they don’t grow out of the sea,” said Billy, “and I hope we may be able to get there.”

“You need not doubt about our doing that,” said Tom.

This announcement raised every one’s spirits. The weather had much moderated. The sea between the reef on which the ship lay and the land was tolerably smooth.

The forlorn party began to cheer up. All now began to feel hungry. “I’ll tell you what it is: if we don’t get something to eat soon, I for one shall die of inanition,” exclaimed Billy. “I can’t stand starving at the best of times, and I am suffering dreadfully.”

“We will see what can be done, Billy,” said Tom, and as if it was a matter of course, he told Peter to get breakfast ready.

“Yes, massa officer, me soon do dat same,” answered the black, grinning and looking towards where the caboose had lately stood. “Me try what can do in de cabin,” he added, diving below.

Though the caboose had been washed away Peter managed to light a fire in the cabin stove and to cook a tolerable breakfast, of which all thankfully partook.

“’Faith! we’re not so badly off after all,” observed Gerald. “If the boatswain and the poor fellows with him had stuck to the ship, they might all have been alive now and have reached land without difficulty.”

Immediately after breakfast they began to put the raft together, which Tom determined to form of an oblong shape like a catamaran, so that it might, should the wind be fair, be sailed or propelled by paddles towards the shore. As the distance was considerable, it was important to make it as strong as possible, to stand any amount of sea they were likely to meet with before they reached the shore. It took upwards of an hour to form the frame-work and deck it. They then, having cut away the bulwarks, launched it overboard with capstan bars. The water under the lee of the wreck was tolerably smooth, so that the raft remained alongside without injury. They had next to lash the casks below it. This was a more difficult operation, as it was necessary to secure them firmly in their proper positions, a row on each side, head to head. When it was completed, the platform floated well out of the water.

Three oars only could be found on board, so that they had to form paddles by nailing boards on to the ends of short spars. The next work was to rig the masts. Tom and Desmond agreed to have two masts with a bowsprit, so that they might be able to sail with the wind abeam. The masts were firmly fixed by means of blocks nailed to the deck, and they were set up with stays. By noon the raft was completed. The midshipmen surveyed her with considerable satisfaction.

“I for one should not mind sailing in her anywhere, provided she was well provisioned,” said Billy Blueblazes. “I don’t see why we should not try to fetch the Ladrones, if we don’t find ourselves very comfortable where we are going.”

“I would strongly advise you not to make the attempt, young gentlemen,” said the doctor, with a groan, he not being as well satisfied with the appearance of the raft as his younger companions.

“We shall see how she will behave when she has her cargo on board, and we get under way,” said Tom.

“Don’t you think we had better have some dinner before we shove off?” asked Billy; “it won’t do to be going away without our grub, as it may be some time before we reach the shore.”

Billy’s proposal was agreed to, although Tom strongly recommended that there should be no unnecessary delay. While Peter was preparing dinner, all the stores which could be collected were placed on the raft and lashed securely down amidships. The principal provisions found aft were biscuits, tins of potted meats, a few preserves, coffee, tea, sugar, and five well-cured hams.

“We are pretty well off as it is,” said Desmond; “but don’t let us go without firearms.”

The doctor had a fowling-piece, and muskets and pistols enough were found to arm each of the rest of the party. With a good supply of ammunition they would thus, should they meet with hostile savages, be able to keep them at bay.

They had already secured provisions sufficient to last them for several weeks. As it was important, however, to obtain some of a more substantial character, Jerry and Tim volunteered to dive down into the fore hold to try and get up some casks of beef. This, after some labour and no little risk of drowning themselves, they succeeded in doing, and two casks of beef were hoisted on deck. They fortunately came upon two casks, one of flour the other of rice, which, although damaged by the water, might be dried on shore in the sun, and rendered eatable. These accordingly were added to their provisions. Two cases of wine and a small keg of spirits were also put on board. Peter added to these some cooking utensils, with cups, plates, knives, and forks. At length, Tom declared that the raft would carry no more. It was high time indeed to set off, as it might take them until dark to reach the land in sight.

“Let me advise you, gentlemen, to carry some clothing and blankets; they will not weigh much, and we may want them,” observed the doctor.

His advice was followed.

“We must get on board and shove off,” cried Tom, at last.

His messmates and the men obeyed him, being fully as eager as he was. The doctor was below; he presently appeared with his medicine chest and instrument case, which were handed down.

“Why, we are going off without a chart or nautical instrument!” exclaimed Tom, reminded of his negligence by seeing the doctor’s cases.

He and Desmond returned on board and found the chart, sextant, and chronometer, which the boatswain had fortunately not carried off.

“The raft is as fully laden as she should be,” observed Tom to Desmond; “we should arrange what things to heave overboard, if it comes on to blow and she cannot carry them all.”

“The doctor’s physic, cases, and instruments, I should say,” answered Desmond; “however, I hope we shall not have to do that. The weather looks promising. As the wind is fair, we may soon reach the land.”

These remarks were made on deck. The two midshipmen now sprang on board the raft. Tom gave the order to cast off, and all hands getting out the oars and paddles, the raft began to move away from the wreck. The foresail was now set, then the mainsail with the jib, Tom steering with a long oar, the raft glided rapidly and smoothly over the water. Their voyage was thus far well commenced, but Tom and Desmond could not help recollecting their late adventure in the boat, and how narrowly they had escaped perishing from hunger, although they had been so well supplied with provisions when they started. While Tom steered, Billy remained aft to tend the main-sheet, and Desmond, with Jerry, stood forward to keep a look-out for any reefs which might not have sufficient water on them to allow the raft to pass over. No dangers, however, as yet appeared ahead. They were apparently in the centre of a large circular reef, of which the island they hoped to gain formed a portion. They expected to find a beach on which they might run the raft, and land their cargo without difficulty. They were, however, too far off as yet to ascertain its character. Of its existence they could only tell by seeing the cocoa-nut trees growing on it. It was evidently very low. Of its extent they were unable to form an opinion.

“My fear is that we shall find no water on it, and in that case we must search for another,” observed the doctor.

“You forget the milk in the cocoa-nuts,” said Desmond, laughing.

“We should very soon exhaust that,” answered the doctor, in a gloomy tone.

“But we don’t know yet that we shall not find water,” answered Desmond; “I can already make out the land extending a couple of miles north and south, and if it was not higher than we at first supposed, we should not see it even yet.”

“If any volcanic agency has been at work, we may then hope to find water,” observed the doctor, brightening a little; “but I confess that I cannot see the land.”

The doctor, however, was near-sighted. The question next arose whether there were any inhabitants, and if so, whether they were likely to prove friendly.

“I should say that if white kidnappers from your colonies have visited them, they are likely to be anything but friendly, and we shall probably have to fight for our lives,” said the doctor.

“But, my dear sir, we don’t know whether there are any inhabitants,” said Desmond. “Let us look at the bright side of things we have escaped with our lives, and have abundance of provisions. Why should we make ourselves more unhappy than is necessary?”

The wind occasionally dropped, when the oars and paddles were put in motion, and the raft continued its course steadily towards the land. Even when the wind blew the freshest she moved but slowly, so that for a long time it appeared as if she would not reach the shore before dark. As they looked astern, however, they found that they had sunk the wreck almost out of sight. The doctor fancied she must have gone down, as he could not distinguish her. The wind, however, again freshened, and Jerry asserted that the raft was going at the rate of three knots an hour.

At length the land was clearly seen in some places, at the further side of the island especially, rising to a considerable height in ridges and hillocks.

“No fear now, doctor, about not finding water,” observed Desmond. “Volcanic agency must have been at work to throw up those hills, and I begin to see low trees or shrubs. It may turn out to be after all a fertile spot, though not a very picturesque one, I grant.”

“If it affords us rest to our feet, and vegetable productions to keep scurvy at a distance, with an ample supply of water, we shall have reason to be thankful,” said the doctor, whose spirits rose as he was persuaded that his worst anticipations would not be fulfilled.

The sun was now getting low, and it would be dark before they could reach the shore. Desmond and Jerry both declared that they could see no sign of breakers, and just before the sun dipped beneath the horizon his rays shone on a white sandy beach, which promised to afford them an easy landing-place. On one point, however, the doctor’s mind was not satisfied. “What if the island is inhabited by savages? And if it supplies food and water, it is very likely to be the case,” he observed.

“We must try and make friends with them, or, if they will not be friends, keep them at a distance; depend upon it they will be civil enough when they see our firearms,” answered Desmond.

“Inhabited? I’m sure it is,” exclaimed Jerry, suddenly. “Look there! there’s a fellow dancing away on the top of that hillock. He sees us; the chances are a score or two more black fellows like him are hidden away, who will be down upon us as we step on shore.”

Desmond at the same time saw the savage, and told Tom.

“Well, there is but one as yet,” said Tom; “perhaps, however, it may be prudent to load a couple of the muskets, though one will be sufficient, depend upon it, to keep them at bay.”

As the raft approached the shore, the gestures of the savage appeared to become more and more frantic, but the gloom of evening soon rendered his form indistinct, although he could still be seen against the sky. The breeze having once more almost died away, the paddles were again got out. The raft neared the shore. There was, they saw, a little surf, but not sufficient to endanger the raft and cargo. In a few minutes more the beach would be reached. The savage had disappeared, but a voice was heard, evidently shouting to them.

“Bedad! but the savage is Pat Casey!” exclaimed Tim, who recognised his countryman’s voice, and, as the raft touched the beach, Pat rushed forward, and grasped the hands of Jerry and Tim, who sprang overboard to assist in securing it. The rest of the party quickly followed, as it was important to lighten the raft as soon as possible.

“Where are the other men?” asked the doctor. “We thought you were all lost soon after you left the wreck.”

“Sure, so they all were entirely but myself,” answered Pat; “and how I came on shore is more than I can tell, except that I’m after supposing I held on to the bottom of the boat, and this morning I found myself high and dry on the beach. I’m mighty glad to see you all, and you are welcome to the island.”

“Are there any savages?” asked the doctor.

“Barring myself, no, your honour,” answered Pat, with a laugh. “They would have been down upon me before now if there had been any, but not a soul have I set eyes on since I came ashore.”

However, there was no time for talking, as it was important at once to land the cargo. The whole party, aided by Pat, immediately set about performing this task. Everything was got on shore without damage. The raft itself was then secured by the strongest ropes they possessed to the trunk of a cocoa-nut tree, which fortunately grew near. Pat had collected wood for a fire, though he had forgotten that he did not possess the means of igniting it. But some matches having been fortunately brought among other things, a bright blaze was soon produced. By its light, at the doctor’s suggestion, a tent was formed with the sails of the raft and some spare canvas, large enough to afford shelter to the whole party.

Peter and Pat had been, in the mean time, busily engaged in preparing supper, to which all hands were ready to do justice.

“Dare, gentl’m,” exclaimed Peter, as he placed some slices of fried ham before the doctor and midshipmen; “you no get better dan dis in de bes’ hotel in Boston. Per’aps you tink de cook is worth glass ob grog?”

Tom took the hint, and divided a couple of bottles of wine among the party, which assisted to put them in good spirits. They sat round the fire, yarns were told and songs were sung, but their heads soon began to nod, and they were glad to seek the shelter of the tent. As the island was uninhabited, Tom did not consider it necessary to set a watch; indeed, had any one of the party made the attempt, the probabilities were that he would have been unable to keep his eyes open.

Chapter Five.

Search for and find the boat—Return in her to the wreck—Find more stores, and build a raft—Carry it to the shore, and go back to break up the wreck for building a vessel—Once more getting back they find the doctor working at a still—Another trip—It comes on to blow hard—Reach shore—The still successful—The gale increases—Its effects on the wreck—More stores saved—Seeds found and sown—A flag-staff set up—Plans for their proposed vessel—Engaged in shooting and fishing—Discover a marine poultry-yard—Billy and the eggs—Successful fishing—Seeds sown.

Tom, who was always the first on foot, roused up his companions.

“Do let a fellow have his sleep out,” murmured Billy; “we have got nothing to do.”

“We’ve plenty to do,” answered Tom. “We’ve got to look out for water, and if we find it to build a hut, and ascertain what food the island produces, and try to go back to the wreck and bring off more stores, and put up a flag-staff, and fifty other things.”

“Well, I didn’t think of all that,” said Billy, sitting up. “Dear me, dear me! here we are, on another desert island; with the chances of remaining all our born days.”

“Better than being at the bottom of the sea, or crunched up by sharks,” observed Desmond, “or than being cast on shore among cannibals, who would have cooked and eaten us at the first opportunity. It is not a barren island either, for there are cocoa-nut trees, and there may be other fruits or roots. We shall probably also be able to catch plenty of fish.”

“If we could get hold of some fine fat turtle, it would be more to the purpose,” said Billy. “Pat makes capital turtle soup. I’m glad he escaped.”

“I am afraid the turtle have done laying their eggs by this time,” observed the doctor. “They only come on shore for that purpose, and we are not likely to catch them otherwise, so you must give up all thoughts of revelling on turtle.”

While Peter prepared breakfast, Pat climbed one of the cocoa-nut trees, and sent down nuts enough to afford each of the party a refreshing draught of liquid. It could not properly be called milk, as it had not yet assumed its white appearance, which it does only after the nut is perfectly ripe. It was welcome, notwithstanding. Though a small cask of water had been brought on shore, Tom wisely wished to husband it until a spring had been discovered. About this the doctor was very doubtful, and Pat, whom he questioned on the subject, stated that he had not discovered any signs of water.

“I should have wished to search for water the first thing,” observed Tom; “but whether it is to be found or not, it is most important that we should ascertain whether the boat was washed up on the beach, and if she can be repaired to enable us to return to the wreck.”

“Can you show us where you came on shore, Pat?”

“Bedad, sir, I’ve been wandering up and down so many times, that I am not quite certain; but it’s my belief that if she is to be found anywhere, it will be away to the northward, for I didn’t see her at the other end.”

“Then we will set off without delay,” said Tom; and taking Pat, he and Desmond, with Jerry Bird, commenced a search for the boat in the direction Pat mentioned.

The sandy beach was divided in many places by masses of coral extending some distance into the water, among which the boat might easily be concealed. Had she, however, been thrown on any of them, she would, Tom feared, in all probability be knocked to pieces. The surprising thing was that Pat had not seen her. It appeared from his account that when he had partially recovered his senses, finding himself on shore, he had set off in a confused state of mind, without knowing where he was going, and that some time must have elapsed before he came entirely to himself.

“Suppose we do not recover the boat, how are we to visit the wreck?” asked Desmond.

“We must build a smaller raft out of the large one, which we can much more easily manage; and should the weather continue calm, as there appears to be no strong current likely to drive us away, we may, I think, without much risk easily make the trip there and back,” answered Tom.

“But how are we to carry a cargo?” inquired Desmond.

“We must form another raft on board, and the materials will serve for building our hut,” was the answer.

“Then you think we shall have to remain some time on the island?” said Desmond.

“Of course; it may be for months or years, or we may get off in a few days or weeks. Had we a good carpenter among us, we might have built a vessel from the wreck, should she hold together long enough for us to bring a good portion of her planking and timber ashore; but I am very certain that none of us are capable of that, although we have a stock of carpenter’s tools.”

“There is nothing like trying,” said Desmond. “I have seen ships being built; and if we can obtain timber, we might manage in time to put one together large enough to carry us at once to Guam or to the Sandwich Islands.”

“We will hear what the doctor says. What do you think about it, Bird?”

“Well, sir, I have helped to rig many a craft, but cannot say that I ever worked as a shipwright, though I am ready to try my hand at that or anything else, and ‘where there’s a will there’s a way.’”

“What do you say, Pat?” asked Tom.

“As to that, Mr Rogers, when a man has been a Prime Minister, he ought to think himself fit for anything; and sooner than live on a dissolute island all me life, I’d undertake to build a ninety-gun ship, if I had the materials.”

The answers of the two seamen made Tom think that Desmond’s proposal was, at all events, worth consideration.

“Well, if we find we can get timber enough from the wreck, I don’t see why we should not make the attempt,” he said, after turning over the matter in his mind.

“I’ll undertake that we can build a vessel of ten or fifteen tons, which will carry us to the Sandwich Islands,” observed Desmond, confidently. “I have got the idea in my head, though I cannot promise that she will be much of a clipper, but she shall keep afloat, beat to windward, and stand a pretty heavy sea.”

Tom and Desmond discussed the matter as they walked along. Presently Pat, who had started on ahead, cried out, “Arrah! here she is, all right, if not all tight,” and he pointed to a little sandy bay, almost at the extreme northern end of the island. There lay the boat on the beach. She had narrowly missed being swept round the island, when she would in all probability have been lost unless some counter current, on the lee side, had driven her back. She had escaped also another danger, that of being dashed to pieces against a rugged ledge close to which she must have passed. The party hurried up to her to ascertain what damage she had received. The surf had evidently turned her over, and but little water remained in her. At first sight she appeared to be uninjured.

“I was afraid so,” said Tom, as he was going round her, and put his hand through a hole in the bows. “The water ran out here; perhaps she would have suffered more if she had not been thus damaged. If she’s stove in nowhere else, we shall be able to repair her.” This was apparently the only damage the boat had received.

“I am not surprised that she should have been swamped with so many men in her, in the heavy sea there was running when those unhappy men put off,” observed Tom. “We shall have to bring our tools and materials here. And now let us see if any oars have been cast on shore.” They hunted about, but the oars, being so much lighter than the boat, had either been swept round the north end of the island or thrown on some other part of the shore.

Having hauled the boat up, they returned towards the camp. Tom and Desmond were very anxious to repair the boat and visit the wreck before night-fall, in case the weather should change and she should go to pieces. As they walked along they discussed the best plan for repairing the boat. Desmond suggested that they should first nail on pieces of well-greased canvas, and then fix over that two or more lengths from the staves of one of the casks.

“But where’s the grease to come from? I’m afraid we have none,” observed Tom.

“We’ve got a piece of bacon, and there would be grease enough from that for the purpose,” answered Desmond.

Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from Jerry Bird, who held up an oar which he had found floating close in by the shore under one of the ledges. This, with the three oars they already possessed, and one of the long paddles to steer by, would enable them to shove off as soon as they could patch up the boat. The doctor’s spirits rose considerably when he heard that the boat had been discovered, and he consented to remain on shore with Tim and Peter, while the rest of the party returned to the wreck—he undertaking to search for water.

“You must not be alarmed if we do not come back to-night,” said Tom; “for, if the weather promises to be fine, it may be better to build a large raft, on which we can tow ashore all the stores we can obtain.”

“Remember, Rogers, to bring one of the tripods, the smith’s forge and tools, and some piping; for should we fail to discover water, I may be able to construct a still, by which we may obtain as much fresh water as we require.”

“A capital idea,” exclaimed Tom. “I didn’t think of that.”

“‘Necessity is the mother of invention,’” answered the doctor. “I never worked as a smith, but I know the principles on which a still is constructed, and I hope that I shall be able to put one up; if, however, we can find water, we may be saved the trouble, and employ our labour for other purposes.”

As they would have no time on board to spare for cooking, Tom had a supply of food, sufficient for a couple of days, put up, with a bottle of water and a few cocoa-nuts, in case they might be unable to get at the water on board. Thus laden with the materials for repairing the boat, they went back to where she lay, accompanied by Billy. Tom had begged the doctor to light a fire at night, in case the weather should come on bad and they might have to return sooner than they intended.

Desmond’s plan was carried out. Bird had brought some oakum, which was forced in between the seams with a chisel, and as the party surveyed their work, they had reason to hope that the boat would at all events swim.

They watched the result, however, with no little anxiety, as, having run her down the beach, she was once more afloat. She leaked slightly, but Desmond declared that it was not through the place where she had been repaired, and they found after getting some distance from the shore that they could easily bale out the water which made its way in. Tom had brought the compass, and believing that he knew the bearings of the wreck, he steered a course which would soon bring them in sight of her. The sea was so calm that he did not suppose it possible she could have gone to pieces, and as they pulled on, he looked out eagerly for her. At length he made out a dark object rising out of the blue sea almost due west of the island.

“There she is!” he exclaimed; “we shall be on board of her in an hour.”

The crew gave way, and in less than the time mentioned they were alongside. She appeared to be exactly in the condition they had left her. The boat having been carefully secured, they climbed up her side. The first thing to be obtained was a cask of fresh water, which they were fortunate in finding; it was at once got up and placed on deck. It would take too long to describe the various articles which were obtained. Among them were the smith’s forge, some piping and the tripod, which the doctor especially asked for. For some of them Jerry or Pat dived into the hold. Others were found on the spar-deck and the after part of the ship, where they were got up without difficulty. Tom and Gerald, when they came on deck, frequently took a glance around to see how the weather looked, and were satisfied that there was every appearance of its holding fine. They accordingly made up their minds to remain during the night. Having collected all the stores which such a raft as they intended to build could carry, they at once commenced forming one. The mizzen and part of the mainmast still remained standing; Tom proposed forming shears and trying to hoist out the former; but as this was found impracticable, they cut both the masts away, to serve as the main beams of their raft. Several more spars were got up, and they then began cutting away the spar-deck. They worked on until it was dark, when Pat cooked some supper—the first food they had eaten since the morning.

“Now, we shall want some sleep,” said Tom; “but though the ship won’t run away with us, it will be prudent to keep watch in case bad weather should come on; although it looks very fine at present, we should not trust to that. I’ll keep the first watch; you, Desmond, take the middle; and Bird shall have the morning watch. We will excuse Billy, because it is just possible he may fall asleep and tumble overboard, or at all events forget to call us, and Pat requires another night’s rest after his night on the bottom of the boat and the hard work he has done to-day.”

Tom, in reality, did not wish to trust Pat entirely, thinking it very possible that as soon as they were all below he would stow himself away and go to sleep. The deck cabin being free from water, the party were far more comfortably off than they would have been on shore. The deck having too great an inclination to afford a good walk, Tom managed to keep awake by holding on to the weather bulwarks, and moving backwards and forwards, constantly looking to windward for any change of weather. Though, after all the trouble they had taken, they would have been sorry to lose the various things they had found on board, it would have been unwise to have risked remaining on the wreck should the wind get up. The sky, however, was perfectly clear, the stars shone out brilliantly, undimmed by the slightest vapour, while scarcely a breath of wind disturbed the surface of the now slumbering ocean.

“We shall want a breeze to-morrow to carry us to the shore, though I hope it will remain calm as at present until then,” thought Tom. He very frequently had the greatest difficulty in keeping his eyes open, but he succeeded. He calculated that it was about midnight when he went below, and finding that it was time, roused up Gerald. “Do not let sleep overtake you, old fellow,” he said. “I found it a hard matter to keep my eyes open.”

“Yes, but mine have been shut for four hours,” said Desmond. “I’ll look after the ship, and depend upon it as soon as my watch is out I’ll rouse up Jerry.”

The middle watch passed away as calmly as the first, and Jerry, after taking a look round, declared his belief that the day would be as fine as the former. According to Tom’s orders, all hands were aroused at daybreak, and they immediately set to work on the raft, which was completed and launched overboard before they knocked off for breakfast. Empty casks were then got under it, and masts set up. As the wind was fair, they had only to rig a couple of large lugs, which answered every purpose. They had next to load their raft; the water was perfectly smooth, and it was hauled under the side, where this was easily done, though they had to lower many of the heavier articles on it with a tackle. Tom directed Desmond and Jerry to go ahead in the boat, while Billy and Pat remained on board to help with the raft. As the day advanced, a steady breeze arose, and the raft, heavy as it was, made great progress, helped by the boat, towards the shore. As towards evening they neared the beach, they saw their companions anxiously waiting for them. The doctor’s face looked even longer than usual.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, as he shook hands.

“We have found no water,” answered the doctor; “and if you have not brought materials for making a still, we are doomed.”

“But I hope we have brought everything you want, doctor,” replied Tom.

“Thank Heaven! our lives may then be preserved,” said the doctor. “I was almost afraid to ask the question.”

“We have got even more than we expected,” said Desmond; “and should the weather hold fine, we may hope, in the course of two or three trips, to get wood enough for our proposed craft.”

There was no time for talking, however. All hands set to work to unload the raft; the doctor, who was now in better spirits, hauling away with might and main, to get the more heavy articles up the beach before dark. Not only was everything already on shore, but the two rafts taken to pieces, and dragged up likewise.

The weather continued so fine that Tom and Desmond determined, before hauling up the boat, to go back to the wreck for further stores, and to bring away as many rafts of timber as they could obtain. The doctor said he must remain on shore to work at the still. For his assistants he chose Billy Blueblazes and Peter the black. Billy was not ingenious, but, as the doctor observed, “he could collect wood and blow the bellows.”

Billy was at first indignant on being told that he was thus to be employed, but after due reflection he came to the conclusion that it would be easier work than tearing off planking from the wreck, or pulling an oar under a hot sun for several hours each day. The first thing to be done was to set up the forge. All hands had turned out at daybreak, so that the doctor was able to begin work before the boat party shoved off.

It took them two hours to get to the wreck. They had hard work before them. First they made a thorough search for all remaining provisions, iron-work, canvas, ropes, and blocks. These were placed aft, ready for lowering on to the raft as soon as one could be put together. Sailors naturally feel it a somewhat melancholy task to break up a ship. It seems as if all hope of its being of further use is gone, but probably the party did not trouble themselves with any sentimental ideas on the subject just then; all they thought of was the best, way to tear up the planking, and to secure as much timber as possible. They indeed were cheered with the thoughts that they should be able to build a trim little craft out of the battered hull, to carry them to some place from whence they could once more get back to Old England. For hours they laboured away with sledge-hammers, crowbars, and saws. The bowsprit was first got out, then all the remaining portions of the bulwarks wore cut away. They then commenced on the upper deck, and as the planks were torn up they were lowered overboard and lashed alongside.

“To my mind, a pretty strong gale would save us a mighty deal of trouble,” observed Tim, as he was working away. “The say in a few hours would do more work than we can get through in as many days.”

“Very likely, my boy,” observed Jerry; “but where would all the timber go to? it would not come floating of its own accord to our landing-place, and I suspect it would not be of much use when it got there. Let us be thankful for the calm weather, and work away while it lasts.”

After some hours’ labour, a sufficient quantity of wood had been obtained to form a large raft. It was of a much rougher description than the two former ones, but still buoyant enough to carry the remaining stores. Among other things they had brought a kedge anchor and a hawser. They had, however, forgotten that there were no spars remaining to serve as masts or yards; it was necessary, therefore, to tow the raft. By the time all was ready, it was so late that it would be impossible to reach the shore before dark, and Tom had omitted to charge the doctor to keep up a fire by which they might steer to the landing-place.

“Well, never mind, we will begin our voyage,” he said, “and when it gets dark we will anchor the raft and return for it in the morning. Should bad weather come on, the chances are that the timber, at all events, will be washed on shore, though we may lose the stores; but that will not matter so much, although we may be compelled to reduce the dimensions of our craft.” Tom and Jerry took charge of the raft, having contrived two large paddles to propel it, while Desmond and the rest went in the boat and pulled ahead. More progress was made than had been expected, as a slight current set towards the shore, and they had performed half the distance before it grew dark. The night also was very fine, and as Desmond had a compass in the boat and had taken the bearings of the harbour, he was able to steer for it. The doctor had not forgotten them. In a short time, catching sight of a fire blazing up brightly, which they knew must be burning close to the beach, they continued their course. It was, however, past ten o’clock before they reached the shore, where they found the doctor and his companions ready to receive them.

“You have not been idle, I see; nor have I,” he exclaimed. “I have made good progress with my still, and I hope to get it into working order early to-morrow.”

Tom hoped that the doctor would not be disappointed in his expectations, for on examining the water he found that they had sufficient, at the rate at which it was consumed, to last only two or three days more. He determined, therefore, to place the party on an allowance, in case the still should not succeed.

“You need not be afraid of that,” observed the doctor; “if we do not obtain the fresh water by to-morrow evening, I will undertake to drink a gallon of salt water. Will that satisfy you?”

“I should think so,” answered Tom, laughing. “I have no doubt of your success; but some accident may happen, and it is as well to be on the safe side.”

Another trip was made the next day to the wreck, and as the party were able to devote the whole of their strength to the work of breaking up the vessel, they got out a larger quantity of wood than on the previous day, including several of the timbers, which, sawn through, would make the ribs of their proposed vessel. As the day drew on, the weather gave signs of changing. Tom had intended remaining until even a later hour than before, for as the doctor had promised to keep a fire blazing on the beach, the voyage could be performed as well during the dark as the day-time. But, about two o’clock the wind began to get up, and the ocean, hitherto shining like a mirror in the rays of the sun, was seen to be rippled over with wavelets, which gradually increased in size, while the dash of the water against the weather side of the wreck sounded louder and louder.

“We shall have it blowing strong before night, Mr Desmond,” observed Jerry; “and I am thinking it would be prudent if Mr Rogers were to order us to shove off, and to make the best of our way to the shore.”

Desmond reported what Jerry had said to Tom, who at once saw the wisdom of the advice.

The timber which had been got out was forthwith fastened together. A spar to serve as a mast, with a square sail, had been brought off, and these being rigged the voyage was commenced.

The wind increased and sent the raft along at a rapid rate, considering its form and weight, Tom, as before, steering it. Sometimes, indeed, those at the oars had little work to do except to assist in guiding the raft. At last Tom ordered them to cast off end keep alongside, in case he and Jerry might be washed away by the fast-rising seas which occasionally swept almost over the raft, so that the water was up to their knees. Gerald at length advised Tom to come into the boat and to let the raft find its way as it best could to the shore.

“No, no,” answered Tom; “as long as I can steer it I will, and try to carry it safely on to the beach; should it strike the coral rocks, the timbers may be injured and of no service.”

As the raft neared the island, Jerry every now and then took a look astern. “There won’t be much of the ship left by to-morrow morning, but I hope that a good part of her will come on shore, and if we can get this lot safe on the beach we shall have timber enough for building our craft and some to spare for fire-wood.”

Though the wind blew stronger and stronger, Tom stuck to the raft, and was rewarded for his perseverance by carrying it, just before dark, safely on to the beach.

“Welcome back, my young friends. I shall not have to drink the gallon of salt water,” exclaimed the doctor, producing a jug. “Just taste that.”

All the party pronounced the product of the still excellent, and as they had had nothing to drink since they had left the wreck, they were glad to obtain it.

After taking a few hurried mouthfuls of food they set to work to drag up the materials of the raft, lest the sea might carry them off during the night. The task accomplished, they at length lay down in the tent, which the doctor had rendered more tenable than it otherwise would have been by putting up a close paling on the weather side. Fortunately no rain fell, but the wind, which as the night advanced blew with great force, found its way in through the crevices.

In the morning the ocean was covered with tossing foam-crested waves, which as they rolled in broke with a continuous roar on the rocky shore. They soon had evidence of the effect of the gale on the wreck. Fragments of various sizes and casks of oil were seen floating in all directions, the larger portion drifting towards the northern end of the island. Some came right into the bay, and were at once secured; others struck the coral rocks, and were soon ground into small pieces. Jerry proposed going along the shore, accompanied by Tim and Pat, in order to pick up whatever they could find. They might save not only timber but casks and cases from the hold, which, from being under water, they had been unable to get up. The rest of the party in the mean time commenced building the hut. They first selected such timber and planking as would be of no use to the vessel. The discomfort they had endured the previous night made them anxious to secure sufficient shelter before the rain should come on, as in that exposed situation they could not trust to the protection of the tent. The roof, however, they intended to form with canvas, as they had enough for the purpose, and it would answer better than anything else they could obtain. Peter prepared dinner for all the party.

“But there is more here than we want,” observed the doctor, looking into the pot; “we must be economical in the use of our provisions.”

“Neber fear, massa,” answered Peter; “dey all come back in good time. Dey smell dis at de oder end ob de island.”

Peter was right in his conjectures. Just as he was about to serve out the stew, Jerry and his companions made their appearance. They reported that they had hauled up several good-sized pieces of wreck, three casks of oil, a barrel of flour, and two of beef or pork.

“Very good,” observed the doctor; “we shall not run short of provisions; but I should have been glad to hear that you had found a case or two containing lime-juice. We must look out for vegetables of some sort, or we may not keep scurvy at bay.”

“Shure, doesn’t this island grow taters?” asked Tim.

“I’m afraid not,” answered the doctor.

“Thin it must be a poor place, and I’ll not wish to spend the remainder of me days here,” answered Tim, with one of his inimitable grimaces.

“Though there are not potatoes, there may be roots of some sort, and we have not yet examined all the cases which we brought out of the cabin. If I recollect rightly, some seeds were sent on board before we sailed, though fortunately we had no opportunity of making use of them,” observed the doctor.

A search was at once instituted, and the box the doctor spoke of discovered; it contained cabbage, lettuce, onion, carrot, turnip, and several other kinds of seeds.

“The onions, in our case, will prove the most valuable, as they will have grown to some size before the vessel has been completed, and we can carry them to sea with us. They are the most certain specific against scurvy,” said the doctor.

These remarks were made while the officers and men sat together at breakfast. They were all in good spirits, thankful that they were so well supplied with everything they could possibly require. Had it not been for the doctor, however, how different would have been their condition! In a day or two they would have been suffering all the horrors of thirst, and must ultimately have perished miserably, but now they could obtain as much fresh water as they could require for drinking and cooking.

“One thing, however, we must remember, that our provisions will in time come to an end,” observed Tom. “We must use the most perishable first and keep the best preserved for our voyage.”

“But we shall be able to catch fish, and we need not go on short commons, I hope,” said Billy.

“You shall have all you catch,” said Desmond, laughing; “but have we any hooks?”

“Lashings, sir,” answered Tim. “I found a bag full in the carpenter’s store-room, and threw them down among the other things.”

The hooks and lines were soon discovered, but at present there was too much work to be done to allow any one to go fishing. The hut was very soon finished. It was placed with its back to the wind.

There were plenty of spars, which, without cutting, served for rafters, and over them were stretched a couple of sails, lashed securely down, so that no ordinary hurricane could have blown them away. In front, sheltered from the wind, were established the two fires, one for cooking, the other for the still. To give a sufficient supply of water, it was necessary to keep the latter always alight.

Gerald, who had been the first to propose building a vessel, was anxious to lay down the keel.

“I should be as eager as you are, did I not think that we may possibly be taken off by some passing vessel,” said Tom. “As soon as the gale is over we must set up a flag-staff, and a good tall one too, so that it may be seen at a long distance, as no vessel is likely, intentionally, to come near these reefs.”

“But we’ve only got an American flag, and I should not like to be taken for a Yankee,” exclaimed Desmond, without considering what he was saying.

“Young gentleman,” exclaimed the doctor, bristling up, “you might sail under a less honoured flag, and fight under it too, let me tell you! It is one which has made itself respected in every sea, and will ever be found on the side of freedom and justice.”

“I beg your pardon, doctor,” answered Desmond. “If I was not an English midshipman, I should be perfectly ready to become an American commodore, and I fully believe your navy, for its size, is superior to that of any other nation under the sun.”

“Well, well, my young friend, we all of us have our national prejudices, and it is right that we should, provided we do not bring them too prominently forward. You may think England the tallest country in the world, and I may consider the United States taller still, but it is as well not to be measuring heights, or we may both have to come down a peg or two.”

“Come,” said Tom, “let us set up the flag-staff and hoist the stars and stripes, and should one of Uncle Sam’s ships come by, we will hand over the island as a free gift in exchange for our passage to any part of the world for which she may be bound.”

It did not take long to form a flag-staff and to fit it with rigging: the chief difficulty was to dig a hole of sufficient depth in the coral rock in which to step it. This, however, was at last done, and the wind having fallen, before the evening the flag-staff was fixed, and with a hearty cheer, led by the doctor, the stars and stripes were run up to the top. The flag was, however, hauled down again at sunset. Tom also had a quantity of wood collected and piled up on the highest point near the flag-staff, so that should a ship at any time in the evening be seen in the offing, it might be lit to attract attention. One of the brass guns which had beer brought on shore was placed on its carriage near the flag-staff, so that it might be fired if necessary.

“We have had a good day’s work, and I propose that to-morrow we lay down the keel of our vessel,” said Desmond.

To this Tom readily agreed; and the two midshipmen, with the doctor, sat up until a late hour, discussing the subject and drawing plans for their proposed craft. They had a couple of adzes, three axes, and two augers, but only five of the party could be engaged on the building; indeed, it would have been dangerous to have entrusted some of them with such tools. Billy to a certainty would have cut off his toes, and neither Tom nor Desmond were accustomed to their use, although they knew what it was necessary to do. To form the keel was simple work enough, to shape the timbers properly required the greatest skill.

Here the doctor was superior to the rest. He chose a level part of the sand, on which he drew the form of the timbers, and the rest of the party executed the plans he gave them. As the timbers had to be out in two, a saw-pit was dug, at which Billy was doomed to work as under-sawyer, a task which Desmond assured him he performed to perfection. By the end of the first day the keel was put down and the stem and stern-post set up.

“I have other work, which must not be neglected, my friends,” said the doctor, when the party were collected at supper. “We must look after fresh provisions. Perhaps, Rogers, you or Desmond will take your guns and shoot some birds to-morrow; there are large numbers, I see, at the further end of the island. They may prove wholesome, if not palatable food. I don’t know who are the best fishermen among you, but I would advise that two should go out every day in the boat fishing, so that we may not trespass on our salt provisions.”

“Pat Casey is the most skilful fisherman among us, and he with another of our party will do as you suggest, doctor,” said Tom.

Tom and Desmond accordingly, who had wished to explore the end of the island not hitherto visited, set off with their guns the next morning. They had not gone far when they found themselves among numbers of birds, a large portion of which had made their nests on the ground. It appeared that for some reason or other they had selected the southern end of the island. Most of them were so tame that they refused to move, and attacked the midshipmen’s legs with their beaks. Among them were gannets, sooty terns, and tropical birds in large numbers. The gannets sat on their eggs croaking hoarsely, not moving even when the midshipmen attempted to catch them. There were also frigate birds which had built their nests, in the lower trees, of a few sticks roughly put together. They sat for some time watching the trespassers on their domain, then spreading their wings flew off, inflating their blood-red bladders, which were of the size of the largest cocoa-nuts, to aid them in their ascent though the air.

“We need not expend any powder and shot on these fellows,” observed Desmond; “and all we have to do is to wring the necks of as many as we want for our use, and take the eggs.”

“Let us ascertain how long the eggs have been sat upon, or we may have the trouble of carrying them for nothing,” answered Tom.

They went forward, expecting to get beyond the region of birds, but instead, the nests grew thicker and thicker; indeed, the midshipmen’s progress was almost stopped at times, as they had to dodge in and out and skip here and there to avoid the attacks made on their legs.

“We need have no fear of starving, although we might in time get tired of poultry,” said Desmond.

At last they came to a lower part of the island, over which the sea occasionally washed. It had been avoided by the wise birds, but still had its inhabitants. Whole armies of soldier-crabs were marching about in every direction with their shells on their backs, as well as common crabs on the watch for lizard or snake-like creatures which ventured among them. Sometimes, when a big crab had got hold of one of these, and its attention was occupied in carrying off its prey, a frigate bird would pounce down and seize it, carrying both it and its captive off to its nest.

The midshipmen were so amused that they could not tell how time passed, until hunger and the hot sun reminded them that it was the time when dinner would be ready; and passing through the “farm-yard,” as Desmond called it, they secured as many birds as they could carry and also filled their pockets with the freshest-looking eggs they could find. Desmond, giving a wink to Tom, put among them a couple from a nest over which the mother bird had fought stoutly, and which certainly did not look very fresh. “I can almost hear it croak,” he said, placing an egg to his ear. “I intend these as a bonne-bouche for Billy. We won’t show the others, and will make him suppose that we especially favour him by bringing these, knowing how fond he is of eggs.”

Gerald kept to his intention. As nobody was in the hut when they got back, they hid away all the eggs with the exception of two, which Desmond so kindly selected for his messmate. Peter was engaged in cooking, and having his stew ready, he shouted to announce the fact.

They hurried in, for all were hungry and eager again to begin work. Tom and Desmond showed their birds, and described the numbers they had met with.

“Did you bring any eggs?” asked the doctor; “they can be cooked at once, and are likely to prove better flavoured than the birds themselves.”

“Yes,” said Desmond, “we brought as many as our pockets will hold, and we will hand them over to Peter directly, but I want to give Billy some first, as he is especially fond of eggs; he will value them the more if he thinks that nobody else has them.”

Saying this, he handed them to Peter to put them under the ashes.

“There,” he exclaimed when Billy appeared, “we know how you like eggs, and so we brought a couple, and whenever we go out again we will try and find some more.”

Billy watched the eggs eagerly, until Peter declared that they were sufficiently cooked.

“Doctor, won’t you have one?” asked Billy, politely, when Peter handed them to him.

“No, thank you,” answered the doctor; “I am content with this stew.”

Billy very reluctantly felt himself called upon to offer an egg to Tom and Desmond; but they both declined.

“Then I suppose I must eat them myself,” said Billy, beginning to break the shell. He went on until the operation was performed, when he clapped the end into his mouth.

“Horrible!” he exclaimed, spitting the contents out. “If I haven’t bitten off a bird’s head!”

“Try the other, Billy,” said Desmond; “that may not be so mature.”

Billy, not suspecting a trick, commenced on the second egg, when Desmond, running into the hut, produced the rest they had brought, which Peter slipped under the ashes. Billy looked several times at the second egg; he was going to put it into his mouth when he bethought him of his knife. No sooner had he cut into it, than he threw it away, exclaiming—

“I do believe, Desmond, that you brought those on purpose; you have almost spoilt my appetite.”

“Then I have done more than anything else has ever accomplished,” answered Desmond, laughing. “Never mind, Billy, you shall have the freshest of those eggs cooking under the ashes if you can regain your appetite.”

“I think I shall be able to do that, but I think I will take some stew in the mean time.”

The rest of the eggs were fresh, but the doctor advised that they should collect a supply at once, before the birds had sat too long on them, as probably the greater number had by this time done laying.

In the afternoon Pat went off in the boat a short distance, and in less than an hour caught more fish than the party could consume. The doctor had been too busily employed hitherto, but he, having set each man to work, started at the same time in search of vegetables. He came back with a bag filled with small green leaves.

“I have found nothing except the cocoa-nuts very palatable, but until our garden seeds come up this will prove of greater value than any roots likely to be discovered. I was not aware that it was to be found in so low a latitude. It is a species of sorrel; it seems placed here by Providence for the especial use of seamen, as it is most efficacious in preventing scurvy. All sea officers should be acquainted with it, as it grows on nearly every uninhabited island.”

As soon as it became too dark to work on the vessel, all hands turned to for the purpose of breaking up a plot for forming the proposed garden close to the hut, that the seeds might be put in without delay. They again went to work the following morning before daybreak, and in a short time a sufficient space was cleared and broken up for the intended object; as there were no animals, all that was necessary was to run a few sticks into the ground to mark the spot.

“Now,” said the doctor, “if Providence so wills it, we may live here for the next ten or twenty years, should we fail to build a craft in which we can venture to sea.”

“I am not afraid about that,” said Desmond, “and I hope by the time the crop of vegetables is up, that we may have our craft afloat, and ready to sail for the Sandwich Islands, or Hong-kong.”

Chapter Six.

Progress made in building a vessel—Tools break—Signal kept flying—A sail seen—The flying beacon—A night of suspense—Signal guns fired—An answering gun heard—A man-of-war steamer in sight—A boat comes on shore—Tom and his friends get on board HMS Bellona, Captain Murray, and find Captain Rogers—Fall in with a dismasted junk—Jonathan Jull and his wife—Suspicious appearance of junk—Jull and his wife taken on board the Bellona—The junk blows up and founders—The Bellona proceeds on her course—Pass a reef—A wreck seen—Visited—Supposed to be the Dragon—No one found on shore—Bellona reaches Hong-kong—Jull disappears—Captain Rogers assumes command of the Empress.

The midshipmen and doctor had been somewhat over sanguine in regard to the rapidity with which the proposed craft could be built. They had not taken into account the damage the tools would receive from unskilful hands. They were constantly striking bolts and nails with their adzes and hatchets, blunting the edges. One of their two augers broke, and they had reason to fear that the second was injured. Tim Nolan cut himself badly, and was unable to work for several days. Two of the party were obliged to go off and fish for some hours, as the fish caught on one day were unfit for food on the next. Several of the ribs, from being unscientifically shaped, had to be taken down and reformed. Two or three were split so as to render them useless. Tom and the doctor, who were the architects, exerted all their wits, for practical skill they had none, and they often regretted the want of such training.

“If every sea officer were to serve for a few months in a dockyard, he would gain a knowledge which would be useful under our circumstances, at all events,” observed the doctor.

Still, by dint of sawing and chopping, they got a dozen ribs cut out and fixed in their places. They improved too, and, Gerald declared, “would have got on like a house on fire,” had not one of the adzes been totally disabled by the constant grinding which it required to restore the edge. An axe also broke, and they had now only three tools for executing the rougher work, beside some large chisels; but they found smoothing down with these was a very slow process.

The doctor was constantly charging Jerry and Tim to be careful when using the took. He was especially anxious about the auger. “If that goes we shall be brought pretty well to a standstill, for I doubt if I can replace it,” he remarked. At last he determined not to let it out of his own hands, and to bore all the bolt holes himself.

One day, however, as he was working away, a crack was heard, the auger refused to advance. He drew it out; the tip had broken. Examining it with a look of dismay, he sighed deeply, “Our shipbuilding must come to an end, I fear, unless we can replace this simple instrument.”

“We will try, however, and see what we can accomplish in the forge,” said Tom.

“You forget that it is steel,” observed the doctor; “it will be difficult to soften it and afterwards to restore its temper.”

“We can but try,” repeated Tom; “a day or two won’t make much difference, and we can go on with the other parts of the vessel in the mean time.”

Tom was not disappointed; after repeated experiments he and the doctor succeeded in putting a head to the auger, and their success encouraged them to repair the first which had been broken; but they found that neither worked as well as they had done before. At last, however, they again broke.

Neither Tom nor Desmond were made of stuff which could easily be defeated.

“We must try again,” said Tom. “I have heard of a missionary in the South Seas who built a vessel entirely by himself, without a single white man to help him, in the course of three or four months. He had to begin without tools, and with only a ship’s anchor and chain cable, and trees still growing in the forest. He set up a forge, manufactured tools, saws, and axes, then taught the natives to use them. They cut down trees, which they sawed up. He made ropes out of fibre, and sails from matting; and the necessary iron-work, of which there was very little in the whole craft, was formed from the remainder of the old anchor; yet that vessel performed long voyages and during several years visited numerous islands in the Pacific. Surely if one man can accomplish such a work, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves if, with materials all ready to our hands, we cannot build such a craft as we want.”

“Yes, my friend; but the missionary you speak of—the late lamented Williams, who was murdered not far off to the west of us—was a practical mechanic. He had studied blacksmith’s work before he left England, and must have possessed a large amount of mechanical talent, such as none of us can boast of.”

Encouraged by Tom, the doctor recovered his spirits, and once more their shipbuilding progressed at fair speed. The main beams had been fixed up, and the skeleton was almost complete, but as yet not a plank had been fixed on. This, however, appeared to them comparatively easy work, and no one entertained a doubt of the success of their undertaking. Regular discipline had been maintained all the time. At daybreak Tom or Desmond visited the hill, hoisted the flag, and took a look round. In the evening, when the flag was hauled down, generally two went up, in case a distant sail might escape the observation of one, and be discovered by the other, when they intended to light the beacon fire, in the hopes of attracting her attention.

Billy Blueblazes, who had got a sharp pair of eyes, whatever might be said about his wits, had one evening accompanied Desmond. They stood for some minutes scanning the horizon, but not a speck was visible in the blue sky except here and there, where a sea-fowl was winging its way towards the shore.

“It would save us a great deal of trouble if a vessel would come,” observed Billy. “If we could build a steamer it would be very well; but we may be becalmed for days together, and I should not like to go through what we had to endure in the boat—mashed yams and oil. Bah! I’ve not got the taste out of my mouth yet.”

“You’ve put a good many things into it, though, since then,” said Desmond. “For my part, after we have done so much, I should be almost disappointed if we were to be taken off before our craft was finished. I should not exactly wish to go round Cape Horn in her, but I would go anywhere else. I hope Rogers will decide on sailing for Hong-kong.”

“At all events, I wish she was finished, for I am tired of that sawing work,” cried Billy.

“Well, Billy, we will haul down the flag, as there appears to be nothing in sight; but before we go, just swarm up the flag-staff, and take another look round; the horizon is remarkably clear, and you might see a ship’s royals, even though they were but just above it.”

Billy did as Desmond asked him to do. Presently he took off his cap, and waving it, shouted—

“A sail! a sail! to the eastward!”

“Are you certain of it?” asked Desmond.

“As sure as if I had it in my hand,” answered Billy. “A ship’s royals, I am certain of it. I think, too, she is standing this way.”

“Come down, then,” said Desmond, “and I’ll have a look out through the glass.” He had a telescope slung at his back. He swarmed up until he reached the head of the shrouds, when, securing himself, he brought his glass to bear in the direction Billy had pointed.

“You are right, Billy,” he exclaimed, after taking a steady look through it. “I can make out the fore, main, and the head of the mizzen royals. A large ship too, and, as you say, she is standing this way, with the wind from the eastward. She will not pass far from this either.” Having taken another steady glance through the glass, Desmond descended; indeed, the thickening gloom by this time almost shut out the sail from sight. He and Billy hurried back to the camp.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” they shouted out in one breath. “There is a ship coming to take us off!”

The rest of the party were incredulous until Desmond fully described the appearance of the sail. “And now let us get the beacon fire alight,” he exclaimed.

“No great hurry for that,” said Tom.

“It could not be seen for some time, but we will carry up a supply of fuel to keep it burning all night. There may be a sail, but you cannot be positive she is standing this way, or if she is she may alter her course, which will carry her to a distance from us,” said the doctor.

“But I can be positive that she is standing this way,” exclaimed Desmond. “She may alter her course, but our fire will be seen.”

At the doctor’s suggestion, one of the oil barrels was rolled up that the contents might increase the flame. Every one was eager to light the beacon fire; even Billy forgot to propose that they should first eat their supper.

The doctor remarked that as the ship was drawing near they should send up a long spar, placed horizon tally with a burning mass at the end of it, which from its greater height might be seen further off than the fire on the ground.

His plan was adopted; the signal halyards were strong enough for the purpose, and by means of a line at the other end it could be hoisted without risk of burning the shrouds. He quickly manufactured a fusee, so that the mass would not blaze up until the yard was fixed. The material to be fired was composed of oakum mixed with gunpowder, canvas saturated with oil, and bundles of shavings kept together with pieces of iron hoop. Tom gave the word to hoist away, and “the flying beacon,” as Desmond called it, soon afterwards burst forth into a bright flame. The fire below was then lighted, and as it blazed up it cast a lurid glare over the whole island, on the ribs of their vessel, their hut below the tall cocoa-nut trees, and the lower shrubs. At the same instant loud screams were heard—the birds, startled by the unusual appearance, mounted into the air, numbers flying towards the fire, and the party on the hill had to use sticks to keep them off, as they darted here and there, blinded by the light. More and more fuel was added, and as soon as the doctor’s flying beacon had burnt out, another of the same description was hoisted.

“Well, if they don’t see our fire they must be all asleep on board the stranger,” said Desmond.

“No fear of that,” remarked the doctor; “in these seas, with reefs on every side, depend upon it a bright look-out will be kept, or no ship could get across with safety.”

“If she stood on, as you supposed she was steering, she must be by this time near enough to hear our gun,” said Tom. “Bring up powder and wadding, Bird.”

Jerry eagerly hastened to obey the order. The gun was fired every five minutes, although it was not likely, as the sound had to travel against the wind, that it would be heard for some time on board the ship. Most of the party had forgotten all about supper, until Billy exclaimed: “If I don’t get some provender, I shall collapse.”

As the rest acknowledged that they were much in the same state, Peter and Pat were sent to bring up a supply of food.

“Let there be plenty,” said Billy; “we need not be on short commons now, I hope!”

The supper was discussed by the light of the fire. Tom in the mean time could not refrain from now and then looking out for an answering signal.

Hours went by, and all remained dark as before round the island. As to sleeping, few would have closed their eyes even had they gone back to the hut.

Tom had kept his watch in his hand to time the firing. The gun had just been discharged and all was again silent, when, as he was about again to give the order to fire, there came down on the breeze the boom of a heavy gun.

“No doubt about the sort of piece that comes from, sir,” exclaimed Jerry. “The craft away there is a man-of-war, or I’m no sailor.”

“I think so too,” cried Tom; “they must have noticed our signals, and I don’t think the ship will pass by without sending on shore.”

“We might go off to her in our boat,” said Jerry.

“We should have a difficulty in finding her at night, so we shall be wise to remain until the morning,” answered Tom; “the wind is very light and she is probably still a long way off, for I could not see the flash of her gun.”

Notwithstanding their belief that they were discovered, the party on the island still kept their beacon fire blazing, and fired the gun at intervals.

At length, pretty well tired out, all hands turned in with the exception of two, who remained to keep up the fire and discharge the gun every ten minutes.

Tom awoke at dawn of day and hurried up to join Desmond, who was keeping the morning watch.

“Where is she?” he exclaimed eagerly.

“That is more than I can tell,” answered Desmond. “I expected to see her close to, and to have had a boat come on shore by this time.”

“The mist hides her from us; see how it sweeps over the water from the northward. As the sun rises depend upon it we shall see her,” observed Tom.

Still Desmond was in doubt; the mist was so light that he had not hitherto observed it, and his eyes were dazzled by the glare of the fire, which was still burning. Tom ran up the flag, so that it might be seen the moment the mist should disperse. In a short time they were joined by the rest of the party, who in various tones expressed their disappointment at not seeing the stranger.

Presently the sun rose, and in a few seconds the veil lifted, disclosing a large ship, her bulwarks just rising above the horizon.

“She is a man-of-war steamer,” said Tom, who had been the first to take a look at her through the telescope. “She’s English too, for she’s just hoisted her ensign. There is smoke coming out of her funnel; she’s getting up steam. Hurrah! we shall soon have her here.”

The excitement after this became general and greater than ever. Tom and Desmond, however, were the only two of the party who witnessed the approach of the British man-of-war with unmitigated satisfaction. The men, having plenty of food, were in no hurry to go back to their routine of duty. The doctor and Peter would be among strangers, besides which the former, feeling assured that the vessel would in time be completed, was anxious to perform a voyage in a craft constructed under his own superintendence.

“The bother is, I shall have to keep that tiresome watch,” murmured Billy. However, he did not express himself openly to his messmates on the subject.

The frigate came slowly on with the lead going and look-outs at frigate, although she might not carry more than six or eight guns. At length she got within about a mile of the island, when the screw was stopped and a boat lowered. There was only one landing-place on the lee side, close below the hill on which the flag-staff had been erected.

Tom, securing four handkerchiefs to the end of a spar, hastened down to it to guide the boat in. On she came, pulled by six strong arms, a lieutenant and midshipman in the stern sheets. Tom, Desmond, and Billy stood ready to receive the strangers. The boat was quickly run up on the beach, when the officers stepped on shore.

The lieutenant, observing the three midshipmen’s tattered uniforms, advanced towards them, and inquired as he shook hands, “Has an American man-of-war been cast away here?”

“No, sir; but an American whaler was wrecked here a few weeks ago.”

“Then who are you, and how came you here?” asked the lieutenant.

Tom in a few words narrated their adventures, and then asked, “And what is your ship, sir?”

“The Bellona, Captain Murray—”

“What! Captain Alick Murray?” exclaimed Tom. “I served with him. He is my brother Jack’s greatest friend.”

“Are you Captain Rogers’s brother? That is extraordinary,” exclaimed the lieutenant, “for he is a passenger with us, going out to command the Empress in the China seas.”

“My brother Jack on board! That is good news.”

Tom now doing the honours, introduced the lieutenant to Dr Locock.

“Of course Captain Murray will be most happy to receive you on board, with any of the survivors of the whaler’s crew,” said the lieutenant.

“I am much obliged to you; there is but one, and I shall be glad to embrace the opportunity of visiting China,” answered the doctor.

The lieutenant had received orders to return as soon as possible, but Tom begged him to come and see the vessel they had commenced building; though he had made up his mind to try and get Jack to come on shore also, as he was ambitious to show their handiwork to him.

“You deserve great credit for the attempt,” said the lieutenant, as he examined the structure; “but I congratulate you on escaping the necessity of making a voyage in her, for had she touched a rock, it is probable that she would have gone to pieces.”

After this remark Tom felt less anxiety to exhibit the vessel to his brother Jack. The lieutenant now repeated that his orders were to return immediately. The doctor merely requested that he might be allowed to take his medicine case, instruments, and clothes.

“I shall be happy to let you have as many things as the boat will carry,” said the lieutenant; “but as the captain is in a hurry to continue the voyage, he may be unwilling to send ashore again for any other articles.”

The boat was soon loaded with the doctor’s property, the nautical instruments, and the clothing which the men had appropriated, and then rapidly made her way towards the Bellona. The doctor had written a note, which he left in the hut, stating the name of the vessel wrecked on the island, and the circumstances under which he and the only survivor of the crew, with a party of English officers and men, had quitted it. By his special request the stars and stripes were left flying.

As the midshipmen followed the lieutenant up the side, they saw the two captains standing on the quarter-deck, but even Jack did not recognise his own brother. Tom, lifting the remnant of his cap, went aft, and putting out his hand exclaimed—

“What, don’t you know me, Jack?”

Captain Rogers looked at him for a few seconds, then wringing his hand said, “How did you come into this plight, my dear fellow?”

Tom of course explained what had happened, while Gerald and Billy were telling the same story to Captain Murray. Doctor Locock was of course well taken care of by the surgeon, and invited into the ward-room. Tom had a good deal to hear about family matters. Desmond and Billy Blueblazes were soon made at home by the other young gentlemen of the ship, while the men were equally cared for forward. Captain Murray did not think it worth while to send on shore for the small part of the whaler’s cargo which had been saved, but he promised to give information to the first American man-of-war he might fall in with, that she might go for it if it was thought worth while.

The account which the midshipmen gave of the Dragon caused considerable anxiety. When Captain Murray heard that her machinery was out of order, he felt satisfied that she had gone on to Hong-kong, and as she would certainly be detained there for some time, she would not even yet be able to get back to the Bonins.

“Perhaps,” observed Tom, “Commander Rawson fancies we are lost, and if so he is not likely to come and look for us.”

The wind continuing light, the Bellona steered on, soon leaving the coral island far astern.

Shortly after they had got on board, Gerald asked Tom to try and learn from his brother the reasons why his uncle had sent for him home.

“One of them was, I conclude, that as he expected to get a command himself, he was anxious to have his nephew with him,” answered Jack. “Another is that in consequence of the death of several persons, young Desmond is heir-at-law to a handsome estate and a title. His uncle thought it better to have him near at hand, instead of knocking about far away from home. There is likely to be a trial of some sort, but my friend Adair is very sanguine of success. It may be several years, however, before the matter is settled, as all depends upon the life of the present possessor, who, although somewhat old, is hale and hearty. But as he may possibly break his neck, or go out of the world suddenly by some other means, it is well that Desmond should be on the spot to claim his rights. I don’t know whether Adair intended to let his nephew know this until his arrival, but as it was not told to me in confidence, I may mention it to you. However, use your own discretion in what you say to your friend—only do not let him be too sanguine; but it may perhaps make him take care of himself, which hitherto I suspect he has not been apt to do.”

Tom promised to be very discreet in what he said to Gerald, so as not to disappoint him should he fail of success.

Towards the evening of the day the Bellona had left the coral island, a shout was heard from the look-out at the mast-head, “A rock on the starboard bow!” An officer, however, going aloft with his glass, pronounced it to be a dismasted vessel. The frigate was accordingly headed up towards her, and on a nearer approach, from her peculiar build, she was seen to be undoubtedly a Chinese or Japanese craft. It was at first supposed that no one was on board, but as the steamer neared, a flag was waved from the after part of the stranger.

The ship’s way was accordingly stopped, and a boat was lowered. Captain Rogers volunteering to examine her, Tom accompanied him. As they approached they saw that she must have encountered bad weather, for not only had she lost her masts, but she had no boats, and a considerable portion of her upper works had been carried away, while her sides had a weather-worn appearance, as if she had been a long time knocking about at sea.

On getting on deck, one person only was to be seen, who, though dressed as a Chinese, had European features.

“I am thankful you have fallen in with us, gentlemen,” he said, in good English, “for I don’t know what would otherwise have become of this craft or us.”

“Of us! Is there any one besides yourself on board?” asked Jack.

“Yes, I have my wife with me—we were passengers on board; when the junk was blown off the coast and lost her masts, the crew deserted in the boat, leaving us to our fate.”

“Your wife! Where is she?” asked Jack.

“She is below, sir,” was the answer; “but she is a foreigner, young, and timid, and was afraid to come on deck.”

“What are you?—an Englishman?” inquired Jack.

“Well, as to that, I am more of an American, though I have been out in these seas so long that I cannot say I belong to any nation. Still, I have not forgotten my native tongue. I should be grateful if you would take us in tow, or supply me with spars and canvas, so that I might find my way back.”

“That is more than you will be able to do, I suspect, with your craft knocked about as she is, and probably leaking not a little, even with the assistance of your wife,” answered Jack. “As for taking you in tow, that is out of the question—we should drag the bows out of her; but if you will bring your wife and any property you possess on board, I can answer for it that the captain will give you a passage to Hong-kong or any other place at which we may touch where you desire to leave the ship. You are a seaman, I presume, from your undertaking to sail back the junk. What is your name, may I ask?” said Jack.

“Jonathan Jull, at your service.”

“That name has a Yankee smack about it, certainly,” observed Jack. “Well, Mr Jull, I’ll overhaul the craft, and report her condition to the captain. He may possibly think fit to take her in tow, but I can make no promises on the subject. In the mean time prepare your wife for accompanying you on board.”

While Jonathan Jull went into one of the after cabins, Jack and Tom, with two men who had come on board, went round the junk. She had a considerable amount of cargo on board, of a somewhat miscellaneous character. Jack ordered the well to be sounded. Tom and one of the men performed the operation, and reported three feet in the hold, a large amount of water for a flat-bottomed craft. They had not long continued their search when Tom exclaimed—

“Look here; these are suspicious-looking marks. I have already observed others. They are evidently caused by bullets. See, in several places pieces of wood have been chipped off, and here is a bullet sticking in the planking.”

“What do you think of this, sir?” asked one of the men, pointing to some dark splashes on the deck and side of the vessel.

“That’s blood; there can be no doubt about it. I suspect that there has been some foul work on board,” observed Jack. “I wonder whether Mr Jull can account for the circumstance.”

“He, at all events, will give his own version of the matter,” remarked Tom.

On a further search other signs of violence were discovered. Jack began to suspect that the man’s account of being deserted by the crew was not a true one. He resolved, however, before questioning him, to take him on board the Bellona, to let Captain Murray decide what to do. “It appears to me that unless several hands are placed on board to keep the vessel clear of water, she must sink in a day or two if towed by the ship; and that certainly Mr Jull, experienced seaman as he may be, even with the aid of his wife, cannot, even were the craft supplied with masts and sails, find his way back to China. He is far more likely to run on a coral reef, or purposely cast his vessel away on one of the many islands in these seas, and take up his abode there.”

One thing was certain, there was something suspicions about the man. Captain Rogers and Tom now made their way to the main cabin, where what was their surprise to see a remarkably handsome young female bending over a chest, in which she was engaged in packing up various articles which Jonathan Jull, as he called himself, standing by, was handing to her. Her complexion and countenance, as well as her costume, showed her to be an oriental, probably a Malay, though her features were more refined than those of Malays in general. She rose as she saw the strangers enter the cabin, and unconsciously stood with her arms crossed on her bosom, gazing at them with her large lustrous eyes, which expressed more terror than satisfaction.

“I see that you are preparing to quit the vessel, Mr Jull,” said Jack. “I must beg you to make haste and stow that chest, as we cannot remain much longer on board. Indeed, from her condition, it is impossible to say when she may go down.”

The man, without at first answering, turned to the Malay girl, and spoke some words to her in her own language, on which she again knelt down and continued packing the chest. There were several cases which the man handed quickly to the girl, but the other things were chiefly articles of clothing, with two or three jewel-hilted daggers, a short sword, and a brace of long-barrelled, beautifully mounted pistols. He had been apparently not desirous to allow the English officers to see the contents of his chest. As soon as it was filled, having locked it, he produced a stout rope and lashed it in a seamanlike manner.

“Now, sir, my wife and I are ready,” he said, throwing a cloak over the girl’s head, with which she could conceal her features. “If your people will lend me a hand to get this chest into the boat, I shall be obliged,” he continued. “As you say, sir, the craft is not very seaworthy, and since I made you out I have neglected to keep the pump going. I have been compelled to work at it for several hours every day, or the leak would soon have gained on me.”

The man as he spoke seemed perfectly cool and collected, and not at all unwilling to go on board the ship of war. The chest, which was somewhat heavy, was lowered into the boat, with the aid of a tackle which the owner produced. He and his wife then followed, taking their seats in the stern sheets. As the boat pulled away from the junk Jack observed that she had sunk already much lower in the water than when he went on board, and seemed to be settling down astern.

“That craft has sprung a fresh leak since we saw her first,” observed one of the crew, who had remained in the boat looking at the stranger. “I heard a curious noise as we were alongside, as if water was rushing in under the counter. We should have let you know if you hadn’t come to the side with the chest.”

These words were spoken loud enough to be heard aft. Tom fancied that he detected a peculiar expression pass over Jull’s countenance, but the man immediately resumed his unconcerned look, and spoke to his wife as if endeavouring to quiet her apparent alarm.

The chest was hoisted on board, and the two persons who had been taken from the junk were allowed to seat themselves on it, while Jack made a report to Murray of his visit to the junk.

“Her cargo,” he observed, “appears to be of considerable value, and it would be a pity to lose it.”

“We might get some of the most valuable portion out of her, but we must not spend time about it,” remarked Murray. “From your account, even were we to take her in tow, she is not likely to keep above water. We can afterwards examine this suspicious gentleman and his wife, although I doubt whether we shall get much out of them.”

“We are not likely to get much out of the junk either,” said Jack, pointing at her. “Look there!”

As he spoke the junk, towards which the frigate was steering, was seen to lift her bows, and immediately afterwards a loud report was heard; her stern and after decks were blown into fragments, and in a few seconds she disappeared beneath the surface.

“Our friend there had no intention that we should make a further examination of the craft,” observed Jack. “Depend upon it, he had taken effectual measures to prevent us from doing so after he had secured in his chest the most valuable property on board.”

“We have no proof that he was instrumental in her destruction, though the circumstances are suspicious,” said Murray. “He will of course tell us what he thinks fit as to the cause of her sudden foundering and the explosion on board, while we are prevented from making any further examination of the signs of a conflict, which you suppose must have taken place. We will, however, try to get some information out of the man.”

A few fragments of wood floating on the surface was all that remained of the junk, as the frigate, now again put on her proper course, passed over the spot where she had lately floated. Notwithstanding the suspicions which were entertained about Mr Jull, Captain Murray wishing to treat the man’s wife with consideration, ordered a screen to be put up on the main-deck, where she might be in private and have the chest under her eye. He then sent for Mr Jull to come into the cabin, where he, with Jack and the first lieutenant, were seated.

Jonathan Jull persisted in the story he had given to Jack, stating that he had commanded an opium clipper, which had been cast away; and that he had simply taken a passage with his wife on board the junk to go to Shanghai, where he expected to find other employment. He glibly announced the name of his craft, the Swallow, as well as the names of his officers, and was running on with those of his crew when he was stopped.

“That is not necessary at present,” observed Captain Murray. But Mr Jull seemed to be anxious that there should be no suspicion resting on him. He next mentioned her tonnage and armament, and indeed everything about her.

“All very good,” said Captain Murray; “but can you account for the signs of violence which we observed on board the junk—the stains of blood, the chipped beams, the bullets sticking in the bulkheads?”

Captain Jull, as he announced himself, looked very much astonished. “You have observed, sir, what I failed to discover,” he answered, “and I simply cannot account for the marks. If any violence occurred, it must have taken place before I went on board the junk. The crew appeared perfectly orderly, and only after the vessel had been dismasted, and they found her drifting away from the shore, did they take to their boats. For some reason, for which I cannot account, they refused to allow my wife and me to accompany them.”

“Very well, Mr Jull; but can you account for the junk sinking so soon after you left her, and for the explosion?”

“She was leaking very much indeed, and probably a butt suddenly gave way,” answered Captain Jull. “In regard to the explosion, my wife had lit a fire in a stove aft, and I suppose a cask of gunpowder must inadvertently have been left in the neighbourhood. But this is merely conjecture. She herself will tell you that she lit the fire.”

It was very clear that the naval officers would not get any information from Captain Jull which he was unwilling to give them. Although there were several suspicious circumstances against him, Captain Murray did not feel justified in making him a prisoner, and he therefore allowed him to remain with his wife.

Tom and Gerald made themselves happy on board with their new shipmates, and Billy was always liked wherever he went, never being out of humour and having not the slightest objection to be laughed at, besides which he had a store of amusing anecdotes, and was able to spin a good yarn, and sing a merry song.

Tom had plenty to talk about to his brother Jack, who in course of time gave him all the news from home. Captain Rogers had been very unwilling to leave his wife, but the command of a ship having been offered him, he felt himself bound not to refuse. It had cost Murray also not a little to leave Stella.

“We shall have his magnificent little boy come to sea before long,” said Jack. “How old it makes one! It seems to me only yesterday since I was a midshipman like you, Tom, and I can scarcely fancy myself even now a post-captain.”

“I hope I shall not be a midshipman long,” said Tom, “and that Desmond and Gordon will get promoted.”

“There’s little doubt about that,” said Jack, “if there is anything to do in China, and I fully expect there will be something, for the government are sending out troops and more ships. The Chinese are too self-conceited to give in without a sound thrashing. By-the-by, have you told Desmond anything about his prospects?”

“No; I thought it might upset him,” answered Tom. “I merely hinted that you had heard from his uncle that there was a possibility of his obtaining a fortune, but that there was some uncertainty, and as he did not cross question me much, I got off without committing myself.”

Jack commended Tom’s discretion. “It would be better indeed that he should hear the whole matter from his uncle, who will probably be sent out to China, where we shall meet him before long,” observed Jack.

The ship had run on for a couple of days, the weather continuing calm and fine, though a favourable breeze would have been acceptable to save coal. About noon land was sighted on the starboard bow. The master stated that it was the Island of Dolores, very appropriately so called, as it consists of a small patch of land rising up amid a collection of coral reefs, which would prove the destruction of any unfortunate vessel driven on them. The Bellona had passed along the southern edge of the group, and the glasses of several of her officers had been turned towards the land to ascertain its appearance, when, just as they were leaving it on the starboard quarter, the look-out from aloft hailed the deck to say there was what appeared to him to be a wreck on an outer reef off the western side.

The master and second lieutenant, on going aloft, were convinced that such was the case, and the ship was accordingly headed in that direction at half speed, a bright look-out being kept for any dangers which might lie off at a distance from the reef below the water. As soon as the ship arrived abreast of the wreck, two boats were lowered, and sent off under the second lieutenant and master to examine and ascertain what she was, and, if possible, what had become of her crew. Captain Rogers and Tom went with the first-mentioned officer, and Desmond with the master. As there appeared to be a channel leading up to the island, Captain Murray directed the party in the boats, should no persons be found on board, to make their way to the shore and see whether any people were there or had been there lately.

The perfect calmness of the sea enabled the boats to get close up. As they got near, they saw from her shattered condition that it was not likely any one was remaining on board. When they were almost up to her, Jack exclaimed—

“She is a steamer, for I see some of her machinery above water, and a man-of-war too, and I very much fear that she is the Dragon.”

“I am afraid that she is,” said Tom. “That we shall soon learn, however, when we get on board, for I know every inch of her, and knocked about as she is, I should recognise something or other, which would put the matter beyond doubt.”

The ship lay broadside on the reef. The stern had been completely knocked away, and nearly the entire part of the lower side, but the fore part had suffered less, although the bulwarks had been swept off, and the bowsprit had gone. Indeed, she greatly resembled the skeleton of a vast animal, with the head attached.

There was but little footing anywhere, but Tom and Desmond, getting over the rocks, scrambled up.

“Yes, this is the old craft; there is no doubt about it,” said Tom, after they had made such a survey as was possible.

“I am very sure of it,” answered Desmond. “If Bird or Nolan had come with us, they would have known this part of the ship even better than we do.”

They were now joined by Captain Rogers, who was perfectly satisfied that they were right. For a few seconds he stood contemplating the sad remains of the once gallant vessel he had commanded. What his thoughts were may be imagined. Whether or not he heaved a sigh is not known, but Jack Rogers was not addicted to being sentimental.

“We must ascertain whether any of the poor fellows have escaped,” he exclaimed, leading the way to the boat. “We will now carry out Captain Murray’s directions, and visit the island.”

The boats were accordingly steered for the shore. It required a careful look-out to keep in the right channel, so that the rocks, which appeared in all directions under water, might be avoided.

The shore was reached at last, but no one was seen, though fragments of the wreck were found scattered about and fixed in the crevices of the rocks. Here and there were pieces of casks, cases, and cabin furniture, but all were so shattered that it was impossible to recognise them.

The whole island was searched, but no huts had been put up. No remains of fires were seen—indeed, there were no signs of any one having landed; not even a skeleton was discovered.

“They must all have been lost, I fear,” said Jack. “We can easily conceive, with a fierce gale blowing, what a fearful surf would be dashing over these rocks. Not a boat could live in it.”

The other officers were of opinion that every one on board must have been lost.

“Poor Archie!” said Tom to Desmond; “there’s one of us gone, then. I wish he had come in our boat, instead of accompanying the surveying expedition. Captain Murray will be very sorry when he hears it.”

As time was of consequence, and there was no object in searching further, the boats put off and returned to the ship.

Captain Murray, while deeply regretting the loss of the Dragon, her officers, and crew, was especially grieved to believe that his young cousin, in whom he had taken so deep an interest, had perished also. Both officers and men, however, soon got over their sorrow for ship-mates and friends. They knew very well that such might be their own fate some day, though, as is natural to human beings, they hoped to escape it and die in their beds at a good old age, their fighting days over and their gallant deeds done.

The Bellona continued her course, passing through the Bashee Channel to the south of Formosa, when she had a clear run for Hong-kong. At length the lofty heights which extended from east to west along the entire length of the island came in sight, and the Bellona steered for Sulphur Channel, which lies between the larger island and the little island known as Green Island.

Steering through this channel, she entered the harbour of Victoria, which assumed a completely land-locked appearance, being shut in on one side by the Kowloon Peninsula and on the other by a point jutting off from the main land, the former being only about a mile from the town of Victoria.

The island of Hong-kong is of irregular shape, about nine miles long and three broad. Besides the centre ridge there are a series of high lands on either side of it. The Western end rises to the height of 1825 feet; Victoria Peak, at the foot of which stands the town of Victoria, creeping up the height from the beach. There are several other harbours—Ly-tum on the southern side, and another on the west known as Wong-ma-kok. On the western side of the neck of the peninsula which forms the latter harbour is the military station of Stanley, where barracks have been erected, as it was supposed that it would prove a healthy position from being exposed to the south-west monsoon.

The Bellona steamed up to an anchorage near Victoria. Among the ships in the harbour was the Empress, which Jack Rogers was destined to command. There were several vacancies, and Tom, Desmond, and Billy Blueblazes accompanied her captain, who intended to get them appointed to her. Bird, Nolan, and Casey were also entered on her books, and Peter, from having been well treated on board the Bellona, expressed his wish also to join; Jack, at Tom’s recommendation, took him as his steward. Dr Locock, expressing his gratitude for the kindness he had received, went on shore, intending to remain until he could join an American ship, either a man-of-war or a merchantman.

No sooner was the anchor dropped than the ship was surrounded by Chinese boats with all sorts of provisions. Murray had not forgotten Captain Jull and his wife. Before Captain Rogers left the ship, he sent Tom to summon the man, intending to question him again to ascertain where he was going. Tom in a short time returned saying that Jull and his wife, with their chest, had disappeared, and no one could tell what had become of them, he must have managed, while the officers and men were busily engaged, to slip his chest through a port into a native boat alongside. No one had, however, seen him; his Chinese dress and the cloak his wife wore would have prevented them in the confusion from being observed.

“There is something not altogether right about that fellow, depend upon it,” said Jack. “He had good reason for not wishing the junk to be brought into harbour, and he would have taken good care to destroy her even if we had had her in tow. We might have brought him to a trial for her loss, when very possibly he might have been recognised.”

On mentioning the subject afterwards on shore, Murray learned that a large fleet of piratical junks were said to be commanded by an Englishman, but little was known about them, except from the depredations they committed on the Chinese merchant shipping, and occasionally on that of other nations, although they had hitherto avoided the risk of interfering with English vessels.

The first inquiry Murray and Rogers made, on coming on shore, was for the Dragon; but as neither she nor any of her crew had been heard of, their fears that she was the vessel they had discovered on the reef were confirmed.

The Empress had been some time on the coast, and the members of the midshipmen’s berth were full of what they had seen and ready to impart the information to Tom and Desmond, who had heard little or nothing of what had taken place. They found several old acquaintances on board, among whom was Charley Roy, whom they had met frequently in the Black Sea. Charley could talk, and was not loth to make use of his talents.

“You fellows want to know all we have done and all we expect to do out here,” he began, the very first day they were on board. “The Chinese, in my opinion, are the most obstinate fellows in the world; besides which they beat all others in cunning and deceit—at all events, their diplomatists do. They have a wonderful opinion of themselves, and don’t know when they are beaten; Lord Elgin has found that out. You, of course, have heard of the thrashing we gave the Celestials at the Bogue Forts, Canton, Pekin, and dozens of other places, and of the expedition hundreds of miles up the big river, the Yang-tse-kiang, till we supposed that we had brought them to order, but they were still too clever for us, as you shall hear. You may have heard that Lord Elgin being desirous of going right up to Pekin to exchange the necessary ratifications of the lately formed treaty, a squadron of gun-boats was sent up to escort him. As soon as they arrived off the Peiho, the admiral sent an officer to announce the approach of the British ambassador, but the Chinese commander refused him permission to land. Of course this showed that they meant fighting.”

“Before we commenced operations, however, a reconnoissance was made to ascertain what obstructions were in our way. In the first place we found that the forts, which before had been destroyed, were replaced by earthworks, mounting a large number of guns, and that the two forts higher up on the left bank were so placed as to rake any vessels which might advance abreast of the forts on the right, these forts being united by raised causeways. Right across the river also were no end of stakes and booms, some of iron, each several tons in weight, forked above and below so as to rip up any vessel striking them. There was also a boom composed of three stout cables, one of hemp and two of iron chain, while some hundred yards further on were two great rafts of timber, stretching one from each bank, a passage being left between them of scarcely sufficient width to allow even a gun-boat to pass through. In front of the line of forts were ditches and wide spaces of soft mud, over which it would be scarcely possible for storming parties to pass. The Chinese declared that these arrangements were simply made to prevent smuggling, and that they would be immediately removed.

“Another day passed, and no steps having been taken by the Celestials to do as they had promised, the admiral sent in word to say that if the obstructions were not removed he should take upon himself to do so by force. Having waited three days, he resolved to bombard the fort on the left. As our shot would have fallen into the town of Taku, the admiral sent an officer to advise the inhabitants to provide for their safety by leaving the place.

“They, however, replied that they did not receive orders from foreigners, and that if we touched the barriers the batteries would open fire upon us. Of course it now became necessary to attack the forts. Three of the larger ships and nine gun-boats were sent in two divisions to attack, in the first place, the Taku forts on the right bank, and one of the gun-boats was directed to pull up the stakes so as to afford a passage to the rest of the squadron. She at length succeeded and made her way up to the boom. The moment she struck it, the Chinese batteries opened on her with heavy guns. The other gun-boats took their stations astern of her. Two unfortunately got aground, one on the northern extremity and the other on the southern.

“The former, however, was notwithstanding still able to render some service against the forts further down the stream. In an hour one of the gun-boats was completely disabled; her commander killed, and out of a crew of forty men, nine only remained unhurt; the admiral himself, who was on board, being severely wounded. On this he shifted his flag into another vessel, with which he went close under the forts. Here he received a second wound, but still would not quit the fight. Unable to move, he took his place on the bridge, when the chain against which he was leaning was shot away, and he was thrown to the deck with such violence that one of his ribs was broken. Three times injured, it might have been supposed that he would have retired; but again shifting his flag to another vessel, he remained on deck in his cot, and directed the battle until, faint from loss of blood and pain, he consented to yield up command to the senior captain, who took his place.

“Still the battle continued; but three of our gun-boats were on shore and reduced to mere wrecks. We had, however, vessels and men sufficient to carry on the fight. At last it was determined to storm the forts. The soldiers, marines, and the blue-jackets detailed for the purpose were landed; the commander of an American man-of-war showing his sympathy by assisting with his boats in taking detachments of the storming party on shore. The tide, which had gone out, had left large banks of mud between the channel and the firm ground. Through this our men had to wade for many yards, covered, however, by the guns of the Lee, which opened fire for their protection. Scarcely, however, had they left the boats than every gun still serviceable in the fort, with numberless gingalls, rifles, and muskets, were directed upon them.

“One captain was mortally wounded, another severely hurt, and the colonel of the marines fell desperately wounded. The third in command still led on the storming party.

“The first ditch being nearly empty of water, was crossed, but a second, close under the walls of the fort, was full; and here, finding his immediate followers reduced to fifty men, while the larger party behind was almost exhausted, nearly 300 having been stricken down in their disastrous rush across the mud—he felt that it was his duty to wait for reinforcements. On sending back, however, for them, the commanding officer was obliged to refuse the request and to order him to retire, as there were no men to be spared. As it was, they were nearly cut off, for the tide rising, several boats had drifted up the stream. Some were taken possession of by the Chinese; but others were recovered. During the retreat the Chinese kept up a galling fire on our ranks, striking down many, who lay helpless in the mud until the returning tide put an end to their sufferings by washing over them.

“Not until past midnight did the commanders of the storming party, having collected all the men they could discover, embark in the last boat and return with heavy hearts to their ships. Six gun-boats were on shore, and it was feared that all would be lost; but the tide, rising higher than usual the next day, three were floated off, the others, however, remained immovable. Altogether we lost 80 men killed on the spot, and 350 wounded, many of whom died, among them being one of the most gallant officers in the service, Captain Vansittart.

“This disaster has shown us that, after all, when the Chinese have the advantage of strong fortifications, they are no contemptible enemies, and that it will not do to despise them. Of course, they are not to go unpunished for this last proceeding. As soon as the troops can be collected and the ships are ready, we expect to go back to Peiho to capture the Taku Forts and proceed on by land and water to Pekin, which, if the emperor will not give up, we are to bombard and take possession of. So you see you fellows have plenty of work before you. You need not be afraid of that.”

Tom and Desmond, in return for the information they had received, had a still longer yarn to spin of the adventures they had gone through. Billy occasionally put in a word.

“The worst part of the business was when we were nearly starving and had to live on rotten yams and train oil. How would you fellows have liked that?” he asked.

“Not very pleasant,” observed Charley Roy. “But you, Billy, don’t appear to have suffered much from the fare you describe.”

“I have had time to pick up again,” answered Billy; “but I assure you that for many weeks afterwards I was as thin as a whipping-post.”

Chapter Seven.

A visit to the tailor’s, and a walk round Victoria—Tricks of the coolies—A Chinese festival—Sail for Shanghai—An unexpected meeting—Adventures of the Dragon’s crew—A walk through Shanghai—The midshipmen’s ride into the country—Their pleasure disagreeably interrupted—A ride for life, and a narrow escape—Bring news of the approach of the rebels—Regain their hotel—Aroused by the sound of firing—Shanghai attacked by the rebels—The blue jackets take part in the defence—Treachery defeated—Jerry saves Tom’s life—The rebels defeated—Return on board the Empress—The Orion, Captain Adair, arrives from England—Adair comes on board the Empress—Gerald’s anxiety—An astounding request—Captain Adair communicates some interesting information to Desmond—The fleet assembles, and the army lands on the shores of China.

The fleet lay in readiness to proceed to Pe-chili, where it was expected that they would find work to do, as the Taku Forts had to be captured before the troops, now assembling in strong force, could march on Pekin. In the mean time Captain Rogers took the midshipmen on shore to obtain an outfit for them, which they much required. With this object they repaired to the shop of Tung-Cheong, the Buckmaster, of Victoria.

Mr Tung-Cheong came forward with a smiling countenance, guessing, as he surveyed the tattered uniforms of the three midshipmen, what they required.

“Me thinkee greatest tailor in the world. Thinkee nothing to make coat’ees for three gentlemans,” he observed, as he pointed to the uniforms of every possible description hanging up in the shop. He at once produced a midshipman’s uniform, which he kept as a specimen to show of what he was capable, and having taken their measures, he promised that all three should be ready the following evening, together with every other article they might please to order. They, of course, wanted shirts, socks, caps, and shoes, swords and belts, all of which, to their surprise, he had in stock—indeed, he showed, like most of his countrymen, that he had a keen eye for business, and would undertake to fit out a ship’s company, from an admiral down to a powder-monkey.

Leaving the town, they climbed to the top of Victoria Peak, from whence they could look down on the harbour, which had the appearance of a picturesque lake, dotted over with vessels of every rig, while they obtained a good view of the town itself which extended along the shore for nearly four miles. Below on one side was the Kowloon Peninsula, now covered with military tents, while on the south side were seen numberless islands, with the wide expanse of the China Sea beyond.

“Now let us pay a visit to the Happy Valley,” said Tom, as they descended the heights.

“It must be a pleasant place to live in. I should like to take up my abode there,” observed Billy.

“Wait until you reach it before you form an opinion; it has a good many inhabitants already,” observed Tom, who had heard all about the Wang-ne-chung from Charley Roy.

Billy changed his opinion when they got to the place, which is the burial ground of Hong-kong. On entering the Protestant cemetery, they saw a column erected to the memory of the officers and men of the 59th Regiment, which regiment, in the course of nine years, lost 644 persons, including a number of women and upwards of 100 children; the greater number cut down not by the weapons of the enemy, but by the pestiferous climate.

On their way to the town they met a soldier, holding a Chinaman by his pigtail, which he had twisted two or three times round his hand. On asking the Englishman what he was about to do with his prisoner, his reply was—

“Why, sir, this here chap is a coolie recruit; he has received his pay in advance, and was bolting, when I clapped eyes on him, and am taking him back to the barracks.”

The coolie corps had just been raised to act as carriers to the regiments going to Pekin. Not being over troubled with honesty, the men took every opportunity of escaping as soon as they had received an advance, intending in many instances again to enlist.

On returning to the ship, Charley Roy told them of an incident, which had occurred just before. A number of coolies had been embarked on board a troop-ship, when one of them, who had purchased a quantity of pepper, started up and threw it into the eyes of the sentry placed over him, then dashing past the guard, leaped overboard, swam to a boat which was in waiting, and succeeded in making his escape.

While the midshipmen were at Hong-kong the great Chinese festival was going on; and as they had leave to go on shore, they had an opportunity of witnessing the proceedings.

One day they met a procession, consisting of some 3000 or 4000 people, many of them merchants and tradesmen, dressed in their gaudiest attire, extending upwards of a mile in length. There were bands of music and groups of figures, either carried on men’s shoulders or wheeled along on platforms, representing various somewhat incomprehensible characters, but the chief attractions were three enormous dragons, each a hundred feet in length, which required thirty men to carry them.

In the evening an entertainment was given, open to all, without charge. It was in an enormous building erected for the purpose, composed of bamboo frame-work covered with matting. The interior was elegantly fitted up, and lighted by large numbers of glass chandeliers; the sides were richly decorated, and here were soon altars overhung with gorgeous drapery, and conservatories full of flowering plants, while concerts of vocal and instrumental music were going on in several parts of the building. There were also rooms where light refreshments, such as tea, coffee, and fruit, could be obtained without charge. Those who required more substantial fare could procure it at booths outside the large building, on very moderate payment. The midshipmen enjoyed themselves, and voted the Chinese very amusing, hospitable fellows.

At length the ships of war were ordered to the northward. The Empress was to call at Shanghai, at the southern entrance of the great river Yang-tse-kiang. Shanghai consists of a large English settlement and a Chinese city of considerable size. Soon after the Empress had come to anchor, a shore boat, pulled by Chinese, was seen approaching.

“She has English officers on board. Who can they be?” exclaimed Gerald, who was on the look-out at the gangway, to Tom. “I do believe! Can it be possible? Yes, I am nearly certain! There’s Archie Gordon, Mr Joy, and there is Commander Rawson himself. Then the old Dragon must have escaped after all.”

Tom sprang to the gangway, and waved his cap. This salute was replied to by those in the boat, which in another minute was alongside, and Commander Rawson, with the lieutenant and Archie, came on deck.

“We had given you up for lost,” said Tom, as he shook hands with his brother midshipman.

“And we, to say the truth, had very little expectation of seeing you again,” answered Archie. “How did you escape?”

“How did you find your way here?” asked Tom, without answering the question.

Before Archie could reply, Captain Rogers came on deck and welcomed the party. After exchanging a few words, the commander and lieutenant accompanied him into the cabin, while Archie was led off by his old shipmates into their berth. Before, however, he would give them an account of his adventures, he insisted on hearing about theirs, which of course occupied some time.

“And now,” said Tom, “we want to hear your yarn. Was the Dragon lost? was it her we saw on the rocks, or was that some other unfortunate vessel?”

“She was the Dragon, there can be no doubt,” answered Archie. “You remember the day at the Bonins when the hurricane suddenly sprang up. We had just got on board and were looking out for you, when the commander, considering that we should to a certainty be driven on shore if we remained where we were, ordered the steam to be got up, intending to run round and take you on board. We had not got far, however, when one of our boilers burst, killing half a dozen men and committing other damage. We had now to depend upon our canvas, while the hurricane was every instant increasing in strength. The ship, however, behaved very well. We ran on before the gale for four and twenty hours, when a lull coming on, the commander, wishing to get back to the Bonins, hauled the ship up. We had not, however, stood on long under close-reefed topsails, when a furious blast suddenly struck her, and in one fell swoop carried away all our masts. We managed, however, to get before the wind again by hoisting a sail on the stump of our foremast, and ran on, hoping to get under the lee of some island by the time the gale was over, where we might rig jury masts.

“Night came on; the hurricane was over. We were anxiously looking for daylight. Our belief was that we were a considerable distance from any island, when suddenly a loud crash was heard, and we had too sure evidence that the ship was on shore. Happily the sea had gone down, and although she struck heavily several times, we had hopes that she would hold together until we had made our escape. The commander, who was as cool as a cucumber, told us that although he could not get the ship off, seeing that already she had two or three holes in her bottom, our lives might all be preserved if we maintained discipline and exerted ourselves. When daylight came we found ourselves in sight of a small island, but it looked barren and inhospitable, with intervening reefs, over which the sea was breaking, so that we could have but little hope of reaching it. Outside, however, it was much calmer, but as the boats could not carry us all, the commander determined to build two or more rafts or catamarans which might convey all who could not go in the boats, and carry provisions and water.

“We hoped to reach the Loo-choo Islands, should we miss Grampus Island, half-way to them. The weather coming on perfectly fine, we were able to get three rafts rigged and the boats prepared for sea. The boats were to take the rafts in tow and keep within hailing distance, steering as the commander might direct. With a light wind from the eastward we shoved off from the wreck, without leaving a man behind. We made but slow progress, as the wind was light and the rafts towed somewhat heavily, still, we were all in good spirits, except that we regretted the loss of the ship and could not help thinking what had become of you fellows. We ran on for three days and then began to look out for Grampus Island, when the weather became threatening. As the barometer fell, so did our spirits. Had we all been in the boats, we might by this time have reached the shore, but of course they would not desert the rafts. The second lieutenant had charge of one raft, Josling another, and I volunteered to command the third. Even should a gale spring up, we did not altogether despair of navigating our rafts, so that we might run before it and lash ourselves down to escape being washed off.

“The wind blew stronger and stronger; the sea got up, and as night approached, matters were looking very disagreeable. The commander came round and spoke to those on the rafts, telling us what to do, and promising that the boats should remain by us should the worst come to the worst. The night was dark and squally. The catamarans rode over the sea better than was expected, although at times we scarcely expected to see another sunrise. When day at length broke, we were still in sight of each other, but there was no abatement in the gale, nor could land anywhere be discerned.

“Though we had weathered one night, from the experience we had had we earnestly hoped that we might not be exposed to a still severer gale, and yet there seemed every likelihood of the wind increasing. For my part, I began to think it was a pity those in the boats should expose themselves to greater danger by remaining by us, and was considering that we ought to urge the commander to leave us to make the best of our way, when a sail appeared in sight to the southward. As she stood towards us we made her out to be an American whaler. On coming up to us she hove to, when our commander went on board. We were, it may be supposed, not a little anxious to know what arrangements he would make with the master of the whaler. He was not long in settling matters. In a short time he made a signal for the other boats to come alongside, which they quickly did. The stores and the people not required for pulling were at once taken on board. The boats then came off to the rafts, when we all got into them and towed the rafts up to the ship. The stores were at once hoisted up, when the rafts were cast adrift, while our larger boats were allowed to tow astern, as they could not be taken on board. The American captain, who was bound to the coast of Japan in search of whales, agreed to land us at Yokohama.

“The voyage, however, was much longer than we expected. We were first of all caught in a heavy gale which came on that night, and were compelled to heave to, when we lost the boats towing astern. A day or two after this several whales were seen, which the captain was naturally anxious to catch. As he had plenty of hands on board, he put off with all his boats, and no less than three fish were killed. Then we had to cut them up and stow them away, which occupied the best part of a week. Scarcely was the operation concluded when two more whales were seen and taken, the American captain acknowledging that it was owing much to our assistance that he was able to secure such prizes.

“After this we had calms and light or contrary winds, so that our voyage was a protracted one. We had brought provisions and water, though they were nearly exhausted. What with so many men being on board, and the dirty condition of the whaler, it was a wonder that sickness did not break out among us so the doctor said, and so it would have done had not the people lived as much as possible on deck.

“The American captain fulfilled his promise, and landed us at Yokohama. We were detained there a considerable time before we could get across to this place. As soon as we arrived we sent word to Hong-kong of our safety, but I suppose the news had not reached that place before you sailed.”

“Well, I am very glad, old fellow, that you and the rest have escaped,” said Tom, “and I hope that we three shall be as fortunate as were my brother Jack and his two friends, when they were midshipmen.”

The three newly re-united friends at once got leave to go on shore together with a few other midshipmen.

They first walked through the European settlement, which is handsomely laid out in streets running at right angles to each other. Many of the houses were well built, and stood in compounds like those in India. Strong wooden barriers had been put up at the beads of all the main streets, with loopholes in them, so that the place could be defended should the rebels succeed in capturing the native town beyond. This town is a short distance to the south of the European settlement. It was surrounded by a brick wall of about twenty-five feet in height, with an earthen embankment inside, forming a rampart six to ten feet wide. The parapet was two feet thick and seven high, containing embrasures for large gingalls three or four feet only apart. Between each gingall was a small hole in the parapet which held an earthen vessel filled with slaked lime, ready to be flung in the faces of an enemy attempting to escalade the walls. A considerable number of Chinese troops were stationed on the ramparts, with gay-coloured flags of various devices flying above their heads. It seemed curious that while the English were at war with the emperor, they should be in alliance with some part of his troops engaged in defending one of his towns against his rebel subjects.

“This is mighty dull work,” exclaimed Gerald, after they had been wandering about the native town some time. “I vote that we get horses and take a gallop into the country. We shall have the fun of a ride, at all events, and perhaps see something curious.”

“But suppose we fall in with the Tae-pings—that would not be pleasant; they would cut off our heads before we could explain who we were,” observed Archie, who always took the cautious side.

“They look upon the English as friends, I believe,” remarked Charley Roy. “They might, to be sure, take us prisoners and hold us as hostages; however, we must take care not to get near them, and by the last reports they were at Pow-shun, twenty miles off at least.”

Notwithstanding the risk they might run, the votes were decidedly in favour of a ride if horses could be procured. The midshipmen for some time made inquiries where horses were to be let, in vain. At length they got a Chinaman to stop and try to understand what they wanted.

Gerald, jumping on Billy’s back, sticking his heels into his sides and beating behind, the Chinaman signified that he comprehended their meaning, and led the way along several streets until they reached some stables containing a dozen Tartar ponies, sorry-looking half-starved animals. An old man with a long pig-tail, dressed in a blue serge shirt hanging over trousers of the same material, made his appearance, and again they had recourse to signs to ascertain whether he would let the horses, and how much they were to pay. To do this Tom produced some money, which he counted out into the hands of the old man, who immediately pocketed it, then saddled and bridled one of the ponies, thus giving the midshipmen to understand that he must be paid beforehand. As they had no objection to do this, the rest followed Tom’s example.

“Take care no go near Tae-pings,” said the old man, showing that he was accustomed to have dealings with the English, although his stock of words in that language was limited. The party, having been supplied with sticks instead of whips, set off in the direction of the west gate, which was wide open. As no enemy was near and it was supposed that the English officers were merely about to make a short circuit in the neighbourhood, they were allowed to pass unquestioned. As soon as they were clear of the walls, they put their horses into a gallop and dashed along at full speed, as if they were riding a race, laughing and shouting, to the great astonishment of the peasantry, who came out of their cottages to look at them. They had not gone far when they came upon a small pagoda-shaped edifice, about twenty feet in height. Seeing a man entering it carrying a small oblong bundle, wrapped round with bamboo straw, they followed him. Tom and Gerald, getting off their horses, entered the building. Round it were shelves, on which a number of similar bundles were seen; a pair of small feet sticking out of one of the bundles revealed to them the contents, and upon further inquiries from the man they ascertained that it was the “baby tower,” in which the remains of infants whose parents were too poor to afford an ordinary funeral were deposited, and that when it was full it was cleared out by the municipal authorities.

“What wonderfully methodical people these Chinese are,” said Archie; “but they certainly have curious ways of doing things.”

The road over which they passed was well made and the country highly cultivated, with corn and paddy fields and gardens full of vegetables and fruit trees; ditches full of water to irrigate the ground ran in all directions, and over them were picturesque bridges, the larger ones of stone, and the others of wood or bamboo. People were at work in the fields, or employed in turning water-wheels, to raise the water to higher lands. The cottages were low, full of windows, deep caves, and so lightly built that it seemed as if a moderate gale would blow them away. The midshipmen had gone a considerable distance, much further, indeed, than they intended, but everything looked so peaceable that they could not fancy there was any risk, as they concluded that the rebels must be a long way off.

At last, getting hungry and thirsty, they looked about in the hopes of discovering a tea-house where they might obtain refreshments. Meeting a few peasants, as they seemed, by the road-side, they inquired by the usual language of signs where they could get something to eat. The men pointed to the west, and signified that they would soon come to a village where they could obtain what they wanted.

“Probably it is not much further; let us ride on,” said Charley Roy.

They galloped forward, and were not mistaken, a good-sized village appeared in sight, and one of the first houses in it was of the description they were in search of. The host chin-chinned as they approached, and welcomed them to his establishment. Having fastened up their horses in a stable close at hand, where food and water were given them, they entered a tea house, and cakes, biscuits, and sweetmeats, with tea in wonderfully small cups, were at once placed before them.

“I say, I wonder whether the old fellow hasn’t got something more substantial than this?” exclaimed Billy. “Some beef steaks and mutton chops, with a supply of vegetables, would be more to the purpose.”

All the signs they made, however, produced nothing but a further supply of the same fare, which they despatched with a rapidity calculated to astonish their host, who was seen looking round at each of them and apparently calculating how much he should charge.

After their repast, they strolled out into the garden behind the house, containing arbours, miniature ponds filled with fish, canals crossed by bamboo bridges, and beds of tulips with other gay flowers. As there were no other visitors, they made themselves at home, lighted their cigars and took possession of the arbours, while Billy amused himself by trying to catch the fish with his hands as they swam up to gaze at the strange creature looking down upon them.

“This is really very jolly,” said Desmond. “We will patronise our friend again if we come this way, although I wish I could make him understand that we want something better than cakes and tea.”

They had been resting for some time, two or three of the party dropping off to sleep, when the sound of distant shouts and cries reached their ears. The noises grew louder and louder. Presently their host appeared at the door, gesticulating wildly, and pointing to the way they had come. Some straggling shots were heard.

“The place must be taken by the rebels, and as it is not our business to fight them, the best thing we can do is to make ourselves scarce,” exclaimed Archie Gordon.

“We shall all be knocked on the head if we don’t,” cried Charley Roy, starting up. “Come, lads, the sooner we are on horseback the better.”

Tom, shouting to his companions, led the way towards the house. The host had vanished, but they again caught sight of him hurrying off with a bundle under one arm, a box under the other, and a basket at his back. The doors were open, so they quickly rushed through the house towards the stables. The grooms had fled, fortunately not carrying off the steeds, which were munching away at their hay. To slip on the bridles and tighten up the girths did not take long.

“Now, boys,” cried Tom, “discretion in this case is the best part of valour.”

“We shall get preciously wigged by the first lieutenant if we lose our heads, for coming where we have no business to be,” cried Gerald.

As they led out their horses, they saw people hurrying off in all directions across the fields, some scampering along the road they were about to follow. Behind them, at the further end of the village, came a confused multitude, but whether fugitives or pursuers they could not make out. One thing was certain, that if they delayed they would get into serious trouble, if not lose their lives.

“Mount, mount, and let us be off!” cried Tom. “Here, Billy, I will lend you a hand,” and he lifted up his messmate, whose steed was somewhat restive, into his saddle; he then leaped on his own. Only a minute was lost before the midshipmen were all mounted, but that minute was of consequence.

The cries in their rear grew louder; several shots came whizzing past their ears.

“On! on!” shouted Tom. “I will bring up the rear,” and, giving a whack to Billy’s pony, he drew up for an instant to let the others pass him. They then altogether galloped on as fast as their steeds could move their nimble legs. Half-starved as the animals looked, they went at a good pace. Should their pursuers be on foot, they would very soon be beyond all danger of being shot. Tom occasionally turned to glance over his shoulder. Still the people behind, whoever they were, came rushing on, though as they were distanced they seemed to be more and more confused, until only a dark-coloured mass could be distinguished.

“We shall soon be beyond their reach,” shouted Tom; “it won’t do to pull up until we have distanced them thoroughly.” Soon afterwards, as he looked again, he saw the dark mass divided, when he could distinguish sword blades flashing in the sun as they waved here and there.

“There are cavalry of some sort after us,” he cried out. As far as he could judge at that distance, the horsemen were engaged in cutting down the native peasantry, whom they had overtaken unprepared for resistance.

“If we can make our horses go faster, we must do so,” cried Tom. “Those fellows astern mean mischief, and we must keep well ahead, or they will be trying the sharpness of the sabres on our necks.”

The party did not require this exhortation to do their best to make their steeds move forward faster, urging them on with rein and reiterated whacks on the back with their sticks. The hoofs of the animals clattered over the hard ground, sending up clouds of dust. The day was further advanced than they had supposed, but darkness would favour them should they find a road by which they might turn off and gain the city by another entrance.

“How far have we got to go?” inquired Desmond, shouting to Tom.

“That is more than I can tell; I know we came a good long way,” answered Tom; “but our horses will carry us if we stick on their backs. Keep a good hand on your reins. Whatever you do, don’t let them tumble down.”

Though Tom encouraged his companions, he did not feel very sure that they would escape. He could distinguish flags and spears, as well as the sword blades. The horsemen behind them were becoming every instant more distinct. Much depended on the strength of their pursuers’ horses. If these had already come a good way that morning they might be tired and soon knock up, but if they were fresh they might ere long overtake the midshipmen.

“If they overtake us, we must stand and make a fight for it,” cried Tom.

“No doubt about that,” answered Desmond. “It will never do to be cut down like sheep, running away.”

“But as long as we can run we will,” cried Tom. “If they do come up with us, my idea is that we should leap our horses over the ditch or fence, as may be most suitable, on our left, then wheel round and charge them if they attempt to follow us.”

Roy and the rest agreed to Tom’s proposal. “I don’t think the cavalry have carbines, so that they cannot shoot us down at a distance, and our pistol bullets will reach farther than their lance points.”

Tom had taken command of the party by tacit consent, and no one was disposed to dispute his authority. There was no time, however, for saying much. As they went along Tom had the satisfaction of observing that the enemy did not appear to be much, if at all, gaining upon them. This raised his hopes. They had already made good several miles, when Charley Roy proposed a halt, to breathe their horses and ascertain whether they were still pursued. Scarcely, however, had they stopped, than the clattering of their pursuers’ horses’ hoofs sounded in their ears, mingled with the shouts of the riders.

“We must push on, whether our nags like it or not,” cried Tom; “if we can once distance them, the enemy are very likely to give up the chase, as they know they will run a risk of being cut off should they get too near the town.”

Again the party galloped forward. Even their short halt enabled the Tae-pings to gain on them, and the rebels’ voices sounded considerably louder.

“All right! they have no bow chasers, or we should have had them firing after us,” cried Tom, laughing; “they will have had their ride for nothing, I hope, after all.”

Two or three miles more were got over. The midshipmen began to look out for the lanterns on the city walls, which, by this time, they expected to see. Near, however, as they might be to a place of refuge, as their foes still continued the pursuit, they were not out of danger. Their steeds, too, were giving evident signs of being knocked up, and they had to keep their sticks going to make the poor animals move forward. Presently, down came Billy’s horse, sending its rider clear over its head, Billy narrowly escaping a kick from the heels of the animal directly before him. Tom, without stopping to see what had become of Billy, pulled up, and fortunately succeeded in catching the animal’s reins.

“Where are you, Billy?” he shouted out; “not hurt, I hope?”

“Not much, only on my knee,” answered Billy, as he hobbled up and climbed again into his saddle.

The rest of the party, not seeing what had occurred, galloped on. Billy’s horse, like his rider, had cut both its knees, and seemed very unwilling to continue the headlong race they had been so long running.

“You must make him get along,” said Tom, applying his own stick to the animal’s back. “I don’t want my head cut off, and I don’t want to leave you behind.”

Short as had been the delay, it was of serious consequence, for when Tom looked round he could distinctly see the enemy coming after them. Billy, not being a good rider, cried out that he should be off again, as he had got one of his feet out of the stirrup.

“Never mind; hold on by your hands, and I’ll lead your horse,” cried Tom, seizing the rein. He had no wish to delay the rest of the party, so he did not shout out to them to stop, but he determined to push forward as long as the horses could keep on their legs. Billy in a short time succeeded in getting his foot into the stirrup.

“Now,” said Tom, “if we have to leap, don’t be pulling at the rein, but let your horse have his head, and you stick on like wax.”

In the mean time the rest of the party pushed forward, Gerald was surprised that Tom did not answer a question; he shouted to him, still fancying that he was close behind.

“There’s a light ahead,” he cried out; “it must be on the walls, or else a house in the suburbs.”

“If it was on the walls, it would appear higher,” answered Archie, “What do you think, Tom?” he asked.

No reply came from Tom, and on looking round Roy discovered that both Tom and Billy were nowhere to be seen.

“We must wait for them,” cried Archie; “we cannot leave them behind.”

Before, however, he or his companions could pull up, a loud challenge was heard, and several shots came whizzing past them.

“If we stop or attempt to gallop back to look for them, we shall have another volley,” said Roy. “I will ride forward slowly. That must be a piquet of the Indian regiment stationed outside the town. They mistake us for the enemy, and they may aim better the next time they fire.” Without waiting for his companions’ reply, Roy rode forward, shouting, “Friends, friends! English, English!” At length he came in sight of a party of men drawn across the road, and the English officer, advancing, inquired who he was. He explained that they were pursued by a body of cavalry, whom they supposed to be Tae-pings, and that he very much feared two of their companions had fallen into their hands.

The officer on this ordered his men to advance, but to be careful not to fire until he gave the word. Roy, riding forward, quickly overtook Archie and Gerald. On either side was a bank covered with shrubs, which would afford concealment in the dusk to the whole of the party. On seeing this, the officer told Roy to go a little distance further on and then to halt, and immediately he should hear the rebels advancing, to gallop back towards the town.

“You may, I hope, meet your friends, but if not, and they should have fallen into the hands of the rebels, we shall have a good chance of rescuing them.”

“I understand, and will carry out your direction,” said Roy, and the three midshipmen rode slowly back, hoping every instant to fall in with Tom and Billy. Their disappointment was bitter when they were nowhere to be seen. They had not, however, gone far, when they saw the Tae-ping horsemen moving rapidly towards them, but neither Tom nor his companions were visible. On this they immediately turned their horses’ heads and galloped back, as they had been told to do, in the direction of the town, feeling dreadfully anxious as to the fate of their friends. They had got some little distance beyond the ambush when a rapid succession of shots told them that the Indian soldiers had opened their fire on the enemy. They at once pulled up, feeling sure that the Tae-pings would not venture to advance further. In this they were right, for as they returned they saw them in rapid flight, the soldiers still firing after them.

“You have saved our lives, I believe, sir,” said Roy, addressing the officer, who had advanced to meet him. “What can have become of our companions?”

“I am afraid that the Tae-pings must have overtaken them, and too probably, immediately have cut them down, for they certainly were not with the party we got under our fire. My men tell me that they saw no English uniforms.”

“If they were killed, they must be lying on the road,” said Desmond, his heart sinking within him as he spoke. “We must go and look for them.”

To this the officer made no objection, and sent forward five men with a sergeant. They proceeded even beyond where Tom and Billy had last been seen. Although they came on the dead bodies of several Tae-pings, who had been shot by the soldiers, they could discover no trace of their friends.

“Then they must have been carried off prisoners,” observed Desmond. “However, that is better than had they been killed, as we may possibly recover them.”

Any further search was useless; indeed, the officer was anxious to send back to the town to give notice that the Tae-pings were in the neighbourhood, and that a cavalry force had advanced so far without infantry to support them. The whole party accordingly returned to the house where the outpost was stationed. Gerald and Archie were so much cut up at the thought of Tom’s loss—though, if the truth was known, they did not care so much about poor Billy,—that they felt scarcely able to ride back, and were glad to accept the lieutenant’s offer of refreshment before they returned to the city.

“They’ll be after cutting off the poor fellows’ heads,” cried Gerald. “How did we come to miss them? I would not have gone on if I hadn’t thought they were close at our heels.”

“Nor would I,” said Archie; “it’s some blundering of that fellow Billy Blueblazes. He must have tumbled off his horse, and Tom wouldn’t leave him.”

The lieutenant could give them very little consolation. The Tae-pings, from the reports received, committed the most horrible cruelties in the places they had taken, and when they captured Pow-shun they put to death indiscriminately men, women, and children; the defeated Imperialist troops having joined them and assisted in plundering the place.

“Our horses must be rested; it is time for us to be going back,” said Roy at last.

Thanking the lieutenant, they again mounted. Just as they got outside the house they heard the sound of homes’ hoofs.

“Don’t fire!” cried the officer to his men. “These must be friends.”

In another moment two horsemen were seen coming along the road, and Gerald, dashing forward, shouted out, “Hurrah! Why, it’s Tom Rogers and Billy Blueblazes!”

Gerald was not mistaken, although their friends could scarcely be distinguished from the masses of mud which covered them and their steeds. Tom and Billy having received the congratulations of the party, and being introduced to the lieutenant, explained that finding the Tae-pings gaining upon them, they had leaped over a ditch bordered by trees, which concealed them from the view of their pursuers, and that they had then galloped along over the soft ground, having to scramble through a number of ditches, which were too wide to leap, until they, once more catching sight of the lights in the village, made their way back to the road.

As Tom and Billy were wet through, they declined to do more than stop and take a cup of hot tea, and the whole party then galloped on, as fast as their tired steeds could go, to the town, and managed to find their way back to the stable from which they had hired the horses.

The old man examined them with his lantern, exhibiting a rueful countenance, and shaking his head, muttering as he did so, “No good, no good!”

Tom tried to explain that if they had not ridden hard, he would never again have seen his horses; but probably the midshipman’s explanations were not understood, as the owner of the animals still kept muttering, “No good, no good!”

“Well, as it was partly our fault for delaying so long, I propose that we pay the old fellow something more,” said Tom.

All agreed, and: Mr Kay Chung’s countenance brightened greatly when they handed him some more coin. On their way back they met several of the English inhabitants, to whom they reported that a force of Tae-pings was in the neighbourhood. Their news created no small amount of stir in the place. Information had already been received at head-quarters from the outposts, and immediately active preparations were made for the defence of the town, lest the enemy should advance during the night. Pretty well tired out, the midshipmen at last got back to the hotel where they settled to remain for the night, as it was too late by that time to return on board. Tom and Billy were not sorry to turn in, while a Chinese waiter undertook to get their jackets and trousers cleaned and polished up by the next morning.

Tom had been sleeping for several hours, when Gerald, followed by Roy, who had a different room, rushed in, exclaiming, “Rouse up, old fellows; something serious is going on. There’s been tremendously heavy firing for the last ten minutes in the direction of the Chinese town, and there can be no doubt but that the Tae-pings are attacking the place. We are starting off to see the fun.”

“Fun, do you call it!” said Archie, who had been awakened by Gerald’s first exclamation. “It will be no fun if the rebels take Shanghai, and there is but a small garrison for its defence. As likely as not the Chinese will run away, or more probably fraternise with the Tae-pings.”

“The marines and that Indian regiment are sufficient to drive back the enemy, and we shall have our own blue-jackets on shore, depend upon it, when Captain Rogers hears what is going forward,” said Roy.

“Come, Tom, are you going with us? I suppose nothing will induce Billy to turn out, if he can help it.”

“But my clothes, my clothes! that Chinese waiter Fau-ti has got them. I have nothing to put on.”

“I will unearth him, and make him bring them to you,” said Desmond; “and Billy’s also, for he won’t like to be left behind.”

While Desmond went off to find the waiter, Billy, who was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, asked what the row was about. On being told, he answered—

“Let them fight it out by themselves; I don’t see why we should interfere,” and lying down, he was about again to compose himself to sleep, when Roy and Archie, seizing the clothes, effectually roused him up. The firing was now heard closer than before, apparently extending over a considerable space. Billy, as much as he was disinclined to leave his bed, did not like to be left behind, and forgetting that his clothes had been taken away, began hunting for them.

“If you cannot find them, you must come as you are. Wrap yourself up in a sheet; you will help to scare the enemy, at all events,” said Roy.

Desmond at last returned, followed by the waiter bringing the midshipmen’s uniforms. Although they were not long dressing, some time had been spent, but it was not yet daylight. There was a general commotion going forward in the house, the other inmates calling to each other, and inquiring what was happening.

When the midshipmen got to the door of the house they found a large party collected, most of them with arms in hand and full of fight. For what they could tell to the contrary, however, the Tae-pings might already have scaled the walls. Just as they were setting off, the tramp of a large body of men was heard approaching. The midshipmen recognised Captain Rogers with the blue-jackets and marines of his ship, and several officers. Tom at once joined his brother, and confessed what they had been about, and how narrowly they had escaped being caught by the rebels.

“You were the means, however, of putting the garrison on the alert, for the messenger who came off with a request for me to land my men informed me that a party of midshipmen had brought in the intelligence of the approach of the enemy.”

Tom was well pleased to hear this, as he hoped that he and his companions would escape the reprimand they expected to receive for having gone so far from the city. The sound of heavy guns was now heard, and a shot occasionally pitched into the ground at no great distance in front of them, showing that the enemy could not be far off outside the walls.

“They have not yet got inside, and we shall be in time to help drive them off before they succeed,” said Jack.

A Chinese officer had been sent to guide the seamen to a part of the walls where the defenders most required support. Just as they arrived the guns pointed in that direction had ceased firing, and large bodies of men were seen through the gloom approaching with scaling ladders.

“We shall soon tumble those fellows over if they make the attempt to escalade the walls,” said Tom.

The rebels, however, showed no want of pluck. In another instant the ladders were placed against the walls, and numbers of pig-tailed fellows, with broad hats, holding their shields above their heads, began to climb up, in spite of the hot fire which the marines and blue jackets poured down upon them. They had evidently not expected to meet with such a reception, supposing that the place was defended only by their own countrymen armed with matchlocks and spears. Along the whole line of the wall, at different points, the same scene was being enacted. Thousands of men were crowding forward, expecting by their numbers to overcome the limited garrison, but in every place they were met by the most determined courage, the civilians vying with the soldiers in repelling the foe.

Captain Rogers had ordered another party of seamen to join him under the second lieutenant as soon as the boats could bring them on shore, and finding the determined way in which the rebels were attacking the part of the walls he had been directed to defend, he sent back Tom and Desmond to hurry them forward. The midshipmen met the party about half-way, and Tom delivered the message. Under the belief that he knew the road, he led them through several narrow streets, when suddenly he discovered that he had made a mistake, but whether he ought to have kept more to the left or right, he could not tell.

Sharp firing, however, being heard to the right, he concluded that was the direction he ought to have taken. The party moved forward again at the double. The walls soon rose up before them, and the shot, which came down like hail, showed that the enemy were firing away as hard as ever. Just then, at the end of a short street they caught sight of a large body of men moving away from them.

“I wonder where those fellows can have come from?” remarked the lieutenant.

“They are making for the gate we rode out of yesterday,” observed Tom.

“Probably the enemy are attacking it; we will go and assist, though they appear to be Chinese, and are not likely to make much of a stand,” observed the lieutenant.

The seamen dashed forward, when just as they reached the gate, which was in front of them, it was thrown open, and the party they had seen, turning round, rushed back the way they had come, followed by many others who were streaming through the gate.

“There is some treachery at work here,” exclaimed the lieutenant, and ordering his men to halt and fire, they poured a volley upon the advancing mass.

Before the rebels could recover from the confusion into which the unexpected shower of bullets had thrown them, the blue jackets were in their midst, cutting them down, knocking them over, or making them turn and try to escape through the gate. This put a stop to the further progress of those still outside, and the seamen, led by their gallant officer, fought their way up to the gate. Here a desperate struggle ensued. A big Tae-ping was on the point of cutting down Tom, when, a cutlass intervening, brought the Tae-ping with a blow on the head to the ground, and Tom saw his old shipmate, Jerry Bird, whom he had not before recognised, slashing away right and left by his side. The rebels at length having been forced out, the lieutenant ordered the gates to be shut. This was no easy matter, with the space on either side covered with the dead and wounded, but the seamen, hauling the bodies out of the way, at last succeeded.

One party remained to guard the gate, the other made prisoners of many as they could catch of those who had treacherously opened it. Tom, with Jerry Bird and three other men, was now sent to inform Captain Rogers of what had occurred, that he might despatch people to the other gates to prevent the same trick being played.

“You rendered me good service just now,” said Tom to Jerry Bird, “in saving my head from the sword of that big Tae-ping. He would have cut me down to a certainty. I shall never forget it.”

“Lor’ bless you, sir, I’m as well pleased as you are; I wouldn’t have had you killed, no, not to be made port admiral, and I hope, if ever there comes another occasion, I may do the same.”

“Still, you have saved my life, and I should be grateful whether it was a pleasure to you or not,” said Tom.

There was not much time for conversation, however. As they hurried on, they had to keep a look-out, lest they might be attacked by any of the traitors within the walls, who would have liked to have revenged themselves on those who had defeated their treacherous object. Several suspicious-looking characters approached, but dreading the cutlasses of the British seamen, they retired to a respectful distance. Tom and his party quickly made their way to the part of the walls where Captain Rogers and his men were stationed, and Tom delivered his message. On receiving it, Jack immediately despatched some of the midshipmen with the information to the officers commanding in the neighbourhood of the other gates, that they might be on their guard against any intended treachery.

The rebels, supposing that their friends had got inside the city, continued to make feints in all directions, to keep the garrison employed, fully believing that the place would in a short time be theirs. Along the whole line, as far as the eye could reach on either side appeared a rapid series of flames of fire, both from the summits of the walls and from below, as the defenders and their assailants exchanged fire.

The assault continued until daylight breaking exposed the rebels more clearly to view, and they, probably believing that they had no prospect of success, ceased firing along their whole line, and began rapidly to retreat. The officer in command, on seeing this, sent a considerable body of men out of the west gate, and pursued them for some distance, giving them a lesson it was not likely they would wish to have repeated. The Chinese soldiers cut off the heads of those they took. The English sailors contented themselves with depriving the fugitives of their pig-tails, generally giving them a probe in the back before they applied the final stroke. The whole ground for some distance was strewn with the dead, while under the walls they lay still more thickly, proving the desperation with which they fought, and the hot fire poured down upon them. Captain Rogers with his men remained on shore until it was ascertained that the rebels had retreated to Pow-shun, twenty miles off, and there appeared no probability of their returning. Information was received, however, that they were plundering the provinces in every direction, murdering the inhabitants, and committing every possible species of cruelty. An English regiment also arrived from Hong-kong to reinforce the garrison, when there was no longer the slightest fear that the rebels would succeed in taking the place.

Captain Rogers and his men had just returned on board the Empress, when a man-of-war was seen standing in for the anchorage. She made the signal Orion.

“Why, that’s the ship to which your uncle Adair is said to be appointed,” observed Archie to Gerald.

“I hope he has got her. I shall be very glad to see him, for a better fellow does not exist, and I shall then know all about the mysterious matter for which I was to go home,” said Gerald.

The Orion brought up a short distance from the Empress. In less than half an hour a boat put off from her.

“There’s no doubt about it; that’s my uncle Adair,” said Gerald, who was watching through his glass. “He’s coming on board, so I feel like a young lady who is going to have a proposal made to her. I only hope now he has come out he won’t insist on sending me home.”

In a short time Captain Adair stepped up the side. Having been received with due honour, he was heartily welcomed by Captain Rogers, whom he accompanied, after he had shaken hands with his nephew, into the cabin.

“I’m not much wiser than I was before,” observed Gerald; “but I suppose he will send for me soon.”

Gerald, however, had to endure his suspense some time longer. Tom had faithfully kept the secret with which he was entrusted, so that Gerald had only a faint idea that some piece of good fortune was in store for him.

While the two captains were in conference, a handsome Chinese boat came off, and a mandarin of rank stepped on deck. He “chin-chinned” as the midshipmen drew up on either side of the gangway to do him honour, and the captains, hearing of his arrival, came out to receive him. He of course again “chin-chinned” to them, when, through an interpreter he had brought with him, he stated that “he had come to make a request which he hoped would not be denied.”

Captain Rogers answered “that he should be happy to render any service that was in his power.”

The mandarin replied, “that although he should consider the favour a great one, the trouble to him would not be so.”

“Pray state, my friend, what it is,” said Jack.

“Understand, that my beloved brother died a few days ago of a malignant fever, and that his body is now deposited in the Ning-foo Jos-house, outside the city walls. He belongs to Teit-sin, where his family reside, and as there is a difficulty in sending him by a merchant vessel, I shall feel deeply obliged if you will convey his coffin to that place, where it may be deposited with his august ancestors,” was the answer.

Adair, when he heard what was said, could not refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. Jack tried to compose his countenance as he told the mandarin that it was with much regret he must refuse his request, as the ship would not certainly get so far as Teit-sin, and that it was not usual for men-of-war to carry about dead bodies, except in rare instances; that when people died on board, they were buried at sea, and, especially for sanitary reasons, he could not receive that of a person who had died of a malignant fever.

In vain the mandarin pleaded that his brother was shut up tightly and would not cause the slightest annoyance. Jack was firm, and the mandarin had to return and allow his brother to remain in the Jos-house until navigation was opened. Terence had brought word for the Empress to proceed to the mouth of the Peiho in the Gulf of Pe-chili, as it had been resolved at once to recapture the Taku Forts and to march the army to Pekin, should the emperor not immediately yield to the demands of the British ambassador.

The summer had begun and the weather was remarkably fine. The two ships sailed along in company, getting up steam only when the wind fell light.

Gerald and Billy Blueblazes were transferred to the Orion, the berth of the Bellona being overcrowded. Some of the crew of the unfortunate Dragon were also sent to her, the remainder being kept on board to be distributed among other ships of the squadron, while most of the officers had gone on to Hong-kong with Commander Rawson, to await a passage home. Mr Joy joined the Orion in lieu of her third lieutenant, who was invalided. Gerald, as soon as he had an opportunity, having waited in vain for his uncle to speak on the subject, asked to be informed about the matter for which he had been sent for home.

“The uncertainties connected with it are so very great, that I have been unwilling to disturb your mind on the subject,” answered Adair. “You know that you had a distant relative, Lord Saint Maur, who had a fine estate and numerous heirs to succeed him. One after the other, however, they have died. Immediately on hearing this I put the matter into the hands of a clever Dublin lawyer, who tells me that the direct descendants of the last lord having died, it is necessary to go several generations back, to a former Lord Saint Maur, of whom your grandfather was the lineal descendant, and that all the other lines having become extinct, you are the rightful heir to the title and estate. Other Desmonds, however, have appeared, who have made out a similar claim, and the question is who has the best. They have money, which, unfortunately, you have not; but our Dublin friend is so confident that he has undertaken the matter at his own risk. You, at all events, will lose nothing, and may gain your case; at the same time, I must confess I am not very sanguine on the subject. At first being so, I sent for you home, but after a time I arrived at a different conclusion, and would advise you not to think about the matter, though, if some day or other you succeed, well and good. It will be pleasant to be Viscount Saint Maur and owner of a fine estate, but perhaps you would not be much the happier. If you stick to the navy you will get promoted in due course, and it will be much the same thing to you a hundred years hence.”

Gerald did not quite agree with his uncle in the philosophic view he took of the case; at the same time, he determined not to bother himself about the affair. He was sorry to be parted from Tom and Archie, and to have only Billy Blueblazes instead, the rest of his shipmates being strangers to him.

The Bellona and Orion had a quick run to the rendezvous off the Sha-la-tung shoal, about twenty miles from Pehtang. On their way, near the entrance to the gulf, they came up with the fleet conveying the troops intended to be disembarked near the mouth of the Peiho. It was a magnificent sight, as the clouds of canvas appeared covering the blue ocean, the ships’ bows dashing up the spray, which sparkled in the sunshine as they clove their onward way. Among them were numerous steamers, but the wind being fair they were also under sail. The despatch vessels and gun-boats were moving about, enforcing orders and bringing up the slower craft. The ships as they arrived at their destination took up their position in line, according to the division, brigade, and regiment of the troops on board, all confusion being avoided by the admiral having furnished each captain with a plan showing the place in which he was to anchor. The next day the French fleet arrived, and the whole force moved nearer the shore. The smaller craft only could cross the bar of the Pehtang, at the mouth of which is a town of the same name.

Early on the morning of the first of August the signal was made for the gun-boats and the small steamers attached to the fleet to take as many troops as they could on board, and to tow boats carrying others, when the whole flotilla commenced steaming slowly towards Pehtang. As it would have been dangerous for the gun-boats to attack the forts in their crowded condition, they proceeded to a spot 2000 yards south of it.

The country presented anything but an attractive appearance, as all that could be seen was an extensive mud flat, with a raised causeway, running from Pehtang towards Taku, while deep ditches were cut for the purpose of drainage, and were likely to prove disagreeable places to cross. The boats of the men-of-war were employed also in landing the troops. Tom had command of one of the Empress’s boats, and Gerald one of the Orion’s, so that they had an opportunity of seeing what was going forward. As the boats approached, some Chinese soldiers showed themselves, but perceiving the strength of the force invading their country, wisely beat a retreat.

Among the first to approach the shore was the commander-in-chief. It was impossible to get close to the bank. He surveyed the extent of mud before him; then pulling off his shoes and stockings, and rolling up his trousers, he leaped overboard, his example being followed by his officers and men. Together they splashed and waded for upwards of half a mile through a horrible black mud. The French brigade landed on the left, and in the same manner in the neighbourhood, but finding somewhat harder ground, were the first to reach the causeway. A cavalry picquet now appeared on a drawbridge across the causeway, watching the movements of the allies, but they also, as the troops floundered on, mounted their horses and rode at a dignified pace southward towards Taka. The whole day was occupied in landing troops.

In the evening it was ascertained that the forts of Pehtang were abandoned. It was intended at once to march in and take possession, but private information was obtained from some of the Chinese that the garrison had left numerous infernal machines so placed with long fuses that they would explode among the troops on entering. The Chinaman who had given the information was at once compelled to point out where these horrible engines of destruction were hidden, and they were removed by some men sent forward for that purpose. The army which had now landed, if so it could be called, had to pass the night on the mud flats and causeway, destitute of water and food, without tents, and wet ground alone on which the men could stretch themselves. It was not a pleasant commencement of a campaign. Jack and Desmond agreed that they had reason to be thankful for having their own comfortable ship to sleep in.

The next morning at daybreak the gun-boats entered the river, and the troops advancing from their position occupied the town, the unhappy inhabitants being ejected to make room for them. It was one of the sad necessities of warfare that they were compelled to turn out the poor people. Children in arms, old men and women, who had not for years left their homes, were forced to seek for shelter, which was not to be found; and many of the men destroyed themselves and their families rather than expose them to the perils they would have to meet with. The English took up their quarters in one part of the town, the French in the other. It was said to have contained 20,000 inhabitants, but when it was abandoned by the army scarcely any were to be found. Among those who thus destroyed themselves was the man who had given the important information respecting the infernal machines, he and his whole family having put themselves to death. Although, except as volunteers, the blue-jackets and their officers had but little prospect of fighting, they had work enough to do in landing the troops and stores, they being thus engaged at all hours of the day and night for many days together.

“There is little honour or glory to be gained, that I can see, though we are very useful, I dare say,” observed Desmond to Tom, after they had been in their boats for twelve hours on a stretch. “However, I don’t mind if we can help the soldiers to lick the Celestials, who deserve a sound drubbing, at all events.”

The soldiers were worse off than their sailor brethren. Rain came down, rendering the town almost uninhabitable by the horrible smells which arose, while the mud in many places was several feet deep. Such was the detestable spot in which the army was cooped up for nearly a fortnight.

The allied armies having captured the Taku Forts, the smaller steamers entered the river and greatly aided the army by conveying troops and stores to Teit-sin; but very few naval men saw anything of the subsequent operations, which terminated in the surrender of Pekin and the destruction of the emperor’s summer palace, and the establishment of peace between the British and Chinese.

Chapter Eight.

Bellona and Empress in Victoria Harbour—A complaint of piracy—Mr Jull again—The two ships sail in search of his fleet of junks—Captain Po-ho goes as pilot—Fail in with Orion—Ordered to Japan—Expedition to attack a piratical fleet commanded by Jull—The pirate fleet sighted—Tom and Desmond sent in chase of junks—Tom hoards a junk, and has good reason for getting out of her again—Tom, pursuing the enemy, is captured—Billy pulls after the other boats—The first junk blows up—Vain search for Tom—Return to the Gnat—The fort and junks attacked—The Round Moon recovered—Jerry recognises Jull—The seamen and marines on shore prepare to attack the fort.

The Taku Forts had been captured, the march to Pekin accomplished, the summer palace destroyed, the pride of the emperor humbled, and once more peace was established.

Her Majesty’s ships Bellona and Empress lay in Victoria Harbour, the broad pennant of Commodore Murray, for he had lately been raised to that rank, flying on board the former. He and Captain Rogers were seated in the cabin of his ship after dinner. The officers who had been the commodore’s guests had retired, the midshipmen having previously received a polite hint to go on deck and ascertain which way the wind blew.

“I heartily hope we shall soon be ordered away from this most undelectable coast,” observed Jack.

“So do I, in truth,” answered Murray. “From what I hear, we shall soon be sent to Japan, which seems to be in a very unsettled state with the Mikado, Tycoon, and the Damios at loggerheads. If the latter especially are not put down, they will get the upper hand of their two spiritual and temporal sovereigns, and then set to work to murder each other, and the whole country will be thrown into a state of anarchy.”

“I should be glad of something to do, at all events,” said Jack. “The gun-boats have all the work nowadays, and as we have reduced the Celestials to order there is not much prospect of our big ships being wanted.”

“Had I a reason for proceeding in any definite direction I would sail to-morrow,” observed the commodore; “but there is no object in cruising up and down the coast, expending coals and wearing out the ship.”

“I am sometimes tempted to wish that steam power had never been introduced on board men-of-war when I think of our early days on the Racer in the Mediterranean, and the life we led on the coast of Africa and out here,” said Jack. “After all, youngsters have the best of it.”

“They certainly have few cares and responsibilities, and enjoy sounder sleep than those in command can do when at sea,” observed Murray.

While they were speaking, Archie Gordon, cap in hand, entered the cabin, and addressing the commodore said, “A Chinaman has just come on board, sir, and as far as we can understand, desires to see you to report that his junk has some time ago been attacked and carried off by pirates.”

“I will see him at once; let him come below,” answered the commodore. “Request Mr Chin-ho, the interpreter, to come here.”

“He has gone on shore, sir,” replied the midshipman. In less than a minute Gordon returned, ushering in a stout-built Chinaman, dressed, to English eyes, in a very unnautical costume, but characteristic of that strange people.

“What have you got to say, my friend?” asked Murray, after the visitor had made the usual salutation and been requested to sit down, for Murray properly made it a rule to treat all the Chinese with due courtesy.

The stranger introduced himself as Po-ho, captain of the big junk Round Moon. As the curious jargon in which he made his statement would not be understood by most readers, we must give it in ordinary English.

“The Round Moon was lying in Swatow roads, in company with several other trading junks, when I, being asleep in my cabin, was awakened by a loud noise on deck, of shrieks and cries, clashing of swords, scuffling and thumps, as though men were falling. Rushing out to see what was the matter, what was my horror to discover that the deck was in the possession of strangers, and that most of my crew lay dead or dying. My mate with two or three others was still fighting bravely, not far from the cabin door, when I beheld an Englishman, Jull by name, whom I knew to be a fearful scoundrel, a sword covered with blood in his hand, and about to attack the mate and the others. Before I could run back and get my arms, Jull had killed the mate, and the rest were cut down. Seeing that I should share the same fate, I jumped through the cabin port into the water, intending to swim to a junk astern, when Jull, who had followed me into the cabin, discovering that I was overboard, fired at me, but missed. I thought that I should escape, but presently another shot struck me in the back; still I swam on, and reached the side of the junk.

“When I got on board, the first thing I saw was my ship with all sails set, standing out of the harbour. I wanted the captain of the junk who had picked me up to give chase, but he answered, ‘No, no; Jull has got too many men and long guns.’ Before I could say anything more I had fainted. When I came to myself, the Round Moon was out of sight. I have not seen her since, but wishing to recover her, I have not ceased inquiring about Jull at every place at which I have touched. A few days ago, as I was sailing from Chusan, I heard that Jull, in command of a large fleet of junks, had attacked and plundered a number of merchant vessels in that neighbourhood, and that he was even then at anchor with all his fleet in a channel between the island of Latea and that of Chusan. If you go at once northward with your steamers, you may arrive in time to catch him before he sails away. He has nearly thirty junks, carrying heavy guns and gingalls, and 500 or 600 men. Your steamers cannot get up the creek to attack him, and he is very likely to make his escape if he knows you are coming. You must, therefore, send in a large force, and be very careful how you approach, and as he fights with a rope round his neck, he will struggle to the last.”

This narrative took a long time to deliver, as Mr Po-ho, though he professed to speak English fluently, had to search about for words to express himself, and Murray and Rogers had to cross-question him and make him repeat over and over again what he had said before they could comprehend his meaning. The above, however, as has been said, was the substance of his statement, reduced to plain English. Murray inquired whether Mr Po-ho, or rather Captain Po-ho, was ready to go as pilot. He jumped at the offer. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than to see Jull’s head cut off.

“We will both go,” said Murray. “Return on board, Jack; hoist the blue Peter, fire your guns to bring off any of your officers or men who may be on shore. I will do the same, and we will sail this very evening. Are you ready, Captain Po-ho?” The Chinaman’s little eyes twinkled with satisfaction. “He would,” he said, “send his boat back to let his friends know that he had found some generous Englishmen to avenge his loss, and expressed a hope that should his own junk be recovered, she would be restored to him.”

That night the two ships, with most of their officers on board—with the exception of two or three, who, having gone to the other side of the island, were left on shore—were steaming northward. Just before they sighted Chusan, a vessel under all sail was seen standing from the north-east. As she approached she made the signal of the Orion, and that she had despatches for the commodore. The Bellona’s way was therefore stopped, the Empress also waiting for her. In a short time Captain Adair came on board. He had come from Japan with the request that some of the ships on the station might be sent there at once to protect British interests, subjects, and property, which were in constant danger from the Damios. The commodore decided, however, that the matter was not so urgent as to prohibit his first looking after the pirate and his fleet, and resolved to carry out his object, taking the Orion with him. At Chusan, off which he called to obtain further information, he found a gun-boat, the Gnat, which, from her small size, would be able to play an important part in the expedition.

From the information furnished by Captain Po-ho, Murray learned that the pirate’s stronghold was in the midst of several small islands, with four navigable channels between them leading up to it, and that to prevent the escape of the villains it would be necessary to watch the whole of them. The pirate also, Po-ho said, had a strong battery on shore, its guns commanding a deep bay, in which the junks were at anchor. Thus the boats in the expedition would be exposed to a hot fire, and should the junks be captured, they might immediately be sunk, before they could be carried off, by the guns of the fort, which was described as being very strong originally, and since it had been occupied by the pirates they had been employed in still further adding to the defences. It was said also that within was stored a large amount of merchandise, obtained by the pirates during several cruises. One thing appeared certain, that the piratical fleet was still at anchor off the fort. The commodore, having obtained all the necessary information, stood with his squadron late in the day towards the islands, so that he might not arrive off them until darkness would conceal his movements. Po-ho advised that three of the entrances should be guarded, each by one of the ships, and that the gun-boat and boats should proceed up the other to attack the pirates. This suggestion was adopted. Murray ordered three boats from each ship, with a strong body of blue-jackets, to rendezvous alongside the Gnat, which also carried the larger number of marines.

Captain Rogers, accompanied by Po-ho as pilot and interpreter, went on board the Gnat and took command. The three midshipmen had each charge of a boat, as had our old friend Jos Green, while the others were under command of lieutenants or mates. Tom was accompanied by Billy Blueblazes and Tim Nolan. The Gnat, taking the fleet of boats in tow, steered towards the entrance of the chief channel, up which the expedition was to proceed. As they neared it just before dawn, a rocket was seen to rise, forming an arch in the dark sky, its glittering drops shining brilliantly as they fell. It was fired apparently from the centre of the island, where the fort was supposed to be situated, as a signal to some of the junks which might have been at anchor near the entrance of one of the channels. As Captain Po-ho could not give a very exact account of the position of the fort, Captain Rogers thought it prudent to wait until daybreak before commencing the attack. Of the character of the enemy, however, he had no doubt, from the information obtained at Chusan. They were a daring band of pirates, who had long been the terror of traders.

The Gnat, having a long line of boats astern, made but slow way. A bright look-out was kept, lest any of the junks might attempt to steal out and escape; but none appeared. The rocket, however, was an evidence that some of the pirate fleet, at all events, were still inside. The entrance was at length gained. The shore on either side was so close that, had the enemy concealed themselves among the rocks and shrubs, they might greatly have annoyed the flotilla without the risk of much damage to themselves.

When morning broke the Gnat was approaching a long, low, rocky point, over which the masts of a considerable fleet of junks could be perceived. The steamer must at the same time have been discovered by the pirates, for the junks’ sails were hoisted, and the wind favouring them, they stood away towards a channel in the opposite direction.

“The villains will soon find they have made a mistake, if they expect to get off that way,” observed Tom to Blueblazes. “They will fall from the frying-pan into the fire. The shots from our ships will send every one of them to the bottom.” Just then the Gnat grounded on a sand-bank, and the boats had to take to their oars while she made efforts to back off. While she was thus engaged, the junks were seen returning to their anchorage, sweeping along at a good speed.

“The rascals have discovered that they are caught in a trap, and, like rats driven into a corner, will fight desperately,” said Tom. “We shall have some real work to do, Billy.”

“I don’t mind much about that, provided it will soon be over and we can get back to breakfast,” answered the other midshipman. “I am terribly hungry already.”

This delay enabled the greater part of the pirate fleet to get back to their anchorage, but the wind blowing stronger as the sun rose, three of them, unable to make headway against it, turned down another channel, expecting probably to escape in that direction, being thus unable to render any assistance to their companions.

On this Captain Rogers ordered three of the boats, of which Tom’s was one, to go in chase of the fugitives and capture them, hoping, from the prisoners who might be taken, to ascertain the strength of the fort, so that he might devise the best way of attacking it. The second lieutenant of the Empress led the boats, Desmond’s making the third. Away they pulled as hard as they could go. The pirates, seeing them coming, opened on them with their stern guns, and at the same time kept up a pretty hot fire with gingalls; but their shot generally flew over the boats, which, although the junks sailed well, were rapidly coming up with them.

“I will take the headmost; you board the other two,” sang out the lieutenant, addressing Tom and Desmond.

In each boat, it should have been said, there were four marines, who, in return, fired at the junks, taking steady aim, and seldom failing to kill or wound some of their crews. The channel took several turnings, which would have been an advantage to the pursuers had they been acquainted with the navigation, but the fear of running on any rocks or sand-banks made them keep directly astern of the junks. Presently a shot struck one of Tom’s men, and another knocked an oar to pieces. This of course caused some delay, and the boat dropped astern. On rounding a point Tom saw that the junk he had been ordered to board was in the act of running ashore in a small bay at the further side, while the other two junks continued their course, pursued by the lieutenant and Desmond. Tom considered it his duty to attack the one which could no longer escape him. He was soon alongside; but as he and his men clambered up on deck the pirates rushed forward, leaped down over the bows on to the beach, and began to make their way inland. Tom, on looking round from the more elevated position he had gained, discovered that the creek ran at the back of the fort, but how far off he could not tell.

“We must capture some of those fellows; Captain Rogers wants some prisoners,” he sang out, and was about to lead the way over the bows when Tim Nolan exclaimed, “The villains have set their craft on fire. She’ll be after goin’ off like a sky-rocket in another minute.”

“Back, back to the boat!” shouted Tom, seeing that Tim’s words were likely to prove true.

The whole party quickly tumbled in, each man trying to be first. Tom was the last to leave his prize, and followed with no little reluctance. Shoving off, they pulled away in the direction they had before been going, to assist, if necessary, the other boats. They had not got far, however, when Tom caught sight of some of the pirates who had landed. They halted, and appeared as if they intended to return to the stranded junk. In their hurry they had thrown down their gingalls, and were armed only with their swords.

“We must have some of those fellows,” cried Tom.

Steering in his boat, he jumped on shore, followed by the marines and four seamen, while he told Billy to remain in charge of the rest of the crew.

Off the little party dashed, hoping without difficulty to capture some of the pirates. The latter turned and fled, leading their pursuers to a distance from the boat. Tom imprudently was rushing on considerably ahead of his men when a volley fired from among some rocks laid three of their number low. The rest halted to return the fire of their concealed enemy, but, seeing no one, they let fly among the rooks, against which their bullets were flattened, without doing further execution. Before they could re-load a party of desperadoes sprang out, and seizing Tom, dragged him along with them. In vain Tom endeavoured to free himself, expecting every instant to feel the point of a sword, or its edge, at the back of his neck. The survivors of his party charged bravely, hoping to recover him; but another volley wounded two more, and, seeing that they would all be cut off, they retreated towards the boat. They would even now probably have been attacked had not Billy, showing unusual discretion on hearing the firing, landed with the rest of the men, and fired on the advancing pirates. What was his dismay to find that Tom was not among those returning.

“Where is Mr Rogers?” he exclaimed.

“The pirates, sir, have got hold of him,” answered Tim, who had reluctantly returned. “If we are quick about it, and the rest can come with us, we can overtake them, and we will get back Mr Rogers, at all events.”

Billy and the rest of the men could not resist this appeal, and were rushing forward when they came to the three men who had fallen. One was dead, but the other two were still living, though unable to walk. They entreated that they might be carried back to the boat; and Billy, finding that the pirates had disappeared, judged that there would be no use in pursuing them, and he remembered also that he had been directed to remain in the boat.

Notwithstanding, therefore, Nolan’s remark, Billy ordered the men back to the boat. Just at that instant the junk, from which their attention had been diverted, and which had been in flames fore and aft, blew up with a loud explosion, portions of the fragments being scattered far and wide, many falling close to them.

“Shove off!” cried Billy; “not a moment must be lost.”

His crew pulled away after the lieutenant and Desmond, in the hopes that should they have succeeded in taking the two junks, of obtaining their assistance and going in search of Tom. On getting round the point which hid them from sight, Billy discovered the junks, nearly a mile away, both on shore. As his boat got nearer he caught glimpses of the pirates running among the bushes, in the direction, as far as he could judge, of the fort. Both junks had, therefore, been captured. Billy only hoped that the pirates had not attempted the same trick they had played him, by laying trains to their magazines, although he half expected, before he reached the junks, to see them blow up into the air.

In his eagerness to save his other shipmates, he almost forgot poor Tom. “Give way, lads, give way!” he cried. “They will all be sent up like sky-rockets if we don’t warn them in time.”

The seamen made the boat fly over the water, understanding the danger as fully as he did.

As he got near he shouted out, “Back, back to the boats, or you will all be blown up!”

“No fear about that, now,” answered Desmond, from the deck of the nearest junk. “We found a burning fusee, sure enough, but took good care to throw it overboard. Hallo! where’s Rogers?” he exclaimed, looking down into the boat.

“Gone! The pirates have got hold of him, and may probably have cut his head off,” answered Billy.

“Gone! His head out off!” cried Desmond, in an agony of grief, although scarcely believing his messmate’s account; “How did you come away without him?”

“We could not help it,” answered Billy, in a melancholy tone. “We should all have been killed if we had not. We have as it is lost two poor fellows knocked over, and four wounded. That shows that we did not give up the attempt to rescue Rogers while there was a chance of success.”

“Pull round and report to Mr Norman what has occurred. I will go with you,” said Desmond, jumping into Billy’s boat.

The lieutenant was, of course, greatly grieved. “We must try and ascertain his fate, at all events. You did not see his head cut off?” he asked, turning to Billy.

“No, sir. We saw him in the pirates’ hands. They were dragging him along.”

“Then, perhaps they intend holding him as a hostage,” observed Mr Norman. “The junks do not appear to have much in them; and so, for fear lest the pirates should get on board again, we will set them on fire, and pull back to where you lost Rogers.”

Mr Norman at once gave the order, which the seamen executed with the delight of school-boys igniting huge bonfires, and then the three boats pulled back in the direction of the still burning junk. On reaching it Mr Norman landed his men, forming them in more regular order than Tom had done, four of the marines advancing in skirmishing order to feel the way.

No enemy, however, appeared; but being an experienced officer, he knew that they might be lurking at no great distance ahead, or concealed behind the brushwood either on the right hand or the left, so that they might attack him at any moment on the flank or get behind him and out off his retreat. Having advanced therefore a short distance, he ordered a halt, and getting close under a hill from the top of which he hoped to obtain a survey of the country, he climbed up it, accompanied by Desmond.

“There’s the fort, sir,” exclaimed the latter, “and I see a number of men going into it. If they have not cut off Rogers’s head, they will be taking him in with them, and he’ll run a great risk of being killed when the Gnat opens fire on the fort.”

Mr Norman thought Desmond was right in his conjectures.

“Could not we make a dash at the rear of the fort? we might get in before the pirates know we were coming,” said Desmond.

“With a stronger party I would try what we could do; but as the pirates must have been watching us, they would be prepared for an attack, and I very much doubt if we should succeed.”

Desmond, though eager to try and rescue Tom, of whose death he was as yet far from being convinced, acknowledged to himself that his lieutenant was right. They remained a few minutes longer, taking a more perfect survey of the fortress and the surrounding country.

“If I mistake not, could we land on the right side of it, we might make our way, concealed by the mass of brushwood to the rear of the fort, and get close up to it before we are discovered, while the pirates, if they expect us to make the attempt, will be looking out for us over that open ground more to the left; but we must get back and communicate with Captain Rogers,” observed the lieutenant.

Mr Norman, directly he came down from the hill, ordered his men to retreat. As soon as they were on board, the boats pulled away for the Gnat as fast as the crews could lay their backs to the oars, all knowing the importance of placing the wounded under the surgeon’s care as soon as possible. Two poor fellows required no doctoring, but their bodies were carried, nevertheless, for the purpose of giving them, as Jack called it, “decent burial?”—in reality that they might be sewn up neatly in their hammocks, with a shot at their feet, to carry them down to the oozy bed of the ocean beyond the ken of the sharks.

The Gnat had just got off, and with the musquito fleet in tow was steaming up towards the pirates’ stronghold. As Mr Norman’s three boats passed within long range of the fort, several shots were fired at them without doing any damage, nor did the pirates make chase, which they might have done with a good chance of capturing their enemies.

At last the boats got alongside the Gnat. Captain Rogers received the account Mr Norman gave him with much concern.

“But is it certain that he is killed? Did any one see him fall?” he inquired.

“No, sir,” answered Mr Norman. “We are confident that he was made prisoner; but the belief is that the pirates, in revenge for the destruction of their junks, would have cut off his head unless they were induced to hold him as a hostage.”

“I trust that the latter is the case, and that we may manage to get him out of their hands,” observed Captain Rogers. “But in my anxiety to save him I must not neglect my duty. We must attack these fellows without delay. Unfortunately they have had some time for preparations, and will give us more trouble than would have been the case had not this craft got on shore. I purpose, while the boats attack the junks, to land the marines and storm the fort.”

Captain Adair having come on board, Captain Rogers directed him to accompany the marines with a small body of blue-jackets.

“I believe, sir, that we may be able to get to the rear of the fort from a landing-place I discovered as I came along,” said Mr Norman. “While the Gnat and the boats are assaulting the fort, we may hope to approach undiscovered, and by coming suddenly on the pirates, should your brother be still alive, we may be able to rescue him before they have time to revenge themselves by killing him.”

“I trust that you are right, Mr Norman, and that the poor fellow has escaped, although from the pirates not having sent off a flag of truce to treat for terms, I greatly fear that they have not kept him as an hostage.”

While the Gnat sailed on Captain Rogers made the necessary arrangements for the attack. She, with two of the largest boats, were to bombard the fort, the rest of the flotilla were to board the junks, with the exception of the boats under Mr Norman, who was to land with their crews and some marines and attack the fort in the rear. Very little time longer elapsed before the Gnat, the leading vessel, got within range of the junks, which immediately began to blaze away with their guns and gingalls, she and her smaller consorts returning the fire with interest. Two large junks lay directly in the way; one, after the first round was fired, began to settle down so rapidly that many of the crew must have sunk with her, while the rest were seen swimming like a shoal of tadpoles towards the shore. The other, a fine-looking vessel, stood out longer.

“Fire at te deck, at te deck!” cried Po-ho; “she my ship; no sink her!”

A volley of musketry made the pirate crew quit the vessel and follow their companions on shore, while the Round Moon remained floating tranquilly, although Captain Murray fully expected to see her burst out into flames and blow up as the others had done. Po-ho entreated that he might go on board to prevent any such catastrophe; and he was allowed the dingy and a couple of men that he might take possession of his vessel. He might have been safer on board the Gnat, for several shot from the fort struck the junk as the man-of-war glided in between her and the shore. So close did the Gnat get that the guns of the fort, which were trained at too high an elevation, sent their shot over her; while the shells, round shot, and rockets, which she poured into the fort, were apparently producing havoc among its defenders. First one gun was silenced, then another, but the remainder continued blazing away, either at the gun-boat or at the other boats.

The report that Tom Rogers had been taken prisoner soon spread among the boats of the Empress, and from them to the boats of the other ships, no one exactly knowing how it had happened. There was a search on board each junk captured, in the hopes of discovering him, as junk after junk was taken. Several, however, which were farther from those first attacked, slipped their cables and tried to run on shore; some were overtaken before they had time to do so; others were set on fire by the pirates and blew up, and the remainder succeeded in effecting their purpose.

A good many of the prisoners, however, were taken, who either could not swim or had not time to make their escape. The British casualties were very small, as only two or three of the junks showed fight. One of the largest fired away until the boats were close up to her; she then cut her cable and made for the shore, still blazing away with her heavy guns, gingalls, and match-locks. Twice the crew were about to desert their guns and attempt to leap overboard, but were restrained by a fine-looking fellow in a Malay dress, who with his sword kept the men to their duty, cutting down two or three who showed signs of disobedience.

Jerry Bird was in one of the boats of the Empress, and catching sight of the pirate captain, he exclaimed, “Why, as I’m alive, that’s no other than our friend Jonathan Jull! Hallo, Mr Jull, knock under; it’s no use holding out!”

A fire-lock aimed at Jerry’s head was the only answer made by the pirate chief. Fortunately the bullet merely cut off one of his love-locks, and the junk, already close to the shore, stood on. In another minute she touched the beach, when Jull, firing the last gun, set the example of deserting her, and leaping overboard, began to wade up the beach, surrounded by his men, towards the fort.

The British boats followed them, but as they got to the other side of the junk they were exposed to a hot fire from the fort. This, however, did not stop them. On they rushed, their lieutenant leading them, hoping to capture the pirate chief, and thus quickly put an end to the contest. Jull, however, had a very fast pair of legs, and he and his men were close up to the gate, when the gun-boats ceased firing and two rockets rose together, the signal agreed on to show that the party on shore were about to attack the fort.

In the mean time Captain Adair, with the marines, Lieutenant Norman, Desmond, and Gordon, had landed in a little sheltered bay, which had been discovered near the fort, and had pushed on without being perceived by the enemy. They advanced cautiously, feeling their way, in case of an ambush having been placed to attempt their destruction. All the time the continuous cannonade going on sounded in their ears.

Mr Norman had told Captain Adair that he had seen a number of people escaping from the junks, as well as others outside the fort, and that it would, therefore, be but prudent to be prepared for a surprise.

None, however, was made. The pirates had apparently assembled in their fort, determined to hold out to the last. They must have seen, however, that their case was desperate, when junk after junk was taken or destroyed, and that unless they possessed abundance of ammunition and provisions they must very soon have to surrender.

Chapter Nine.

Tom in the hands of the pirates—About to be killed when rescued by Jull’s young wife—Tom witnesses the fight from the rock—The fort taken and Jull killed—Fugitives bring the news—The young widow’s philosophy—She makes Tom an offer, who says he must ask his captain—Tom escorts the widow on board the Gnat—Jack forbids the banns—Booty removed—The widow engaged by Po-ho—The squadron reaches Yokohama—Curious sights on shore—Expected attack on Prince Satsuma—Squadron sails—The prince’s town bombarded and his fleet captured, proceedings which bring him to reason and establish friendly relations between the two countries.

We must now return to Tom Rogers. On finding himself in the hands of the pirates, he expected nothing but instant death. His uniform, however, showed them that they had got hold of an officer, and always having an eye to business, they probably considered that they might obtain a high ransom for him, or that if hard pressed, he would prove a valuable hostage in their hands, and compel their enemies to come to terms. On hearing the shouts of his companions in the rear, he made several desperate efforts to escape, but, on calmer reflection, the sight of a sword-blade held to the level of his throat made him see the wisdom of desisting from any such attempts.

On they dragged him to the rear of the fort; it was already in sight, when the party were joined by the fugitives of the other two junks which had been destroyed. They came boiling with rage at their defeat, and on seeing an English officer in the power of their companions, instantly prepared to kill him. A fierce-looking Malay, whom Tom guessed was their captain, drew his sword and was about to cut him down, when another party who had come out of the fort, appeared on the scene. They were escorting, so it seemed, a young female to a place of greater safety than the fort, which, although the pirates might be victorious, would they knew be exposed to showers of shot and shell. Tom instantly recognised the girl as the young Malay wife of Jonathan Jull, their guest on board the Bellona. As he had no desire to die, he immediately shouted out to her, imploring her protection, and letting her know who he was. In another moment the savage Malay would have cloven his head in two, had not the Malay girl, answering to his appeal, sprung forward and placed herself in front of him, making violent gestures and vociferating vehemently. What she was saying Tom could only guess at, although he supposed she was insisting that his life should be spared.

“Thank you, thank you!” he said, taking her hand, and putting it to his lips. “You have saved my life this once, and I will do my best to protect you, if I get clear altogether.”

The effect of the Malay girl’s speech had been to appease the savage old captain, who at length stalked away at the head of his men towards the fort, leaving Tom with the Malay girl and the party escorting her, and some of the men who had captured him. Still Tom felt his position very insecure. At any moment, should the pirates be defeated, they might, in revenge, put him to death, and even should Jull lose his life, Tom thought his protectress might probably turn against him from the same motive. He did his best, however, to ingratiate himself with her.

As by this time the shot and shell were falling pretty thickly into the fort, some of the former occasionally flying over it and coming unpleasantly near the guard attending the Malay girl, they hurried her on, taking Tom with them. He was willing enough to go, as he would avoid the unnecessary danger he would otherwise have run had he been carried into the fort. The guard consisted only of about a dozen men, sufficient in number, however, to prevent Tom from making his escape. What they intended ultimately to do with him he could not ascertain, but he felt tolerably safe while with the Malay girl, who had already shown her willingness to befriend him. He talked away to her, although, as he could not speak a word of Malay and very few of Chinese, and she understood a very small number of English phrases, he found it a hard matter to make himself understood. “How can I prove my gratitude?” he thought; and he considered what present he could make her. He felt in his pockets; he could only find a few Chinese coins, a clasp knife, and a pencil-case—the latter being merely plated, and somewhat battered, was not very valuable. He then recollected there was a gold seal attached to his watch-chain. This he offered to her, but she smilingly put it back and showed him a variety of gold ornaments, which she produced from a bag by her side;—how come by, Tom did not ask.

Their conversation, such as it was, was interrupted by the increased roar of the guns, by which he guessed that the Gnat and the boats were hotly engaged with the fort and the fleet of junks. Tom observed several men climbing up to the top of a rock, from whence he judged that they could see what was going forward. He naturally felt very anxious to do the same, and made signs to the girl for her permission. She nodded her consent, and the pirates made no objection to his joining them. As, however, they watched the fight and saw junk after junk blow up, and others towed away by the boats, their countenances assumed a still deeper scowl than usual, while their hands ominously clutched their swords; still, they did not make any effort to molest him, and he was permitted by his guards to remain where he was and see the fight. At length he observed the large junk attacked by the boats, and, after a hot fight, run on shore. Shortly afterwards he caught sight of the marines appearing from under the shelter which had concealed them, and, with a party of blue-jackets, making a desperate assault on the rear of the fort towards the right hand. Slight preparations only had been made for its defence, and but scarcely a minute had elapsed before he saw the red-coats, flanked by the blue-jackets, climbing up the embankment, and bounding like red and blue balls over the parapet.

At first the pirates gave way, allowing the entrance of the whole force, and from the height he could clearly see all that was going forward in the inside. Before the victorious party had got half-way across they were met by a band of savage-looking fellows led by a big captain, who quickly rallied the fugitives. The pirate chief, for such Tom guessed he was, fought with the greatest desperation, but he and his men could not long withstand the points of the British bayonets, and the sharp edges of their cutlasses. Tom now saw the chief fall, with a dozen of his men round him, while the rest giving way, made their escape out by the left gate, and were seen scampering away in hot haste across the country.

Tom, as he saw this, felt himself in no very enviable position. The villains into whose hands he had fallen might revenge the death of their companions by murdering him, but he maintained as indifferent a manner as he could assume, while he watched the countenances of those surrounding him. He had the satisfaction of observing that instead of thinking of killing him, they themselves were evidently much alarmed. They were, indeed, completely separated from the fugitive pirates, and should they leave their cover, they would to a certainty be discovered by the victors, who now had possession of the fort, as they and Tom knew by seeing the British flag run up to the summit of the flag-staff on the fort. He was somewhat anxious to see what effect this would produce on the Malay girl and the rest of the party. Would any one venture to tell her that her husband was killed, or should he break the intelligence to her? She soon, however, apparently guessed from the exclamations of the pirates that the fort was captured, and might have suspected hat was her husband’s fate. If such was the case, it did not appear to have any great effect upon her. She sat on the fallen trunk of a tree below the rock, maintaining the same composure as at first.

Tom now began to fear that the English would blow up the fort and embark without coming to look for him. “Sooner than they should do that I must try and make a run for it,” he said to himself. “These fellows look so cowed that they will not dare to stop me. I must, however, first thank this young lady for having saved my life, and as she can have no object in keeping me a prisoner, I will tell her boldly what I intend doing, and ask her assistance.”

Having formed this resolution, he descended the rock and approached the Malay girl.

“Things appear to have gone against my friends,” she observed. “It was their misfortune, and cannot be helped.”

“Yes, the English have possession of the fort, and have captured all the junks, so that I would advise your friends here to yield themselves prisoners, as the best way of saving their lives. I will intercede for them.”

“A very good idea,” remarked the girl. “If you will go at once I will accompany you.”

“I shall be very glad of your society,” answered Tom; “but what will these fellows do? They may try to stop us.”

“I will order them to remain here until the English come and make them prisoners. Indeed, they cannot get away without being discovered, even if they wish it.”

Tom, who was highly delighted at thus easily obtaining his liberty, agreed to the proposal. “Poor thing, she will be dreadfully cut up when she hears of her husband’s death!” he thought.

As it might be dangerous to remain longer, lest the pirates should change their minds, Tom proposed to set off at once, and the Malay girl agreeing, they started together for the fort, none of the pirates attempting to stop them.

“I wonder whether I ought to tell her about her husband’s death?” thought Tom; “but she will hear it soon enough when we get to the fort.”

While he was discussing the matter in his own mind, she turned to him and said—

“They tell me my husband has been killed; if it is true, I hope that some of your people will take care of me. He was a dreadful tyrant; and now, after having lost all his wealth, he would have treated me even worse than before.”

This remark showed Tom that all his sympathy had been thrown away. The young lady greatly puzzled him when she proposed that he should marry her. He was too polite to refuse at once, but remarked “that English midshipmen were not allowed to have wives on board, and that he would not think of such a thing without asking his captain’s leave.”

This appeared to satisfy her, and they continued walking along side by side very amicably, till Tom heard a voice exclaim, “Why, there’s Tom Rogers, all alive and merry!”

Immediately several of his messmates rushed out of the fort to greet him. A party were at once despatched to make prisoners of the pirates who were hiding behind the rock, and who were shortly afterwards brought in.

Preparations were now made for destroying the pirates’ strong hold. The prisoners were handcuffed and carried on board the junks, with a guard placed over them. The Gnat meantime got up her steam in readiness to tow out the captured junks. The Malay girl kept close to Tom, evidently considering him her protector, and he, of course, in gratitude, could do nothing less than attend to her, and as soon as a boat could be obtained he took her off to the Gnat. He explained her wishes to Jack.

“We must carry her to Chusan, where I dare say she will find friends,” said Jack; “but you must let her understand that I cannot give you permission to make her your bride.”

The girl pouted when she heard this, but being evidently of a philosophical turn of mind, soon appeared reconciled to her lot. A considerable amount of booty was found in the fort, the most valuable portion of which was embarked in the captured junks. In the mean time the guns of the fort, several of which were of brass, and of considerable value, were carried on board the gun-boat. Some powder having been landed and placed in advantageous positions for blowing up the fort, a train was laid, and as soon as all the party had embarked, it was fired.

The junks with the prisoners on board were taken in tow by the Gnat, while the other boats took charge of the rest of the junks. As the flotilla moved off, the fort blew up with a loud explosion, its fragments being scattered far around.

“I hope the lesson we have given the rascals will teach them in future to turn to more lawful occupations,” observed Captain Rogers, as he witnessed the destruction of the fort.

“They will be at the same work in a few weeks, if they can cut out a junk, and find a fellow to lead them,” said Adair, to whom the remark had been made. “Altogether we have had a good morning’s work, and rendered some service to commerce by putting a stop for the present to the career of such desperadoes.”

The flotilla having got clear of the passage, rejoined the larger ships, which, taking the junks in tow, steamed back to Chusan. Jack’s chief puzzle was to know in what way to dispose of the Malay girl; but his anxiety was removed when Captain Po-ho, in due form, offered to marry her, an arrangement to which she appeared to have no objection. Jack was at all events very glad to get her out of the ship, as, to say the best of her, she was a determined coquette, and had turned the heads of half the midshipmen, and, it was whispered, of more than one of the lieutenants, during the short time she had been on board.

The prisoners were handed over to the Chinese authorities, to be dealt with according to law. Some lost their heads, others escaped, and the rest were turned over to the Chinese navy. The junks were sold for the benefit of the captors, with the exception of the Round Moon, which was delivered back with her cargo to Captain Po-ho, who, considering that he had regained his vessel and property, and a wife in addition, benefited more largely than anybody else by the expedition.

These arrangements having been made as quickly as possible, the commodore continued his course.

In about a week the squadron came to anchor before the lately built town of Yokohama. It stands on a dead flat, formerly a swamp, with bluffs of high land at each extremity, joined by a range of low and picturesquely wooded hills in the form of a horse shoe. Beyond these hills, some fifty miles away, rising to the height of 14,000 feet above the sea, towers the truncated cone of Fasiama. At the southern extremity was seen a long two-storied bungalow, serving as the British legation. Although some time before the followers of one of the principal damios had wantonly murdered an Englishman, the people were friendly to foreigners, who did not hesitate to ride out into the country.

The three captains the following day went on shore to see as much as they could of the country and its curious inhabitants, and those fortunate individuals, the three midshipmen, with some of their messmates, were invited to accompany them.

The foreign settlement was soon inspected, as there was but little to see in it, beyond its bungalow-looking buildings and gardens. They then went into the adjoining Japanese town. It greatly resembled that of some of the northern cities of China, the principal streets being broad, with neat and clean-looking shops. These greatly resembled those of China, except that the Japanese used neither tables, chairs, nor counters. Those in the main street contained lacquer ware, carvings in ivory, bronzes, some very beautiful porcelain, and a variety of toys.

Strange sights were witnessed. Females of no exalted rank were carried about in a basket-like litter, sitting cramped up in a most uncomfortable posture. The basket, which is called a “cango,” is suspended from a pole, borne on the shoulders of two men. Ladies and gentlemen of higher rank were seen going about in palanquins, which were smaller, than those used in India. They were formed of wicker work, and covered outside with lacquer. They also were supported by poles on the shoulders of bearers. None of the gentlemen, who sat their horses with apparently such wonderful dignity, really guided them, though they held their bridles in their hands—a groom always leading their gaily-caparisoned steeds. The soldiers, however, of whom a troop was always in attendance on any “damio,” or great lord, of course, managed their horses themselves.

The naval officers encountered a party of these gentlemen, and knowing the importance of avoiding any cause of dispute, managed in good time to get out of their way. The “betos,” for so the horse-soldiers are called, cast fierce glances at the strangers. Gerald, ever inclined to merriment, could scarcely refrain from laughing as he watched them passing by.

“Well, those fellows are the thinnest-clothed rascals I have ever seen. Look, Tom, at their braided coats, they fit as tight as their skins. See what curious devices they have on them, both back and front. Look at that fellow with the big dragon—the head and fore part on his chest, its body and tail coming round his back, in blue, red, and yellow colours!”

“Why, that is his skin which is thus tattoed over in that curious fashion,” answered Tom. “Not a shred of a coat has he got. See, every one of them has some device marked on him, and they are all in the same style of uniform.”

“Take care, lads; don’t speak so loud; or should the fellow see that you are laughing or talking about them, they may fancy you are insulting them, and disagreeable consequences may ensue,” cried Jack.

The three captains accordingly turned their horses’ heads and rode off in a different direction to that which the damio and his followers had taken.

On returning on board, the captains received a summons from the admiral, desiring to see them on important business. Having got themselves up in full fig, as required on such occasions, they pulled away for the flag-ship.

“There is something in the wind, depend upon it!” observed one of the midshipmen to Tom. “Did the captain say anything about it to you?”

“I don’t think he knows himself; but if he did, he would not tell me sooner than anybody else,” answered Tom. “I’ll tell you what I heard him and Captain Adair speaking about, and I shouldn’t be surprised if what they are now meeting for is connected with it.”

Most of the occupants of the midshipmen’s birth were assembled at tea.

“Well, Rogers, what is it?” exclaimed several voices.

“Most of us have heard of Prince Satsuma, a mighty magnificent three-tailed Bashaw, the chief lord and owner of the city of Kagosima and the adjacent parts. He, it appears, or one of his bare-backed followers, some time ago murdered, without any rhyme or reason, an English merchant, who happened to be riding along the high road. Of course the British Government demanded satisfaction: the punishment of the murderer, and a good round sum as compensation to his bereaved family. These very moderate terms the prince doesn’t seem inclined to agree to, and we are, therefore, ordered here to impress him with the necessity of doing so, and, if he does not, we are to batter down his town, to take possession of his fleet—for it is said that he has got one—and to make such other reprisals as may be deemed expedient to bring him to reason. I heard the captain say that he paid a visit with one of the principal merchants residing here, who has transactions with the prince, to a Japanese official of high rank in the place—I forget his name—and that during the conversation the matter under dispute was introduced. A Japanese who speaks English very well was present to act as interpreter. The great aim of this official seemed to be to induce the British squadron not to go to Kagosima, and he entreated the captain to visit another official, the prince’s chief envoy. This, he said, could not be done without permission of the admiral, but, if granted, he would willingly do as he was requested. No sooner had the interpreter translated the captain’s reply than the great man, taking out writing materials from a box, seated himself on the floor, and began scribbling away on a scroll of paper, in wonderfully large characters, a note to the envoy. As line after line was finished he rolled it up, and then, with due formality, handed it to the captain, who had the curiosity to measure it, and what do you think was its length? Why, six feet at the very least. Official documents, by the same rule, must be thirty or forty feet long, according to their importance.”

“Can you tell us the length of a lover’s billet-doux?” asked the assistant surgeon.

“That depends very much on the excess of his ardour, and what he has got to say,” answered Tom; “though, from what I’ve heard, I don’t think the Japanese are addicted to writing love-letters.”

“And what happened next?”

“That’s more than I can tell, though I believe that the letter was delivered and answered, with a hint to Prince Satsuma that whatever might be said, he had better look sharp and yield to our demands, or that he might expect to have his town tumbling about his ears. The British envoy and admiral have been waiting a reply, and I suspect that it has arrived and is not satisfactory; consequently we shall proceed immediately to teach the haughty damio that Englishmen are not to be murdered with impunity. These Japanese will be like the Chinese until they are taught better. They fancy that their castles are impregnable, and as they have never been attacked, except by each other, that they can beat off an English squadron with perfect ease.”

This information given by Tom afforded intense satisfaction, and all hands waited with considerable anxiety to hear how soon they might expect to exchange shots with the Japanese. They had heard that the batteries they were likely to be engaged with were somewhat of a formidable character, having already fired on an American and French man-of-war and inflicted considerable damage; the American indeed, being unsupported, narrowly escaped destruction. The captain, on his return, brought intelligence which confirmed their hopes. The emperor had, however, sent a document fifteen feet in length, earnestly requesting that the expedition might be put off; but as he gave no guarantee that by so doing a satisfactory result would be arrived at, the British envoy kept to his determination of immediately enforcing the demands of his government.

Early the following morning, the official gentlemen having embarked on board the flag-ship, the signal was made for the squadron to weigh, and the ships, steaming out of the harbour, shaped a course for the Bay of Kagosima. The distance was considerable, the voyage occupied four days, during which all preparations were made for the expected attack on the capital of the Prince of Satsuma. At last, through a wide entrance they steamed into the beautiful Bay of Kagosima, where they came to anchor some miles below the town, intending to wait there until the following morning.

The midshipmen, as might be supposed, during the evening talked over the work they expected to be engaged in the next day. Some thought that they should land and storm the town, others that the admiral would be content with bombarding it at a distance.

“One thing I know that if there is work to be done my brother Jack is the man to go in and do it,” observed Tom to Desmond. “We are certain, therefore, to see the best part of the fun, whatever it may be.”

“I don’t think my uncle Captain Adair will be far astern of him if he has a chance,” said Desmond, for he very properly always stuck up for his relative.

One thing only was generally known, that the admiral had orders to bombard the place and burn it down if the Japanese did not accede unconditionally to all demands made on them. The weather did not look so promising as could have been wished, but still hopes were entertained that it would allow the ships to take up their positions.

At an early hour the next morning, the signal was made for weighing, and the squadron steamed up the bay until they arrived off the town to be attacked, when they again dropped anchor. It was no trifling work in which they were about to engage, for they could see a long line of fortifications extending across the whole front of the city, the flag of Prince Satsuma flying from one of them. The guns, however, remained silent.

“We shall soon knock that place to pieces,” said Billy Blueblazes, as he surveyed it with a look of contempt.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” answered Tom; “there are some pretty heavy guns inside those forts, and the Japanese know how to handle them too.”

Still the guns did not open fire, and in a short time a boat was seen putting off from the shore. She contained a party of two-sworded officials, who came on board the flag-ship, where Captain Murray and Archie happened at the time to be. Archie afterwards related all he saw and heard.

One of the principal of the two-sworded gentlemen inquired, with an air of surprise, “why the ships of war had come uninvited to the town?” adding that he concluded the ships had brought a letter from the British Government on some subject or other.

“You are perfectly correct there,” was the answer. “It is a letter, insisting that all the demands which have been made should be complied with within twenty-four hours, if not, you see the guns which our ships carry; we have shells and rockets and other missiles of warfare, and we shall be compelled to let them fly pretty thickly about your ears.”

“But the prince is fifty miles off, and it is impossible to get an answer within the time specified.”

“Then we will make the time thirty hours. Your posts can perform the distance in that time, and take care that they do not dally on the way.”

The Japanese chief official smiled blandly, and then said that it would facilitate matters if the admiral and the chargé d’affaires would come on shore to discuss the matter in an amicable manner within the city, where a palace had been prepared for their reception.

“The Japanese must think us very green if they suppose us to be caught in that fashion,” remarked one of the officers standing by, when he heard the interpreter give the invitation.

The Japanese official pressed the offer in the most bland and courteous manner, pointing out the great advantage which would be gained by more quickly bringing affairs to a conclusion.

The admiral, however, was not to be caught, and he had good reason to congratulate himself that he did not accept it, when it was reported that the Japanese intended as soon as he and the envoy had got inside the castle to lift the drawbridges and to send word on board the squadron that should a shot be fired the prisoners would be instantly beheaded.

The interview at length came to a conclusion, and the two-sworded officials took their departure for the shore. Within the time specified they returned with a long rigmarole letter, which was of course anything but satisfactory. They looked very much surprised when ordered to return on shore with an intimation that no further communication would be held with the prince unless under a flag of truce.

In the mean time a boat expedition had been ordered to proceed further up the gulf to ascertain what had become of the fleet of vessels which the prince was said to possess. Tom and Desmond had the satisfaction of going in one of the boats, their hopes being raised that some work would be cut out for them.

The scenery presented on either shore was magnificent, while the weather continued fine. No ships were, however, seen until they had got about seven miles up, when they came in sight of three large steamers, with the flag of the prince flying on board.

It was hoped that these would be at once captured and held in pledge until the demands of the British were complied with; but the officer in command having been directed simply to make a reconnaissance, ordered the boats to be put about, and they returned to the squadron. They found that the Japanese officials had been going backwards and forwards, evidently with the intention, for some reason or other, of spinning out the time. That the Japanese intended hostilities was manifest enough, for they began to assemble large bodies of men in their batteries, and to point the whole of their guns, numbering some seventy or eighty, upon the squadron. Shortly after this, five large junks were warped out of the inner harbour, and anchored out of the line of fire. Later in the day, a number of Japanese boats came out of the harbour, and as they approached the squadron, they were seen to be filled with soldiers, although, at the same time they contained a few water melons, fowls, and eggs, apparently intended to represent the provisions with which the Japanese had promised to supply the ships. Instead of coming alongside, however, they merely pulled round the squadron, evidently for the purpose of counting the number of guns, that the garrisons of the forts might be satisfied how far superior a force they themselves possessed.

The best scene of all, however, was a visit from a damio, or person of high rank, who came off with a guard of forty men. He had the impudence to ask to come on board the flag-ship with his guard, and, perhaps greatly to his surprise, this was granted, but he looked very much astonished when he saw a body of marines drawn up on the opposite side of the deck, who in a few seconds would have sent him and his guard of honour flying headlong into the water had they shown any hostile intentions.

Of this the two-sworded official was evidently very well aware judging by the nervous expression on his countenance. As soon as he could find an excuse for doing so—glad enough to get out of the ship—he hurried away. Before he was half-way down the companion ladder, the admiral hoisted the signal to the squadron to get up steam and to be ready to weigh anchor at a moment’s notice. The reason of his doing so was evident, for it was seen that the Japanese had been training their guns to bear directly on the squadron, under the belief that they were going to remain where they were to be shot at.

The admiral then issued another order, directing five of the smaller vessels of the squadron to proceed up the gulf and take possession of the three steamers which had been discovered by the boats.

“We shall have some fun now, at all events,” exclaimed Tom to Desmond, who, with himself and a boat’s crew, had been sent on board one of the gun-boats short of hands. “If they do not fight they will run, and we shall have the amusement of making chase. It will be better fun than battering away at the walls, which, in my opinion, is a sort of work affording very little satisfaction to any one.”

The men-of-war, immediately getting under way, proceeded up the gulf. They steamed on at full speed, and soon came in sight of the three Japanese steamers, which, however, showed no inclination either to fight or run away. This was somewhat of a disappointment. No sooner did the men-of-war approach, then they hauled down their flags and tamely submitted to be carried off, when they were brought to, just out of range of the guns of the fort, their crews and other persons found on board being taken out of them.

“The admiral is speaking to us, sir,” said Desmond, who was acting as signal midshipman on board the Empress.

Captain Rogers quickly turned over the leaves of the signal book. “Engage north battery, until signal to form line of battle is thrown out.” Jack immediately gave the order to slip the cable, and steam having been got up, the ship moved away towards the spot she was directed to occupy, opening her fire without loss of time on the battery, which replied in earnest, with well-directed shots. Several struck her hull, while others, flying between her masts, cut away her rigging. This only made her crew work with greater zeal, in the hopes of soon silencing the battery. That, however, was not easily done, for the Japanese were evidently handling their guns well, and were not to be driven from them.

Desmond kept his glass directed towards the flag-ship, to report any signals which might be made. Tom was attending to his duty at the guns. Billy Blueblazes was standing near Desmond, ready to convey the captain’s orders. A shot passed unpleasantly near his head.

“A miss is as good as a mile,” remarked Desmond, as Billy bobbed, looking rather pale.

“I hope no other will come nearer than that,” said Billy, recovering himself and trying to laugh.

Just then a shot struck the end of Desmond’s telescope, shattering it to pieces, and carrying the instrument out of his hands, a fragment striking Billy on the cheek and drawing blood, but not inflicting any serious wound. The same shot took off the head of a man who was at the moment coming aft, at the other side of the deck.

“Now, that’s not fair!” exclaimed Billy; “aiming at me on purpose.”

“Then go and get me another spy-glass, and afterwards ask the doctor to stick a plaster on your cheek,” said Desmond. “You’ll be out of harm’s way there, and have the honour of being reported wounded, which will be pleasanter than being in the other list, though it may not tend so much to your fame.”

Billy gladly hurried off, holding his handkerchief to his face and speedily returned with the telescope, with which Desmond, as coolly as before, continued to watch the mast-heads of the flag-ship. It was warm work, for already two men had been killed and several wounded, not including Billy, who, however, appeared on deck with a large black patch on his cheek and a handkerchief tied round his head, not certainly improving his beauty.

“Did you get any teeth knocked out?” asked Tom, as Billy passed him. “If you did, take care to pick them up and get the doctor to stick them in again, for they will grow, depend on that.”

“No, I lost no teeth; I only had a piece taken out of my cheek,” said Billy.

“Lucky it wasn’t your nose,” observed Tom; “it would have spoilt your beauty for ever.” He could make no further remark, as he had to attend to his gun.

Jack had well performed the duty entrusted to him, and was expecting to remain until he had battered down the fort, when Desmond cried out that the admiral was again making signals. They were to the effect that all ships of the squadron were to get under way and form line of battle before the town.

Accordingly Jack, leaving the sorely battered fort, steamed away to take up his position in the line. The weather, which had long been threatening, came on much worse as the crews stood ready at their guns. A heavy squall blew across the gulf, and at the same instant a downfall of rain came on.

Suddenly the whole of the batteries opened on the squadron; still the ships did not return the fire. Immediately the squall cleared away, the signal was seen flying from the flag-ship, directing the prizes to be destroyed and the vessels which had them in charge to join the line of battle. The flag-ship, which was leading, was for some time, owing to the heavy gale which was blowing, exposed to the fire of several batteries, which killed two of her officers and wounded a considerable number of men.

As soon as the weather would allow, the other ships got up and lost not a moment in opening with their guns on the batteries. The ships had not long been engaged, when the effects of their fire became visible from the battered state to which the fort was reduced, while flames were seen bursting out in different parts of the town. Every moment the weather was getting worse. The wind had increased almost to a hurricane. The sky was overcast with dark and gloomy clouds, rendering more than usually vivid the flashes of the guns as they poured forth their death-dealing shot into the town. At length it became difficult to work them, and the admiral gave the signal to discontinue the action.

Five large junks lay to the southward of the town, which the Japanese might have hoped would have escaped, but they were mistaken in supposing that the prince was not to receive the full punishment due to him. These vessels were his private property. The admiral ordered one of the smaller ships to proceed immediately and set fire to the junks, as there was no possibility of carrying them off. One after the other they were quickly blazing up, and the flames, fanned by the rising gale, soon destroyed them.

The steamer also threw her shells into an arsenal and among a number of large storehouses, which soon, sharing the fate of the junks, were left furiously blazing away.

The squadron now stood off from the batteries and returned to their former anchorage. Scarcely were their anchors down than the hurricane came on with greater fury than before. The night was as dark as pitch, heavy thunder-clouds rolling overhead; but the wind was off the land, though it was a question whether it might not change, and should any of the ships be driven ashore, their crews could expect but little mercy from the hands of the Japanese.

The Empress was one of the outermost of the squadron. It had just gone four bells in the first watch when the third lieutenant reported that the ship was dragging her anchors. More cable was veered out, but she was by this time exposed to the full blast of gale. The lead was hove, and sixty fathoms reported; that she could hold the ground now was, therefore, impossible. The captain ordered the cable to be slipped, and the steam having been kept up, she drifted slowly away, still endeavouring to regain her lost position. Every moment she became more and more exposed to the force of the hurricane. All on board were well aware of her danger, although she might bring up on the opposite side of the bay; she would then be on a lee shore, and should her anchors not hold, her loss was almost inevitable, although some hours might pass before her fate was sealed.

All hands remained on deck. Jack had been in many a dangerous position; but in those days he had no wife to care for, and he had not the responsibilities of command. The night passed slowly away. When morning broke, the gale continued blowing as fiercely as ever, while the land to leeward looked unpleasantly near. Still steam was kept up, and the trusty screw was doing its best to drive the gallant ship ahead. The instant the hurricane moderated she began to make way, and soon again got up to her anchorage with the rest of the squadron.

Desmond was turning his telescope towards the shore, where, at the top of a hill overlooking the anchorage, among a grove of thick trees, he saw a number of Japanese working away with picks and shovels, and a little further on he caught a glimpse of a heavy gun, dragged by a number of horses, coming along the road, and then another and another. It was very clear that the Japanese intended, from the advantageous position they held, to open fire on the smaller vessels lying within pistol-shot of the shore. The admiral, on discovering this, ordered the squadron to weigh, and his ship leading they steamed through the channel in line, passing the batteries on either side, which they saluted as they glided by with a hot fire, bestowing particular attention on the palace of the prince, teaching him a lesson he was not likely soon to forget. The batteries replied, but feebly and without damage to any one of the ships.

The squadron now returned to the anchorage they had taken up on first entering the bay, where their crews had plenty of work to do in repairing damages; fishing spars and refitting before proceeding to sea.

Returning to Yokohama, they had the satisfaction of learning that their proceedings having brought the prince to reason, the whole of the sum demanded had been paid and ample apologies offered. The undertaking, however, had been a costly one. Two gallant officers and eleven men had been killed and forty-eight wounded.

Friendly relations were ultimately established with Prince Satsuma, who expressed his intention of sending several of his young nobility to England to be educated, while the Tycoon despatched a special envoy to congratulate the British chargé d’affaires on the satisfactory termination of all difficulties, and to express a hope that in future amicable relations would exist between the two nations.

Chapter Ten.

The Empress sails for the Fiji Islands—Picks up two Papuans—Calls off the coast of New Guinea—The wreck seen—Two boats go on shore—What have become of the crew?—Lieutenant Norman ascends a hill—Tom Desmond and their party push on—The lieutenant attacked by the natives—Retreats—Tom and Desmond missing—After a severe fight, regains the boats—Captain Rogers lands, to recover his brother and his companions—Unsuccessful march—Native village burnt—Boats sent in again—Gale comes on, and the ship stands off the land—Returns—No traces of the midshipmen—Continues her voyage—Long stay at Fiji—Empress and Orion sail for Sydney—A wreck seen.

The Japanese difficulty having been satisfactorily settled, the ships of the squadron separated to proceed to their various destinations. The Empress, while lying in Victoria Harbour, received orders to proceed to the Fiji Islands, with directions to touch on her way at the northern coast of New Guinea in search of the crew of a merchant vessel said to have been lost thereabouts. Captain Rogers was afterwards to visit Sydney and other Australian ports before returning home.

All hands were well pleased at the thoughts of the number of places they were to visit, and the curious people they were to see.

The Empress was once more at sea. Passing by the north of the Philippine Islands into the Pacific, she steered to the southward until she sighted the Pelew Islands, about eight degrees north of the equator. As they are surrounded by a reef, she did not stand close in. Several well-built canoes, however, came off, manned by the dark-skinned race who inhabit the group. They brought tropical fruits and vegetables, and appeared eager to trade. Hills covered with trees, and fruitful valleys with streams trickling down them, could be seen. The distance to the shore, however, was too great to allow of a landing being made, and further intercourse being opened up with the people.

The natives, having disposed of the cargoes of their canoes, were about to return, when another canoe came off, having on board two black men with frizzly heads of hair, evidently not Pelew Islanders. Having come on board, they made signs that they wished to go to some country to the southward. The captain on this placed a chart before them, pointing to the islands off which the ship then was. After regarding it for some time, one of them drew his finger along the chart until it reached the coast of New Guinea. On a picture of a group of Papuans being then exhibited to him he seemed at once to recognise it; indeed, on looking at his features and then at the picture, Jack was himself convinced that his two visitors were themselves Papuans. One of the Papuans, who had been on board a whaler for some months and could speak a little English, confirmed this. Jack accordingly, without hesitation, undertook to carry the men to their native land. Their names, they informed Pat Casey, who took to them at once and managed by some means or other to understand what they said, were Nicho and Picho, and forthwith they were dubbed Nick and Pipes.

Nick was a curious-looking little fellow, scarcely four feet high, but with broad shoulders, and as strong as Hercules, his face being as hideous as could be well imagined. Pipes was taller by a foot or more, and was intelligent and not so desperately ill-looking as his companion, though far from a beauty. They rapidly acquired a knowledge of English, and Pat took great pains to teach them. They were evidently accustomed to a ship, and he discovered that they had been brought off from their native land by a whaler, on board which they had picked up some knowledge of the language.

Captain Rogers hoped that they would make themselves useful in communicating with their countrymen. He would indeed gladly have had them on board for some weeks, in order that they might express themselves better than they now did. However, Pat understood them, and so did Tom and Gerald, who were constantly talking to the men. The ship continued her course under sail in order to spare the coals, but as the wind was light she made but little way. At length, however, the coast of New Guinea was sighted, ranges of lofty mountains appearing in the distance, while the ground from their base was of a more level character, and thickly covered with trees down to the water’s edge. The ship stood along the coast, sending her boats frequently on shore, but nothing of the wreck was seen, nor could Nick or Pipes manage to communicate with any of their countrymen, whom they described as “bad mans,” and made gestures significant of knocking on the head any intruders. Captain Rogers began to fear that such had been the fate of the crew of the Fair Imogene, the vessel of which they were in search. The ship occasionally came to an anchor, but the two Papuans invariably gave the same character to the inhabitants.

She was running along one afternoon before a light breeze under easy sail, the lead going, and the fires banked ready to get up steam should it be necessary, when the master, who was standing on the bridge, with his glass turned towards the coast, exclaimed—

“I see a wreck close in shore, though her masts are gone; but that’s a ship’s hull, or I’m a Dutchman.”

Several glasses were pointed in the same direction, and all came to the conclusion that the master was right. The ship was accordingly hove to with her head off shore, and two boats were sent in, the second lieutenant going in one to command the expedition, and having Billy Blueblazes with him, Tom having charge of the other with Desmond, Pat Casey, and Peter the black, with Nick and Pipes. The sea was perfectly smooth, so that they were able to get alongside the wreck. A cursory examination left no doubt that she was the vessel of which they were in search. She was in a fearfully battered condition. Her after-cabin had been knocked to pieces, and the whole of her cargo washed out of her; still it was possible that her crew might have escaped to the shore, and not have been destroyed by the natives. Pipes asserted that they were “good mans,” but Nick was evidently doubtful about the matter. On reaching the beach the party from the boats landed without difficulty, and two men being left in charge of each, the rest proceeded in search of any signs of the Fair Imogene’s crew. Mr Norman said he thought they might probably have built a hut on the shore with part of the wreck, or erected a flag-staff to make signals to any passing vessel. Not far off was a stream of fresh water, which would have enabled them to remain on the spot.

Birds innumerable, of gay plumage, and the traces of four-footed animals, showed that they could have been in no want of food. A search of an hour and a half or more, however, convinced Mr Norman that if the crew had landed there, they must have soon taken their departure, either inland or along the coast, for not the slightest sign of them could be found. The next thing was to discover some natives with whom to try and open up a communication. Not far off to the right was a rocky hill partly covered with trees. Mr Norman, taking two of his men with him, climbed to the top, hoping from thence to be able to obtain a good view over the country, and to ascertain if any human habitation existed in the neighbourhood. Tom and Gerald, with their party, accompanied by the natives, had, perhaps imprudently, pushed further inland, intending to return to meet the lieutenant, who had neglected to give them any directions to remain stationary until he had come down from the hill. This was considerably higher than he had supposed, and occupied him a much longer time than he had expected in gaining the summit. He obtained, however, a much more extensive view than he had thought possible. Although the shore was fringed with trees, which made it appear as if the whole country was covered with them, there were here and there plantations or open grassy spaces, as also numerous huts, built apparently like those of the Malays, on piles. He had been for some time noting these and various other objects, when he caught sight below the hill, to the westward, of a considerable body of men, some armed with muskets, others with bows, spears, and swords. As they were making directly for the hill, he had but little doubt that he had been observed; and as they might cut him and his companions off from the rest of the party, he considered it prudent instantly to descend. Just as he got to the bottom, he caught sight between the trees of a body of natives advancing towards him.

“Where are Mr Rogers and his men?” he inquired.

“They went in that direction,” was the answer.

“It is possible, sir, that they have got back to the boats by some other way,” said Bird. “We fancied we caught sight of them between the trees in the distance.”

Mr Norman, however, not satisfied that such was the case, was about to lead forward his men in the direction which Tom, Desmond, and his companions had taken, when the natives in considerable numbers spread out in front of him, evidently intending to dispute his advance. As the captain had given him strict orders on no account to show any hostility to the inhabitants, he considered it his duty to halt and make signs of friendship. This, however, produced no effect on the natives. Had either Nick or Pipes been with him he might have opened a communication, but they had gone on with Tom Rogers, and he had no means of making the natives understand that he wished to be on friendly terms with them.

They soon showed their hostility by firing several shots. The lieutenant, therefore, felt it his duty to call his men together and to retreat in order to the boats, hoping to find that Tom and his party had already reached them. As soon as they began to retreat the enemy pressed on. He now gave the order to fire in return, but no sooner did the seamen lift their muskets to their shoulders than the natives got under cover, and although the shot must have passed close to them, no one apparently was hurt. As others were seen coming up, Mr Norman continued to retreat.

The enemy now grew bolder, and showers of arrows fell around the seamen, in addition to the bullets which whistled past their ears. The moment they halted to fire, the natives again dodged behind the trees, though they did not altogether escape, and two or three were seen to fall. The enemy, increasing in numbers, rushed boldly on, and only stopped when the sailors turned round to fire at them. Mr Norman was wounded in the arm by a bullet, and an arrow struck him in the side. Calling on his men again to halt and fire, he succeeded in pulling it out and continued to retire. Four of his men were shortly afterwards wounded, either by bullets or arrows, but happily as yet none had fallen.

At length he could see the boats in the distance. He hoped that Tom Rogers and his men would come to his assistance, but he looked in vain. Except the two men in the boats, who must have heard the firing and were standing up with their muskets ready for service, no one was to be seen. His great object was now to prevent the enemy getting between him and the water. Continuing his retreat, he ordered his men to reload and fire as rapidly as they could, and then to push on for the boats. From the courage and hostility of the people, he doubted very much that they were Papuans, and was convinced that they were Malays who had taken possession of that part of the country. One thing was certain, that they must have had constant intercourse with white men to have obtained so large a supply of firearms and powder.

Not seeing Tom and Desmond, nor any of the men who accompanied them, he began to fear that they must have been cut off by another party of the natives. He determined, however, on reaching the boats, should the enemy advance, to shove off to a distance, and there await the possible reappearance of the midshipmen, or, should they not return, to go off to the ship for reinforcements, and if they had escaped with their lives, to endeavour to rescue them.

It was a serious question, however, whether he should succeed in reaching the boats. He called on his men to fight to the last, and to sell their lives dearly. A hearty cheer was the reply, and the seamen fired a well-directed volley, which knocked over several of their enemies; but before they could reload, the natives were upon them, and a hand-to-hand fight ensued. Animated by the voice of their officer, they got their bayonets fixed and charged the enemy. Two poor fellows had dropped, shot through the heart. Besides those already wounded, another close to Mr Norman had his brains knocked out. The survivors making a desperate effort, finally succeeded in reaching the boats.

Scarcely, however, had they got on board than the enemy regaining courage rushed down upon them, and not without a severe struggle did they manage to shove off, so many being wounded that it was with the greatest difficulty they could man the oars. Scarcely had Mr Norman taken his seat in the stern sheets than he sank down fainting. He recovered somewhat as the boats got beyond the reach of shot from the shore; and although he wished to put himself and the other wounded men under the care of the surgeon, he felt a great unwillingness to pull off without having ascertained the fate of the midshipmen.

“Did any one see them?” he asked.

“No, sir,” answered Jerry Bird in a mournful tone. “Not a glimpse of them. I have been listening in case they should fire, but I have not heard a shot from the direction I’ve an idea they took.”

“Give way, then, lads,” said the lieutenant, putting the boat’s head round; the other following his example, they pulled back to the ship.

The sound of the firing having been heard, the captain had just ordered three boats to be got ready, and a party of marines and blue-jackets well armed to go in and help their shipmates, when the boats were seen coming off. As it was supposed that all had returned in them, the order was countermanded. On hearing from Mr Norman what had occurred, the boats were immediately ordered off, the captain himself taking command, the third lieutenant and the senior mate having charge of the other boats, with two or three other midshipmen and master’s assistants, who were all eager to recover their lost messmates.

No one would believe that they had been actually cut off, and fully expected to find them either defending themselves in some strong position, or on the beach, having cut their way through their enemies. The boats drew near the shore, but no natives were to be seen, nor were the missing party. On landing, Jack ordered the marines to form, and threw out skirmishers in front and on either side, to feel the way, fully expecting every moment to come in sight of a large body of the natives. Still on they went, but no one appeared. On getting to the foot of the knoll from which Lieutenant Norman had obtained a view of the country round, the captain and a party of men climbed up to the summit. Not a native was to be seen. In vain Jack turned his glass in every direction, hoping to see his brother’s party. No human being was visible, not even among the huts in the distance which Lieutenant Norman had discovered. To be sure, there might be natives close to them, yet concealed by the dense growth of the trees.

Jerry Bird, who had returned in the captain’s boat, and was as anxious as any one to recover the young officers, expressed his opinion that they had gone to the southward or south-west, and Jack resolved to make his way in that direction, in the hopes of coming upon their “trail,” as the expression is in North America. Desirous as he was of recovering the lost ones, he did not forget his duty to his ship. He felt that he must not run the risk of being drawn into a trap and surrounded by a superior force of the enemy, while it was incumbent on him to return to the boats before nightfall. The party could advance but slowly through the thick brushwood, in many places having to hew away with their cutlasses, every instant expecting to see the enemy start up before them. There were traces of blood on the ground and bushes, showing where some of the natives had fallen by the bullets fired by Mr Norman’s party, but the bodies of those killed had been carried off. Indeed, savage as these Papuans appeared to be, they apparently considered that “discretion is the best part of valour,” and seeing a superior force landing, had beat a retreat into their inland fastnesses.

Jack began to feel sick at heart as hour after hour went by, and several miles of ground had been passed over, without any traces of Tom and his companions having been discovered. The heat was intense, and the men began to show signs of fatigue, though they endeavoured to keep up as well as they could. Jack, finding a tolerably open space with a rivulet of fresh water running through it, called a halt. He considered that here there was no risk of surprise, as by placing men on the watch, there would be time to stand on the defensive before they were attacked. The rest, with food and fresh water, restored the men, and they were eager once more to push forward. The “bush” in front was becoming thicker than ever; should they once work their way well into it, they might find it a difficult matter to get out again. He accordingly ordered them to fire off their muskets and to give a good hearty British cheer, so that should the missing party be anywhere in the neighbourhood they might hear it. They waited in silence; no reply came. Jack looked at his watch. There would be barely time to reach the boats before dark, and should the enemy get between them and the shore, they would have to cut their way through them.

With a heavy heart the captain at last gave the order to retire.

“What! are we going off without punishing the rascals for the opposition they have shown us?” Jack overheard one of the officers remark. “They will consider that they have gained the day, and will behave in the same fashion to any who may pay them another visit.”

Jack’s thoughts had been so completely engaged about Tom and the other midshipmen that the necessity of inflicting punishment on the natives had not occurred to him. Perhaps, after all, should their friends not have been killed, they might have been carried prisoners to the village he had seen from the height. He accordingly directed his march towards it, and as the country was pretty open in that direction, the party made good progress.

The huts were reached; they were of considerable size, raised above the ground on piles, and were constructed chiefly of bamboos and thatched with palm leaves. The first they entered was deserted. They went on from house to house. Not a human being was to be found, even the old people and children had been removed. As the only means of punishing the people for the uninvited attack they had made on the boats’ crews, Jack ordered the whole village to be given to the flames. By igniting a few handfuls of dried leaves which were thrown into the houses, they quickly blazed up from one end to the other. They were left burning so furiously that even should the inhabitants return, they could not possibly extinguish the fire.

Even this necessary act did not induce the enemy to come from their hiding-places, nor did they appear even in the distance as the party marched back to the boats. It was a bitter disappointment not to have recovered the midshipmen and their companions, while, from not having got hold of any of the natives, it had been impossible to ascertain their fate.

Night was approaching. Jack felt it his duty to return to the ship, but he resolved on leaving one of the boats under Mr Hanson, the third lieutenant, who volunteered to remain. He was to keep close in shore, prepared to shove off at any moment, should he be attacked by a superior force of the enemy.

Much regret was expressed when the captain returned on board, that Tom and his companions had not been recovered. The ship remained hove to all night, and many hoped and believed that the boat would return with the missing ones in the morning.

When the morning came, however, no boat appeared. Jack accordingly pulled in with two other boats, intending to relieve Lieutenant Hanson. The latter was seen coming out to meet them. He had remained at his post, he said, all night, and although he was not attacked, he heard the natives shouting and occasionally firing off muskets, so that even had the midshipmen attempted to do so, they could not have succeeded in making their way to the beach without fighting.

Jack, unwilling to give up all hope of getting Tom back, again landed with his whole force and marched inland, but, as on the preceding day, the enemy retreated and hid themselves, being evidently conscious that they were unable to cope with so strong a party. The difficult nature of the country rendered it impossible for them to advance further than they had done on the previous day, and Captain Rogers was again compelled to return to the boats, without having effected anything. He left another boat under Mr Tomkinson, the senior mate, with the same directions he had given to the lieutenant. In addition, however, he instructed him that should the natives approach, if possible to get hold of one or more of them, charging him on no account to fire, unless attacked. Once more the boats pulled back to the ship. On getting on board, Jack, finding that the barometer was falling slightly, though the sky looked as serene as ever, considered it prudent to get a better offing than on the previous night, intending to stand back in the morning to pick up Mr Tomkinson’s boat. He talked over with his first lieutenant the possibility of penetrating further into the country with a larger number of men than he had before landed. Much would depend on the state of the weather; should it continue calm the larger boats might go in with guns in their bows, and securely hold the beach against any number of the inhabitants who might appear, so that a party landing might advance a considerable distance without fear of being attacked in the rear.

Their plans were, however, defeated. As the night drew on the weather began sensibly to change, and fears now began to be entertained that Mr Tomkinson’s boat would not succeed in regaining the ship. Should the expected gale blow on the shore, it would be necessary for the ship to gain a good offing as soon as possible. Steam was got up, and her head was put towards the shore; she slowly made her way back, so as to be as close in as possible, in the expectation that Mr Tomkinson would, seeing the change in the weather, pull off to meet her. The lead was kept going, that she might run no risk of getting into too shallow water. Just before daylight the captain ordered a gun to be fired, and another shortly afterwards, which Mr Tomkinson would, of course, understand as a signal of recall. When at length the gloom of night had cleared away, the boat was seen pulling off as fast as the crew could lay their backs to the oars. The ship’s head, in the meantime, was put round, as it would have been dangerous for her to approach nearer. Mr Tomkinson reported, as Mr Hanson had done, that the natives had continued making a noise the whole night and firing, but that they had carefully kept out of the way, so that he had been unable to catch hold of any of them. Scarcely had the boat been hoisted up, than a heavy squall struck the ship, and it became necessary to put on all the steam to enable her to obtain a sufficient offing from the land. As the wind continued to get up and the sea to increase, all hopes of communicating with the shore for some days to come, had to be abandoned. Jack still would not believe that his midshipmen had been killed, though it was generally supposed on board that such had been their fate.

The surgeon, Dr McGauley, however, was inclined to hold with the captain. “Dinna fash yourself, Captain Rogers,” he observed, “midshipmen have nine lives, like cats, and it is hard if the three together don’t manage to get clear of the savages, although, should they be addicted to cannibalism, master Billy will run a good chance of being eaten.”

“It is said, however, that the Papuans are not cannibals, and the fellows we encountered are certainly not the sort of savages I supposed we should meet. My hope is that they have either made prisoners of the midshipmen and the other men, or that our people have managed to escape to the southward, and perhaps we may pick them up further along the coast,” observed the captain.

There was, however, no abatement of the gale; on the contrary, it had become a perfect hurricane, and as reefs abound along the coast of New Guinea, it was necessary for the safety of the ship to stand out to sea. For nearly ten days the bad weather continued, and upwards of two weeks elapsed before the Empress could get back to the coast. Boats were sent on shore as before, but the natives took good care not to appear. The ship then slowly steamed to the southward, firing guns and making signals, and, whenever possible, sending the boats in on two or three occasions the natives were seen, but without an interpreter it was found impossible to hold intercourse with them.

At length Jack was reluctantly compelled to give up all hope of recovering his midshipmen and the men with them. He felt bound to continue his voyage and to visit the islands at which he was directed to call, before going to Fiji.

Several places were touched at in New Ireland, the Solomon Islands, Santa Cruz and New Hebrides. One of the duties Captain Rogers had to perform was to overhaul vessels suspected of unlawfully having islanders on board for the purpose of taking them to work in Queensland or Fiji. Several were met with, but their papers were regular and their passengers appeared to be willingly on board; but at the same time, as there was no one to interpret for them, the latter point remained doubtful.

The Empress continued her voyage, touching at numerous places, until she reached the Fiji group, which has since passed into the possession of England. Here she fell in with the Orion, commanded by Captain Adair; and the two old friends, after spending some time in visiting the various chiefs, sailed for Sydney, their ultimate destination. A visit was paid to Noumea, the French settlement in New Caledonia, and the ships also touched at Norfolk Island, no longer a convict establishment, but now the habitation of the Pitcairn Islanders, and the head-quarters of the Melanesian mission.

The ships had been at sea five days after leaving Norfolk Island, being under sail, when the look-out from the mast-head of the Empress announced that he saw what looked like a dead whale away on the starboard bow.

“A whale does not float so high out of the water as that,” remarked Mr Hanson, who went up the rigging with his glass. “That’s a vessel of some sort, and a good large one, on her beam ends. Possibly her crew may have escaped, and are clinging on to her.”

On returning on deck he made his report, and the captain ordering the yards to be braced up, the ship stood in the direction of the wreck.

Chapter Eleven.

Tom and Desmond with their party retreat into the interior—Nick sets out to scout—Returns—Tom goes out and brings unsatisfactory intelligence—The party reach the river—Embark in a canoe—Pursued—Escape up the river—Moor to a tree for the night—A plentiful breakfast—Through a forest—Tom and Pipes visit the shore—See the ship sail—A storm—Return to their companions—Commence journey to the southward—Escape observation of natives—Numerous dangers—Peter seized by a tiger—Beautiful flowers—Birds of gay plumage shot—Billy narrowly escapes from a crocodile—Attacked by monkeys—Cross a wide prairie—Want of water—Find water-melons—Buffaloes killed—Sight a snowy mountain—Deer killed, and a fight with a tiger—Crossing the mountains—See a volcano—An eruption—Serpents—A large lake—A friendly chief—Journey continued—The coast reached—An English brig in the harbour.

The party consisting of Tom Rogers, Gerald Desmond, and Billy Blueblazes, with Casey, Peter, and the two Papuans, Nick and Pipes, had penetrated a considerable distance to the south-west, when they heard the sound of hot firing in the rear. The midshipmen proposed at once returning to rejoin their friends, but Pipes, in great alarm, pointed out the probability that the Papuans had got between them and the English, and that they would to a certainty, should such be the case, be attacked and killed before they could regain the beach. Nick joined his entreaties to those of his countryman, and offered to steal forward and ascertain the position of the two parties, begging his friends to remain concealed behind some rocks and thick bushes until his return. The sound of firing continued. From the nature of the volleys it was evident that two parties were engaged, and that the Papuans must possess a considerable number of muskets. Tom, therefore, thought it prudent to agree to Nick’s proposal. He and his companions accordingly concealed themselves in the spot proposed, while Nick hurried forward in the direction of the firing. Tom and Desmond considered that it must have been further off than they had at first supposed. As Nick did not re-appear, they at last began to fear that he had been caught by the enemy, or had perhaps deserted to them. They suggested this to Pipes, who replied, “No, no; he good man; come back!”

“I wish that we had run for it, and tried to reach the shore,” said Desmond.

“We might have been knocked on the head had we made the attempt,” answered Tom; “but should we be discovered by the enemy we will sell our lives dearly, if we can but get possession of one of those rocks near us and hold it until our ammunition is expended.”

“Oh dear? how dreadful!” exclaimed Billy. “I’m thankful to say, however, that I brought away a powder flask quite full, and an ammunition pouch, so that we may hold out for some hours; and I hope by that time our friends will come to our rescue.”

They waited for nearly an hour longer. Again there came the sound of even sharper firing than before, though it seemed further off. Pipes now and then crept out of his hiding-place to ascertain if any one was approaching, a proceeding, had such been the case, which would very likely have betrayed him.

“Here come Nick! Him sure!” exclaimed Pipes at last.

“I hope it is,” said Tom. “But silence, all of you, in case it should prove an enemy who might betray our hiding-place.”

It was Nick, however. He looked very much alarmed. His report, as far as could be understood, was that the Papuans, having collected from other villages, had taken up positions some little distance from the coast, whence they could watch the proceedings of the white men, and that it would be impossible to get down to the shore without being discovered.

Tom and Desmond, on this, proposed fighting their way through. Casey and Peter were ready enough to do so, or anything else they wished; but Nick and Pipes objected strongly to such a proceeding, affirming that they should be discovered and shot down were they to make the attempt.

“Wait; by-and-by mans go away!” said Pipes.

Tom, not satisfied with this, determined to go out and scout for himself. Desmond and Billy wanted to go with him.

“One is enough to run the risk,” he answered. “Two are more likely to be observed. I will not go far, and keep well under cover.”

Desmond and Billy felt very anxious while Tom was away, lest he should fall into the hands of the Papuans.

“If they get him they will cut off his head,” said Billy, “and we shall never see him again.”

“Tom knows what he is about; and unless the enemy suspect that we are in their rear, and are looking about, there is not much risk of his being discovered,” answered Desmond.

“It would have been better to have sent one of the black fellows,” observed Billy. “I say, Desmond, what are we to do for grub? I’m getting very sharp set, in spite of my feelings.”

“I suspect we shall get nothing to-night,” answered Desmond. “If we were to fire we should betray ourselves, and have the enemy down upon us. Perhaps Tom will report that they have moved away, and we shall after all be able to reach the beach. Lieutenant Norman is sure not to go away without us.”

“But he won’t stop if he fancies that we are killed; and that will be his opinion, depend upon it,” said Billy, in a melancholy tone.

“Hark! I hear some one coming,” said Desmond. “Keep quiet!” It proved to be Tom, who looked unusually grave.

“I have been a considerable distance,” he said, “and have had a sharp run for it to keep ahead of the enemy. They are coming this way, and I question whether this will prove a secure hiding-place; for, as I watched them, they seemed to be stowing themselves away between trees or behind hillocks and rocks, and some of them are sure to pop in here.”

Nick and Pipes appeared quickly to understand what he was saying. “Den we go on higher,” said Nick, pointing towards the bank of the river.

It at once occurred to Tom that the Papuan expected to find a canoe by which they might escape down the river and get out to sea. He accordingly without hesitation followed Nick’s advice; and the party set out, following the two Papuans as fast as they could run, hoping to avoid being seen by the enemy. Instead, however, of keeping down the stream, as Tom expected they would do, they proceeded up it.

“I suppose they think we shall find a canoe in that direction more likely than below,” said Tom to Desmond, “but it won’t do to turn back.”

They continued along the bank in the direction their guides led them, thus getting further and further from the coast. They had gone on some way when Tom asked Nick whether he was sure they should find a canoe.

“Yes, yes, sure,” was the answer.

“We shall soon get back with the current,” observed Desmond. “It won’t make much difference, indeed it will be sufficient if we wait until dark, and then we shall run but little risk of being seen.”

The two Papuans were still positive that before long they would find a canoe. Casey was of the same opinion, although on what he grounded it, it was difficult to say. When they stopped they could hear the enemy shouting and shrieking behind them, which convinced them that it would be safer to go on than to turn back. At last, after a run of several miles along the banks of the river, they caught sight of five canoes hauled up on the shore, and not far off several huts. None of the inhabitants were visible; perhaps they had gone down to defend their shores from the expected invasion of the white men.

“Hurrah! we are all right now!” cried Desmond. “We will take the best canoe, and it might be prudent to smash the others to prevent the enemy giving chase to us.”

“Let us get our own into the water first, and see about that afterwards,” said Tom, looking about for paddles. He found enough for each of his party, and a couple besides, which were carried off.

It took some little time to launch the canoe, which was somewhat heavy and drawn up at a distance from the water. Tom seated himself aft to steer. Desmond and Billy sat next to him, Casey and Peter next, and the two Papuans in the bows to use the two foremost paddles. Pipes was still on shore prepared to shove off the bow of the canoe before he stepped on board, when pointing to the eastward, he exclaimed “Here come!” The midshipmen, looking in that direction, saw a large body of men approaching.

“Jump in, Pipes, jump in!” exclaimed Tom. “We must get down the stream before the enemy reach the banks, or they may be peppering us more warmly than we may find pleasant.”

Tom was about to turn the head of the canoe in that direction, when Desmond exclaimed—

“Look there, look there! what are those fellows about?” Three canoes full of men were seen darting from behind some thick bushes out of another small river which had not before been observed. They would effectually prevent the escape of the midshipmen’s canoe.

“We shall have a desperate fight with those fellows before: we can get down the river,” cried Desmond, “and they will have the assistance of their friends on shore.”

While Desmond was speaking and Tom was considering what was best to be done, several men flourishing paddles in their hands were seen to rush out of the huts.

“Dat way, dat way!” exclaimed both Nick and Pipes at the same time, pointing up the river.

The sun was by this time on the point of setting, and Tom considered that if they could keep ahead of their enemies until darkness set in, they might then either find some place of concealment, or paddle silently down during the night and escape observation. There was no time to consider the plan proposed; they must either follow it at once, or prepare for a desperate encounter.

“It is the only thing to be done,” observed Desmond; and Tom, turning the head of the canoe up the river, told his crew to paddle away for their lives. They had scarcely got good way on the canoe, before the men from the village began to launch theirs. More natives appeared, and in two or three minutes the whole of the native fleet was in the water.

“They don’t appear to have firearms, but they have got bows and arrows,” said Tom, looking astern. “If we had a good English boat, the whole fleet should not make us fly, but they might quickly capsize this canoe and have us in their power. I fear that more than their arms. Paddle, paddle, lads!” he shouted.

His crew did paddle, probably harder than they had ever done in their lives. Poor Billy exerted himself until he was red in the face, “puffing and blowing,” as Desmond declared, “like a grampus;” for in spite of the danger they were in, he amused himself by quizzing his companion.

“We are gaining on them at all events,” said Tom. “If we do not encounter any more higher up the river, we shall distance them by the time it is dark, and then we shall have a good chance of getting clear.”

The river continued broad, and as the current was not very strong, the canoe made good headway. They kept in the centre, to run no risk of being attacked by the natives on the shore. Here and there among the trees huts were seen, but the inhabitants either did not perceive them or supposed that they were Papuans, for although they saw several canoes drawn up on the banks, no attempt was made to launch them.

Thus they went on without relaxing their efforts for an instant until sunset, when the shades of night quickly crept over the scene. Tom felt very unwilling to go further from the coast, and proposed looking out for some creek or bay, shaded by trees, where they could remain concealed until their enemies were likely to be no longer watching the river, and they might steal down unobserved. No such spot, however, could they discover, and when at last wearied by their exertions they stopped paddling, they heard the shrieks of their pursuers in the distance.

“They have not given up the chase yet,” observed Desmond. “The fact of their following us shows that they fear we may escape them by some other way. Perhaps we may find a branch with another outlet to the sea.”

“Oh, do let us paddle on,” cried Billy. “I don’t like the thoughts of being caught and eaten by the savages.”

“Whether they eat men or not, they will knock us on the head, and it will come to much the same thing,” said Casey; “so that we had better keep ahead of them until they give up the chase, and very likely, when they don’t find us, they will fancy that we have landed, and turn back to where they come from.”

The paddles were accordingly plied with as much vigour as before. Tom had a pocket compass, but it was too dark to see it; he however judged by the stars overhead that the river was running from the southward, and he hoped, by landing on the right bank, to be able to strike eastward across the country and regain the sea-shore. Had he known the nature of the task, he would have considered the undertaking far more difficult than he now supposed it to be. In vain he and his companions looked out for another branch of the river which they might descend. No opening appeared either on one side or the other. After paddling on for another hour, they again stopped. At first no sounds were heard except the cries of night birds and the strange shrieks of animals in the forest.

“We might pull in now to one bank or the other, and rest until it is time to slip down again,” observed Desmond.

They were on the point of doing as proposed, when again the sound of the natives’ voices was heard coming up the stream. The enemy had probably by this time been joined by the other canoes which had been seen on the banks, and Tom confessed that he considered the risk of attempting to escape by the way they had come very great. The only thing they could therefore do was to keep on until Tom and Desmond had good reason to believe that they had completely distanced their pursuers, and then as soon as it was daylight they might hope to strike across the country and regain the coast, where they were sure that the boats would be on the look-out for them.

For some time they had seen no lights on the banks or other indications that the country was inhabited, and the further they got up the river the less risk there was of being discovered. They had not correctly calculated the distance they had gone. There had been for some time little or no current against them, but this they had not discovered while they were paddling on. The tide was setting up the river, and had thus sent them on much faster than they had supposed. Nick and Pipes urged them to continue their course.

“All right; we get away!” cried Nick.

“No fear,” cried Pipes. “Paddle, boys, paddle!” Thus hour after hour they paddled on, until Tom declared that it would be folly to go further, and that they must either land or else secure the canoe to the trunk of a tree and wait in her until daylight. The latter plan was adopted. Steering to the right bank, where some thick branches overhung the stream, they secured the canoe to the stem of a small tree.

“We must keep watch,” said Tom, “or we may receive a visit from a wild beast, or be found napping by the natives, and be made prisoners or killed without an opportunity of defending ourselves.”

Gerald agreed to keep the first watch for a couple of hours, and then to call Tom.

“I wish we had something to eat,” said Billy. “I shall grow as thin as a whipping-post, and never be able to march all the way to the coast, which must be very far off, I suspect.”

“Never fear, Billy; you had better get some sleep, and forget all about the matter. In the morning we shall probably be able to kill some birds, or find some wild fruit,” answered Tom.

Billy, with a groan, lay down in the bottom of the canoe, in which the rest of the party had stretched themselves as well as they could, although there was not much room for their legs.

Desmond sat up with his musket in his hands, keeping an eye down the river, and occasionally peering in among the trees on the shore. Mournful sounds ever and anon came out of the forest, but he could detect no human voices; and he therefore hoped that the enemy had given up the pursuit. He had a hard matter to keep awake, the murmur of the water, as it passed by, tending much to lull him to sleep. He contrived, however, to keep his eyes open. He knew that in that region such disagreeable creatures existed as anacondas, tigers, huge baboons, and alligators, and that one or the other of them might suddenly make its appearance. He had stood his watch, as near as he could calculate, about a couple of hours, when feeling that, notwithstanding the danger to be apprehended, he could not hold out much longer, he roused up Tom, who, after his two hours’ sound sleep, was soon wide awake.

“I have been thinking of all sorts of horrible creatures who may chance to be in the neighbourhood. Take care you do not let any of them get hold of us,” said Gerald.

“No fear of that,” answered Tom, taking Gerald’s musket; “I will try and give a good account of any beast which comes near us.”

Tom sat, as Desmond had done, with his rifle ready for immediate action. It had hitherto been too dark to look at his watch, and he thought it imprudent to strike a light for the purpose. He had, therefore, no notion of how time went by. Greatly to his surprise he very shortly saw the streaks of dawn in the sky, and ere long a rich glow, heralding the rising sun, appeared to the eastward, shedding a ruddy tint over the calm surface of the river.

He had now to decide what was next to be done. To attempt to descend the river during the daytime would expose them to certain capture. He was anxious to try and reach the coast as early as possible. Taking out his compass, he ascertained that it lay due east, and that the course of the river was south-west and north-east; but how far off the shore was it was difficult to say. Nick and Pipes evidently did not like the thoughts of having to proceed in that direction, and, pointing towards the south, said that that was where their native village was situated.

“We must go to the coast, at all events,” said Tom. “If they desert us we cannot help it.”

“Since that matter is settled, let us have some breakfast,” exclaimed Billy. “I wish you would knock over a few birds. There are plenty of them. Here are some small shot. I thought it would be useful.”

There were parrots, paraquets, doves, and several other birds of exquisite plumage, flying about; and Tom, who was a very good shot, even with a ship’s musket, in a few minutes shot as many as would serve the party for breakfast. The men then set to work to pluck them, caring very little for their fine feathers. An open space, where they could venture to light a fire, was soon found. Nick and Pipes had in the mean time been hunting about for wild fruit, and quickly brought in a good supply.

“There’s no fear of starving in this country; that’s one comfort,” observed Billy, as he began to munch away at his share of a parrot.

The fruits were very refreshing. They ate them without fear, although they did not know their names, as Nick and Pipes assured them they were good.

The meal over, the party prepared to set out. They first, however, drew up the canoe, and concealed it as closely as possible under the bushes, that they might again make use of it if necessary. Nick and Pipes, when they understood what Tom required, offered to go in front and scout, but gave him to understand that should they fall in with an enemy they would retreat, and that he must be prepared to halt or turn back again, as they might deem necessary.

They soon found themselves in a very dense forest, through which it was a hard matter to make their way. Wherever there was an open space the ground was covered with a profusion of flowers; and birds of gay plumage flew amid the trees, and monkeys of various sizes leaped from branch to branch. Occasionally they had to make their way with their cutlasses, but it was a somewhat slow business, and fatiguing into the bargain. In many places Nick and Pipes were no more able to get through than they were, and they were also constantly afraid that they might come suddenly upon some natives and betray themselves. At last, coming to a brook, from sheer fatigue they were compelled to halt and eat the remainder of the provisions they had cooked in the morning. After resting they again pushed on, but their progress was not more rapid than at first. Towards evening Tom, in hopes of getting a sight of the ocean, climbed a tree taller than most of its fellows. Having his spy-glass, he could see to a great distance.

“How far off is it?” inquired Desmond, when Tom came down.

“Shall we get there to-night?” asked Billy.

“Not for a week if we do not make better way than we have done this morning,” answered Tom. “I could make out the sea in the distance, and I fancied some huts and plantations between us and the shore. We must try to pass by them without being discovered by the inhabitants.”

The heat had been excessive, and the midshipmen were glad to rest until the following morning. During the night it was utterly impossible to make their way through the wood. As no huts had been seen near, they ventured to light a fire, watching carefully that it should not spread, when, as Billy observed, their provisions would have been very much overdone.

After camping, the first thing they had to do was to look out for food. The parrots, for some reason or other, were rather shy, but a troop of inquisitive monkeys came near to ascertain what the strangers were about.

Pipes, who accompanied Tom, urged him to shoot.

“Him very good, very good,” he said.

Tom had of course heard that the creatures were eaten, although he had never tasted monkey. He accordingly fired, and brought down two who were sitting together grinning at him. The rest on this came chattering and screeching to the boughs close above his head, and began to throw down sticks and nuts, some of the latter of which they had been eating, and to spit at him in the most furious fashion.

“Kill more, kill more!” cried Pipes.

Tom again fired, and two others fell to the ground, when the remainder ran shrieking away through the forest. Pipes, taking possession of the game, marched back to the camp with a well-satisfied air.

“You do not mean to say we are to feed on these creatures?” exclaimed Desmond.

“I can’t shoot anything else, and better eat them than starve,” answered Tom.

“Ah! let’s try them,” cried Billy. “Anything better than an empty stomach.”

By the time the monkeys had been cooked the appetites of all the party had considerably increased. Although the midshipmen made some wry faces at first, after a few mouthfuls they went on eating monkey as if they had been accustomed to it all their lives. Nick and Pipes advised that they should keep up the fire all night, as otherwise they might find that somebody had been carried off by a huge species of tiger which they said infested the woods and forests of their country. Their advice was followed, and all hands took it by turns to remain on watch. Billy called up his companions twice, declaring that he saw the head of a huge tiger peering from between the bushes, but he did not fire, as he was afraid of missing. Though Desmond grumbled at being roused up, it was proved that Billy was right by the marks the tiger had left on the ground.

They had not got far the next day when their scouts came back and urged them not to proceed. As to reaching the shore without being discovered, they said that it was impossible, as the country was thickly inhabited and open, their only chance being to pass through it at night. Should they advance much further they would run great risk of being seen.

After searching about Pipes and his companion discovered a good hiding-place, very similar to the one in which they had before concealed themselves. Towards night they could tell, by the soughing of the wind in the trees and the appearance of the sky, that there was a change in the weather.

“I am sure the boats won’t leave us while there is a chance,” observed Tom. “I will make my way alone, with the help of Pipes, and see what has become of them. If I do not come back you will know that I am caught, and I would advise you to try and get to the southward, where you may perhaps find the inhabitants more friendly, and be able to get across to Australia.”

Desmond begged Tom to let him go instead; but Tom had made up his mind to undertake the excursion, and as soon as it was dark he set off with Pipes, who had agreed to go, although he evidently did not like the work. Tom and his faithful attendant set off. They had a long distance to go, and detours to make. Occasionally they heard dogs bark, and saw lights in the windows of huts; but they kept clear of them, and made good progress. They had one or two narrow escapes; and on one occasion both tumbled into a water-course. They, however, scrambled out again, with only the inconvenience of a wetting, which, considering the warmth of the weather, was of no great consequence, even to Tom; and Pipes had only to rub himself over with his hand, and he was dry again in a few minutes. It was nearly daylight, however, before the beach was reached, when they hunted about and found shelter under some rocks, which would prevent their being seen by the people on shore.

Here they waited until daylight, when Tom eagerly looked out for the ship.

“There she is!” he cried out, as the gloom of night clearing away he saw her standing in towards the land, though at some distance to the northward of where he was. Presently a gun was fired, followed shortly afterwards by another. He was about to set off to try and make his way along the beach, feeling sure that the guns were fired as signals to some of the crew on shore, when he saw through his telescope a boat pull out from behind a point and make her way towards the ship, which at the same time swept round until her head was off shore. He had no means of making a signal. Even should he fire his rifle, it would not be heard. To shout would be of no avail. He watched the boat until she was alongside, when she was hoisted up and the ship steamed away. It was high time that she should get off the shore, for a heavy gale had sprung up, sending the heavy breakers with fury against the rock-bound coast.

“There is no chance of our getting off if this continues,” said Tom to himself; “we are left to our own resources, I see that. The best thing would be to start to the southward, as Pipes recommends.”

Tom was eager to return and consult with Desmond, but Pipes earnestly entreated him to remain concealed during the day, and then at night there would be but little difficulty in making their way back to their companions.

It was a melancholy day, as he sat on the sea-shore under the rocks, watching the departing ship. A few shell-fish was the only food he and Pipes could procure. As soon as night came on and the inhabitants had returned to their huts, he and his faithful companion set out. As the storm was howling and making a tremendous noise, there was little danger of being discovered.

Desmond and Billy had become very anxious and were thankful to see them, although Billy uttered a deep groan when he heard that the ship had sailed away, and that he would have some hundreds of miles to trudge through the country. None of them indeed knew what they were about to undertake, and, with the exception of Billy, looked upon the journey as a pleasant excursion.

As Tom had had plenty of time to rest during the previous day, he was ready to set off early in the morning.

Guided by Tom’s pocket compass, they steered westward of south, which was the direction Nick and Pipes wished them to take.

The two Papuans explained that they would have to go out of their way to reach the river, and advised them to keep in the direction they were now pursuing.

During the day they travelled on without stopping, anxious to get away from the sea-board. It was evidently the most thickly populated part of the country, while, judging from what they had seen, there were few or no inhabitants in the interior. In the afternoon, as they were moving on, Pipes, who had been scouting in front, came back and made a sign to them all to get under the cover of some bushes, which he pointed out close at hand.

Scarcely had they crouched down, when they heard the voices of a party of natives who passed close by without discovering them. Further on they came upon a plantation, with a number of women working on it. By turning aside in time, they escaped observation. They were, however, afraid of lighting a fire that night, lest it might betray their whereabouts to the natives. They had, fortunately, preserved some of the cooked meat before starting, and had enough for supper, with the help of some fruit. Tom urged all hands, each man in his turn, to keep a strict watch; for having no fire there would be a great risk of being attacked by wild beasts. All promised to obey his injunctions.

Tom intended to take the first watch, Casey the next, Desmond the third, and Billy—who, it was hoped, after a good sleep, would keep awake—the fourth. The three first had carefully kept their watches, moving round and round their sleeping companions, so that no savage beast could approach unperceived. Desmond, however, fancied that he saw some object moving amid the trees in the gloom. At last he called up Billy, and charged him to keep a bright look-out. “If you don’t, depend upon it you or some of us will be carried off by one of those beasts of tigers,” he said, with much emphasis. “I have not felt so uncomfortable for a long time as I have been during the time I have been on the watch.”

Billy promised to remain broad awake and to keep his weather eye open.

“Mind you do!” said Desmond, as he lay down.

The whole camp was awakened by a fearful shriek and a loud cry from Billy, and starting to their feet, they saw by the light of the day, which had just broken, a huge animal carrying off Peter, the black, in its jaws, while Billy lay sprawling on the ground where he had fallen, his foot having caught in a supple jack, as he was making chase after the depredator. The whole party followed, but the tiger, if tiger it was, quickly bounded out of sight. Tom and the other midshipmen had a sincere regard for honest Peter, and were grieved to think that they had lost him. Rushing on, they caught sight of Peter in the monster’s jaws. But the black was not inactive, for having been seized by the left shoulder, with his right hand, which was free, he was punching the tiger furiously in the eyes. Tom was afraid of firing, lest he should hit Peter; at the same time it seemed scarcely possible that the poor fellow would escape being torn to pieces. Suddenly, however, the tiger gave a spring forward, when the midshipmen saw that Peter was no longer in the creature’s mouth. Tom and Desmond both fired together, but the tiger bounded away. On getting up, what was their surprise to find Peter rising to his feet, and, although his left shoulder was very much torn and he looked somewhat confused, he was well able to accompany them back to the camp. He knew no more about the matter than they did. Suddenly he had felt himself carried off in the jaws of a big animal, and as he said, “naturally made the best use of his fists to get free.”

Billy looked very much ashamed of himself, and was compelled to acknowledge that he must have been dozing, as he certainly did not see the tiger coming.

“It shows that we must keep very wide awake, or none of us will reach the end of our journey,” said Tom. “Now, the sooner we get away from this the better; for the sound of our shots may have attracted the attention of the natives in the neighbourhood.”

Casey, who had been accustomed to see all sorts of wounds, assisted to bind up the hurt of poor Peter, who declared that he was perfectly ready to continue the march. As they were afraid of lighting a fire and had no food, they pushed on during the cool hours of the morning, intending to take a substantial meal as soon as it was too hot to proceed. They had no little difficulty, however, in making their way amid the creepers and climbing plants, which, hanging from tree to tree, interlaced each other in a perfect network. They often, therefore, had to hunt about until they could discover a more open place, through which they could advance.

They calculated that they had pushed forward about ten miles, when they reached a stream, arched over by tall trees, from which hung numberless flowers, bearing climbers of great beauty and of varied and brilliant colours. Many of them were convolvulus-shaped, and of prodigious size, some white and yellow, spotted with red, others of a pale violet. There were scarlet flowers, blue, and sulphur-coloured flowers, and others of similar tints, striped and spotted in the most curious way. But far more interesting to the hungry travellers were the numberless water-fowl, which flew up and down the stream, and Tom and Desmond in a few minutes had knocked over several kingfishers, storks, and ducks, amply sufficient to supply all hands with food.

The two natives had, in the mean time, been searching for honey and nuts, of which they brought in a supply. The latter grew on some enormous trees at no great distance. The natives had picked them up from the ground to which they had fallen, having been bitten off by the parrots. The outer shell was black and hard, about the size and shape of a lemon, and the kernel, enclosed in a thick inner covering, was white and hard, resembling chestnuts when roasted.

“Hurrah!” cried Billy. “We shall run no risk of starving, at all events. These nuts will serve us for bread, and with the honey will stay our appetites.”

The fire was quickly blazing up, and the birds, plucked and spitted, placed before it. A sharp look-out was kept on every side for natives, snakes, tigers, or any other wild beasts which might be tempted to pay them a visit. Tom urged his friends to keep together as much as possible, and always to have their arms ready. After a good rest they again pushed on, and encamped in the evening on the bank of a large river, no doubt the one up which they had come in the canoe.

While Casey and Peter were lighting the fire, the two Papuans were looking out for honey, and Tom and Desmond were shooting some birds for supper, Billy went down to the water to fill a large gourd which Pipes had procured for them. Just as he was about to dip it in, a long snout appeared above the surface, the possessor of which—a huge crocodile—made directly at him. Billy, throwing down the gourd, scampered off. Fortunately for him the monster stopped for an instant to pick up the gourd, which it crushed in its huge jaws, and thus Billy was able to increase his distance.

Pat Casey and Peter, on hearing his cries, started up with their rifles, and as they ran forward uttered loud shouts to distract the attention of the crocodile. Still, so determined was the monster to seize poor Billy, that it did not seem to heed them.

“Jump on one side, sir, jump on one side!” cried Casey to Billy, who followed the advice, and the seaman, levelling his rifle, poured the contents down the crocodile’s throat. It immediately rolled over, and after a few struggles lay dead.

Tom and Desmond considered it advisable on their return to move further away from the river. Fortunately they did so, for while they were sitting round the fire cooking their game, a dozen crocodiles crept out of the water and came towards them. The whole party, starting to their feet, shouted and shrieked, but not until Tom and Desmond had fired down the throats of a couple of the saurians did the rest turn tail, when, plunging into the water, they disappeared beneath the surface.

“If we don’t keep a bright look-out during the night one or other of us will be carried off, depend upon that,” observed Tom.

His warning had a good effect, and it was agreed that two of the party should keep watch together, as they had to risk an attack from crocodiles on one side and tigers on the other, not to speak of big serpents and other creatures. The most dangerous of these were scorpions, several of which were seen five and six inches long, with stings which the natives asserted would deprive a person of life in the course of an hour or less.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” sighed Billy. “I knew the journey would be fatiguing enough, but I little thought the trouble all these horrid beasts would cause us.”

For several days they travelled on along the course of the river, but taking care not to camp near enough to the bank to be surprised by a hungry crocodile. On several occasions they caught sight of tigers, and three were shot which came nearer to them than was pleasant. Among the vast numbers of the feathered tribe which perched in the trees, or flitted amid the boughs, or soared high into the air, were the beautiful birds of paradise, of brilliant colours and graceful forms, which Tom and Desmond agreed it was a shame to kill when they could obtain as much game of a different species as they required. Monkeys of various sizes were seen, some not larger than cats and others half as big as a man. The travellers were moving on, Nick and Pipes scouting in front, the three midshipmen following, Casey and the black bringing up the rear. Presently they heard a loud chattering overhead, and down came a shower of nuts, one of which hit Billy on the nose. The pain made him cry out, when his voice was replied to by shrieks of laughter from overhead, followed by another volley. On looking up they caught sight of a large troop of big monkeys scampering from bough to bough, some of them descending as close as possible in order to get nearer the intruders of their domain.

One old fellow spat right at Desmond, and when he saw that the shot had been successful, shrieked and chuckled with laughter as he climbed back to a more secure part of the bough. The monkeys on this, emboldened by success and increased in numbers, discharged volleys of missiles of all descriptions, some of a very disagreeable character, so that the three midshipmen with their followers were fairly put to flight, the monkeys pursuing them, chattering and shrieking until they made their escape from the forest, which here fortunately came to a termination.

“I’ll pay you off for this!” cried Desmond, who had been a sufferer with Billy, and, firing, he brought down one of the monkeys, on which the rest set up the most fearful cries, shaking their fists and making all sorts of defiant grimaces.

They now entered on a region totally different to any they had hitherto passed through. It was a vast open prairie, covered in many places with long grass, amid which snakes of large size were seen creeping, but Nick assured Tom that they were not venomous, and would afford a meal at any time, should game not be abundant. The difficulty of walking over this grass was considerable, as they had to lift their feet high at every step, while they were exposed to the rays of the sun. Having hitherto obtained as much water as they required, it did not occur to them that they might fail to procure it. They caught sight of herds of buffalo and deer, but none during the day came near enough to be shot. All day they trudged on without water, and were well nigh ready to drop from thirst.

“I shall die if I don’t get something to drink,” cried poor Billy.

Tom got Casey and Peter to lift him up on their shoulders that he might obtain thereby a wider view, but nowhere was a stream or lake to be seen. He, however, caught sight of several round yellow objects on the ground, and on getting nearer, great was the joy of the party to discover that they were melons, the produce of a creeper with ivy-shaped leaves.

The fruit proved even more refreshing than water, and enabled them to march on for several hours during the night. This they did in the hopes of reaching some clump of trees the next day before the sun had attained its greatest height. At last, overcome with fatigue, they were compelled to camp on the open prairie without afire. They were afraid of lighting one lest it should ignite the grass. After a few hours’ rest they again moved on. Already the sun had risen and every moment it was gaining strength, when they saw before them a grove of palm trees rising out of the plain. Although they hastened their steps and went on for some time, they still seemed a long way off, but happily they found an abundance of water melons, which quenched their thirst. Without them they must have perished. They were also getting very hungry, and in the open country no honey or nuts were to be procured, nor did birds come near them. A flight of parrots passed over their heads, but too high up for a shot, Billy was crying out that he should die, when a herd of buffaloes were seen scampering across the plain towards them.

“Down, down!” cried the two Papuans; “dey no see us den.”

The whole party hid themselves in the tall grass, with their rifles ready for action. There seemed great likelihood, however, that the buffaloes would trample them to death as they came rushing furiously on not dreaming of danger. The leading animals were close upon them when Nick and Pipes jumped up and waved their hands, shouting loudly at the same time. This turned the herd slightly, and as they swept by the animals presented a good shot, when their concealed foes, Tom and Gerald, fired, and two young bulls rolled over. The rest were not so successful, and before the first two who had fired had time to re-load, the herd were out of range. The two buffaloes shot were, however, more than sufficient for their wants, and in an instant Casey and Peter, aided by the Papuans, were engaged with their long knives in flaying the two beasts, and cutting off such pieces of flesh as they could carry. Here was a supply of food which would last them as long as it would keep good. The midshipmen did not fancy eating it raw, but the rest of the party were not so fastidious, and cut off favourite bits, which they clapped into their mouths with evident satisfaction. They were, in consequence, better able to bear their loads of meat than the midshipmen, who had satisfied themselves with two or three water melons apiece. At length the clump of trees was reached.

The party seated in the shade enjoyed the cool air which played among the tall stems. Having cleared away the grass in front of them, they lighted a fire and cooked a part of their meat, the rest being cut into strips and hung up in the sun to dry. It was fortunate for them that they took this precaution. For two days or more they travelled on without meeting with a drop of water, but existed as before on water melons, which prevented them suffering from thirst—as valuable to them as the plant of a similar species which exists on the arid sands of Africa is to many a weary traveller, as well as to the wild beasts who roam over those sandy regions.

They were keeping a look-out ahead for some prominent object by which to steer, when, as the sun rose one day, after they had been marching all night, his rays fell on what seemed like a white cone rising out of the plain. As they pushed on and on it rose higher and higher, although it seemed as far off as ever.

“Why, it must be a snow-covered mountain!” exclaimed Tom.

“I hope we shall not have to climb it, although I should not object to a good roll in the snow just to cool myself,” said Billy.

In spite of their eagerness they were compelled to rest as before at the first wood they reached, near the banks of a stream. As most of the party lay fast asleep in the shade, Tom, who was on the watch, observed a herd of small deer apparently coming down to drink. He roused up Desmond, and taking their rifles they crept behind two trees. The deer came on in single file. They were graceful little animals of a dark drab colour on their backs and sides, and white underneath, and pretty large antlers. Without hesitation they at once began to cross the stream, passing along close to where the midshipmen were concealed. Tom selected one animal and Gerald another, and both firing brought the two to the ground. The rest of the deer looked about very much astonished, but did not take to flight. Those who had crossed still continued the same course as before. This gave Tom and Gerald time to re-load, and they brought down two more animals. Not until this did the herd bound off in confusion. The firing had roused up the rest of the party. Tom and Desmond were eagerly rushing out to despatch one deer which was not quite dead, when they saw before them a large tiger, which had been following the herd, and was now going to seize hold of one of the slain deer. The beast looked at them, and seemed about to spring. Neither of them had re-loaded his rifle, Tom immediately began to do so, keeping his eyes on the tiger.

“Don’t move, Desmond,” he cried out, “or the brute will spring on you!” Desmond, imitating Tom’s coolness, also began to load, the tiger in the mean time lashing his tail and showing his huge teeth, while he kept a paw on one of the deer, which he seemed to claim as his prize.

“Now!” cried Tom. “I’ll fire at his head, you at his shoulder.”

Just as the tiger was about to make a spring which might have proved fatal to one of the party, Tom fired and hit him in the head. The creature gave a bound into the air. Desmond’s bullet struck him at the same moment and he rolled over dead.

“Well done, your honour!” cried Casey, who had just come up; “that was a fine shot.”

“Hurrah! we shall have some venison now,” exclaimed Billy, who followed him.

“We shall want it,” said Tom, “if we have to climb those mountains ahead, for very likely we shall find no food there.”

The deer were collected, and without delay all hands set to work to cook some of the fresh flesh and to dry the remainder.

Three days after this they found themselves at the foot of a large and lofty mountain, which if they were to get to the south must be crossed. Each man cut a stout stick, the end of which he pointed in the fire. Their dried meat held out; fortunately they shot a couple more deer out of a herd which came to drink at a pool near their camp, and thus the next morning at daybreak, with their provisions strapped on their backs, they commenced the ascent. The cone which they had seen in the distance rose high on their left hand, but they discovered a passage lower down. Up and up they climbed, feeling the cold increase, and suffering intensely after the heat of the plain. At length they could with difficulty breathe, and a desire to sleep seized all the party. Tom, knowing the danger of giving way to it, urged his companions to keep moving. Once Peter sat down, declaring that he could go no further. Tom and Desmond dragged him up, and told Casey to prick him on with the point of his stick if he attempted to stop again. Poor Billy puffed and panted, and at last declared that “he must have a snooze.”

“It won’t be until you are over the other side,” cried Desmond. “Haul him along! Do you want to leave your bones here, or come with us? Just think of the venison pasties and the parrot pies we will have when we get down into a more civilised country!” Thus urged, Billy exerted himself afresh. None of them could afterwards describe the way they got over the mountain. For several miles they dragged themselves over the snow, with the fear of sinking down into some crevice or hollow, while fearful precipices yawned now on one side, now on the other. The two Papuans held out bravely, and, considering their scanty clothing, this was surprising. For a considerable time the whole party moved on without speaking, staggering as if in sleep. Their eyes were dazzled with the whiteness of the snow, which now surrounded them on all sides. Above their heads hung icicles of fantastic shapes, ornamenting cliff and crag.

At length the summit of the pass was gained, and they commenced their descent, less painful because they knew that soon they would get into a warmer region. By nightfall they reached a valley, where the trees afforded them fuel to light a fire, round which they gathered, its genial blaze restoring warmth to their frozen limbs. For two days more they continued among the mountains, but gradually attained a lower altitude, until at last they once more found themselves in a tolerably level country. As far as they could see to the south, rose here and there ranges of hills, but they hoped, by skirting round their bases, to avoid the sufferings they had lately endured. The cooler air of this region enabled them to make longer journeys than before. They had been travelling along a range of hills, which shut out the country to the south from their view. Having crossed these, they encamped one evening on some rocky ground, from whence they saw away to their left conical mountains, several thousand feet in height, of which they had only just before obtained a view. There appeared to be clouds rising above their summits, of which they, however, took but little notice, as they were busy preparing for the night. Tom and Desmond, as usual, were hunting for game. They had shot several birds and a couple of monkeys, which they immediately brought into the camp to be cooked.

After the heat they had endured, finding the night chilly, they piled up some pieces of rock and slabs of bark to form a shelter from the wind. They had all stretched themselves to sleep, with the exception of Casey, who had to keep the first watch, when they were aroused by a loud exclamation uttered by him, and at the same time by a thundering sound and by feeling the earth shake beneath them. Starting to their feet, their eyes were attracted by a bright light, which rose from the mountain, where shooting upwards, it increased in size, until it assumed a mushroom appearance, the top extending far and wide round the mountain. It was a volcano which had suddenly burst forth. No lava, however, was seen descending its sides, but they felt a shower of fine ashes falling on their heads. The screen they had put up, however, partially sheltered them from it. Nothing further could be done, so they resolved to remain where they were, hoping that the eruption would not increase.

Further sleep was out of the question; all night long they watched the fearful flames, expecting every moment to find a fiery shower falling upon them.

“It might have been much worse,” said Tom. “We might have been close under it, and here, at all events, we only get a little peppered.”

Towards morning the eruption began to subside, and by daylight dense smoke only was seen ascending out of the crater. In spite of their want of sleep, they at once continued their march, hoping to get well to the southward. As none of the party had pocket-books, they were unable to note down a description of the curious creatures they met with and the wonderful scenery they passed through. They frequently saw serpents of fifteen or twenty feet in length, and huge apes, upwards of five feet in height, with hideous features, of almost human shape. They were thankful when they got out of the volcanic region, although they had again to endure the heat of the plains. What was their joy, after ascending a low ridge, to see before them a wide expanse of water, glittering in the sun.

“The sea! the sea!” exclaimed Billy.

Casey and Peter echoed the cry. Had they truly reached the termination of their journey? Tom doubted it. Looking through his telescope, he discovered both to the east and west, a low shore. It might be an estuary extending a long way inland, but they might still be many days’ journey from the coast. Whether it was really the sea or a fresh water lake, could only be determined by getting down to it and tasting its waters.

With stout hearts they marched on. They were now well supplied with food. Seldom many hours passed without their meeting herds of deer and buffalo, from which they obtained an ample supply of food. Smaller game, such as monkeys and parrots, were in abundance in the woods, while there were plenty of streams and lakelets of pure water, in which they often took a refreshing bath.

Billy, whose spirits had risen with the expectation of reaching the coast, insisted to the last that the water they had seen from the height was the sea. Casey and the black agreed with him. At last they got close to it. They all hurried forward. Fortunately the bank they reached was hard, and they without difficulty got down to the water. Billy dipped in his hand.

“It’s fresh!” he exclaimed, as he tasted it.

“I was sure of that,” said Tom. “It’s a lake, and a good big one too. We are a couple of hundred miles yet from the coast.”

They continued their course along the western shore of the lake, and as they spent fully four days before they reached the southern end, calculating by the rate at which they travelled it must have been between seventy and eighty miles long.

After this they had another range of mountains to pass, which, though wild and rugged in the extreme, were of less elevation than those to the north. Once more they were on a level country, covered with tall grass. They crossed several streams, in wading through one of which a huge crocodile made a dash at them and very nearly caught poor Billy.

Nick and Pipes now began to examine the country with more curious eyes than before, and at last led them into a native path.

“Friends there!” said Pipes, pointing ahead, and they saw through an opening in the trees several huts.

The two Papuans hurried on, begging their friends to sit down in the shade. In a short time they returned with a large party of natives, who, ugly as they were, had smiling faces. One of them who seemed to be the chief, advanced to Tom and made him a speech, which Pipes, who had accompanied him, interpreted as an invitation to the strangers to come to his village.

“Good mans!” said Pipes. “Plenty food!” The invitation was, of course, accepted. The chief, taking Tom by the hand and signing to the rest to follow, led him towards the village, which consisted of a number of large huts composed of wooden frames covered with mats, with which the floor was also spread. The chief begged his visitors to sit down, and ordered food to be brought in. A number of yellow-skinned damsels in a short time appeared, bearing boiled rice and messes of roasted and stewed monkey and yams. Whatever the midshipmen might formerly have thought of such a repast, they acknowledged that this was delicious. Calabashes full of toddy, prepared from the sap of the cocoa-nut tree, were then introduced.

“I say!” said Tom, after he had drunk two or three cups, “we had better not take too much of this, or we shall find ourselves fou.”

They wisely declined a pressing invitation of the chief to imbibe any more of the apparently harmless liquor, but their two Papuan friends, after their long absence, seemed to enjoy it, and were in a short time perfectly drunk. This was a misfortune, as they could no longer communicate with the friendly chief. However, he made signs to them to lie down on their mats. Feeling confident of his honesty, they willingly complied with his request.

After a day’s rest, which all the party greatly required, Nick and Pipes having recovered, they set off for a village on the coast, about thirty miles distant.

Here the two Papuans found friends and relatives, who welcomed them cordially, having long given them up for lost. The chief of the village, to whom Nick and Pipes were related, requested the midshipmen to take up their abode in his hut. It was situated in the midst of a grove of magnificent trees, and near it was a garden, in which were growing yams, bananas, pumpkins, and many other vegetables and fruits. They were glad to accept the invitation, as the hut was of considerable size, the floor spread neatly with mats, and perfectly clean. The reception over, they made their way down to the shores of the harbour, where, among several Chinese and other strange craft, what was their satisfaction to see an English brig.

Chapter Twelve.

The master of the Fox—Bargain for a passage—Trading with the natives—Farewell to friends—The skipper’s rascally trick—The Fox with the midshipmen on board at sea—Bad fare—Fishing—A shark captured, and the skipper knocked over—Short of water—The Fox struck by a squall—Capsized—The midshipmen hold on to the side of the brig—In a desperate condition—A sail—Taken off by a boat from the Empress—Fox founders—Welcomed on board—Sydney reached—A pleasant visit on shore—Bound for New Zealand.

While the midshipmen were standing on the shore of the harbour a boat put off from the brig, and came towards them. She was pulled by four hands, two of whom were blacks and two Malays. A stout white man, in a broad-brimmed straw hat, evidently the skipper, sat in the stern sheets. On landing, the latter, looking hard at them, and surveying their travel-stained, tattered uniforms, inquired—

“Where in the world do you come from?”

“From the other side of New Guinea,” answered Tom. He briefly narrated their adventures. “We want to get on to Sydney, where we expect to find our ship. Can you take us there?” he added.

“That depends on circumstances,” answered the skipper. “Can you pay for your passage?”

“We can work it, at all events, and I have no doubt that our captain will pay any sum we agree to,” said Tom.

Tom did not like either the manner or appearance of the skipper. Of course he did not express his opinion, either by words or looks.

“Are you bound for Sydney?” inquired Tom; “for, if so, we may come to terms.”

“As to that, I should not mind putting in there, provided you will pay the expenses. I was thinking of going further south, but I have not quite made up my mind,” was the answer. “The Fox is a fine craft, and you will not have another chance of getting to Sydney, or to any other English port for many months to come. Few British traders touch here.”

“I see several Chinese junks and Malay proas. We may have a chance of getting to Banda, or to some Dutch port, or Singapore,” said Tom, determined not to be done, if he could help it, by the master of the Fox.

“You will wish yourself on board the Fox if you sail in one of those craft, I can tell you,” said the skipper. “Come, you had better close with me, and I’ll undertake to land you at Sydney. What do you say now to 30 pounds a head, and payment for such provisions and liquors as you consume? It will be a mighty deal better than sweltering on here in this hot place, with a chance of being knocked on the head, or being brought down by fever.”

Tom thought the charge exorbitant, as probably no small sum would be added for provisions. He drew Desmond and Billy aside to consult with them. They were of opinion that the captain would certainly be unwilling to pay so large an amount. They soon returned to where the master of the Fox was standing watching them.

“May I ask your name?” said Tom.

“Yes; it’s Stubbins; I’ve no reason to be ashamed of it.”

“Well, Captain Stubbins, we will pay you twenty pounds a-head for ourselves, and fifteen for each of our men, besides a pound a day for provisions.”

“You are sharp young gentlemen, I’ve an opinion,” said the skipper. “If you don’t like my terms you will stay here until you wish you had accepted them. I shall not be away for a fortnight or more, for I only came in yesterday, and have to get rid of my cargo and take a fresh one on board.”

Accompanied by Captain Stubbins they returned to the hut of the chief, who was, they found, the principal trader in the place. He and the skipper appeared to be well acquainted, and arrangements for trading were soon concluded. The Fox had brought a cargo of very miscellaneous articles, consisting of gorgeously coloured calicoes of patterns such as to attract the savage taste—firearms, powder and shot, axes, knives, other articles of ironware, and no small amount of execrable rum and other spirits. The skipper invited the natives on board, and took good care to ply them with liquor before he commenced trading. The chief and his people had stores collected for the purpose, consisting of birds of paradise, and monkey skins, pearls, various kinds of wood and bark and gums, drugs and spices, besides cocoa-nuts, and other fruit and vegetables.

They showed themselves keen traders; and it was evident that, should they meet with a certain sale and obtain fair prices, they would be ready to collect a large amount of valuable produce, such as there can be no doubt their country furnishes.

Captain Stubbins, having obtained all the produce which had been collected by the natives, urged them to obtain a supply from other villages in the interior; and parties set off in various directions with the goods they had brought to make purchases. Thus the midshipmen were detained a month instead of a fortnight; and, as Captain Stubbins would not abate his demands, they were finally compelled to accept them. Immediately they had agreed to his terms, the skipper’s manner changed. He appeared to be anxious to accommodate them in every way in his power. He persuaded them to come and live on board, as they would be more comfortable than in the hut of the chief, and he would be ready, should the wind come fair, to put to sea at any moment, without having to wait for them. The midshipmen agreed to his proposal, carrying with them several monkeys, and cages full of birds, which the hospitable chief had given them. In return for all his kindness they presented him with their own rifles, while they gave to Nick and Pipes two seamen’s muskets, and such other articles as they could spare, promising to send the honest fellows more should an opportunity occur of forwarding the things from Sydney, as a reward for their fidelity. The two Papuans and their chief were highly delighted and grateful for the gifts, which they looked upon as an ample return for the services they had rendered.

The brig looked like a menagerie, with the number of creatures which the captain and crew were taking, mostly monkeys and birds, such as were not to be found in Australia.

The natives now returned with a considerable amount of produce, which the skipper received on board, promising to send the goods in payment on shore. In the mean time he presented, with apparent generosity, some kegs of spirits to the chief and his people.

The midshipmen, Casey, and Peter had turned in for the night, which was very dark, with the wind off shore. They heard the skipper go on deck, but were soon asleep again. Not long after this they were awakened by the sound of the windlass.

“Why they must be weighing anchor!” exclaimed Tom.

He and Desmond dressed, and went on deck. The brig was already under way, standing out of the harbour.

“Why, Captain Stubbins, you’ve forgotten to send the goods on shore, in return for the produce which came off yesterday!”

“Bless my heart! so I have!” answered the skipper, with a hoarse laugh. “I’ll pay the people the next time I come here; but they are too drunk by this time to know whether I have paid or not; and, knowing that you were in a hurry to get to Sydney, as the wind was fair, I could not resist the temptation of putting to sea.”

Tom made no reply, but he had a very strong suspicion that the skipper had intended to cheat the poor natives, and such, indeed, he found to be the case.

When morning dawned, the Fox was far beyond the possibility of pursuit by the natives, even had the chiefs been in a condition to follow her, which in all probability they were not, owing to the cunningly bestowed kegs of liquor. The breeze continued, and the Fox made good way. The skipper and his mate were constantly on the look-out to avoid the rocks and shoals which so thickly dot the entrance to Torres Straits. The brig then stood to the eastward, so as to run well clear of the coral reefs which fringe the north-eastern portion of Australia. Tom and his companions were thankful at length to find themselves, after all the dangers and toils they had gone through, on their way to a place where they could hope to meet with their ship; at the same time, there was little comfort to boast of on board. Their berths were narrow recesses on either side of the little cabin, which was close in the extreme, and swarmed, moreover, with cockroaches and other creeping things, scorpions and centipedes, which had come on board with the cargo and occasionally made their appearance.

“I don’t care for the beasts, hungry as they are, but it is not pleasant to know that one may be stung at any moment by them,” said Desmond, as he brought his knife down on one which had fallen on the breakfast table.

As long as their fresh provisions lasted, they fared pretty well, but when these were exhausted, they were reduced to very short commons, and, as Desmond observed, “very bad of its sort.” Salt junk, which had made, perhaps, more than one voyage round the world, and mouldy biscuit, constituted the chief ingredients of their meals. The midshipmen complained, but the skipper replied that he gave them the best he had. Billy especially declared that he should die of inanition. “Salt junk never agreed with me at the best of times, and this is more like old horse than beef,” he groaned, as he turned about a piece of black-looking stuff at the end of his fork.

The men were quite as ill off—they could not be worse; but when they found their officers faring as badly as they were, they could not complain. The old brig sailed like a tub even in a breeze, and at last the wind dropped and they lay becalmed day after day with the sun striking down on their heads. They had found it hot enough very frequently in travelling through the country; it was here sometimes even hotter. On their journey they had had at all events abundance of food, refreshing fruits, and clear water, while now they had only tepid, thick, brackish liquid to drink. When they made faces as they poured it out at meal time, the skipper remarked with a grin—

“You’re better off than if we had none, and if we are many weeks longer on the voyage maybe we shall be in that condition.”

Tom suggested that as soon as a breeze sprang up, they should steer for Brisbane, or one of the northern Australian ports, but the skipper would not listen to any such proposal. He preferred keeping the open sea, free of the reefs which existed nearer in with the land. Tom observed that they were already much further to the eastward than was necessary, but Captain Stubbins, though he was evidently no great navigator, declared that he knew his way as well as any naval officer, and refused to lend Tom his quadrant to make an observation.

Billy looked very melancholy, and declared that should the voyage continue much longer he should give up the ghost.

“If we could catch some fish we should do better,” said Tom. “Suppose you ask the skipper if he has got any hooks and lines.”

“I doubt whether the old fellow will take the trouble to look them out if he has,” observed Desmond.

Billy applied as was proposed, and greatly to his delight the mats produced a shark hook and several others of smaller size, with a supply of lines. In a few minutes all hands were busy with lines overboard with bits of pork and beef for bait. Several curious fish were hauled up, but the native crew pronounced them poisonous, and declared that those who ate them would die. This was tantalising.

While they were engaged in the sport, Toby—Desmond’s favourite monkey, whom he had taught all sorts of tricks—hopped on the bulwarks to see what they were about.

“Take care what you are doing, Master Toby,” sang out Desmond, springing forward to catch the monkey, who was in dangerous proximity to the shark hook line. Toby, expecting to be caught, made a spring, but having no rope to take hold of, lost his balance, and over he went into the water.

Desmond, who was fond of the little animal, threw a line, calling to him to catch hold of it, but the monkey, finding itself in the water, was too much alarmed to obey his directions.

“I’ll go after him,” cried Desmond, and was on the point of leaping overboard, when Toby uttered a cry of agony, a black snout was seen to rise for an instant, the white of a shark’s belly glanced in the water, and Toby disappeared beneath the surface.

“The horrid brute!” exclaimed Desmond; “we will pay him off for this if we can.”

The fishermen persevered, and Desmond caught a good-looking fish and Tom another.

“I’ve got one!” cried Billy, pulling away. “Here, Desmond, come and help me haul it in—he must be a big fellow.”

They hauled away at the line, which suddenly came up very rapidly, when a shark’s nose appeared above the water; it was but for a moment, and the next Billy and Desmond were sprawling on the deck with the hook bitten off some way above the shank.

“Bad luck to the beast! It’s the same which ate up poor Toby,” cried Desmond, as he picked himself up.

“I only hope he will not run away with any more of our hooks,” said Tom. “It will be as well to haul them in before he gets hold of them.”

Directly afterwards the line with the shark hook attached was seen to be pulled violently.

“Hurrah! the voracious brute has got hold of the hook intended for him,” cried Tom. “Let’s haul him in before he breaks clear.”

All hands ran to the line. Casey made a bowline round the line, ready to slip over the shark’s head as soon as it should appear above water. Could it once be got round its body, its capture would be certain.

Peter, in the mean time, got another ready to slip over its tail. The mate and some of the Malays came to the assistance of the midshipmen. Keeping a steady pull on the line, they soon brought the head of the big shark to the surface. It had bolted the hook, and was biting away at the chain secured to the shank.

“He’ll be through it if we don’t make haste!” cried Tom. “Quick, quick, Casey! slip the bowline round him!”

The seaman managed dexterously to do this, and the rest of the crew, hauling away, at length got its body out of the water. It was a huge creature, ten feet long. It struggled desperately, beating the water into foam alongside, so that it was some time before Peter could get a rope round its tail. That done it was a close prisoner.

“Keep all the lines taut, or he’ll be wriggling through them and carry off the hook and line!” cried Tom. At last it was got up flush with the bulwarks, when down it came, knocking over poor Billy and two of the native crew. Had not Tom and Desmond rushed forward and hauled Billy out of the way, he would have been beaten into a mummy by the furious lashing of the creature’s tail. For several moments it had possession of the deck, until at length Casey and Peter, having got hold of an axe apiece, rushed up and each dealt him a blow across the tail, springing back the next instant out of its way. Again and again they had to repeat their blows. It was some time before the struggles of the monster ceased.

“I shouldn’t like to be in the way of that fellow’s jaws,” exclaimed Billy, as he examined the shark’s head.

Just then the creature gave a heave, and Billy sprang back, knocking over Peter, who, in his turn, tumbling against the skipper, brought him sprawling to the deck. Captain Stubbins, getting up, furiously attacked poor Peter, as if he had tumbled against him intentionally, and, seizing a rope, began to belabour him severely. This excited Tom’s and Desmond’s indignation.

“You’ve no business to treat the poor fellow in that way,” exclaimed Tom; “and I’ll not allow it!”

“Who are you?” said the skipper. “This is mutiny, and I’ll clap you and your companions in irons as soon as look at you.”

“We are Queen’s officers, and cannot allow a man under our charge to be treated as you have this poor fellow,” answered Tom, in a determined tone.

The skipper, muttering a furious oath, without another word retired to his cabin, and presently re-appeared with a pistol in his hand, and another sticking out of his pocket.

Tom fixed his eye calmly upon him. “We do not fear your threats, Captain Stubbins,” he said. “If you were to kill one of us, you would be guilty of murder, and would be hung to a certainty. Let me advise you, then, to take those pistols back to your cabin. We have no wish to insult you or to dispute your authority. Our messmate, who was the cause of the black’s falling against you, is ready to apologise: I hope that will satisfy you.”

“Really, Captain Stubbins, I am very sorry for what has happened,” exclaimed Billy; “and I am sure the shark would be if he could speak, for he, after all, was the cause of your misfortune. Had he not given so unexpected a plunge, I should not have tumbled down nor knocked over Peter, and Peter would not have knocked over you. I promise you it shall not occur again, for I’ll keep clear of him until we have a few delicately browned slices placed on the table. I never ate shark, but I’ll undertake that it shall be better than the salt beef we have on board.”

By the time Billy had finished his apology the skipper’s anger had somewhat cooled down, but he still walked the deck with a pistol in his hand, and Tom and Desmond kept an eye upon him lest he should all of a sudden take it into his head to fire at one of them. At last, greatly to their satisfaction, he went below, and replaced the pistols in his berth.

Several other fish were caught after this, so that the midshipmen were not reduced to eat the shark. On cutting it open, poor Toby was discovered within, and served as a bonne bouche to the crew, the midshipmen contenting themselves with the fish.

As long as the calm lasted, and fish could be obtained, the passengers and crew of the Fox did not fare ill; but as the midshipmen were anxious to get over a disagreeable passage and rejoin their ship, they would gladly have gone on short commons and made a quick passage. The water every day became worse and diminished in quantity, and they had serious apprehensions of what might be the result.

“If we could manage to construct such a still as our friend the American doctor formed on the sand-bank, we might obtain fresh water,” observed Tom.

“I’m sure I don’t know exactly how it was done,” answered Desmond, “but I remember the principle, and feel pretty sure that I could manage it if any one on board understands blacksmith’s work. Steam we can produce fast enough from the largest tea-kettle on board; the chief difficulty will be the condenser.”

When, however, Tom mentioned his idea to Captain Stubbins, the skipper laughed at him, and declared that he could not do it if he tried, as there was no blacksmith on board. A breeze springing up made it less necessary for Tom to try his experiment, and the skipper asserted that the water would hold out until they could get into Sydney. He was, however, all this time keeping much further to the eastward than was necessary. Tom and Desmond agreed that he was not aware how far off he was from land, though he would find out his mistake when he came to haul to the westward.

“Well, I do wish this voyage was over,” exclaimed poor Billy, on whom the hard fare was beginning to tell, though he had wonderfully withstood the long journey across the country. “I shall be losing the number of my mess if this horrid brig doesn’t make better way than she has hitherto been doing.”

There seemed every probability of the voyage being prolonged. Now the wind was contrary, now it again fell calm; and even with a fair wind the tub of a brig seldom made more than five or six knots an hour. The heat of the cabin was such that the midshipmen never remained below longer than they could help, and much of the night was spent on deck. The skipper, on the contrary, seemed seasoned to any amount of heat, and was constantly below.

One night, after a supper of hard, cold, salt beef, which they could only eat by cutting it into the thinnest of slices—mouldy biscuit, rum and muddy water—they went on deck, where they found Casey and Peter, who had been taking a meal of the same description. Excepting the watch, the rest of the crew were below.

“Any chance of our getting in, sir?” asked Casey of Tom. “It is pretty well time we should be there, for I’ve been trying to learn what quantity of water we have got on board. As far as I can make out, we’ve not got a gallon at the most, and that won’t keep our tongues moist for more than a couple of days.”

“I doubt whether the master himself is aware of this,” said Tom, “for he takes the matter very easy, and he ought to have put all hands on an allowance before this. He must do so, or we shall be dying of thirst before we drop anchor in Sydney harbour.”

The brig was at this time under all sail, but the wind was light, and she was making little way. Suddenly her sails gave a loud flap against the mast.

“We are going to have another calm, I fear,” said Desmond.

“I’m not quite so sure of that,” said Casey. “I’ve been watching the sky, and it seems to me as if a thick gloom was spreading over it. I’ve observed a dark bank rising rapidly to the southward and eastward. Look, sir, you cannot see a star in that quarter. If I was the mate, I’d shorten sail at once.”

Tom and Desmond took a survey of the horizon in the quarter to which Casey was pointing. The bank was rising rapidly; it looked, indeed, as if a dark curtain was being drawn over the sky.

“I’ll point it out to the mate,” said Tom.

On going aft, Tom found the mate seated close to the taffrail. Instead of keeping a look-out, he was fast asleep. Tom roused him up, and pointed out the appearance of the sky.

“I don’t think it’s anything,” he observed, rubbing his eyes.

“It is, though,” cried Tom. “Listen to that roar.”

At that moment a dull rushing sound was heard, and a long streak of white was seen extending from east to south-west across the ocean.

“Turn the hands up! shorten sail!” cried Tom.

The mate repeated the order. The midshipmen sprang to the main-topsail halyards, Casey and Peter to the fore-topsail; but almost before a rope could be let go, a fierce blast struck the brig. In vain the mate tried to put the helm up. Over she heeled more and more, until the yardarms touched the water. Tom and Desmond seized hold of Billy, who had just before dropped off to sleep, and scrambled up to the weather bulwarks. Casey and Peter had been doing the same. Another instant and the brig was on her beam ends, with the water rising up to the combings of the hatchway.

Believing that the brig was going over, the midshipmen and their companions got on to the outside of the bulwarks, holding on to the main-chains. As the lee side of the sails was already under water, there was no probability that the brig would rise again. Every moment, indeed, it seemed as if she must go down. Their position was truly a fearful one.

The mate and the man at the helm had apparently slipped off into the water, as they were nowhere visible. Of the two men forward, one only succeeded in gaining the bulwarks, the other had probably shared the fate of the mate. The condition of those below was terrible. Unable to gain the deck, they were probably drowned in their berths. Although the main hatchway was closed, the fore and companion hatches were open.

The wind howled over the doomed brig; the sea was getting up. The midshipmen believed that she must quickly founder and their fate be sealed.

“We have gone through many a danger together,” said Tom, to Desmond; “but I believe our time has come at last. I wish my brother Jack could have known our fate. He will be very sorry for us, and so will those at home.”

“It cannot be helped,” said Desmond. “I should have liked to live longer, and we are better off than the poor fellows drowning in their berths.”

“What! Do you think the brig is going down?” cried Billy. “Dear me, how dreadful; can’t we get something to float upon?”

“As the water is rushing into her fearfully fast, I don’t see what chance there is of her floating,” answered Tom. “However, we will not give up all hope while she remains above water. Perhaps, when the squall is passed over, we may manage to scramble out along the masts and cut away the topgallant yards, and get hold of some of the gratings or spare spars to form a raft.”

“We must be quick about it, then,” observed Desmond; “for the old craft may go down at any moment.”

“While the wind is blowing as it is now, there is no use making the attempt,” said Tom. “She does not appear to me to have sunk lower than she did when she first went over. She has a light cargo, and will float longer than a vessel heavily laden.”

The midshipmen, however, could not talk much, for it was a difficult matter to make each other hear, what with the sound of the wind, and the sea dashing against the hull of the brig, while showers of spray fell over them. They could distinguish the figures of Casey and Peter, with another man holding on to the fore-rigging, but as yet they had been unable to exchange words with them, and were afraid to let go their hold, lest they should be washed off by the sea. The gale continued to blow furiously, and for two hours a perfect hurricane raged. It suddenly ceased, and the sea—though not so rapidly—began to go down. On this their hopes revived. Tom was anxious to ascertain Casey’s opinion, and made his way to the fore-rigging.

“I’d stick to the hull, sir,” answered Pat. “The brig has floated so long; she may float longer, and we had better wait until daylight before we attempt to make a raft. We may chance to slip off into the sea, or one of those savage sharks may be watching a chance to get hold of us.”

Tom followed Casey’s advice, and without much difficulty regained his former position. Never had a night appeared so long to any of the party. Notwithstanding their position, however, Billy was constantly dropping off to sleep, and Tom and Desmond had to hold him on, or he would to a certainty have fallen into the water. As the morning approached, the sea became perfectly calm. They would have been thankful for the breeze, which might bring some vessel to their succour. What hope could they have of surviving many hours on the bottom of the brig? The sun rose. Almost exhausted, the midshipmen could with difficulty hold on. As they turned their weary eyes in all directions, not an object was in sight.

“No land to be seen?” asked poor Billy.

“That may be a couple of hundred miles away, I fear,” answered Tom.

“Any vessel coming to our help?” again inquired Billy, who, stretched on the rigging, could not lift his head.

“Without a breath of air, there is no chance of that,” said Desmond; “but cheer up, Billy, perhaps a steamer will be coming this way.”

“There are not many likely to be cruising in this direction,” observed Tom. “However, as I have said all along, we will hope for the best.”

“Oh! I’m so hungry; so thirsty,” moaned the younger midshipman. “Can’t you get me something to eat?”

“If we were to go into the cabin, we should find nothing,” said Desmond. “The last cask of water was on the starboard side, with the hung out, and must be full of salt water by this time.”

The midshipmen again relapsed into silence.

The sun rose higher and higher, its beams striking down with fury on their heads; even Tom, who was the strongest, felt that they could not hold out much longer. Hour after hour went by; still, if they were not to perish, something must be done. He asked Casey and the other men whether they had by chance any fish-hooks in their pockets? They searched, but in vain, and as to going below to look for them, they all declared that it would be impossible. The brig, however, continued to float; that was something, but Tom could not help acknowledging that they would be unable to hold out another night. Even he, as he felt the pangs of hunger and his mouth parched with thirst, began to despair. Desmond and Billy were already far gone. He gazed at the countenances of his two messmates. “They’ll never see another sun rise, and shall I?” Tom began seriously to consider how best to prepare himself for his inevitable fate.

Just then Casey sang out, “A breeze! a breeze! I felt it on my cheek, a moment ago!” He endeavoured to wet his finger with his parched tongue, but could hardly do so. He held up his hand. “It’s from the southward, and if we can manage to build a raft, we may yet reach the land, or get into the line of vessels running between Sydney and the northern ports.”

These exclamations aroused Tom; even Desmond looked up.

“A breeze! Yes, indeed, there is, and a sail too. She is standing towards us!” He pointed to the southward. A patch of white canvas, on which the sun was shining brightly, appeared on the blue ocean. Casey, at at the same time, caught sight of it.

“Hurrah! hurrah! we are saved; she cannot fail to see us.”

The cheer was taken up by his companions in misfortune. Even Billy lifted up his head.

“Is it true, Rogers, that you see a sail?” he asked.

“As true as that we are here, but we must not make too sure of being discovered,” replied Tom.

“Sure, they would not be after passing us, if they once get sight of the wreck,” said Desmond.

“That’s just what they may not happen to do,” answered Tom, who had become much less sanguine than formerly, and, hungry and worn out, was inclined to look on the dark side of things.

The breeze increased, the stranger drew nearer and nearer. Tom and Desmond were both of opinion that she was a man-of-war. Casey thought the same. The question was, however, whether she would pass them by. She was steering due west, and an object so low in the water as the hull of the brig now was, might not be visible. On she came, until she was about south-east of them, and as yet it was evident that those on board had not seen the wreck, though she herself was easily made out to be a large man-of-war steamer. Proudly she was gliding on, when her yards were braced up and she stood towards the brig.

“Thank Heaven, there is no longer any doubt about it!” cried Tom. “Rouse up, Billy, rouse up, my boy! We are all right! Here comes the steamer to our assistance, and more than that, I’m very sure that she is the Empress, or a craft so like her that it would be difficult to distinguish one from the other.”

Poor Billy could only raise his head and smile faintly, as he ejaculated, “Thank Heaven, too!”

Tom was undoubtedly right. In a few minutes more the Empress was almost within hail, a boat was lowered, and with rapid strokes came pulling towards them. Mr Norman, from whom they had last parted on the coast of Papua, was in her, but he evidently did not recognise them, supposing them to be part of the brig’s crew.

“Slide down, and we will catch you,” he cried out, as the boat pulled close to the keel of the brig, the rigging preventing her approaching the deck side.

“Billy shall go first,” said Tom, and making a rope fast round their messmate, he and Desmond lowered him down.

“Handsomely, handsomely!” cried the lieutenant, “or that boy’s skin will be torn off his back. Why! who have we here?” exclaimed Mr Norman in astonishment, looking at Billy’s haggard countenance and recognising him rather by his faded and tattered uniform than by his features.

“Don’t you know me, sir?” asked Billy, in a faint voice. He could say no more.

“Bless my heart, is it you? and are those Rogers and Desmond?”

“Here we are, to answer for ourselves,” said Tom, who, with Desmond, had managed with the aid of the rope to get down close to the boat, into which they were helped by the men, although in their weak state, so overcome were they by the exertion they had made, that they could hardly stand. They were handed into the stern sheets, and the boat then moving on took off the other three men in the same fashion. Scarcely were they dear of the brig than she righted, and as she did so began rapidly to settle down.

The midshipmen and their companions were received with hearty congratulations on board the Empress, by no one more so than by her captain, who was truly thankful to get back his younger brother, about whose fate he had long been intensely anxious. The Orion, which had been astern, now came up, and Adair was informed that his nephew was safe, although apparently in a precarious condition.

It was several days before the midshipmen could give an account of their adventures. When once they were able to use their tongues, they had very little rest, for every one was eager to know what they had done and seen, and it must be acknowledged that sometimes they were inclined to indulge their hearers with travellers’ tales.

By the time they reached Sydney they were well enough to come on deck and have a look at the magnificent scenery of that superb harbour.

Of their stay there, although full of interest to themselves, but a brief account alone can be given. They were received in the kindest way by the inhabitants, and spent some weeks at the house of an old friend of the Rogers’ family.

Their friends, Mr and Mrs Calvert, had several daughters, who contributed not a little to make their stay agreeable. On their first arrival the young gentlemen were compelled to keep their rooms, as it was considered that they had not sufficiently recovered to bear the excitement of society. They were not allowed to starve, however. A handsome repast had been sent up to them, and they were pledging each other in glasses of light Australian wine, which they found very refreshing, when the two captains entered the room.

“I congratulate you,” said Jack, as he handed two official-looking letters, the one to Tom and the other to Desmond, respectively addressed Lieutenant Thomas Rogers and Lieutenant Gerald Desmond.

The envelopes contained their commissions.

“Those papers, I suspect, will do more to set you up than anything else,” said Jack.

“Indeed they will, although they have been long enough in coming,” answered Tom.

“Faith! I could get up and dance a jig forthwith,” exclaimed Desmond.

“You’d better not, in case the ladies should arrive to congratulate you,” observed his uncle.

“Is there no letter for me? I wonder when I shall get promoted!” asked Billy from his corner of the room.

“All in good time,” answered Jack. “Perhaps you will have an opportunity before long of doing something to distinguish yourself.”

Next morning the two lieutenants and Billy were able to come downstairs. Their promotion had had a wonderful effect on Tom and Desmond, who talked and joked at a great rate with their fair hostesses. As might be supposed, the young lieutenants lost their hearts, and even Billy Blueblazes, though still a midshipman, became more sentimental than he was ever before known to have been, the most juvenile of the ladies being the object of his adoration. A copy of verses, which he had begun to compose in her praise, though as yet he had not got very far in them, afforded a subject of amusement to his messmates.

Their visit on shore was, however, brought abruptly to an end, in consequence of the two ships being ordered off to New Zealand.

Chapter Thirteen.

Warfare in New Zealand—Blue-jackets from Empress and Orion land—A desperate attack on a pah—The pah captured—A night march—The party lose their way—Gain the top of a hill—Bivouac—Attacked by a large party of Maoris—A gallant defence—Many killed—Tom wounded—Nearly overwhelmed—Jack holds out bravely—Succoured in time by Adair and Desmond—Assault on the pah—Deserted by the garrison—A night march to attack a village—Desperate defence of the inhabitants—The old chief’s granddaughter—Tim proposes to splice her offhand—The end of the contest—Homeward bound—Billy struck by moon-blindness—A thunderstorm—Billy restored to sight—The Orion lost sight of—The Empress reaches Spithead.

Each of the two ships carried a party of volunteers, who had been raised to assist the New Zealand colonists and regular troops in putting down the Maori rebellion, which had some time before broken out.

The part of the northern island of New Zealand in which the natives had taken up arms, is a region of mountains, hills, and valleys, with lakes and streams, and several rivers of considerable size, the Thames and the Waikato being the largest. The ground is either covered with dense forest or scrub, or long grass, and the thickly growing flax plant, which afforded cover to the Maoris in their engagements with the British troops. The rebels had frequently been defeated, but had fought bravely on all occasions, and sometimes successfully defended themselves.

The commander-in-chief had resolved to attack a strong pah, in which one of the principal chiefs, with a large body of followers, held out, and the ships of war were ordered round, that the men of the larger ones might be landed to co-operate with the troops, while the smaller vessels and gun-boats proceeded up the river to bombard the enemy’s fortifications before they were assaulted. The Maoris had already shown themselves to be both brave and intelligent foes, and that, savages though they were called, they were in no way to be despised.

Jack and Adair were dining together on board the Empress. They intended to land next day with about eighty men and several officers, to assist the troops in the attack on the pah. It was situated on a hill some way up the river. The smaller steamers and gun-boats were to convey the troops and tow the men-of-war’s boats with the blue-jackets on board. Besides the pah, strong entrenchments had been thrown up by the Maoris, reaching from the right bank of the river to a lake on the opposite side of the pah, thus completely blocking up the road. In addition to these fortifications, were two lines of rifle-pits, the most dangerous style of defence to attack in the hands of a desperate enemy. Both soldiers and sailors knew that it was no child’s play in which they were to be engaged, and that, savage as was the foe, many a life might be lost before he would be compelled to succumb.

Jack was unusually grave. Adair laughed and joked, as was his custom.

“If I fall to-morrow,” said Jack, “tell Julia how I longed to return home to be with her. There is a letter for her, which I wrote last night, in my desk. I have left you my executor. My worldly affairs are in good order, so that you will not have much trouble. My letter contains chiefly expressions of my devoted affection and a few directions.”

“Of course I will do everything you wish, should such a misfortune happen, but I do not believe that the bullet is cast that is to deprive you of life, Jack,” answered Adair. “You’ll get your flag, as I hope to get mine one of these days; although I know it is possible that a bit of lead may find me out, yet the chances are if it does it won’t hit a vital part. Still, in case such a thing should happen, you will bear my affectionate farewells to Lucy, though she knows that I love her as the ‘apple of my eye.’”

Gerald had come on board to see Tom, and the four relatives spent the evening together. The two young lieutenants were to join in the attack.

At an early hour the next morning the expedition commenced the ascent of the river. It was sufficiently wide and deep to float steamers of considerable size, but as the current was very strong, it greatly impeded their progress. It had been arranged that simultaneous attacks should be made both above the fortifications and below them. The steamers which carried the troops destined to assault the southern end of the pah proceeded up the river.

Jack and Terence with their men, having landed on the north side of the fortifications, were directed to proceed close to the neck of land, and sweeping round, left shoulders foremost, to attack the entrenchments at the part they would then reach.

Their guide conducted them until they reached the foot of a low ridge just beyond gunshot of the enemy. Here they were to remain until a signal was made for them to commence the action.

Jack and Tom climbed up among some low brushwood which lined the top of the ridge, whence they could see into the pah about to be attacked. It was a formidable-looking place, with a deep ditch in front, and strong palisades, which must be pulled down or escaladed before it could be entered. Through his glass Jack observed a line of dark heads with musket barrels shining in the sun. These were only the outer defences; within were other entrenchments and pits, all probably concealing a host of determined enemies, for it had been reported that the pah was held by nearly a thousand men.

The blue-jackets cared very little for the difficulties and dangers before them. They were laughing and joking as usual, eagerly looking forward for the signal to assault the works. In the mean time the troops, having landed, were marching up to their destined positions, the object of the general being so completely to surround the pah that none of the garrison could escape and give further trouble.

Just then an officer arrived, directing Captain Rogers to keep his men in reserve. This was disappointment, as all hoped to be among the first in the fort.

At length the gun-boats, which had got into position, opened fire on the fort. Their shot, however, produced but little effect in the wide open space into which they fell, the enemy having numberless pits and holes in which they could protect themselves. The larger steamers were impeded by the current, and unable to get into position from whence they could discharge their shot at the pah.

At length a rocket flew up from a hill at the north end above the river, as a signal to attack. It was answered by another at the south end, when the troops, rising from behind the cover which had concealed them from the enemy, rushed forward towards the pah, those who had just landed joining them on their right. They were received by a withering fire from the fortifications, which brought many to the ground, but, nothing daunted, they pushed forward to plant their scaling ladders against the palisades. The first line was quickly gained. More soldiers, as they landed, joined the first assailants, when the enemy retreated to the centre of the redoubt, where they seemed determined to defend themselves. The troops on the south side were at the same time fighting their way across the lines of rifle-pits, from which the enemy were firing at them with deadly effect. One pit after another was taken, the occupants of some being bayoneted, while those of others, losing heart, leaped out and endeavoured to make their escape across the lake to the east, the only outlet which now remained for them.

The main body of the enemy held out in their centre fortification, which was of the strongest description. In vain the most desperate attack was made on it by a gallant party of artillery. So high were the palisades that the scaling ladders could not reach the summit. Their commanding officer, in searching for a spot through which an entrance might be made, was brought mortally wounded to the ground. Other officers fell; at length the soldiers had to retire.

“Now, Captain Rogers, will you see what you can do?” said an aide-de-camp, who had been despatched by the general.

“On, lads!” cried Jack. He and Adair led the way, followed at hot speed by their men. Terence had brought a number of hand-grenades, which were carried by a party under Desmond’s command. It was hoped, by throwing them in, the enemy would be driven from the spot, and time allowed for the seamen to climb over the palisades. The naval party were received with as hot a fire as had met the troops. The brave Maoris, disconcerted by the repeated attacks made on them, began to waver.

Jack, in leading on his men, was struck down, and Tom, who took his place, was wounded in the left shoulder, but still continued at the head of his men.

Desmond, in the mean time, was endeavouring to throw in his hand-grenades. Although they burst in the midst of the enemy, and must have wounded several, others springing forward occupied their places, and nearly a score of blue jackets being killed or wounded, Captain Adair was obliged to retire.

Just then Jack, who had been stunned by a bullet which had grazed his head, inflicting a scalp wound, recovered, and, calling on his men to follow, led them up once more to the assault.

Adair, imitating his example, and observing that some of the palisades had been shattered by the hand-grenades, attacked them with a party of his men who carried axes. While the Maoris hurried to defend the spot thus threatened by Adair, Jack and Tom, quickly followed by the Empress’s men, mounting their ladders, climbed over the palisades, and were inside before the enemy perceived them. Although there was yet another fortification in which the Maoris might have held out for a short time longer, finding that they were overpowered, they hoisted a white flag as a sign that they were ready to capitulate.

The troops who had been advancing to the support of the blue-jackets joined their shouts to the hearty cheers of the victors. Not another shot was fired. Several hundred Maoris, many of them being chiefs, laid down their arms. Some of the warriors declared that when they saw an officer whom they thought killed get up and lead on his men as bravely as before, it was time to give in.

The victory, however, had been dearly purchased: upwards of forty men had been killed, including four officers, and nearly a hundred wounded, while the Maoris must have lost a much larger number. Two or three hundred of the enemy, who had been unable to escape, yielded themselves prisoners of war, promising never again to take up arms against the British. They were kindly treated, and at once became on very good terms with the soldiers and blue-jackets. It was curious to see them mingling with the men round their camp fires, talking in broken English, and apparently on the most friendly terms with their late enemies. As they were totally unarmed, and their chiefs remained as hostages well guarded, there was no fear of their attempting any treachery.

A redoubt was now commenced on the captured position. Soldiers and sailors laboured together in its construction, the latter especially in bringing up the guns, ammunition, and stores required by the garrison.

Another important pah, one of the principal strongholds of the enemy, further in the interior, had now to be attacked. The steamers proceeded up the river as far as the depth of water would allow, and the troops landed, with several bodies of blue-jackets from the different ships, under their respective officers.

Jack had his second lieutenant with him, Mr Norman, his brother, Billy Blueblazes, and about sixty men, among whom were Jerry and Tim Nolan. Adair was accompanied by Desmond, his second lieutenant, and about the same number of men. While the main body of the troops were to assault the pah in front, other parties were sent round to attack it in the rear, as also to cut off the retreat of the enemy.

Jack had secured the services of a guide, a friendly native, who professed to know the country, and undertook to conduct him to a position whence he could observe the fort, and either move on to attack it, or, should the Maoris take to flight, capture or shoot them down if they refused to yield. The force destined to attack the enemy in reverse, which had furthest to go, started from the camp late in the evening. The men had had their supper, and were ready for any amount of fatigue they might be called on to endure. Tom marched alongside Jack for the first part of the distance. There was no necessity for keeping silence, as no enemy was near.

“I wish this business was over,” said Tom. “There is little honour or glory to be gained. It is excessively fatiguing and unsatisfactory work.”

“It has to be done, at all events,” observed Jack. “As to honour and glory, these Maoris are no despicable foes, and fight as bravely as any men can do, though not always in the most civilised fashion, it must be allowed. It is to be hoped that they will in time discover the hopelessness of their cause, and sue for peace. It is sad to think how many brave officers and men have already lost their lives, and if the enemy holds out many more, too, probably will be killed. I am sorry, too, for the Maoris themselves, who, from their ignorance of our power, venture so boldly to resist it.”

“It is satisfactory, at all events, to find that when they discover how hopeless is resistance, that they are inclined to become friends, as they have just shown,” observed Tom.

The party were marching along a native path towards the south-east. On the left were hills covered with brushwood; on the right a more level country, partly wooded, with wide open spaces, in which grew in rich profusion the tall New Zealand flax. The shades of evening were gradually closing around. Jack was well aware that should the enemy discover the advance of his party, his position might become critical in the extreme. He therefore kept his men well together, and pushed forward as rapidly as the nature of the ground and the darkness would allow. Having proceeded some distance, he ordered them to maintain perfect silence, and to tread as lightly as possible, so that their footsteps might not be heard at a distance. He sent Tom with four men ahead, directing him to fall back should an enemy appear. Thus the little band marched on, climbing hills, diving into valleys, now crossing open spaces, now making their way through the dense scrub.

At length Jack began to suspect that they had marched much longer than was necessary to gain the desired position. He interrogated the guide, who, in his replies, showed some hesitation, and at length confessed that a considerable period had elapsed since he had come that road.

“I was afraid so,” said Jack. “We must look out for a spot where we can encamp until daylight, when we shall be able to ascertain our true position. If we march further we may get beyond the pah, and be too late for the assault.”

The party were then in a small valley, commanded on the left side by a wooded hill, from whence an enemy might fire down with impunity upon them. The guide asserted there was no risk of this, and advised Jack to advance for a short time longer, assuring him that they should soon reach the position he wished to gain.

He was so confident in his manner that Jack allowed him to continue ahead to lead the way. As they advanced, however, the valley narrowed so that the party might be assaulted on both sides. Still, as no enemy appeared, his belief in the guide’s honesty returned. Again the valley opened out; a hill appeared on the left side, sloping gradually up from the valley. Jack determined to take possession of it, and to remain there until daylight. He accordingly sent Tim Nolan on to Tom, who had charge of the guide, directing him to halt until the main body came up, when he hoped the guide would find a path by which the hill might be ascended. Tim quickly returned, reporting that the guide had disappeared and although two of Tom’s men had instantly set off in pursuit, they had been unable to find him. This looked suspicious, and made Jack more than ever anxious to get into a secure position. A path was found leading up the hill. He determined to pursue it, though steep and narrow, directing the men to be prepared for an attack, as he thought it possible that the hill might be in possession of the Maoris. In perfect silence they proceeded, two men abreast, for the path would allow of no more. At any moment they might hear the crack of the enemy’s rifles, and a shower of bullets might come rattling about their ears. Still they went boldly on.

Up and up they ascended among the tall trees. It was too dark to see more than a few yards ahead; and Jack issued orders that should the enemy appear, his men were to fire a volley and charge, when he had little doubt but that the Maoris would give way. The path made several bends to avoid the steeper portions of the hill. It might easily have been defended by a determined body of natives. As none showed themselves, Jack began to hope that he should gain the position without fighting. Suddenly looking upwards, he discovered that there were no tall trees rising above him, and directly afterwards he found himself in an open space, destitute even of brushwood, on the summit of the hill. A line of palisades, partly broken down on the opposite side, convinced him that the ground was the site of an ancient pah or village; and, as it was of considerable elevation, he hoped at daylight, by obtaining a good view over the country, to ascertain the direction he must then take. It was not, he was certain, the position he had been directed to occupy, and was, he thought, a considerable way beyond it. That, however, without a guide, could only be ascertained in the morning. It was more secure than would have been a spot covered with trees, but at the same time the enemy might steal close up to it without being discovered. He therefore saw the necessity of keeping a vigilant look-out.

A short time before a detachment of military, after a long march, having halted, had become scattered, the officers going to a distance from their men, when the Maoris, who had been on the watch, fell upon them, killed one of the officers, wounded another, and killed or wounded upwards of a dozen men. To avoid a like misfortune, Jack kept his men together in the centre of the space, and placed sentries all round. The rest he allowed to lie down with their arms by their sides. As they had had supper before marching, they were not hungry. Many cried out for water, but unfortunately none had been brought. Although there was no moon the stars were bright, and enabled objects to be seen from the hill-tops at a considerable distance. Jack, though he sat down, did not venture to go to sleep, keeping his eyes and ears open. Occasionally he and Tom made a circuit of the ground, stopping every now and then to listen, but no sounds reached their ears.

“I really don’t think the enemy can have discovered us,” observed Tom; “or if they know where we are, they consider it too hazardous to attack us.”

Jack was inclined to be of Tom’s opinion; so, directing the look-out men to keep a vigilant watch, they retired to the centre of the open space, and sat down close to the rest of the people.

“It has occurred to me,” said Tom, at length, “that if our guide means treachery, he will find out the Maoris and bring down a body upon us; and it is quite possible that we may even now be attacked before morning.”

“I have little doubt that he did intend treachery; and that he thought, on deserting us in the valley, that we should bivouac where we then were, from failing to discover this hill. If so, the Maoris will be disappointed,” answered Jack. “Whether they will venture to attack us when they find that we have gained this position, is the question.”

Scarcely half an hour had passed after these remarks had been made, when suddenly, from amid the dark wood on every side, bright flashes of flame burst forth. The crack of rifles was heard, and bullets came flying over where the men lay. The sentries returned the fire. Two of them the next instant were seen to fall. Had the rest of the men been standing up, many of them must have been hit.

The sound of musketry made the party spring to their feet; and Jack, directing Mr Norman and Tom to hold their ground with half the men, led the other half towards the side of the hill from whence the firing appeared to be thickest. As he gained it he ordered half of those with him to fire a volley down the hill, aiming at any objects they could see moving, then to lie down or seek cover behind trees. As soon as the smoke had cleared away he caught sight of a number of dark forms advancing up the hill.

“Now is your time, my lads!” he sang out.

The men in reserve, while the first half were re-loading, fired at the approaching foe. Several must have been hit, but the next instant not a man was to be seen, they having evidently sought cover by springing behind the trees.

What has now been described occupied scarcely a minute of time. Jack did not forget that the enemy were on the right and left of him, and might at any moment gain the level ground and get between him and the rest of his party. He therefore thought it prudent to fall back, intending to hold the position on the side where the hill was steepest, and which might be defended by a few men, while the main body were occupied by the enemy in front.

His position was dangerous in the extreme. Completely surrounded as he was by apparently a large force, he might find it difficult to hold out until the arrival of reinforcements; indeed, it was a question whether they would be sent to him. Before he could get across the open space to the spot he had determined to hold, the enemy again appeared, this time coming boldly from under the cover of the trees, firing as they did so. They must have been somewhat surprised by the volley they received in return, as they must have supposed that the small number of men they first encountered formed the whole of the party. Still several of the seamen had been hit, and two more poor fellows killed outright. It wanted yet an hour to dawn, but it was doubtful whether Jack’s position would be improved by daylight. The enemy would be able to take better aim from behind the trees at his men, exposed in the open. Had there been time he would have pulled down the old palisades and made a breastwork, which would have afforded some protection to his people, but now the Maoris had got behind the palisades and fired from thence. To attempt to leave the position would be madness. He could not hope to gain a better without having to pass through the thick of the forest, while his men would have been exposed to the fire of an almost invisible foe. His chief hope was that the Maoris would discover that the other pah was to be attacked and would retreat to assist in its defence. This, however, was only likely provided they were at no great distance from the fortification. The warm way in which he received the enemy whenever they appeared kept them in check, and sometimes, for several minutes together, it was hoped that they had retreated, but again and again they came on, though they must have suffered severely.

Many more seamen would have been hit had not Jack made them lie down and only rise on their knees to fire. It was satisfactory to him to think that it was owing to his vigilance that his whole party had not been surprised. It was very evident that they were far out-numbered by the enemy, who still seemed resolved to persevere in the attack. Dawn at length broke, and as daylight increased Jack knew that the diminished numbers of his party would be discovered by the Maoris. For some time, however, no attack was made, nor could an enemy be seen. Hopes were entertained that they really had retreated. The wounded were crying out for water, and as at some distance at the bottom of the hill, a stream could be discerned, Jerry Bird and several of the men volunteered to go down and fetch it.

Jack, of course, could not allow them to do this until he had ascertained whether the enemy had left the neighbourhood. Taking, therefore, a dozen men with him, he was making his way across the open to examine the side of the hill, when a hundred dark forms sprang from behind the brushwood, where they had concealed themselves, and opened a hot fire on him and his small party.

“Give them a volley in return, lads, and retreat!” cried out Jack.

He was promptly obeyed by all but three, who had been struck down. He and his men then rapidly retreated, re-loading as they went.

Seeing what had occurred, Tom, with a dozen more men, rushed forward to succour the captain, and greatly contributed to keep back the Maoris, who, on seeing the retreat of the first party, had begun to advance. Jack was on the point of giving the order for the whole of his party to charge, when a volley fired in his rear by a number of the enemy who had climbed up the steep sides of the hill, made him order the men to halt and deal with the fresh party of the foe. Though the latter climbed up with the greatest courage, they were unable to avoid exposing themselves. Several being shot, the rest sprang down the steep side of the hill, seeking such shelter as they could find.

More of the seamen had been wounded, and even now from behind rocks and trunks of trees the Maoris continued to fire from the foot of the hill at any of the sailors who exposed themselves. Jack was casting a look round his diminished band, when to his grief he saw Tom fall. He sent Jerry Bird to ascertain the nature of his brother’s wound. Jerry, stooping down, bound up Tom’s side, and directly afterwards Lieutenant Norman, who was bravely repelling, with half-a-dozen men, another assault on that side of the hill, was struck in the head by a bullet. In a short time Bird rejoined him.

“Lieutenant Rogers is badly hurt, sir; but I don’t think he is mortally wounded, and as I’ve managed to stop the bleeding, if he can get the help of the doctor I think he’ll do well, but I’m sorry to say, sir, poor Mr Norman is done for. He never moved after he fell. We’ve lost a good officer, sir.”

“You speak the truth, Bird, but I wish you would stay by Lieutenant Rogers while you are able, and defend him to the last, should the enemy gain the hill. We must keep in check those in front. If it were not for our wounded, who would be exposed to destruction, I would charge and drive them down the hill.”

A short time after this the hard-pressed band were left at peace, and the wounded who lay on the ground were lifted up and brought together, so that a small party could defend them. The sun rose, and the heat, even on the summit of the hill, became excessive. The poor wounded fellows cried out loudly for water.

“I think, sir, I might get down, and by keeping among the trees, be back with a couple of hats full before the enemy find me out,” said Jerry.

“I wish, my brave fellow, that I dare let you go,” answered Jack. “I feel confident that you would be discovered and shot.”

It was very tantalising to see the water glittering in the distance and yet not to be able to get to it. That Jack was right was soon shown by the enemy suddenly appearing. They must have observed how many of the seamen had already been shot down, and felt confident of ultimate success. They were received with the same steady fire as before, and several were killed. Jack at last began to lose all hope of escaping, but he determined to hold out while a man remained alive. He had often been in dangerous positions, but at no time had he seen the prospect of death so near for himself and his followers. As long as his ammunition held out, however, he might still hope to keep the enemy at bay, as they appeared to have no inclination to come to close quarters. Scarcely a man of his party had escaped without one or more bullets having pierced his clothes or hat, while on each occasion, when attacked, several had fallen.

A longer pause than before ensued, when the Maoris, with loud shouts, sprang up the hill, as if resolved to surround and overwhelm the small party of seamen. Jack could not help feeling that they would too probably succeed. He, notwithstanding, cheered on his men and urged them to deliver their fire steadily at the foe.

Just then a cheer was heard at the bottom of the hill. The advancing Maoris stopped and looked over their right shoulders. The next instant a volley was fired among them, which brought several to the ground, while the rest turned and fled away to the left, many throwing down their muskets as they rushed through the brushwood. In a few minutes a party of seamen were seen coming up the hill, and Adair and Desmond dashed across the open to meet Jack with his men. Their greeting was but short, as Adair considered that the enemy should be followed and severely punished. Jack advised him not to go far lest he might fall into an ambush.

Happily Adair’s party was accompanied by an assistant surgeon, who at once hastened to attend to the wounded. He gave a favourable report of Tom, whose wound he had dressed, as well as most of the other men who were wounded. The hill being cleared of the enemy, Bird with a party set off to obtain water for them, for all, even those unhurt, were suffering fearfully from thirst.

In a short time Adair returned, having found it impracticable to force his way through the bush in pursuit of the enemy. He brought in a number of muskets and pouches, showing that a panic must have seized the Maoris, who evidently fancied that the whole of the British force was upon them. He, like Jack, had lost his way, and hearing the firing, had directed his course to the spot whence it came.

From the summit of the hill they were now able with their glasses to distinguish the pah it was intended to attack, which had been passed at a considerable distance. Stretchers were at once made for the wounded, and as it was impossible to carry the dead, graves were dug at the top of the hill, where the bodies were interred. As far as they could judge, the attack on the fort had not commenced, and they would still be in time to perform the duty assigned to them. Jack’s people, though hungry and weary, and mourning for their shipmates, were still eager for the fight.

Taking a survey of the country from the hill, they were able to select a more open path than that by which they had come, towards the pah, which could be seen in the far distance. They of course had to keep a bright look-out, and to send out scouts on either hand to avoid a surprise should the natives rally and again attack them. They were at length much relieved by falling in with a body of troops sent round to join in the assault on the rear of the fort. As the road to the river was perfectly safe, the wounded were carried down to the boats to be conveyed on board the ships of war, where they could be better attended to than on shore.

Jack and Terence learned from the officer commanding the troops that the attack on the pah had been postponed, and that they were still in time to take part in it. They accordingly pushed forward until they got just beyond gunshot, where they halted, expecting the signal from the opposite side for commencing the assault. Jack and Terence advanced, under cover of the trees, to a point whence they could obtain a good survey of the whole pah through their glasses.

“Very strange!” observed Jack. “I see no people moving about, nor any in the entrenchments.”

“We must not, however, be too sure of that,” answered Terence. “They may show themselves fast enough when we commence the assault.”

They were now joined by the major commanding the troops, and together they settled the part of the works on which to direct the chief attack.

Scarcely was this done when up went the signal rocket, and hurrying back to their men they led them forward, expecting every moment to be exposed to the enemy’s fire, but still not a black head appeared, not a gun barrel was to be seen. As soon as the ground would permit, the blue-jackets and soldiers advanced at the double, creating a dust which completely surrounded them. On reaching the palisades the seamen began to climb over, while the soldiers with their axes commenced opening a space through which they could force their way. Still not a shot had been fired. They could see that the troops at the other side of the pah were engaged in similar work, and almost at the same moment both parties forced an entrance. Great was their surprise and disappointment to discover that the space was deserted. There could be no doubt that the Maoris who had attacked Jack formed part of the garrison, and that finding the formidable preparations made for their destruction, they had deserted the pah, and falling in with him on their retreat, had intended to revenge themselves by attempting to cut him off.

The general now resolved to attack two other important positions to the south of the province of Auckland, which prevented a free communication between that province and Taranki. Jack had much wished to return on board the Empress to ascertain how Tom was getting on, but finding that more work was to be done, he overcame his fraternal feelings, though Tom’s wound caused him considerable anxiety.

The object on most occasions throughout the warfare waged with the rebel tribes was to out-flank and take the enemy in the rear. The success of these movements of course depended greatly upon the secrecy with which they were conducted. The force was now strengthened by three guns, two Armstrong six-pounders, and a naval six-pounder which Terence had brought from his ship. The tents were allowed to stand until after nightfall, and no signs were made in the British camp that the troops were about to move. Soon after dark, however, the tents were struck and the troops being paraded without sound of bugle, moved silently forward. Among them were the seamen and marines landed from the Empress and Orion. Jack and Terence marched with their men, who dragged along their gun, which from the careful way they handled it, they evidently regarded with the greatest affection.

After marching for a couple of hours, and crossing a river by a ford, they approached the enemy’s position, into the rear of which it was necessary to get without being discovered. So perfect was the discipline of the troops that not a sound was uttered as they moved along, and the Maoris—not dreaming that they were in the neighbourhood—were heard calling out as usual to evince their alertness—

“I see you, ye dogs, come on and fight! come on!”

A low chuckle from the seamen was the only reply. It was not the intention of the general to attack this position, which would, by its supplies being cut off, become untenable when turned, and the column, therefore, marched on to capture a large Maori village in which were considerable stores, the whole neighbourhood being also under cultivation. The advance guard consisted of a body of forest rangers, a colonial cavalry corps. They were followed by the seamen, who, lightly clad, managed to keep up with them. For several miles they marched along a path with high ferns on either side, the country beyond being completely shut out from their view. By pushing the cavalry and light troops forward it was hoped that the village might be surrounded, and the inhabitants prevented from making their escape. Whether they would attempt to defend themselves was doubtful. It was hoped that they would see the uselessness of doing so, and orders were issued to treat them—should they yield—with all kindness and consideration. Ascending a slight elevation, the village, covering a wide extent of ground, could be seen, not a quarter of a mile away. No lights were visible in any of the huts, nor were any of the people moving about. Not a dog barked—not a sound was heard. The rangers were ordered to push forward and enter the village on one side, while the seamen and marines closed it in on the other, so that should the inhabitants take to flight they must fall into the hands of the troops who were coming up over the ridge. As the seamen were advancing, not supposing that they were even discovered, suddenly a line of fire opened on them from a range of huts in their front, the Maoris running their muskets through the walls. The defenders in the smaller huts were soon disposed of, but from a large hut in the centre a most determined resistance was made. One of the seamen had got close up to the door, when it was opened and he was hauled inside before his comrades could rescue him. There could be little doubt but that he was instantly put to death. There being nothing at hand to break in the door, the seamen again and again attempted to force an entrance, while the defenders continued to fire through the walls.

“We must not let those fellows keep us back,” cried Jack, dashing forward at the head of his men, when all at once flames burst forth so furiously from every part of the building that no one could approach it.

Not another shot was fired; probably the defenders had exhausted their ammunition. Just as Jack was about to order his men to move on and attack another part of the village, the door opened and a tall Maori stalked forth, his blanket over his head to defend himself from the flames. With a dignified step he advanced towards Jack, and presenting his war axe, he yielded himself up as a prisoner. No others came out, and the roof of the hut directly afterwards fell in. For a moment the seamen stopped, gazing at the catastrophe; then the impulse seized them to rush forward and attempt to rescue their fellow-creatures, but it was too late: for an instant a blackened head rose amidst the burning embers, and in another place an arm and shoulder appeared, but directly after sank down. Not a groan, not a sound proceeded from the building. All within it had perished, together with the unfortunate seaman who had been dragged inside.

In the mean time the resistance offered in the other parts of the village had been overcome. A hut near the centre still remained, however, from which shots were fired at the assailants. Jack led on his men to attack it. As the door was closed they fired, knowing that their bullets would penetrate the walls. After the first discharge Jack called to the inmates to surrender themselves. A shout of defiance was the only reply, followed by several shots. Again the seamen fired, when dashing forward they burst open the door. No further resistance was then offered. On the ground lay stretched four Maoris, still grasping their muskets, while at the other end sat a young girl, supporting in her lap the head of an old warrior, who had been shot through the chest and who was apparently dying. Three other men—the remainder of the garrison—having thrown down their weapons, stood ready to deliver themselves up.

As Jack, followed by Bird, Nolan, and other men, approached the young girl, she said in broken English, pointing to the old warrior, “He grandfather! Soon die! No hurt him!”

“That we won’t, my pretty maiden. I am sorry that he should have been wounded. We will see what the doctor can do for him.”

The girl shook her head. Jack saw that not only was blood flowing from the wound in the old man’s breast, but that it came gushing out from his mouth. He despatched one of his men for the surgeon, and had the old warrior lifted out of the hut, which felt hot and stifling, in the hopes that the fresh air might revive him. The girl followed and again seated herself on the ground beside her aged relative.

“Sure! isn’t she a beauty!” exclaimed Tim Nolan, who had assisted in carrying the old man, and now stood regarding the girl with an expression of admiration in his countenance. “If she’d be after having me, I’d lave the sarvice and settle down in this beautiful country.”

“May be she wouldn’t have you, me boy,” observed Jerry Bird. “If she is a chief’s daughter she’ll be looking after an officer.”

Tim gave a hitch to his trousers. “Though I’m not an officer I’m a British seaman, and a mighty deal better looking than many an officer, no disrespect to my superiors, and I don’t see why a Maori girl should turn up her nose at me or at any one like me. I’ll ask the captain’s lave to splice her off hand.”

The surgeon soon arrived and at once pronounced the old chiefs wound mortal; indeed, before many minutes elapsed he had breathed his last.

The poor girl was inconsolable. Her mother, she said, was dead, and her father had gone off to defend a pah which it was supposed would be attacked by the British. Jack promised to protect her to the best of his power. She seemed inclined to trust him. He was greatly puzzled, however, how to act, and Tim, who made the offer to “splice her forthwith,” in no way relieved him. While Jack was in this dilemma the surgeon suggested that a missionary, who had accompanied the forces as interpreter, would be the best person to whom to consign her. The excellent man, when appealed to, gladly undertook the task, promising to send her at once to his station, where she would be looked after by his wife with some other chiefs’ daughters of the same age. Whether the young lady was pleased or not with this arrangement, it was difficult to say. She had been overcome with grief at the death of her relative, and she was still seen every now and then to give way to tears. Poor Tim was in despair.

“I told you so,” observed Jerry Bird. “She’s a young lady born, though she’s not rigged out in silks and furbelows, and she’s not for such as you or me. If you are a wise man you’ll wait for an English or an Irish girl, for though she may have a cock-up nose, and weigh three times as much as this young beauty, she’ll make you a far better wife.”

The expedition was successful. The strong posts of the Maoris being captured, and the inhabitants of the whole of that part of the country having sent in their submission, the seamen and marines were able to return to their ships.

Jack and Terence, after this, were engaged in several other expeditions on shore, in which, though successful, several officers and a large number of men lost their lives. At length the Maoris discovered, what they might have known from the first, had they not been instigated by the knavish foes of England, who kept well in the background, that it was useless to contend against the power of Britain. Most of the rebel chiefs losing heart, tendered their submission, and promised in future to be faithful subjects of Queen Victoria.

The regular forces were consequently withdrawn, and the protection of the provinces left to the care of the colonial troops. Jack and Terence, greatly to their satisfaction and to that of their officers and crews, received orders to return home. They agreed, as far as they were able, to keep together, although they would have few opportunities of communicating, except by signal. They were of course to proceed under sail, except in the event of continued calms, when they would put on steam. They had filled up their bunkers with coal at Auckland, and they hoped to avoid the necessity of touching at Rio, or any other place for fuel. The Empress taking the lead, the two men-of-war steamed together out of Auckland harbour, when, having gained a good offing and a fair breeze springing up, all sail was made and they stood together on their homeward course.

Tom Rogers, having completely recovered, was able to resume his duty. Though he had often made Billy Blueblazes his butt, he had a sincere regard for the midshipman, who was placed in his watch.

He was one night, soon after leaving New Zealand, walking the deck, on which the full moon shone down with even more than its usual brilliancy, when he missed Billy. Leaving the poop he walked forward, when he found that he had slipped down with his back leaning against the bulwarks, just behind a gun, and was fast asleep with his eyes open.

“Well, Billy, what sort of a night is it?” he asked.

Billy, starting up, rubbed his eyes. “Very dark, sir; I’ve been looking out for some time, but can see nothing.”

Tom was somewhat astonished at this answer.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “I don’t like to suppose that you were asleep, but it did look like it.”

“Oh, no, sir,” answered Billy. “I never go to sleep if I can help it, at all events on duty. It is a dark night, although some time ago I know the moon was shining very brightly.”

“You must be joking,” said Tom; “why the moon is shining as brightly as ever I saw it in my life.”

“On my word, I cannot see that or any thing else,” answered Billy. “It seems to me that I have not been ten minutes on deck.”

Just then it struck seven bells of the first watch. Again poor Billy rubbed his eyes.

“I’m very sorry, but if I’ve been asleep I didn’t know it,” he said, putting out his hands instinctively before him. “Do you know, I’m afraid I’m blind.”

“I very much fear that you are,” said Tom. “I’ll send you below and you’d better turn in and have the doctor to see you in the morning; maybe that your eyes are only a little dazzled just now, and you will be all to rights by that time.”

Tom called another midshipman and directed him to help Billy into his hammock and let him know how he was.

From the way poor Billy walked, it was very evident that he could not see an inch before his nose, although, when he had once got his feet on the after hatchway ladder, he easily made his way to his hammock. He felt about, however, where to place his clothes, and required some assistance in turning in. When there, he heaved a deep sigh. His messmates heard him murmur, “Oh, dear me! am I going to be blind all my life?”

“I hope not Billy, but Mr Rogers says that he thinks you have been struck by moon-blindness, from sleeping with your eyes open, gazing too long at Dame Luna. You would have got in a precious scrape if that had not happened. I suppose Mr Rogers won’t report you now.”

Again Billy groaned. He had much rather have been reported and punished than have lost his sight, as he now supposed was the case. As soon as Tom’s watch was over, he came down to see Billy, who was still groaning at the thoughts of having lost his sight. Tom did not think matters so serious. Intending to comfort Billy, he told him that in consideration of what had happened, the captain would not be severe on him.

Billy at last groaned himself to sleep. He awoke just before daylight. All was as dark as ever, but, though he began to groan again, he very soon once more dropped off to sleep. At last he was aroused by hearing the hammocks piped up. He instinctively tumbled out of his, when what was his surprise to find that he could see as well as ever, though his eyes ached a little, and he felt an uncomfortable smarting about them.

He hastily dressed and went on deck. The discovery that he could see threw him into high spirits. He began to tell every one of his wonderful recovery. In a short time the doctor heard of what had happened, and called him up to hear about it and to examine his eyes.

“I don’t wish to damp your spirits, but you must not be too sure of retaining your sight,” observed the surgeon.

Still Billy would not believe this, and was perfectly satisfied that he was all right. At night, however, what was his disappointment when, directly the sun set, he became blind and had to be led below to his hammock. In vain the doctor applied remedies—none of them had the slightest effect. Poor Billy was under the impression that he should have to leave the service without a chance of becoming one of England’s admirals, or even obtaining his lieutenancy.

The two ships, still keeping in company, had a long spell of fine weather, but at length one evening it came on to blow hard. The wind increased during the night, and on the following day a terrific storm of thunder and lightning burst over the ship. The Orion, which had hitherto kept company, was lost sight off. The thunder rolled and rattled, and flash succeeded flash, each more vivid than the first. Several times it appeared as if the ship herself would be struck, as the forked lightning, bursting from the mass of dark clouds above, went zig-zagging over the summits of the waves. It was Tom’s watch. Billy, who, in the day time, could do duty as well as ever, was on deck, as indeed were most of the officers, who had come up to witness the terrific strife of the elements. Billy was standing by himself, when a flash, darting through the air, passed so close to him that it appeared as if he had been struck. It was seen to flash across the deck and to lose itself in the foaming ocean. Billy uttered a cry and put his hands to his eyes. Tom asked him if anything had happened.

He answered, “No, only the lightning looked very bright. I thought I was struck.”

The gale continued. No one thought of leaving the deck. Night came on, yet Billy remained moving about as he had not done for several weeks past.

“Why, Billy, you seem, to be able to see your way as well as ever,” said Tom, who observed him.

“So I do; although, between the flashes, the night is dark enough, I can make out objects as well as I ever could.”

Though the gale continued, the thunderstorm blew over before midnight, and Billy, with the rest of the watch below, turned in. The next evening he found to his infinite satisfaction that his moon blindness no longer existed, and the doctor and all who pretended to any scientific knowledge, were of opinion that it had been cured by the electric fluid, which had glanced across his face.

“Another half-inch, however, and we might have had a different tale to tell of you,” observed the doctor.

“How so?” inquired Billy.

“Why, that you would have been turned into a piece of charcoal, instead of being restored to sight. There is something to think of, my boy, for the rest of your days.”

A look-out was kept for the Orion. Although the gale had ceased, and the horizon was clear, she was nowhere to be seen.

“I hope they’ve not been after killing a pig aboard,” remarked Pat. “They may not get off so cheap as we have.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tim Nolan.

“Why, for what we can tell, one of them zig-zag flashes may have struck her, and sent her down to Davy’s locker, or fired her magazine and blown her up sky high.”

“I hope that’s not Captain Adair’s fate,” observed Jerry Bird. “I’ve sailed with him many a day, and a better officer and a nicer gentleman does not command one of her Majesty’s ships. When I have been on shore with him, he has been kind and friendly like, and looked after the interests of his men, seeing that they have plenty of grub when it was to be got. Never made us work when there was no necessity for it, and I should be sorry indeed if any harm happened to him.”

When, however, day after day went by, and the Orion was not seen, even Jack began to feel somewhat anxious. She was not likely to have gone ahead of the Empress, which was the faster ship of the two, nor could she have dropped so far astern as to be altogether out of sight in so short a time. Still, as Jack observed to Tom, “They had often, during their early days, been inclined to give each other up for lost, and always met again,” and he still hoped that such would be the case. At last, however, when the shores of Old England appeared in sight, he began to dread having to tell his sister Lucy his anxiety about her husband. Proceeding up Channel, Spithead was reached, and the Empress immediately received orders to go into harbour to be paid off.

Jack wisely, when writing to his wife, who, with Lucy, was staying at Lady Rogers’, did not speak of his anxiety about Adair, but merely said that he had parted from him at sea and hoped the Orion, which had proved herself rather a slower ship than the Empress, would soon make her appearance at Spithead. Murray and Stella, with their children, were, he learned, at Bercaldine, for which he was sorry, as he thought he might have had the satisfaction of meeting them in the south. Some days must elapse before he could pay off his ship; he fully expected that Julia and Lucy would forthwith come down with their elder girls to Southsea, though he felt very much inclined to advise them to wait. Tom was glad to find that Archie Gordon had been promoted for more than a year, and was now serving in the Channel squadron, so that he was very likely to fall in with him before long. As Jack had expected, scarcely two days had passed since the Empress had dropped anchor, before Julia and Lucy arrived at Southsea, each with a little girl, the very image of their mothers. Jack had the happiness of hearing that a little Jack had been born a few months after he had left England, and was grown into a fine chubby fellow, and that if the small Lucy was the image of her mamma, still more so was young Jack that of his papa. Poor Lucy began to look very sorrowful, when day after day went by, and the Orion did not appear.

Chapter Fourteen.

A visit to the grave of an old friend—The three old shipmates meet—Desmond in Ireland—Lays claim to a title and estate—The post captains take to yachting—Cruises on board the Stella—A naval review—Down Channel—A gale—A run up the Irish Sea—Dublin reached—Gerald Desmond has become Viscount Saint Maur—Pleasant excursions round Dublin—Counsellor McMahon and his fair daughters—The Stella again sails, with Lord Saint Maur on board—Becalmed in the chops of the English Channel—The yacht run down by a big ship—Saint Maur disappears—Anxiety as to his fate—Dangerous condition of the yacht—Falmouth reached—Dick Stokes gives an account of the collision—Return to Ryde—The Stella sails northward—Jack appointed to the Bellona, Adair to the Empress.

Two gentlemen, who might at a glance have been known as naval officers, were walking arm-in-arm towards a church in the midst of a burial ground, standing on the summit of a hill surrounded by woods in the Isle of Wight, overlooking the Solent. The trees were green with the bright leaves of early summer, the birds flew here and there, carrying food to their young, and chirping merrily. In several places openings had been cut, affording a view of the blue water down the Channel in the direction of Calshot Castle and towards Spithead and the entrance of Portsmouth harbour.

One of the gentlemen was strongly built, of middle height, with an open, well-bronzed countenance, a few grey hairs showing themselves amid his bushy whiskers, proving that he was getting on in life. The other was tall and of slender proportions, but had equally the air and bearing of a son of the ocean.

Passing though a wicket gate, they went along a well-kept gravel path, and stopped before two monuments, side by side, one of granite, the other of white marble. On the first, surmounted by a naval crown, was engraved— “To the memory of Admiral Triton;” and on the other was inscribed the name of Deborah Triton, daughter of the late Captain Triton, RN, and sister of Admiral Triton, who lies interred by her side.

At a little distance followed two ladies, with a party of girls and boys, who had been laughing, chatting, and joking, as they ran in and out among each other, skipping and jumping, and darting here and there. Their voices were, however, hushed as they approached the wicket gate and discovered that they had arrived at the churchyard.

“I’m glad that my directions have been carried out,” said Captain Adair, the taller of the two gentlemen. “It is but a poor mark, after all, of the gratitude and affection I owe to my kind old friends, by whom I have been so largely benefited. What do you think of them, Jack?”

“They are very much to my taste, and are exactly such as I should have wished to put up,” answered Captain Rogers. “We shall hear what Julia and Lucy say.”

Their two wives, who now arrived, were equally pleased. The elder girls, who had brought wreaths of flowers, placed them on the graves as a token of their visit—an idea of their mothers, though it is probable that neither Jack nor Terence would have thought of doing such a thing. They were still looking at the monuments when carriage wheels were heard, and a gentleman and lady soon afterwards appeared from the other side of the churchyard, and approached them, accompanied by a fine-looking lad in a midshipman’s uniform.

“Why, Murray! My dear fellow! I little expected to see you here!” exclaimed Jack, hurrying forward to greet them, Adair following.

Captain Murray introduced his son, who had just left the Britannia, and expected every day to be appointed to a ship.

“But where have you come from, and where are you staying?” asked Jack.

“From Bercaldine, on board the Stella, but not the Stella you know. Our family having considerably increased, we had outgrown the old craft, so I purchased a fine schooner in Greenock, aboard which we arrived only yesterday evening. Finding you were staying at Ryde, we went to your house and there heard that you had gone in this direction. Guessing your object, we drove on here in the hopes of meeting you.”

This of course gave Jack and Terence and their wives the greatest satisfaction. Thus the three old shipmates were again united, and together they stood round the grave of the friend they had known from their youth upwards. Of course they had a great deal to talk about, and Murray, sending away his carriage, walked back with his friends to Ryde.

Young Alick, as may be supposed, made himself agreeable to Miss Julia Rogers and Miss Lucy Adair—for both girls were christened after their mothers. He was a fine handsome boy, full of life and spirits, without a particle of bashfulness. Murray inquired after Tom and Desmond. Tom was at sea on board the Roarer, a lately launched composite frigate, which was expected to perform wonders both under sail and steam, but she had already had to put back twice into Plymouth with broken-down machinery and other injuries. It was hoped, however, now that she had undergone a thorough repair, that she would at all events be able to keep above water, although she might not succeed in running after a smaller enemy, or in running away from a big one.

“And where is your nephew Desmond?” asked Murray.

“In Dublin, closeted every day, he writes me word, with a lawyer, poring over papers, writing and receiving letters, and seeing witnesses. Our friend McMahon assures me that he is certain ultimately to succeed his father’s relative, Viscount Saint Maur, a fifth, sixth, or seventh cousin, I believe, who has died lately. Several other persons, however, having laid claim to the title and estates, McMahon was somehow or other induced to look into the case, and became convinced that Gerald was the rightful heir. I thought that it was better while he was at sea not to unsettle his mind by holding out any great prospect of success.”

“I heartily hope that he will succeed,” said Jack. “He is a fine young fellow; although he has not particularly distinguished himself in the service, I’m sure he will, should he have an opportunity. I hope he’ll stick to it even although he should become Viscount Saint Maur.”

“I’m not very confident about his doing that, even should the Lords of the Admiralty offer to promote him,” said Terence, laughing. “He may possibly imitate the example of our old school-fellow, Johnny Grant, who had been a mate eight or ten years, when, on his coming into a title, my lords wrote, offering at once to promote him and appoint him to a ship. He politely replied, that though hitherto overlooked, he was bound to thank them, but declined their noble offer. I suspect that Gerald also will prefer remaining at home looking after his property, and probably taking to himself a wife.”

“Not one of our Australian friends?” asked Jack. “I didn’t think he was so far gone as that.”

“Oh no; he is as heart-sound as ever, but an Irishman with a title and good property is not likely to be allowed to remain in single blessedness. If he gains his cause at the trial, which is to come off shortly, I hope that he will come over and pay us a visit while the old house is undergoing repairs; we shall then probably go and stay with him during the winter. I wish that you and Murray would come and see us at Ballymacree—including, of course, Mrs Murray and Mrs Rogers and all your belongings. We have had the place put to rights, and I’ve bought back some of the dirty acres surrounding it which my poor father let slip through his fingers, so that it has regained some of its pristine greatness or glory, although we do not intend to carry on as was the custom in days of yore, when half-a-dozen hogsheads of claret were on tap at once, and anybody who asked for it got the key.”

The young ladies were, perhaps, not quite so much interested with the account Adair gave of his nephew as were their parents, or in the prospect of seeing the future viscount. Murray feared that he should be unable to visit Ballymacree.

“We are due at Bercaldine in the autumn,” he observed. “We are unwilling to disappoint the people there, who always look forward to our return, and we have been so many years absent that we do not like to remain away oftener than is necessary.”

“You’ll be getting your flag soon,” observed Adair. “Then if you have an appointment offered you, surely you would not wish to decline it. It will be some time before Jack and I become admirals, although I shall scarcely feel myself neglected if I do not get a ship. In the mean time, I have paid several visits to the Admiralty lately to ascertain by ocular demonstration what are my prospects, and, judging by appearances, they are not so bad as may be supposed. By my calculations, you will have your flag in a couple of years at the outside.”

“How is that?” asked Mrs Murray.

“Why, I will tell you. Your husband, as well as Rogers, well knows the waiting-room to which officers are ushered, who desire to pay their respects to the First Lord of the Admiralty, to obtain anything they can out of him. When I see a number of old post-captains collected, I generally drop a remark that I have not come to ask for employment, but to inquire how soon I am likely to obtain my flag. Some one is sure to think I’m cracked, and to beg that I will say how I can possibly learn that? My reply is that I watch the way in which my seniors go upstairs. If they run nimbly up when summoned, I am pretty sure that they are likely to remain on the books as long as I am, and become admirals. But if they drag their legs up after them, and ascend at a slow pace, I feel certain that they will be placed on the retired list, or perhaps go out of the world altogether. On hearing this my respected seniors have generally cast angry looks at me; and when they are summoned I follow them out. The first few steps they go up nimbly enough, but by the fourth or fifth they drag their legs slower. Before they are out of sight I see them creeping on, and often blowing like grampuses with the unusual exertion they have made. I generally pull out my watch too, and time them, making a note also of their mode of progress. In nine cases out of ten I have found that I have been right. Since the idea first occurred to me fifty at least have gone off the list.”

Mrs Murray looked somewhat grave. “I had rather Alick remained a captain than see a number of officers put aside or die to make room for him,” she answered.

“Why, my dear Mrs Murray, it’s all we have to look to,” answered Terence. “We must grow old, it’s certain; and we wish to become admirals before we are laid up with the gout, or become too decrepit to go to sea. I hear the Admiralty are taking the matter into consideration, and intend to increase the retired list, so that we juvenile captains may have a better chance of our flags.”

Jack and Terence accompanied Murray and Stella down to the pier, where their boat was waiting to take them off to the yacht, which lay among several other fine craft a short distance from it. Both promised to go on board with their wives and children the next morning.

“Have you got Ben Snatchblock as master?” asked Jack.

“No, no,” said Murray, laughing. “He modestly declined taking so responsible a charge, and I thought he was right, so he has subsided into the more retiring character of boatswain or second mate. I brought the craft round myself, but I intend to look out for a Cowes man as first mate and pilot, as I wish to have no anxieties, and be able to send the vessel anywhere I wish, without going in her. I propose engaging a couple of good men as master and mate, if they are to be found at this season of the year. Most of the well-known men are, of course, already engaged.”

Next morning Jack and Terence, with their belongings, went down to the pier, where the Stella’s boat, with the young Alick, was waiting to receive them with oars in the air. Young Alick gave the word to shove off in a very officer-like way, and the blades dropping flat on the water, scarcely making a splash, the boat with rapid strokes was pulled alongside the yacht. Even to Jack’s critical eye she was as neat and trim as any craft could be, and, moreover, a thoroughly comfortable, wholesome vessel, as are most of the Scotch yachts.

Captain Murray stood in the gangway to hand in his guests, who were soon seated in easy camp chairs, on cloaks and cushions round the skylight. The anchor was hove up. The vessel’s head, under her jib and foresail, payed round before a light air from the eastward, and the mainsail being hoisted, she stood away with several other yachts, which got under way at the same time, standing to the westward. The sky was blue and clear, and the sun shone brightly on the glittering water, just rippled over by the breeze, on the polished sides of the yacht, on the burnished brass work, and on the sails white as snow.

As the Stella’s squaresail was set, she ran by several of the yachts, showing that, although a comfortable craft, she was no laggard. Every thing on board was perfect. The men in their white duck trousers, blue shirts, their hats having a band on which the name of the yacht was inscribed in gold letters, the decks without a spot, the ropes neatly flemished down, the bulwarks of a pale salmon colour, the stanchions, belaying-pins, and other brass work burnished to a nicety, all betokened a thoroughly well-ordered yacht, Murray himself setting the example in his own person. The yacht soon glided by the wooded heights of Binsted. The royal domain of Osborne, surrounded by trees, with its green lawn, was passed, Cowes Point rounded, and its harbour opened out full of yachts of every size and rig, some at anchor, others just getting under way. Its club house and picturesque villas, amid its groves of trees and bright lawns, were seen close on the port side; while on the opposite shore, at the mouth of Southampton Water, could be distinguished Calshot Castle, once the residence of a general well known in the Peninsular War, the predecessor in the command of the British army of Sir Arthur Wellesley. Beyond Calshot rose the tower of Eaglehurst, and to the west of it, reaching to the shore, the outskirts of the New Forest. Then further on could be seen the town of Lymington, at the end of a river meandering through mud flats, with Jack-in-the-basket at its mouth; on the Isle of Wight shore the village of Newton, peeping out amongst the thick foliage, with a line of downs rising far beyond it, extending to the extreme west of the island; and Yarmouth, with its long street and sturdy little castle at one end, a church tower rising in its midst; and Freshwater, with its attractive-looking residences, perched on the hillside; and to the west of it, its formidable but unpicturesque-looking forts, scientifically placed on heights commanding the entrance to the Solent. On the right, at the end of a long spit of sand, were the red light-houses, and the castle, and newly erected batteries of Hurst, such as no hostile fleet would dare to encounter; outside of which could be distinguished, by the broken water, the dangerous shoal of the Shingles, well marked also by its huge black buoys.

“How beautiful and curious those cliffs are coloured!” exclaimed the children in chorus, pointing to a bay in the Isle of Wight shore, a short distance inside the white Needle rocks.

“That is Alum Bay,” answered Captain Murray. “The cliffs are composed of fine sand of different colours, as you see. You shall land there some day, when we will come down on purpose; and you can collect specimens for your museum. There are tints sufficient for forming a picture, and you may try who can produce the prettiest landscape with them.”

Beyond Alum Bay the cliffs rose to a great height, continuing to the very end of the island, where the white Needle rocks ran out into the blue waters. The most northern one had been scarped so as to form a platform, on which a granite light-house had been built, instead of one on the downs, which, frequently shrouded by mists, was not to be seen in thick weather by vessels entering from the westward. The Needle rocks were soon rounded, while the tide was still ebbing, and Scratchel’s Bay was opened out, its perpendicular cliff rising sheer out of the water several hundred feet. The pilot Murray had engaged narrated how once upon a time a transport on a dark night ran in on the rocks, and the crew and passengers escaped over the fallen masts, and succeeded in scrambling up the more accessible part of the cliff; when the morning broke the white rocks looked as if sprinkled over by lady-birds, as the soldiers in their red jackets attempted to make their way to the summit.

The yacht stood on until Christchurch Head was passed, and Bournemouth, peeping out amid pine groves, and Studland Bay, and the pretty little town of Swanage appeared, when she hauled her wind to save the tide back, as with a light breeze she would require every inch of it to reach Ryde before nightfall.

The ladies, who had never sailed down the Solent before, were delighted with the scenery. Even the three captains, who had so often come in and out through the Needle passage, declared that they enjoyed the views more than they had ever done before. The sea was so smooth that there was no necessity to bring up for luncheon, while before dinner-time the Stella was again inside the Isle of Wight.

It was the first of several pleasant trips the three old friends with their young people took on board the Stella. The captains declared that they felt like boys again, and that it was the happiest time in their lives. They had picnics at Alum Bay, Netley Abbey, on the shores of Southampton Water; they pulled up Beaulieu River in the boats, and several times sailed round the Isle of Wight.

Adair received a letter from his nephew Gerald, giving a hopeful account of his prospects.

“What do you say to a trip round to Dublin to congratulate him if he succeeds, or to console the poor fellow if he fails?” said Murray. “You will come, I am sure, and I dare say Jack will have no objection to the trip.”

Both Adair and Jack were perfectly ready to accept the invitation. Mrs Rogers expressed her readiness, and Lucy undertook to remain at Ryde to look after the children. It was finally settled that the eldest Miss Murray and Miss Rogers should go with the yacht, with, of course, young Alick, while the rest remained behind. It was arranged that the Stella should sail as soon as a grand review of the fleet, which was about to take place, was over. The review was in honour of a visit paid to the Queen by the Sultan of Turkey and the Pasha of Egypt, or rather to exhibit Britannia’s might and power to the two Eastern potentates. Murray had invited several friends of his own, as well as of Jack’s and Adair’s, to see the fleet. As soon as they were on board, the Stella got under way, and making sail ran down the two lines, the one composed of lofty line-of-battle ships and frigates, relics of days gone by, consisting of the Victory, the Duke of Wellington, the Donegal, the Revenge, the Saint Vincent, the Royal George, the Saint George, the Dauntless, and many others, whose names recalled the proudest days of England’s glory, but which were probably three or four times the size of the old ships, with a weight of metal immensely surpassing their predecessors. In the other line were cupola or turret-ships; iron-clads, with four or five huge guns, armoured screw frigates, and screw corvettes, and rams—hideous to look at, but formidable monsters—and gun-boats innumerable, like huge beetles turned on their backs, each with a single gun capable of dealing destruction on the proudest of the ancient line-of-battle ships.

The fleet getting under way stood to the eastward, when they formed in perfect order, the sailing ships taking the port line, the iron-clads the starboard. The Stella, having stood back to Spithead, saw them approaching, presenting a magnificent spectacle as they gradually emerged from the broad wreaths of smoke issuing from their funnels.

“Gaze at yonder sight, ladies and gentlemen; it will probably be the last time you will see the ancient and modern fleets of Great Britain placed in juxtaposition. All those magnificent three-deckers will be cut down into turret-ships, as the Royal Sovereign has been treated, or be broken up as useless, unable to contend with the smallest gun-boat afloat.” Jack heaved a deep sigh as he spoke, adding, “I cannot help wishing at times that things had remained as they were, and that smoke-jacks and iron-clads, and rams and torpedoes, and other diabolical inventions had never been thought of; but we must take them as they are and make the best use of them in our power. In the next naval war, whenever it takes place, there will be some extraordinary naval events to be recorded. Instead of stately ships and light frigates, with their white canvas reaching to the skies, the ocean will be covered with low black monsters, darting here and there seeking for antagonists, others ramming, and some sending their vile torpedoes beneath an enemy’s keel; others thundering away from their monster guns; not a few blowing up and foundering with all hands on board.”

“You do not draw a pleasant picture of the battles of the future,” observed Adair, laughing. “My idea is that if the British fleet is kept up as it should be, no enemy will venture out to attack it.”

A strong south-westerly gale kept the Stella in Cowes harbour for some days, but the weather again clearing, and promising to continue fine, she sailed with a northerly breeze down Channel. By this time the ladies had got so well accustomed to the yacht that they felt themselves perfectly at home. Murray had a good supply of books, and a box from Mudie’s was added to the store, with creature comforts of all sorts on board.

“After all, though we are somewhat closer packed than we should be on board a line-of-battle ship, I must say that yachting is a mighty pleasant way of spending the time,” exclaimed Adair.

“Lucy, I suspect, will be well content if you are satisfied with indulging your nautical propensities in this way, instead of going afloat for three or four long years,” observed Julia.

“It’s as well not to think about the future. If the Lords of the Admiralty insist on my taking the command of a ship, unless I make up my mind to give up the service, I must accept their offer. However, at present, as they do not know where to find me, I am not likely to hear about the matter, even should they offer me a ship, so let’s be happy while we can, and drive dull care away.”

The fine weather continued until the Stella had got to the westward of the Eddystone, when it came on to blow pretty hard from the southward. Murray proposed running into Falmouth for the sake of the ladies.

“Will there be any danger if we continue the voyage?” asked his wife.

“Not the slightest; at the utmost we need only expect a summer gale, and though we may have a heavy sea when doubling the Lizard, once round it there will be a fair wind for us,” was the answer.

The ladies were unanimous in their desire to keep at sea, so the yacht stood on her course. They certainly did repent of their resolve when the beacon on the Wolf Rock appeared on the starboard hand, and the gale came down with redoubled force, while a heavy sea got up, such as those who have often been in the chops of the Channel have experienced to their cost. The ladies, however, showed not a shadow of fear.

The yacht behaved beautifully. Murray knew that he could trust to her spars and rigging, for Ben had superintended the fitting out of the vessel, and set up each shroud and stay, and carefully examined every inch of her masts and yards, so that he felt confident that not a flaw existed. In a short time the helm was put up and the yacht stood for the passage between the Land’s End and the Scilly Isles, guided by the two magnificent lights, the Longships on the starboard bow and those of the light vessel off the Seven Stones on the port.

“Why, I expected that we should have a terrible night of it; how suddenly the gale has gone down!” exclaimed Julia, not aware that the yacht had been just put before the wind, as she and the other ladies were seated on the sofas in the luxurious cabin.

The yacht, instead of heeling over as she had hitherto been doing, was on a tolerably even keel, though she gave now and then a little playful roll or pitch into the seas as she rapidly clove her way over them.

Jack came down and invited them to come on deck and see the two lights, which now appeared before them on each bow.

“Before the light vessel on the port bow was stationed there, no ship on a dark night and bad weather would willingly run through this channel,” he observed. “But now it can be done as safely as in the broadest daylight, or indeed even more so.”

“But I see two lights close together,” said Julia.

“Yes,” answered Jack, “one is at each mast-head of the vessel. It can thus be distinguished from the larger light of the Longships, which is a single light of much greater power. We can also thus distinguish the Longships from the revolving light of Saint Agnes, on the southern rocks of Scilly. You can see it low down over the port quarter. Now you see it is hidden, but it will appear again in another minute, whereas the Longships light is fixed and is always visible.”

As Murray had prognosticated, the wind moderated, and the Stella had a pleasant run across the mouth of the Bristol Channel, sighting the Smalls light-house the next forenoon to the westward of Milford Haven on the starboard hand, the revolving Tuscar lights off the Irish coast being seen over the port quarter as it grew dark.

The wind now fell, and not until next morning did a light breeze spring up, which wafted the Stella along the Wicklow coast. Just before dark she brought up in the beautiful Bay of Dublin, the wind not allowing her to get into Kingstown harbour. Adair being especially anxious to go on shore to learn how it fared with Desmond, the boat was manned, and Jack accompanied him on shore, the ladies preferring to remain on board.

The eventful day of the trial was over, and already it had been decided whether Gerald Desmond was to remain a poor lieutenant with his half-pay alone to depend upon, or become the owner of a handsome estate—albeit somewhat encumbered—and the possessor of a title, at all events worth something, whatever cynics might think about the matter. Jack felt almost as much interested as Adair, and could talk of nothing else during their passage up to Dublin. The crew seemed to guess there was something in the wind, and gave way with a will. On arriving at Dublin, having sent the boat back to the yacht, they hastened up to the residence of the Counsellor McMahon, with whom Desmond was staying. They intended to sleep that night in Dublin, and to return the next morning by way of Kingstown to the Stella.

Captain Adair, excited by his feelings, pulled the bell with more than his usual vehemence.

“Is Counsellor McMahon at home?” he asked.

“No, your honour, the master, with the lieutenant, is out, but they’ll not be long before they’re home,” was the answer.

Adair thought the term lieutenant augured ill. Surely the servant would speak of Desmond as the young lord if he had gained his cause. He, however, considered that it would be undignified to put the question.

“Are any of the family at home?” asked Jack, as he and Adair tendered their cards.

“Sure, yes, capt’ns; the mistress and the young ladies are at home, and they’ll be mighty glad to see ye.”

“Take up our cards, at all events,” said Adair, “and we will wait in the hall.”

The servant hurried off, while Jack and Adair stood waiting his return. The man soon returned.

“Come up, come up, capt’ns; the mistress will be mighty pleased to see you,” he said, beginning, in a way no English servant would have thought of doing, to relieve them of their hats.

“Sure, I’ll just take charge of these; they’ll be after incommoding you in the drawing-room,” he said, taking possession of their beavers by gentle force.

Adair smiled, but made no objection, although Jack was very unwilling to give up his hat.

They were ushered into a handsome drawing-room, and the lady of the house—a buxom dame—came smiling forward, while three young damsels rose and put down the work on which they had been engaged.

“The Counsellor must have had good hope of success, or he would scarcely have invited the young lieutenant to remain at his house with three such attractive girls as those are,” thought Jack, as he cast a glance at the young ladies, while he advanced across the room.

Mrs McMahon received them with Irish cordiality and begged them to be seated. “I’m expecting the counsellor back every moment, and I conclude that our young friend, Lord Saint Maur, will return with him; for so I may call Lieutenant Desmond, as only a few technicalities have to be gone through before he can properly assume the title.”

“Has he really gained the cause?” exclaimed Adair. “I am delighted, and grateful to Counsellor McMahon, without whose aid he would have had no chance of success.”

“The counsellor has done his best, and his success has afforded him as much satisfaction as it can any one else,” answered the lady, bowing. “Indeed, it is a pleasure to have been of service to so excellent and delightful a young man as your nephew, Captain Adair.”

Jack looked round to see whether any of the young ladies gave responsive looks to the encomiums passed on Gerald. They all three smiled sweetly, with precisely the same expression, so that it would have required a better physiognomist than was Captain Rogers to have discovered what was passing in their innocent minds.

“I fully believe that the counsellor was disinterested in the efforts he made to forward Desmond’s cause,” he thought to himself.

There was not much time for conversation before Counsellor McMahon, a round, ruddy-faced, white-haired, bright-eyed man, accompanied by Desmond, entered the room. He took Adair’s hand in both his own and shook it cordially, saying in a hearty tone—

“I congratulate you, my dear captain, on your nephew’s success.”

“Oh, don’t thank me; I merely took care justice was done—that’s all a lawyer has to do, from his client’s point of view at all events. We triumphed, as I knew we should, notwithstanding the forgeries, the falsehood, and the perjury brought in array against us. It was truly a satisfaction to fight in the cause of your nephew, who bore his blushing honours with so much equanimity. I believe that had he lost, he would again have gone to sea and done his duty with as much zeal as ever. Whether or not he will now return to tempt once more the tempest and the waves, not to speak of round shot and bullets, is more than I can say. I only know that if I were in his place I should stick to terra firma. But I never much admired a life on the ocean wave, albeit feeling the deepest respect for its gallant sons who hazard their lives in their country’s cause.”

The lawyer ran on, scarcely allowing Jack or Adair to get in a word. At last, however, they had an opportunity of congratulating Desmond on his good fortune.

He spoke very sensibly, and was evidently in no way unduly elated by his success. Jack rightly thought that he had been too busy to dream of making love to the lawyer’s fair daughters, attractive as one and all of them were.

In a few minutes supper was announced, and Jack, as the senior officer, handed down the lady of the house, Desmond modestly slipping behind and refusing to move.

Mrs McMahon was affability itself, the counsellor brimful of jokes and good humour, laughing and talking for everybody else. On hearing that Jack and Adair had part of their families on board, he insisted that they should come on shore, and allow his wife to show them the lions of Dublin and its neighbourhood. “You’ll not be going away without taking a drive into Wicklow, the most perfect paradise on the surface of the globe in my opinion,” he added. “Carriages shall be in waiting for the ladies, and I’ll take all the trouble off your hands.”

So pressing an invitation was not to be refused. The various excursions Mrs McMahon and her friends made on shore need not be described. They were delighted with all they saw of the country, if not of Dublin itself and the Misses Murray at once declared that they should be perfectly ready to come and live in Ireland, though they had seen no spot which could equal Bercaldine.

As Captain Murray had to return to Ryde to take on board his younger children, before returning to Scotland, his stay in Dublin could not be prolonged. “We can give you a berth, Saint Maur, if you are inclined to take a trip to sea again, although we will not make you keep watch unless you specially wish it,” he said, scarcely expecting, however, that the invitation would be accepted.

“I shall be delighted,” answered Desmond; “I can spare a couple of weeks, as McMahon will not immediately require my signature and will do all that is necessary in the mean time. I feel as fond of the sea as ever, though I shall certainly not seek for employment, and may possibly retire and start a yacht next year if I can afford it, although on that score I am not very sanguine, as the old house, I understand, requires extensive repairs, and there is much to be done on the estate: decent cottages, instead of pigsties, to be built; land to be drained and fences put up—the tenantry must be looked after.”

Murray, as the only way of returning the attentions he had received from Counsellor McMahon, took him, his wife, and daughters, a trip on board the Stella, their cruise being along the Wicklow coast, and highly delighted the young ladies were, though the counsellor acknowledged that he was much happier when the Stella brought up in Kingstown Harbour, and he found himself at the dinner table in the comfortable cabin at perfect rest.

“It may be very pleasant for you young people to be tumbled and tossed about while you are gazing at the scenery of our incomparable mountains, but I confess that I can only enjoy the beauties of nature while I find my feet securely placed on terra firma,” he remarked.

The following day, with a spanking breeze from the westward, the Stella sailed on her return to the Isle of Wight. The fine weather continued until she had got clear of Scilly. While she was still in the chops of the Channel it fell a dead calm, and a thick fog came on. There the Stella lay, drifted slowly up by one tide and to the westward again by the other. Night came on. The officers agreed that they had never been in the Channel with such perfect darkness as hung over the water. Lights were hoisted, and a look-out kept for any steamers which might be coming up or down the Channel, although to get out of their way was impossible.

Captain Murray and his friends felt far more anxiety than they would have experienced had it been blowing a strong gale. The evening was unusually chilly. Moisture dropped from the sails and rigging, preventing the ladies from remaining on deck. Adair went below, as he said, to amuse them; but Murray, Jack, and Desmond remained looking out, ready to shout should they see a steamer approaching. Of sailing vessels there was no fear, for they, as was the Stella, would be becalmed.

“Oh, those horrible steam-kettles! I never before so heartily hated them as I do now. If one of them was to come thundering along now, without a bright look-out, she might be into us before our lights could be seen, or our warning shouts heard!” exclaimed Adair.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Murray. “I’m almost inclined to get the ladies on deck and to have a boat lowered, in case a steamer should run into us. We should have a better hope of saving their lives, for the sides of a yacht are but ill able to withstand a blow from a steamer going at even a moderate speed; and some of those steam-boat skippers, provided they make a fast passage, care very little what damage they may do to small craft in their way.”

Murray, however, kept all fast. He felt ashamed of making preparations for a catastrophe which might never occur. Hour after hour passed by, while they paced the deck with their hands in their pockets, whistling for a breeze. It was very trying, as they were in a hurry to get back.

“You had better go below, Saint Maur,” said Murray; “there is no necessity for us all to remain on deck.”

“Thank you; but I would rather assist in keeping a look-out, while either you or Captain Rogers turn in. I’ll keep moving, though, for I feel it rather cold;” and Desmond continued walking up and down at a quick pace.

Captain Rogers at last said he would go below to see what the ladies were about, and to advise them to turn in.

Scarcely had his head descended below the companion hatch than Murray exclaimed—

“Here’s a breeze at last! Its dead ahead though; but it will blow away the fog, I hope, and we shall be able to keep the yacht moving.”

Two or three minutes, however, passed before the vessel’s sails, feeling the influence of the wind, enabled her to gather way. Contrary to Murray’s expectations, the fog still hung as thickly as before above the water.

“Here, Murray, the ladies want you to settle a knotty point,” exclaimed Jack, from the foot of the companion ladder.

Murray, seeing that the schooner had now got way on her, dived below. Not a minute after, a crash was heard. He, followed by Jack, sprang on deck, when they saw a large dark hull, with a pyramid of canvas, rising above the deck, over the after part of which a long projecting bowsprit made a rapid sweep, tearing a hole through the mainsail, and carrying away the leech. They both instinctively sprang aft to the helm, the man at which had been knocked down. In another instant the schooner was clear, and the stranger had disappeared in the darkness.

Jack, taking the helm, kept it up, for the blow had brought the vessel to the wind, while Murray hastened to ascertain what damage had been done.

“She has only torn away our bulwarks, sir,” cried Ben. “Try the well,” said Murray.

Ben reported—

“She’s making no water, but I don’t know what she may do when we go on t’other tack.”

“Clear the boats ready for lowering,” exclaimed Murray.

That on the port side, however, was found to have been carried away, with the davits, and now hung crushed to pieces, held by the falls. The darkness prevented all the damage which had been done from being discovered for some time. Adair had remained a minute behind his friends, to quiet the alarm of the ladies, who were naturally somewhat agitated at hearing the sound caused by the collision. He now sprang on deck, just as Murray was ordering a boat to be lowered.

“Here, Desmond,” he sang out, “lend me a hand at the after falls.”

“Hold on!” cried Murray; “there’s no necessity for lowering a boat. There’s no great damage done, after all, I hope; though it would have been the same to that big fellow, for no one on board him even hailed to know whether we required assistance.”

The breeze was every instant freshening. The schooner heeled over to starboard.

“Where are you, Desmond?” exclaimed Adair.

No one answered.

“Good Heavens! where’s Saint Maur?” cried Jack. “Can he have gone below?”

“That’s not likely. Alick, where are you?” cried Captain Murray, the fearful idea occurring to him that some accident might have happened to his son.

“Here, sir,” cried Alick, who had been forward talking to Ben Snatchblock.

Murray uttered his thanks to Heaven. “Bring a light here, and look round the deck,” he exclaimed. “He may have been struck down.”

The search was in vain. The man who had been at the helm seemed to have been seriously injured, as he was found senseless close to the taffrail. It became too sadly evident that the young lord had been carried overboard.

He must have been struck on the head; for no cry had been heard, and, owing to the pitchy darkness, no one had seen him. The crew, with the exception of the helmsman, having been gathered forward, they were now mustered to ascertain if any one else had been carried overboard, but all answered to their names.

Murray and Jack blamed themselves bitterly for having left the deck when they ought to have been on the look-out; but even had they remained, the collision might not have been avoided, so suddenly had the stranger appeared running down before the wind. Adair could scarcely restrain his grief for the loss of his nephew. Murray immediately put the schooner about, and then kept away, so as to pass over the spot where the accident had occurred. Desmond might possibly have recovered his senses, and kept himself afloat, either by swimming or holding on to the fragments of the boat. Every eye was strained in looking ahead and on both sides, in the possibility of discovering him; but no voice replied to their repeated shouts, and nothing was seen floating on the water. Hands were stationed at the falls to lower the boat, should it become necessary. The schooner was frequently tacked, so that every inch of water was explored; but the search was in vain.

Murray considered that it would be useless to attempt to overtake the stranger, to ascertain who she was, and to demand reparation for the damage inflicted. At length the search was abandoned as hopeless; and the yacht once more hauled her wind. She was destined, to all appearance, to have a long beat up Channel.

Jack undertook to convey the sad intelligence to his wife and Mrs Murray, who had remained below, wondering what had occurred.

It was a sad event in the trip, which had otherwise been so agreeable. The wind continued to increase, and Murray felt too anxious to go below. The schooner had been put about and was now standing to the northward. He had made up his mind to run into Falmouth to wait for a fair wind, should the weather not improve. Ben Snatchblock came aft.

“I’m afraid, sir, that the craft’s making more water than she should. We’ll man the pumps, if you please. She got more damage than I had supposed. The chief injury seems to be amidships, and I should not be surprised if the water wasn’t coming in through one of the side berths.”

Jack and Adair went below to examine into the state of affairs. One of the berths on the port side had been occupied by Desmond. On entering it, by the light from the main cabin, they saw the water gushing in every time the schooner heeled over. The ladies naturally cried out with alarm.

“It might have been far worse,” said Jack. “We can soon stop this. We must shorten sail and keep as much as possible on an even keel.”

The carpenter came below with some tools and planks, and set to work to try and stop the leak. The pumps were, in the mean time, kept actively going, and Ben reported that the water was decreasing. Still, the injury might be more serious than was at first apprehended, and no little anxiety was felt by all on board. It might be many hours before Falmouth could be reached.

The damage having been partially repaired, the yacht was put about. The leak in the side was anxiously watched, to ascertain if the water still came in. A small quantity was evidently forcing its way through the seams, but Murray hoped that it would not prove of much consequence, and that the pumps might easily keep the vessel clear. Still he was aware that at any moment the plank nailed on might be forced in. It seemed a wonder indeed that the yacht had not been sunk at once by the blow she had received.

“The wind’s coming a point or two more to the south’ard, sir,” observed Ben Snatchblock, who had been looking at the binnacle. “Half a point or so more, and we shall weather the Lizard. There are the lights, sir. I thought we should see them before long.”

The mist clearing away, the fixed lights of the Lizard were seen on the port bow. Gradually the wind allowed the vessel’s head to be turned more to the eastward, when they appeared broad on the bow. The schooner, by keeping close to the wind, was able to steer a course direct for Falmouth Harbour, and away she went slashing through the seas at a great rate. Just before dawn it again grew unusually dark and thick, so that even the bright lights of the Lizard could be seen but dimly. They served, however, to show that she was at a sufficient distance from the shore, but that shore was a lee one, and should any accident happen, she would be placed in great peril.

“Luff all you can,” said Murray to the helmsman, for he naturally dreaded, should the wind increase, to find himself with a rocky coast under his lee, though he had confidence in his craft.

Day dawned, and the Cornish land appeared stretching along from north to south, and much nearer than had been supposed. Breakers were seen dashing over the dangerous rocks of the Manacles, close under their lee. Just then a heavy squall struck the yacht; over she heeled, and the water rushed half up her deck, pouring in through crevices which had hitherto not been discovered. To keep her away was impossible. By luffing up she ran the risk of getting into the wind. To shorten sail would have been equally hazardous. She must stand on at all risks. The yacht flew through the water, plunging into the seas like a being struggling for life. Falmouth Harbour appeared directly ahead, with Saint Anthony’s light-house on the east side of the entrance. In a short time the vessel would be safe. She shot by close to the buoy of the Manacles. Murray knew that it was placed some distance outside the rocks. He drew his breath when he saw it astern; still no one looking at him would have suspected the anxiety which had weighed on his heart.

By keeping the pumps going the water did not gain sufficiently to cause much alarm, but the Stella had already more in her hold than was pleasant, and her stores, at all events, were likely to suffer. Murray was infinitely relieved when he was able to let go the anchor, and the yacht rode safely in the beautiful harbour of Falmouth, among numerous other craft, of various rig and size. The vessel once at rest, the water was soon pumped out, and, breakfast over, Murray and Adair went on shore to obtain a carpenter capable of thoroughly repairing the damages the vessel had received, as also to ascertain whether she had received any injury below water. Meantime Ben was engaged in mending the mainsail.

The ladies did not feel disposed to go on shore. They were, fortunately, not fully aware of the danger in which the yacht had been placed, and had as much confidence in her as ever. The carpenter and his assistants set to work without delay, and, wonderful to relate, undertook to have all damages repaired by the following day. A doctor was also sent for to attend to poor Dick Stokes, who had remained senseless since he was taken below. After some treatment, however, he recovered sufficiently to speak and to give an account of what he recollected from the moment he saw the stranger gliding stem on towards the Stella’s beam.

“She seemed to be coming just as it were out of a fog, like a big ice mountain, and I thought it was all over with us,” he said. “I’d just time to put the helm down, hoping to scrape clear of her, when I heard a crash and saw her bowsprit come sweeping along over our deck, tearing away the luff of the mainsail and knocking the port quarter-boat to pieces. I thought I saw some one hanging on to her bobstay, and the next moment that or something else struck me on the head and shoulders, and I thought I was going overboard. It seemed as if I heard a cry, but whether it was my own shout or some one else’s is more than I can tell. You see, sir, it was so dark I could not make out anything more, so whether it was really a man I caught sight of or not I cannot tell. To my mind, where the schooner was struck, she bounded off from the ship, or we should have been sent to the bottom. That she was a sailing ship and not a steamer I am pretty certain, for I had time to see her canvas rising up above us.”

Dick’s statement, as far as the appearance of the ship was concerned, was corroborated by the rest of the crew, but so dark was it that only two had actually seen her before she was again clear of the schooner and running past astern. Dick’s statement slightly raised the hopes of Adair and his friends, that Lord Saint Maur might have escaped, but why, if he had got safely on board the ship, she did not heave to to allow the yacht to speak with her was surprising. The only supposition was that she was a foreigner, and that he could not make himself understood, or that the officer of the watch, supposing that the schooner had sunk, was afraid to heave to lest he might be made answerable for the catastrophe.

Such utter disregard for human life had before been exhibited on more than one occasion, and this might be another instance. However, conjectures were useless. If Saint Maur had been saved they would hear of him again. He would either get on board a homeward-bound vessel, or land at the first port at which the ship touched. The sad subject was discussed over and over again.

“I cannot believe that Lord Saint Maur is dead,” said Miss Julia Rogers, Jack’s eldest daughter—who had looked the picture of woe since the accident, although she had said nothing—when she heard Dick’s statement. “He was telling me of the numerous dangers he and Tom had been in, and how they had got out of them all, and I don’t see why he should not have escaped from this one. Dick Stokes thinks he saw a human being clinging on to the bowsprit rigging, and that must have been Lord Saint Maur, and he being a sailor could easily have climbed up and got on board. I have been picturing to myself his doing so, and how astonished the sailors must have been when they saw him, though it was very, very cruel of them not to heave to and wait for us to receive him back again.”

Stella smiled sadly at young Julia’s remark. Murray was not so sanguine as his friends. He suspected that Dick had been nodding at the helm, and that had he had his eyes open, he would at all events have given the alarm before the stranger had struck the yacht. The latter, it should have been said, was sailing on a course diagonal to the ship, or she would have been more severely damaged.

The bad weather being over, the Stella once more sailed for the Isle of Wight. Adair had written to Counsellor McMahon an account of the accident. He had posted the letter before Dick had come to his senses, and he then expressed no hopes that his nephew had escaped. As the winds were light, the Stella was three days getting up the Channel, and it was not till late at night that she brought up off Ryde. The party, therefore, did not go on shore until the following morning. His aunt and young cousins were deeply grieved at hearing of Desmond’s possible fate.

“It will be a sad blow for Tom and Archie when they hear of it,” observed Jack to Adair. “They have as great an affection for him as we three had for each other.”

Murray remained at Ryde some days longer, taking trips in various directions, and then the captain and his family, bidding adieu to their old friends, sailed, intending to go homewards along the east coast and round the north of Scotland. Young Alick, who had not yet been appointed to a ship, accompanied his father and mother.

Next morning, as Jack and Adair were seated at breakfast, Adair remarked, as he was overlooking a new navy list, just sent in from the library—

“I had no idea that Murray was so near his flag. I see that Sir Benjamin Blowhard, old Grummet, poor Marlin, and Kelson, Lord Figgins, as we used to call him, Dick Dotheboys, and Oakum, have gone the way of all flesh. I saw by yesterday’s paper that Bulkhead had died in the West Indies, and two other captains senior to Murray are very ill.”

“I shall rejoice at Murray’s promotion,” said Jack; “there is no man better suited to command a fleet.”

“I cannot say that I wish for such a responsibility,” observed Adair, “nor am I in any special hurry to become an admiral, though Lucy may think it a very fine thing, especially if I am made a KCB, of which, however, there is not the slightest probability. I’m much more likely to be kicked off to sea and sent to the East Indies or West Coast of Africa to sun myself.”

While this conversation was going forward, two long official-looking letters were received. Julia and Lucy looked at them suspiciously.

“Those very affectionate gentlemen, the Lords of the Admiralty, request that I will do them the favour of taking command of the Bellona, Murray’s old ship,” said Jack; “but whether to serve on the home station or to go out to the Antipodes they do not explain.”

He handed the letter to his wife, who put her hand to her heart, as if she felt a sudden pain there.

“Oh, Jack, I did not think they would send you off again!” she said, with a deep sigh.

“And what is your despatch about?” asked Lucy, in a trembling voice.

“Of the same tenor as Jack’s. Those dear old fellows offer me the command of the Empress, but leave me as much in the dark as Jack is as to where I am to go.”

Lucy always behaved better than her sister-in-law on such occasions, although she certainly did not love her husband a bit the less.

“I hope if you are sent out to a foreign station where the children and I can live, that you will let us go too,” said Lucy; “either to North America, or the Mediterranean, or Australia, or the Cape. I’m sure it will be one of these.”

Julia was equally pressing to be allowed to go out to any part of the world to which the Bellona might be sent, but Jack would wisely make no promises.

“Well, we must go over to-morrow or the next day to commission the old tubs, I suppose,” said Adair, laughing, as if the appointment was anything but satisfactory, although in reality he felt proud at being again sent to sea.

This event almost banished poor Desmond for a short time from his mind, until he received a letter from Counsellor McMahon:— “I cannot believe that our young friend has gone, after all the efforts we made to obtain his rights for him. I would rather suppose that he was even now swimming about somewhere in the chops of the Channel, or was carried off by the ship which so abominably attempted to run you down. I have always heard that midshipmen have as many lives as a cat, and though he had become a lieutenant, he had not abandoned the privilege he enjoyed in his youth. I don’t believe he is lost, and I do not intend to let either of the other claimants get hold of the property, or assume his title, until I have stronger evidence of his death than your letter supplies. I remember only a short time ago, one of the Lords of the Admiralty, or some high official in the Marine Department, was carried off by a stranger running into the vessel he was on board, and it was not until several days after that he was discovered, having clung to what is called the dolphin striker—although to what part of a ship’s rigging that instrument belongs I do not know, but conclude that it must be at the end of the bowsprit—and that his lordship was hooked up by the breeks, from which disagreeable position he was rescued by the sympathising crew of the vessel which had run into his.”

The lawyer’s confidence, although, perhaps, arising from insufficient grounds, greatly restored Adair’s spirits, and he and Jack the next day went over to Portsmouth to assume command of their respective ships.

Jack applied for his brother, and the Lords of the Admiralty graciously granted his request. He was very glad to obtain Archie Gordon as his first lieutenant. He at once wrote to Murray, saying how delighted he should be to have young Alick. His letter found the Stella lying in Leith Roads, she having put into the Firth of Forth to remain a few days. In less than twenty-four hours young Alick appeared with a letter from his father, requesting Jack to obtain the necessary articles for his outfit. Orders were received to get both ships ready for sea with all possible expedition, and the two captains found that they were to proceed round the Cape of Good Hope to Aden, to which place further orders were to be transmitted to them.

Chapter Fifteen.

The Bellona and Empress sail for Aden—Part company—Bellona falls in with a merchantman in distress—A gleam of hope—Touches at the Cape and Aden, and proceeds up the Red Sea—The Bellona reaches Annesley Bay—Jack and Tom land at Zulla—Visit the British camp—Extensive operations going forward—March commenced—Interview between Sir Robert Napier and the Prince of Tigré—The British army advances to attack Magdala—Encounters Theodore’s forces—Defeat of the Abyssinians—Theodore sends Lieutenant Prideaux to Sir Robert—Anxious negotiations—The captives released—Most of Theodore’s troops lay down their arms—The king holds out—Magdala stormed—Theodore shoots himself—The fortress destroyed—Return march—The Bellona sails for Aden.

The Bellona and Empress had been for some time at sea on their voyage round the Cape of Good Hope. Adair had, to the last moment before leaving England, expected to hear of his nephew, Lord Saint Maur, but although he had instituted every possible inquiry, no news had come of him.

He had hoped, should Gerald have been carried off by the ship which ran down the yacht, that he would have got on board some homeward-bound vessel or have landed at some port from whence he could send word of his safety, which he would certainly have done, knowing the deep anxiety which must be felt about him, not only by his uncle, but by his many other friends.

Though sailing in company, Jack and Adair were seldom able to communicate except by signal. They had, before crossing the line, met with a heavy gale, during which they lost sight of each other, though they fully expected to meet again before long, as their course was the same and both ships sailed or steamed at a pretty equal rate. On board the Bellona, which ship we must accompany, a look-out was kept for the Empress, as Jack had no doubt that she was ahead. But day after day the sun rose and set and she did not appear. The Bellona had reached almost to the latitude of Saint Helena, when it came on a dead calm, and as there appeared every prospect of its continuance, Jack unwillingly—as he had been charged to husband his coal—got up steam, and the ship clove her rapid way through the calm water.

Just as morning dawned, the look-out from the mast-head announced a vessel in sight on the starboard bow. Archie Gordon, who, as first lieutenant, was paddling about with his trousers tucked up and his feet bare, superintending the process of holystoning and washing decks, inquired the appearance of the stranger, hoping that she might prove to be the Empress.

“She looks as if she had met with bad weather, sir; her foremast and two topmasts are gone. She has just hoisted a signal of distress half mast high.”

Tom at that moment came on deck, and on hearing this went aloft with his spy-glass to have a look at the stranger. Being satisfied that she was really in distress, on coming down, he sent young Alick to inform the captain, and asked leave to steer for her.

Jack, quickly coming on deck, ordered the ship to be headed up towards the stranger. As the Bellona approached, her battered condition became more clearly visible; her boats were gone, her bulwarks stove in, and she lay a mere wreck on the water; a few people only were seen on her deck, and even through the telescopes directed at them, their countenances appeared worn and haggard as they stood leaning over the bulwarks gazing at the approaching man-of-war. The Bellona’s way was stopped, and a boat being lowered, Tom was soon alongside the wreck.

“What ship is that?” he asked, as he pulled up.

“The Argo, Captain Robson, from Hong-kong. In Heaven’s Dame, I trust you can render us assistance,” said the man, in a hollow voice. “We are short of provisions, and consumed our last drop of water yesterday. We are dying of thirst, and scarcely strong enough to keep the pumps going.”

“We will give you all the help we can,” said Tom, climbing up on deck, where the spectacle which met his view convinced him of the truth of the master’s statement. Five of the hands, whose countenances showed the sufferings they had endured, were working away at the pumps with all the strength they possessed, the clear stream which issued from the side showing the large amount of water the vessel must be making; while several others lay about the deck, exhausted from their previous exertions. A few only remained on foot, who looked ready to sink.

Tom, on seeing this, without further inquiries sent young Alick back in the boat with a report of the state of the ship, requesting that the carpenter and his crew and some hands might return, to assist in repairing as far as possible the damages, as also that a supply of water and provisions might quickly be sent.

“Water! oh, water! Let us have water first!” cried the master.

The men bent to their oars, and quickly reached the Bellona. Two other boats were immediately lowered, and into Alick’s, which was the first ready, a cask of water was at once put, with which he and several additional hands returned to the merchantman.

The fresh hands jumped on board and hoisted up the cask of water, at the sight of which the thirsty crew rushed aft. Tom, who stood by while the contents were drawn up, was about to hand the cup to the master. He took it and hurried below.

“It’s for his wife,” observed one of the men; “she’s very bad.”

Two boys, whose looks betrayed their sufferings, came forward, heaving deep sighs as they poured the refreshing liquid down their throats. The other men followed in turn. By this time the master returned and eagerly drank a draught of water.

“Thank Heaven!” he ejaculated. “It has restored new strength to me, but we must not let the pumps be idle, or the water will gain upon us more rapidly than it has been doing.”

“Let your men rest,” said Tom, leading the way to the pumps, which he with his people manned.

Meantime Alick took his place at the cask and served out more water to the master and his men, who appeared still far from satisfied.

Jack, hearing of the condition of the merchantman’s crew, sent the doctor, who now stepped on board.

“Stop, my lads!” he cried, on seeing the quantity of water the men were drinking. “You may have too much of such a simple thing as pure water.”

“Will you come below and see my poor wife, sir?” said the master, in an anxious tone.

The doctor at once descended with him. Meantime the provisions were handed up; some cans of hot cocoa and biscuit. The crew stood round like school children, waiting to be supplied with their food, with difficulty restraining their eagerness until the cups of cocoa were handed to them.

The food had a magical effect, and even those stretched on the deck now managed to move about.

Some spars had been towed off from the Bellona, and Tom at once set about fitting up a jury-mast, while the carpenter and his crew went below to try and find the leak, and see what could be done to stop it. The energetic pumping of the man-of-war’s men soon reduced the water in the hold. After a long search the carpenter sent up to say he had discovered the worst leak and was already at work stopping it.

Expressions of thankfulness escaped from the crew as they heard this, and they turned to with a vigour they had not hitherto shown, to assist in the repairs going forward.

“Your wife will do very well,” said the doctor, as he accompanied the master on deck. “Proper food is all she wants, and Captain Rogers will do his utmost to supply you.”

“I shall be very grateful,” said the master. “My poor wife would not take more than her share when she found how the men were suffering, nor touch any of mine, and, being delicate, she was almost succumbing.”

The doctor having now examined the most suffering of the crew, returned on board to report their condition, and obtain the medicines he considered necessary.

Jack liberally supplied the ship with such provisions as were required to take them home. As he was anxious to lose as little time as possible, he also sent Mr Large, the boatswain, with more men on board, who, working assiduously, soon got up a fore jury-mast, repaired the bowsprit, set up topmasts, with their rigging, and bent fresh sails, all of which had been carried away.

The carpenter, having stopped the leak, set to work to patch up the bulwarks, a task the diminished crew of the Argo were unable to accomplish.

Captain Robson gave a sad account of their sufferings. Two men had died of fever, while three had been washed overboard during a previous gale, which had well-nigh sent her to the bottom. “By-the-by, sir,” he said to Tom, “we spoke a ship just as it was commencing, but there was too much sea on to allow us to board her. She was under Dutch colours, bound out to Batavia. She began to signalise us, but all I could make out was what seemed to be ‘British officer, take him on board, say’; but before I could distinguish the other flags, the gale came down on us, and we had too much to do to look after his signals, which probably did not concern us.”

“Could you make out anybody on the stranger’s deck?” asked Tom, eagerly.

“No, sir, for evening was coming on, and we were too far off for that. She was a big ship, high out of the water for one outward bound. However, I did not further note her, and she was soon out of sight. That very night we lost a man overboard, but it was not until some weeks later, after we had been becalmed for ten days or more, that we fell in with the gale which reduced us to the wrecked state in which you found us.”

“I wish you could have made out the signal,” said Tom. “Are you certain that the first part was ‘British officer’?”

“No doubt about that,” answered Captain Robson, “and I am certain as to the other words.”

“That’s strange,” thought Tom. “I wonder whether Desmond could have been on board. If so, we may hear of him from Batavia, or one of the Spice Islands, to which the stranger was bound.”

Tom, as he surveyed the still haggard-looking crew and their commander, felt how unfit they were to continue the voyage to England, and proposed that he should request the captain of the Bellona to strengthen her crew, and assist in navigating her to Saint Helena, or back to the Cape.

“No, thank you, sir,” replied the stout-hearted master, “you have set me to rights, and given me food and water, and I will touch at Saint Helena or Ascension for more, if necessary, and hope, with God’s providence, to find my way safe up the Mersey. I have been in a worse plight than this, and provided the leak doesn’t break out again, or my men fall sick, and we don’t run short of provisions and water, we shall get home in time. You will come below, sir, before you leave, and let my wife thank you. She is grateful for all you have done for us. It is the only return we can make, under present circumstances.”

Tom accepted the invitation, and found the master’s wife seated on sofa, and a very ladylike person she seemed to be, though she looked dreadfully ill.

“I shall be better soon, I trust, now that I have some wholesome food; but we are in God’s hands. He knows best what is good for us, and we must not repine. You and your men, sir, have saved our lives, for we could not have held out many hours longer; and accept our gratitude. Our prayers will be offered for your safety wherever you go.”

Tom could remain but a couple of minutes. His men having performed their tasks, had returned to the ship, and his boat was the only one alongside. He jumped into her, feeling very doubtful whether the Argo would ever reach home in safety.

“Go ahead!” cried the captain, as Tom’s boat was hoisted up, and the Bellona soon left the unfortunate Argo astern. In a few hours, however, they met a strong breeze, which they hoped would fill her sails and waft her on her way.

In consequence of the expenditure of so much coal, the Bellona had to touch at the Cape. Jack and Tom made every possible inquiry for Lord Saint Maur, but they could gain no tidings of the Dutch ship.

“He must, then, have gone on to Batavia. I was in hopes that he might have put in here,” observed Tom.

Jack was surprised that the Empress had not got in, as he thought that she could have done so before him, in consequence of his delay in assisting the Argo. Some time was occupied in taking in coal and fresh water and provisions, to make up for the stores supplied to the merchant vessel. He waited until the last moment he felt justified in doing, but still the Empress did not appear, and he then had to continue his course up the Mozambique Channel, with which he and Green were so well acquainted, and onwards to Aden.

Here he found numerous ships of war, and several transports and store ships. The troops were to proceed up the Red Sea to Massowah, a port belonging to the Egyptians, at which the Foreign Office had obtained permission for the disembarkation of the forces destined to march to the rescue of the British prisoners held captive by Theodore, the tyrant King of Abyssinia. Colliers also were arriving with coal to supply motive power, both for the transit of troops and also for the purpose of condensing from the sea fresh water for the use of men and animals.

The Bellona, in company with numerous other ships, now proceeded up the Red Sea. On their arrival in the neighbourhood of their destined port, they found that a convenient landing-place had been selected at Zulla, on the shore of Annesley Bay.

The Bellona steamed slowly in amid the vast number of vessels already arrived, and at length came to an anchor. About fourteen miles off rose the lofty mountains of Abyssinia, which it was the destined task of the British soldiers to scale. Between these mountains and the sea extended a wide plain, on which could be seen a large collection of white canvas tents, glittering in the tropical sun. Among them red dots represented the British soldiers moving about; while the banner of England floated from a tall flag-staff in their midst. A long wharf had been constructed, extending into the sea, and on both sides of it were lighters, discharging munitions of war and stores of all descriptions, while countless other boats pulled backwards and forwards between the vessels and the pier.

On shore, thousands of labourers of every hue were employed like ants, carrying the stores as they were landed to the commissariat depôts. Steam-engines were at work, rendering help of all sorts; some condensing the salt water, and, when turned into fresh fit for drinking, forcing it through pipes to the shore.

Nearly every hour fresh vessels were arriving, both from Suez and Aden, the former bringing mules and horses in vast numbers, to be employed in the transport service, the latter camels and even elephants, attended by swarthy drivers, sent out from India.

Jack, accompanied by his brother, hastened on shore to report his arrival and request to know from the commander-in-chief what service he could render. He was not a little pleased to find that a naval brigade was to be formed, and that there was a prospect of seeing some fighting and more of the wild mountainous region which rose before them, about which people in general seemed to know very little. (See note 1.)

Of course the expected warfare was the subject of conversation in the ward room, and various opinions were hazarded as to the result.

“We shall know more about it in the course of a few days, when the march is commenced,” observed the first lieutenant. “The question is whether Theodore will murder his prisoners and fight to the last, or whether, when he sees the approach of so formidable a force as ours, he will deliver them up and apologise for his conduct.”

“At all events we will do our best to help the soldiers,” said Tom, and this sentiment was very general throughout the squadron, for never did soldiers and sailors work more cordially together.

The next morning Tom and his men, with Billy Blueblazes and Dicky Duff, now senior mate, and Alick Murray as midshipman, went on shore to join the Naval Brigade, to which, to their infinite satisfaction, they had been appointed. It was under the command of Captain Fellows. They had been but two days encamped when the order to commence the march was issued.

The army, in detachments, moved forward for the front, for which the commander-in-chief had started on the 25th of January. The first post was Senáffe, high up among the mountains, 7000 feet above the level of the sea. It was situated about two miles in front of the issue of the Komayli defile, on elevated rocky ground. To the east and west rose lofty cliffs, and in front extended a wide plain. The scenery was magnificent. Here rose masses of jagged rock, topped with acacia and juniper trees, deep valleys intervened with rushing streams, while heights extended as far as the eye could range over a vast extent of country. Tom fancied that the army was to push on without stopping, but he found that each post had to be fortified and garrisoned, for it was evident that as the expedition showed strength, so in proportion it obtained the confidence of the savage rulers of the country.

In spite, however, of the toil the army had to undergo, the men were in high spirits, the seamen especially laughing and joking as they marched along. They could carry but a small amount of provisions; and every article of baggage which could be dispensed with was left behind. In regard to provisions, they hoped that, on arriving at the next post, they would be amply provided.

Billy groaned as he went puffing and blowing up the hills.

“I believe, Mr Rogers, that we are worse off than we were when making our way through Papua.”

“I can’t agree with you there,” answered Tom, laughing. “We found it pretty hard work, to be sure, crossing the mountains, and where for several days we had to go on short allowance of food and water, but I expect that things will mend as we advance, when we shall get into a more fertile region.”

Tom was right. At length the army emerged into a broader but still barren portion of the pass, the road winding steeply for several miles along a snowy water-course, whence they passed over a plain, which, from the number of guinea fowls found there, obtained the name of “Guinea Fowl Plain.” Here were seen tulip trees of enormous size, and graceful acacias, while the cactus, with its stiff, prickly leaves, grew in profusion among the rocks. Antelopes frequently bounded across the road, and it was said at no great distance elephants and wild boars were to be found. Birds of all sizes, some of the most gorgeous plumage, flashed here and there in the sunlight. Monkeys and baboons appeared scrambling among the rocks, or leaping from tree to tree, jabbering at the strangers visiting their territory.

“Those beasts remind me of Papua, though they have a very different appearance,” observed Billy. “We should astonish some of our friends if we were to shoot and cook a big monkey for dinner. I shouldn’t mind eating one, I know.”

The monkeys, however, were generally too wary to come within gunshot; and Billy had not an opportunity of astonishing his friends, which he certainly would have done. The country through which they passed continued rugged and barren in the extreme. The villages consisted of groups of mud hovels, generally pitched on high ground, originally for defence. The inhabitants were tall, with fine figures, the men dressed in a single robe of cotton, seldom washed, their black hair plaited and covered with rancid butter. Their arms generally consisted of a crooked sword and spear, as well as a club. Such were the weapons used for ages by their ancestors; but many had matchlocks, and others even double-barrelled guns. The discipline of the army was strict, so that no plundering took place; and the inhabitants were everywhere treated with kindness. Negotiations were now opened with the Prince of Tigré, who professed a friendship for the British. Nothing created so much astonishment as the appearance of the elephants, which were followed by crowds of wondering natives, who had been under the impression that no elephant could be tamed. The arrival of a battery of Armstrong guns created equal surprise.

Notwithstanding the difficulties of the road, the gunners succeeded in carrying their guns to Adigerat. Step by step the army advanced, until Anotolo was reached, on the 2nd of March. Anotolo may be said to be half-way between Zulla and Magdala. Letters were received from the prisoners, stating that Theodore was still engaged in efforts to get up his ordnance and heavy baggage to Magdala; but, impeded by his mortar, it was not likely that he could reach that stronghold until the first week in March.

News was now brought that Kassai, Prince of Tigré, was advancing, to seek an interview with the British general, and Sir Robert accordingly marched forward, taking advantage of the cool hours of the morning to meet him on the banks of the Diab.

The force, which was accompanied by several guns, pitched their camp about half a mile from the eastern bank of the river, which it was arranged should divide the two armies.

The scenery around was magnificent, the ground sloping up gradually from the western bank of the Diab, where the Tigréan army was to be posted. The sun shone out brilliantly. The heat was excessive. About eleven o’clock the vanguard of Kassai’s army was seen approaching, and a body of men hurriedly coming forward, pitched a red tent on the slope opposite to that of the strangers’ camp. Just before midday the whole of the Tigréan army, with drums beating and standards flying, consisting of about 4000 men, advanced down the slope towards the river, two yellow and red flags fluttering high above their heads showing the position of the chief and his principal officers. Sir Robert had directed a tent to be raised close to the bank of the river, where the meeting was to take place.

As soon as the Abyssinians were seen advancing, the English forces got under arms. The commander-in-chief, mounted on an elephant, and followed by his staff, rode forward. The appearance of the elephant undoubtedly greatly impressed the Abyssinians, it being supposed that their own African elephants are untameable. On getting near the stream Sir Robert descended from his elephant, and mounted a horse, on which the Abyssinian line opened; and Kassai, surrounded by his chiefs and mounted on a white mule, with a crimson umbrella borne over his head, came forward, and at once fording the river approached Sir Robert. The Abyssinian chief wore a white robe embroidered with crimson round his body, and a flowered silk shirt; his black hair, carefully plaited, was drawn back from his forehead, and tied behind his neck with a ribbon. He was still in the prime of manhood. His complexion was of a dark olive hue, his countenance intellectual; but he looked careworn and anxious.

After the usual civilities had been gone through, Sir Robert conducted his guest to the tent, where a guard of honour drawn up fired a salute, evidently causing no small alarm in the chiefs mind and in that of his followers, who probably expected that the strangers would set upon them and shoot them down. On dismounting Sir Robert led the chief into the tent, when their respective officers arranged themselves on either side, the Abyssinians squatting down on the ground.

The conversation was for some time commonplace. Then the presents which had been brought were offered, among which was a fine Arab horse, the gift of Sir Robert himself. Port wine was then served out, greatly to the satisfaction of the chiefs, when all, with the exception of two of the principal officers of both parties, having retired, serious matters were entered into between Sir Robert and Kassai, who was assured that if he showed a friendly disposition and would send grain to the army, he would be handsomely rewarded.

After the prince had rested, a review of the forces took place. The regiments, whose uniforms were very picturesque, among them being seen the light blue and silver of the Bombay cavalry, the scarlet of the King’s Own, the dark blue and red facings of the artillery, and the scarlet coats and white turbans of the Tenth Native Infantry, went through various manoeuvres. Now they skirmished, now formed square for receiving cavalry, and then the cavalry charged furiously at a supposed foe. The prince appeared to take especial interest in the rifled guns, and complimented the British on possessing, as he called it, “so inestimable a blessing.”

Sir Robert returned the visit later in the day, and with his staff crossed the stream to the Abyssinian camp. The uniform of the soldiers of Tigré was picturesque, if not quite according to European notions. Their heads were bare, except such covering as their plaited hair afforded. They wore long white robes, embroidered with scarlet, and the greater number possessed firearms, either matchlocks or double-barrelled percussion guns, some even had double-barrelled rifles, many had pistols, and all wore long, crooked swords on the right side. A comparative few were armed with sword, spear, and shield. The cavalry, to the number of about 400 men, were mounted on shaggy ponies or mules. The discipline of the men was, however, very good, and they went through a number of movements in a most creditable manner.

The general and his staff descended close to Kassai’s tent; inside it was a couch, covered with silk, on which the prince placed Sir Robert by his side. Several richly and variously dressed officers also were present, while the evening sun, shining through the red tent on the group, produced a most picturesque and scenic effect. Girls soon afterwards came in, bearing baskets with bread and curry. They were followed by others carrying huge jugs, filled with tedj, a beverage manufactured from fermented honey. Each guest was expected to drink several flasks, but as it tasted somewhat like bad small beer, they had no great satisfaction in performing the necessary ceremony. Shortly afterwards a band of six musicians, playing on long pipes, performed a wild piece of music; then a minstrel sang a war song, in which all the Abyssinians joined.

The entertainment being now considered at an end, the chief insisted on presenting Sir Robert with the gifts he had prepared. The first consisted of a silver gilt armlet, the sign of a great warrior, which was clasped round the general’s arm. Then a lion’s skin and mane, the mark of a fierce fighter in battle, was thrown over his shoulder, a sword was next girt on his side, and a spear and shield, intended for his use, handed to one of the aides-de-camp, who acted for the nonce as his armour bearer. In this guise the general had to ride back to his own camp on a mule, but fortunately by this time the shades of evening having closed in, he was prevented from exhibiting himself in so antique a guise to his troops.

Notwithstanding all the professions of friendship and promises of assistance he received, Sir Robert very wisely did not put perfect faith in the prince, but determined to fortify his posts and guard his advance, as if he was passing through the country of an enemy.

At Anotolo the army was re-distributed in divisions, to each of which a separate duty was assigned. Tom and his men marched with the second brigade of the first division. Communication was kept up the whole of the way with Zulla, and a telegraph wire laid down. On the 20th of March Sir Robert led forward his forces to Tat. From this station he began a rapid advance on Magdala. Hitherto every movement had been in preparation for that undertaking.

By the 31st March the army was at no great distance from the line of Theodore’s advance posts, and scouts were frequently seen on horseback, but were too nimble to be captured. Precautions were taken against a night attack, which it was supposed Theodore would make. Several of the enemy’s deserted camps were passed. The inhabitants had hitherto been universally friendly, and the Gallas, who were now gained over in consequence of the barbarous treatment they had received from Theodore, undertook to guard the passes by which the tyrant could make his way eastward.

Young Alick Murray had bravely endured the fatigues of the march; he generally kept by the side of Tom, who, indeed, was unwilling to have him out of his sight. As they and the other officers of the Naval Brigade sat round the camp fire at night, many a yarn was spun and many a merry song sung, while during the day, as they marched on, jokes were constantly cracked by the seamen, whose spirits never flagged. They were always meeting objects of some sort to interest them, while the scenery itself through which their route lay was often magnificent in the extreme. At length the Delanta Heights were reached with the river of Bashilo flowing beneath them on its course westward, hereafter to swell the waters of the mighty Nile, of which it is one of the numberless tributaries.

On either side of the valley through which the river flowed rose a series of rugged heights forming a crescent, on the eastern horn of which stood the fortress of Magdala, Theodore’s supposed impregnable stronghold, while on the west was the rugged hill of Fahla, mid-way between it and the lofty plateau of Selassie. Magdala and Selassie were seen to be connected by a ridge, known as the Saddle of Islamgi, while the ridge joining Selassie to Fahla was called the Saddle of Fahla. The plateau on which Magdala stood rose to a height of upwards of 9000 feet above the sea, and 3000 above the ravines immediately surrounding it. The sides were so steep and scarped by nature that it seemed as if it would be impossible to scale them, but a closer inspection showed that two causeways led to the plateau, one from Islamgi and one from Sangalat.

Theodore’s army, its size and strength unknown, was seen encamped on the spit of Islamgi. A deep ravine led into the wide valley beneath the heights occupied by the Abyssinians. Over-looking the plain of Arogi was a spur, bearing in different parts the names of Gumbaji and Afficho, which Sir Robert had resolved to occupy, so that he could operate on either side of Fahla, evidently the key of Theodore’s position. The army was encamped above the Bashilo, the troops in high spirits at the thoughts that at length they were about to meet the enemy whom they had marched so many miles to encounter.

Sir Robert and his staff having crossed the river and reconnoitred the ground, at early dawn on the 10th of April the advance was ordered. As no water was to be procured between the river and the fortress, except under the enemy’s fire, a band of carriers had been organised for transporting a supply for the troops, while another band marched in the rear with stretchers for the removal of the wounded.

While the greater part of the troops were toiling slowly up the steep slopes of the Gumbaji spur, which they were destined to occupy, the Naval Brigade and a party of artillery, with the baggage of the first brigade, were making their way through the pass of the Wurki Waha valley, which it had been the intention of the general to secure by a body of infantry, and to form a road from thence up the Gumbaji spur. The latter task, through a mistake, had not been performed, nor was the issue of the pass secured. The day had been threatening, already showers of rain had begun to fall, while roars of thunder and flashes of lightning burst from the clouds. The mules of the artillery and the Rocket Brigade had just emerged from the valley, when, echoing the roar of the thunder, the report of a gun was heard, fired from the heights on which Theodore’s army was posted, from whence, at the same moment, a body of warriors was seen descending, evidently with the intention of attacking the artillery. The small body of British immediately prepared for the expected encounter. Most of the enemy were on foot, though some, evidently chiefs, from their gorgeous scarlet costumes, were mounted. The Naval Brigade, hastening up the Afficho plateau, got their rocket tubes into position to receive the advancing mass of the foe. Their position was critical in the extreme. Should the Abyssinians push forward they might be overwhelmed by numbers. Without thinking of that, however, they began blazing away with their rockets, every missile telling fearfully among the crowded ranks of Theodore’s troops, who, brave as they were, appeared to be thrown into confusion. Tom looked round to see what support was coming. At first the thought flashed upon him that he and his companions must be annihilated by the overwhelming hordes of barbarians rapidly approaching. Young Alick was thinking much the same thing, but no sign of fear was exhibited in his countenance.

“I suppose, Mr Rogers, we shall have a pretty hard fight for it?” he remarked; “but we won’t let them take our rocket tubes at all events.”

“No fear of that,” answered Tom. “See, the troops are advancing.”

While he was speaking, one party of the Abyssinians was seen coming towards the artillery and baggage guard, who were, however, prepared to receive them, while another larger party, taking a different course, hurried on to battle, for now over the rugged ground the red coats of the British were seen making their way as skirmishers in front, the rapid crack of their rifles being heard as they got within range of the enemy.

The troops now engaged consisted of the King’s Own Regiment, with the Belochees, and a detachment of the Royal Engineers and Bombay Sappers, the men cheering lustily as they saw their enemy before them. At the same time two companies of the 4th Regiment, with a body of pioneers, attacked the enemy on their flank, pouring in rapid discharges from their Snider rifles, the rockets whizzing again and again through their ranks, while the artillery produced equal havoc.

All this time the enemy’s guns had been playing on the British columns, but, owing to their elevated position, their fire was plunging, while their shot, from the use of too heavy charges of powder, ranged too far to do any harm. The seamen continued to fire their rockets among the mass of Abyssinians until the infantry, advancing, drove back the enemy, when the rockets were directed upon the summit of Fahla, where Theodore and his staff were still posted. So good was their practice, that they caused confusion and dismay, and one, it was afterwards ascertained, very nearly killed the king as he was superintending the fire of his guns.

Though defeated at all quarters again and again, the Abyssinians advanced. Masses of slain and wounded covered the plain. For three hours the contest continued, when, in spite of their heroic courage, the dark-skinned warriors were compelled to retire, at first slowly and steadily up the heights, but a panic at length appeared to seize them as they cast an eye over the ground on which they had fought, covered by heaps of their men, when the larger number took to flight. The pursuit continued for some way, but Sir Robert wisely prevented his troops from advancing too far, lest by the British having to retire, the Abyssinians might regain their courage. Wet and weary with the exertions they had gone through, the troops bivouacked for the night at the mouth of the ravine.

“I can’t say I admire campaigning,” observed Billy Blueblazes, as they were sitting round their camp fire on the wet ground, the lofty hills rising up above them, while the cries of the wounded Abyssinians could still be heard from various parts of the plain where they had fallen.

The British camp was kept constantly on the alert for lights were seen passing over the plain; but at length it was discovered that they were borne by Abyssinians searching for their wounded or dead countrymen.

The British wounded amounted only to twenty men. They were soon brought in. Most of them were suffering from spear wounds, received during the desperate attempt of the Abyssinians to capture the baggage. Such of the wounded Abyssinians as could be found were also brought into the British camp to be attended to by the surgeons.

Next morning Tom, with several other officers, went over the battle-field, which exhibited a scene of horror in every direction. At the entrance of the ravine, men and horses were heaped together, shot down or pierced through with sword or bayonet, ten or twelve together. Further on could be seen tracks of blood, where the wounded had attempted to crawl back to their friends or to gain the shelter of some rock or bush. Almost in the middle of the field lay the dead body of Theodore’s chief general, arrayed in a splendid scarlet dress, surrounded by no less than seven chiefs who had fallen with him. Further to the right, where the firing had been at long ranges, there were fewer dead, but numbers were stretched wounded on the ground. The points towards which the rockets had been chiefly directed could be discovered by the charred masses, showing the awful death the missiles carried wherever they sped their devastating course.

The British army, having taken up their position, were again advancing to attack the enemy, when, in the far distance, a white flag was made out, borne aloft in the midst of a small party of horsemen, who came winding down the mountain path to meet them.

As they approached nearer, the uniform of a British officer was seen among them. Amid joyful cheers Lieutenant Prideaux and the missionary, Mr Flad, rode through the outposts towards Sir Robert Napier’s tent. They came with a verbal message only from the king. He acknowledged that heretofore he had considered himself the most important personage in the world, but having now discovered that there were others more powerful, he consequently desired to be reconciled to his sister sovereign, the Queen of England.

Sir Robert replied that he must come and put himself into the power of her general, and that no other terms could be accepted. The British lieutenant and the missionary, with the courage of heroes, returned with this answer in writing, knowing perfectly well that the tyrant in his rage might put them to death.

Some time elapsed, when they returned with a written answer from Theodore, in which he declared it had been his intention to conquer the whole world, and that, among other things, he hoped to lead an army against Jerusalem and expel the Turks from it; consequently he was not inclined to yield to the British arms.

To this absurd missive Sir Robert sent back the answer he had returned in the morning by Lieutenant Prideaux and Mr Flad, who owned that their apprehensions of being put to death were very naturally increased. Intense was their joy and that of many others who had accompanied them on part of their journey to see a large band of persons approaching the camp, who turned out to be the envoy Mr Rassam, Consul Cameron, Doctor Blanc, and several others.

“The king,” they said, “convinced that he was defeated, had put a pistol to his head and attempted to destroy himself. On it being wrested from him, he had at once ordered the release of the captives, who immediately took advantage of his permission to get out of his power.” During the day a herd of cattle arrived at the outpost, sent by the savage king as a peace offering, but the animals were returned by Sir Robert, who saw the importance of exhibiting no signs of wavering. Not only was it necessary to vindicate the honour of England, but, in justice to those tribes who had assisted the British on their march, it was absolutely necessary to remove Theodore from the country, for, had he escaped, he would not have failed to have revenged himself on those who had sided with his foes.

Some of his troops had now again gathered round him, and, his spirits reviving, he led them into Magdala. The larger portion, however, deserted him, and thousands were flying from the fortress.

Sir Robert had meantime so posted his forces that, with the aid of the Gallas, no outlet for escape was left for Theodore. The second brigade occupied the heights of Selassie, when the king’s troops who had not entered Magdala were ordered to lay down their arms. This they immediately did, to the number of about 10,000 men, besides whom there were 15,000 or 20,000 women and children, who had fled with their husbands and fathers from the fortress. They now hurried as fast as the narrow path would allow to the plain below, where they remained to watch the issue of the contest.

A curious scene was enacted on the Islamgi Saddle, which was occupied by a detachment of cavalry as well as by a company of infantry. Between it and Magdala, Theodore had posted his six guns. A party from the fortress issued out and dragged off two of these, but before the other four could be removed, they were completely under the fire of the British rifles. Theodore himself appeared mounted on a handsome charger, when, riding towards his foes, he began careering about, boasting of his mighty deeds, and occasionally firing off his rifle, shouting in a loud voice to any of the British officers who would come forth and meet him. He took good care, however, not to have his retreat to the fortress cut off, and all that could be done was to prevent him and his followers from making their escape down the other side of the Saddle.

Tom, with a party of his men, had joined the infantry thus engaged. As they were moving along the top of the cliff, their noses were assailed by a most fearful odour. Looking down, what was their horror to see, at the foot of the precipice to the right, a mass of human bodies in a dreadful state of corruption, some chained together, others manacled, many among them being those of old men, women, and children. They were some unfortunate prisoners who had been carried off by a party from the fortress some time before, and had been put to death in a drunken fit by Theodore the day he heard of the approach of the British. It was, in truth, a fearful sight, and increased the desire of the soldiers and sailors to inflict condign punishment on the author of the atrocity.

The end was now approaching. Sir Robert had occupied with his troops the nearest level spot to the principal gate of Magdala, and, planting his artillery and rocket battery in commanding positions, he prepared for the assault. Beyond this point, known as the Saddle of Islamgi, the rock on which the fortress stood rose 300 feet in height, with precipitous sides, a narrow, steep, and winding path leading up to it, with two lines of defence, in each of which was a narrow gateway. It was thus difficult to get a sight of the defenders, yet occasionally armed men were seen moving about, and a stubborn resistance was expected.

With a humanity worthy of imitation, Sir Robert so placed his guns that they should only act upon the gate, without running the risk of hurting the women and children still within the fortress. The two brigades now advanced, the storming party leading, and, covered by their fire, up the steep path they climbed with scaling-ladders fixed, and crowbars to burst open the gates. They were met by a hot fire from the garrison, not a man of whom could be seen. Before the stormers was a wall, surrounded by a strong and thick barricade of stout stakes, with a narrow stone gateway. On reaching this gateway the engineers, finding that the powder-bags were not forthcoming, immediately set to work with their crowbars and burst it in, when, what was their disappointment to discover a pile of large stones, twelve feet in height, and a still greater breadth, directly in front of them.

All this time they were exposed to the fire of the garrison. In vain they endeavoured to surmount a formidable barricade, but at length a party of the 33rd Regiment, turning to the right, discovered a lower part of the wall, against which a scaling-ladder was placed. Immediately mounting, they reached the top of the wall, and, leaping down, forming as they did so, attacked the garrison, who, seeing that their fortress was entered, took to flight towards the second defence. The whole regiment was quickly in, and, pressing after the fugitives, rushed through the second gateway, when, the summit of the fortress being gained, the British flag was quickly flying above it. On this the Abyssinians, throwing down their arms, asked for quarter, which was at once granted.

But what had become of the unhappy king, who had been the chief cause of the misery and suffering endured by his unhappy subjects for so many years? Stretched on the ground leading to the second gateway to the palace his body was found, with a pistol-bullet through his head, the weapon with which he had shot himself still by his side. Near the outward gateway lay several of his devoted chiefs, while the rest of his officers, throwing down their arms, endeavoured to escape. They all, however, before long, having been driven back by the Gallas, who were watching for them on the other side, were compelled to return to the fortress, where they delivered themselves up.

Taking possession of Magdala, Sir Robert, having made a hasty survey of it, collected all the Abyssinians in the centre space, and placed a strong guard over them. An anxious night now commenced, as at any moment the numberless thatched buildings which covered the heights might have been set on fire and a heavy loss of life have ensued. The two gates were carefully watched, and, owing to the admirable arrangements, no disturbance occurred. The inhabitants were desired to take their departure, while the body of Theodore was delivered up to his unhappy queen, and was interred two days afterwards in the church of Magdala. The queen and her son then came into the British camp, where they received honourable treatment, while the inhabitants were escorted as far as was necessary towards the district where they had friends.

The fortress was afterwards destroyed, the buildings within set on fire, and the guns which had been captured were also burst into fragments. As the British army retired they could see for many a league the dense clouds of smoke which rose to the sky and hung like a funeral pall over the stronghold of the tyrant king.

“I’m thankful that we’ve done it, and done it well,” exclaimed Tom, as he, with his blue jackets, commenced their march towards Annesley Bay.

“So am I,” answered Billy Blueblazes. “For my part, I don’t like this campaigning business. It may be very pleasant over a tolerable good road and plenty to eat, but I don’t like having to climb these hills and to exist on short commons.”

The return march was not without its dangers, for the rebel tribes were on the watch to attack any weak convoy, tempted by the plunder they hoped to obtain, and aware that the British were not likely to follow them far into their mountain fastnesses; indeed, several persons who had incautiously wandered out of the line of march were cut off and murdered.

The events of the return march need not be described. It was managed with the same skill as the advance, although the troops suffered somewhat from the storms of rain to which they were exposed.

With no small satisfaction the men of the Naval Brigade returned to their respective ships, whose crews, however, had to remain to assist in the embarkation of the troops and stores.

“Why, Mr Blewitt, you appear to have lost two stone in weight!” observed the first lieutenant when Billy made his appearance on board.

“Yes, sir,” answered Billy, with a rueful countenance. “I believe I’ve lost three stone; but I intend to do my best to make up for it now I’ve got back to the ship.”

Billy did not fail to keep to his intentions, and the rest of the mess declared that he ought to pay a double subscription, as he certainly consumed more than any two others among them.

“So would you if you fellows had gone through what I have done,” answered Billy, and he gave, not for the first time, an account of the hardships he had endured, the weight he had carried on his shoulders, his hard fare, the steep hills he had climbed, and the abrupt descents down which he had had to make his way.

The Bellona remained with other ships of war until the troops had gone and the last of the stores had been embarked, when once more Annesley Bay was left to itself, in its original solitude. With a cheerful song the crew tramped round and round at the capstan, steam was got up, and the Bellona, proceeding out of the bay, steered for Aden, where Captain Rogers hoped to obtain intelligence of the Empress.

Note 1. An account of the origin of the war, and of many interesting particulars connected with it, will be found in “Our Soldiers, or Anecdotes of the Campaigns and Gallant Deeds of the British Army,” published by Griffith and Farran.

Chapter Sixteen.

The Bellona proceeds down the African coast—Overhauls a suspicious dhow—Tom finds his old acquaintance Pango on board, and the dhow is condemned—After touching at Zanzibar, the Bellona proceeds to Simon’s Bay—Takes troops on board for Caffraria—Major Bubsby and his family—A storm in the cabin—Billy in love—A heavy surf on the coast—Machinery gives way—Ship on a lee shore—Attempt to beat off—Billy and Angelica fall out—The Bellona anchors—In great danger—Has to stand off shore—A man on a raft picked up—Interesting information—A fire breaks out on board—The major’s family lowered into a boat—He is detained by Angelica—The boat dropped astern—The fire is extinguished—The major coldly received by his officers—The troops landed—The major begs to return in the Bellona—Jack refuses, and sends him on shore—The stranger picked up reports having seen a signal on a lone rock—The Bellona reaches Simon’s Bay, and sails in search of the Empress.

Jack had some hopes on touching at Aden that he might hear something of the Empress, but not a word had been received there of her. Taking in coal at that sandy and most unattractive of England’s possessions, the Bellona sailed for the Cape. She actually did sail, for the wind was fair, and Jack, in common with other officers, had received orders to consume as little coal as possible. A bright look-out was kept for slavers, and several suspicious-looking craft were overhauled, but as the black-looking individuals found on board appeared to be either part of the crew or passengers, they were allowed to proceed on their voyage.

Some time before Zanzibar was reached, a dhow was seen early one morning becalmed. Some hours previously the Bellona had got up her steam, and was cleaving her way rapidly through the smooth water. By altering her course slightly she was thus able to pass close enough to the dhow to ascertain her character. As the sun rose, a breeze sprang up, and the dhow was seen to hoist her largest sail and to stand away for the coast. As this looked suspicious, a gun was fired, as a signal to her to heave to. The breeze was increasing, and she might lead the Bellona a considerable distance out of her course. She took no notice of the signal, but continued standing on as before, her crew possibly ignorant of the rate at which the dark-looking stranger could go. Full speed was put on, and the steamer gained on the chase, while Captain Rogers continued throwing shot on either side of her, with no more effect, however, than at first. As, however, the Bellona must ere long come up with the dhow, he refrained from firing a shot into her, which he felt very much inclined to do. At length, when the Arabs saw that they could not possibly reach the shore before they were overtaken, they lowered their huge sail, and the Bellona was quickly up to them.

A boat being lowered, Tom and Alick soon pulled up alongside the dhow. As Tom had no interpreter, and knew as much about Arabic as he did about the ancient Chaldean, he could only judge of the character of the craft by the appearance of things. Her crew were very picturesque gentlemen, but, judging by their looks, cut-throats every one of them, and without any ceremony would have stuck their long daggers into the English officers had they dared. But the sight of the yardarm of a man-of-war, not to speak of her guns, has a wonderful effect in keeping such gentry in order. Along the decks were arranged a party of ladies and gentlemen, most of them jet black, dressed out in a variety of fanciful costumes. Some in pink and checked shirts, others with blankets over their shoulders, and others in loose trousers and vests, but it was easy to see that they were destitute of under garments.

Nearly a score of naked fellows, with clothes only round their waists, were standing round the halyards, to which they were holding on as if they were part of the crew.

Tom inquired of the savage-looking fellow who came forward in the character of captain, where they came from.

“Zanzibar,” was the answer.

“And where bound for?”

The captain pointed to the north-east, and pronounced some name not on the chart.

“Of how many men does your ship’s company consist?” asked Tom, making signs by hauling away with his hands, then pretending to be rowing, and then holding up his fingers and pretending to count.

The skipper pointed to the black fellows forward and then to the Arabs, who were, indeed, alone quite sufficient for navigating the craft.

“Who are these ebony-coloured ladies and gentlemen who sit so demurely about the deck?” asked Tom, pointing to them.

The Arab replied by signs that they had paid money into his hands for their passage, and by putting his head down, as if to sleep, that they had no work to do.

“So they are passengers,” observed Tom. “I understand that, and now my fine fellow, we will have a look below.”

In the cabin were seated nearly a dozen young women and girls, dressed up in somewhat more elegant costumes than those on deck.

“Who are these?” asked Tom.

The captain signified that they were his wives.

“What! all of them, you old wretch?” cried Tom.

The captain smiled in return, and pressed his hand on his heart, either to signify that he was speaking the truth or that they reigned there supreme.

“We will now have a peep into the hold.”

Tom, telling Alick to look out on deck, descended with two hands below. As little light reached that region, it appeared at first to be entirely empty. The odour was not very pleasant. Tom was on the point of returning on deck when he heard a groan, and hurrying to the fore part, by the dim light which came down, he distinguished a human form lying on the deck. Blood was streaming from the poor fellow’s head. Tom and his men lifted him up, and discovering no one else, they carried him under the main hatchway. He quickly revived in the fresher air, and gazed with astonishment at the lieutenant and his men.

“Who are you, my poor fellow?” asked Tom, not expecting an answer.

“Me Pango; served board English man-war.”

“Pango!” exclaimed Tom, remembering the black who had been rescued at Zanzibar by the Opal, and who, after serving on board of her for some time, was lost sight of. “I recollect all about you, and if you wish it you shall come on board again, but I want first to know who all those people are.”

“All slavy, slavy,” answered Pango. “Dey jus’ dress up, an’ when I tell cap’n dat trick no do, he cut me down an’ try to kill me.”

“There is no time to be lost; take him up on deck, and we will soon show the skipper that you speak the truth,” said Tom.

The Arab captain looked very much taken aback, while he cast savage glances at poor Pango; he saw, however, that the game was up, and that it was useless any longer to attempt deceiving the English officer.

Tom immediately ordered him and several of his crew to get into the boat, which conveyed them on board the Bellona, under charge of Alick. Another boat being lowered, Pango was taken on board, with the remainder of the Arab crew, that the surgeon might look to him. Tom then returned to the Bellona.

Jack decided on taking all the supposed passengers on board. As soon as Pango was sufficiently recovered to act as interpreter, they were examined, when they said that they had been forced to dress up, and threatened that should they not do so they would be thrown overboard. It was ascertained that most of them had been carried away from the coast not many days before, and that they had come a long journey from the interior. Pango had been picked up from a canoe while fishing off the shore, and carried away.

The evidence was so clear that Jack, without hesitation, destroyed the dhow, which could not be towed all the way to Zanzibar, resolving to risk all the consequences.

During the passage several other dhows were met with, but although there were blacks on board, there was not sufficient evidence to prove that they were slaves. It convinced Jack, however, that the abominable trade was still carried on, that thousands of Africans were carried off to Arabia, Persia, and other parts of Asia, to toil in hopeless slavery for the remainder of their lives, and that it would be necessary to make yet more strenuous efforts than before if it was to be effectually put down. He remembered, too, all the horrors he had witnessed and heard of in connection with the slave trade in the interior, when whole villages and districts were depopulated, and numbers were killed or perished from hunger, besides those captured by the Arabs.

Pango was of assistance in enabling him to condemn two dhows, besides those he was compelled to let escape. The black improved rapidly in English, or rather recovered what he had lost. Jack asked where he wished to be put on shore.

“Me no go shore ’gain,” answered Pango. “May be slave fellow take me ’gain. Me go where ship go. Me stay board. Pango now sailor man.”

He was accordingly entered as one of the crew, greatly to his delight.

Jack inquired for his brother Bango.

Pango’s countenance became very sad. “Do slavy man take him. Me tinke cut him troat. Me not see him now five years;” and poor Pango burst into tears as he thought of the fate which had overtaken Bango, showing that some Africans, at all events, have as great an affection for their relatives as have white men for theirs.

On arriving at Zanzibar, Jack handed over the Arab crew to the authorities, to be dealt with for their infraction of the law; and the slaves were placed on board another man-of-war, to be carried to the Seychelle Islands, where they might enjoy liberty and a climate suited to their constitutions.

Jack was again disappointed at not gaining at Zanzibar any tidings of the Empress. Running through the Mozambique Channel, he continued his course for Cape Town, where he arrived without any further adventure. His first inquiry was for the Empress. No tidings, however, had been received, and serious apprehensions were felt for her safety.

“It is supposed that she must have foundered in a typhoon in the Indian seas, if she ever got there; or that she has been cast away and gone to pieces on some unknown rock,” was the answer received.

“Poor Adair! is such your end?” exclaimed Jack, sorrowfully. “I won’t believe it, however. I trust that Lucy will not hear these reports.”

A day after his arrival the mail from England came in, bringing letters for him from Julia and Murray, who had just gained his rank as an admiral.

“As there are so many good officers seeking for employment, I conclude that I shall be virtually shelved, although for my boy’s sake I would gladly have gone to sea again,” wrote Murray. “His mother and I are looking out anxiously for tidings of him. His last letter gave us an account of the commencement of the Abyssinian expedition, and that he was to go up the country with the Naval Brigade. It is important that a youngster should see service on shore as well as afloat, although we naturally feel anxious lest he should have suffered from the hardships to which he must of necessity have been exposed. We are, therefore, eagerly looking forward to his next letter. Our girls are well, and we hear good accounts from Julia of yours; but Lucy is naturally in a sad state of anxiety. No tidings have reached England of the Empress, nor has anything been heard of Saint Maur. I am continuing to make all possible inquiries, and have written to agents at various seaports to ascertain from the masters of ships trading foreign to endeavour to find some clue to his fate.”

The remainder of the letter referred to private matters. The Bellona remained some time in Simon’s Bay, and all on board were in hopes of being sent home, when, no transport being ready, Captain Rogers was requested to proceed with a wing of the — Regiment to the coast of Caffraria, where they were immediately wanted to put down a serious outbreak of the natives. It was far from a satisfactory or pleasant task, for the Bellona had no accommodation for officers or men; but Captain Rogers was not a person to throw difficulties in the way when a service could be rendered to the country. He had lately, during his constant intercourse with military men, got on without a dispute; and he hoped that such would be the case at present. All hands were busily employed in taking the baggage on board and embarking the men, so that neither he nor his officers had much time to attend to their guests. The last person to arrive on board was Major Bubsby, commanding the troops; and Jack was not a little taken aback when he found that he had brought his wife and two tall daughters on board. The lady was almost twice the height of her better half, and the daughters promised to grow into the same proportions. The major was undoubtedly a short man, although not a small one either in girth or in his own estimation. He had a rubicund countenance, huge mustachios, and small, ferrety eyes.

“I was not aware that we should have ladies, or I should have advised you not to bring them, although, as they have come, I will endeavour to provide the best accommodation I can for them,” said Jack, with his usual politeness.

“You must understand, Captain Rogers, that I never move anywhere without Mrs Bubsby and my daughters. They are accustomed to camp life, and like it; and should I be wounded or fall sick, I should have them at hand to nurse me. I require care, for I am not so young as I once was, though still strong and active;” and the major twirled his mustachios and gave a loud “Ahem!”

“I am afraid that the ladies will be put to much inconvenience, both on board and on shore; for, should the regiment have to advance into the interior, I don’t know what will become of them,” observed Jack. “And if you will take my advice—though, as I have said, I am perfectly ready to accommodate them—you will leave them at Cape Town to await your return.”

“Never! Captain Rogers, never!” exclaimed Major Bubsby. “If I do I shall not know what they are about.”

“But should you be killed, and there may be some sharp fighting, what then will become of your wife and daughters?” observed Jack, eyeing the stout little major.

“Then, Captain Rogers, I must beg that you will have the kindness so far to oblige me as to take them back to Cape Town,” answered the major, looking evidently as if he did not quite like the remark. “I have now been in the service thirty years, and have no intention that the Caffres or any other savages should take my life. They are a contemptible lot. Why, a glance from my eye alone would be sufficient to put a whole host of the niggers to flight!”

“As you please, Major Bubsby,” said Jack. “I shall be ready to appropriate a portion of my after cabin to your wife and daughters, and I will direct the carpenter to put up a screen, that they may live in private if they wish to do so.”

“Ah, that will do, that will do,” answered the major.

This conversation took place out of earshot of Mrs Bubsby, who was not aware of Jack’s kind intentions towards her. Jack, approaching with a bow, requested her and her daughters to remain on deck until the cabin was fitted up for their accommodation. “We do things rapidly on board, and shall not detain you long,” he added.

“I am surprised that the major did not intimate his intention to bring us; but it is very like him,” answered Mrs Bubsby. “He is a worthy man, and devotedly attached to me and my daughters. Allow me to introduce them. Eugenia, my eldest, and Angelica, my second daughter. They look forward with greater pleasure to the voyage and life in the bush than I do, I confess. They are good-hearted girls, and would be ready to follow their father into the field, if required.”

“Ah, yes; we do not care where we go, or what we do,” said Eugenia. “We are never so happy as when on horseback or living under canvas.”

“I delight in the sea, and I love seamen,” said Angelica, smiling sweetly at the captain.

She was not aware that Jack possessed a wife and family. He had now to quit the ladies to attend to the duty of the ship.

“Blue Peter” had been flying for some time, and a gun was fired to hurry off those on shore. The anchor was weighed, and the Bellona with her living freight steamed majestically out of the harbour.

As soon as things had been got somewhat to rights, the baggage stowed away, and the soldiers berthed, Jack and his lieutenants had time to look after the officers.

Directly the ladies’ cabin was ready, Jack escorted them below. Mrs Bubsby cast a somewhat indignant glance at the canvas screen which had been put up, but said nothing. But Eugenia exclaimed—

“How nice! we shall hear everything that is said outside, and you’ll hear us, so we must take care what we talk about.”

“I’m sure that we shall hear nothing but what is pleasant and sensible and right,” said Jack, with less veracity than it was his wont to speak.

Mrs Bubsby gave a “hem!” and Jack, bowing, left the cabin in possession of his fair guests.

The major was pacing the deck, fussing and fuming. Something had gone wrong with him. Jack kept out of his way. He had already got hold of one of his own junior officers, to whom he was explaining what had happened. At last he came up to Jack.

“I must beg you, Captain Rogers, to put back. My dressing-case, with valuables to a large amount, has been left behind; and it will to a certainty be stolen. I cannot do without it while campaigning; and it will be a fearful inconvenience not to have it on board. I will give you a written request, if you think it necessary to have one.”

“I cannot return to harbour for such a purpose, even with a written request from you,” answered Jack, scarcely able to restrain his laughter. “Perhaps the case in question has been brought on board after all. If not, anything I possess I shall be happy to place at your disposal.”

“You do not possess what I require, I am sure,” answered the major.

“But tell me what it is that your case contains which I cannot supply!” said Jack.

The major took Jack by the arm and led him out of earshot of his officers. “My second set of teeth,” he whispered. “I confide the fact to you; I shall never masticate my food without them; I shall die of indigestion.”

Jack could not help giving way to his inclination to laugh. “I own, major, I do not possess a second set of teeth of any description, but we will try the doctor; he is a clever man, and although such things are not supplied among our medical stores, he may possibly have some.”

“I shall be most grateful if he can furnish me,” answered the major, in the same tone as before; “but if you will not return into port, I must request you to institute a search for the dressing-case. You will not speak of its contents?”

Jack promised to do as the major requested, and directed Tom to learn if any case belonging to one of the officers had been carried forward or stowed away by mistake.

The major having allowed his “woman kind,” as he called them, time to shake into their berths, went below. He had not been there long before Jack, who had gone to his cabin, heard a low whispering from within. He caught the words—

“It was your fault!”

“It was yours!”

“I tell you it was not. I looked after everything entrusted to me. Sniggins should have kept a better eye on your baggage.”

“No; he was not to blame. It was your business to look after the smaller articles; for what other reason do I carry you and your daughters about?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to go. You and the girls made me.”

“I made you? I never made you do anything in your life which you did not like. My beloved, you are losing your temper!”

“I tell you I am as cool as a cucumber!” answered the lady, the tone of her voice belying the assertion.

“Don’t fall out about it, papa,” said a younger voice. “You are inclined to be aggravating.”

“My dear, I am as calm as your mamma,” said the major.

“Then why do you come here and accuse me of doing what I didn’t?” cried the lady. “I will not stand such treatment. It is all your fault!”

“It’s your fault, I say! Why was that case left behind?”

“It was not my fault,” exclaimed Mrs Bubsby. “I’ll teach you not to repeat such falsehoods!” There was a slight scream from Eugenia, echoed by Angelica, while some sounds greatly resembling those produced when a person is having his ears boxed, proceeded through the canvas. Directly afterwards the major, with a flushed countenance and a bald head, rushed out at the door, followed by a wig sent as a missile after him. On seeing Captain Rogers reading at the further corner of the cabin, he tried to pick it up, but the vessel giving a gentle roll at the time, sent him flying into the middle of the cabin before he had succeeded in his object. Pulling out his handkerchief in a vain endeavour to conceal his shaven crown, he uttered a groan. Jack tried not to look at him, but believing that he had been hurt, was compelled at length to inquire what was the matter.

“I confessed to you, Captain Rogers, that I made use of some false teeth in addition to my own natural ones, and now you have discovered that I wear a wig. But you will not, I trust, make it known to my officers, or they may lose the respect they now entertain for me.”

A scornful laugh from within showed that the major’s last observation had been overheard, and that some one did not agree with it.

Jack, however, kindly rising from his seat, picked up the major’s wig, and having handed it to him, helped him to get on his legs.

“Do you wish to return to your cabin?” asked Jack.

The major shook his head. “Not at present,” he whispered; “I’ll wait until the storm has blown over. She is a good woman,” pointing with his thumb to where it might be supposed Mrs Bubsby was standing; “but she’s a little hasty, as you see, at times. I would have left her behind, but I could not bring my girls without a chaperon, besides which she would come, whether I liked it or not. I am frank with you, Captain Rogers; but I am frank by nature.”

“Would you like to walk on deck, Major Bubsby?” asked Jack, not wishing to make any remark in the presence of the lady, aware that every word he uttered would reach her ears.

“Yes, indeed, I would,” answered the major; “a little fresh air would greatly restore me. These fits are apt to unman me for a time, but I quickly recover, and soon resume the command of my amazon forces.”

Jack heard another scornful laugh from within, as the major hurried into the main cabin. The captain good-naturedly paced the deck with him for some minutes, listening to the account of his domestic woes, arising from Mrs Bubsby’s somewhat uncertain temper.

“She is in the main, however, a charming creature, charming when I married her—a perfect angel. Still charming, though less angelic, I’ll allow, at times.”

Jack could not help smiling. The major observed him.

“You doubt my assertion! Wait until you have been married as long as I have, thirty years or more, and you’ll understand what’s what. You are not married, I conclude, Captain Rogers?”

“I have the happiness of being so, although we poor sailors are not allowed to carry our wives and families with us, as you military men have the privilege of doing.”

“That will be a disappointment to Eugenia and Angelica,” observed the major, apparently speaking to himself. “They fully speculated on your being a bachelor. You have some bachelor officers, however, captain?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Jack laughing; “my three lieutenants are all unmarried, and so are the rest of the officers, with the exception of the doctor and paymaster.”

“That’s some consolation, at all events. If there’s one thing I have at heart more than another, it is to see my charming daughters well married.”

“I wish you every success in so laudable an object,” said Jack, “but it is a matter in which I should decline to interfere with respect to my officers. Indeed they are all too young to take upon themselves the responsibilities of married life. In my opinion a naval officer should not venture to fall in love until he is thirty at least, if he intends to get on in the service, and it would be much better to wait a few years beyond that.”

“Ah, but my daughters would not consider them too young,” said the major. “Angelica once engaged herself to a young gentleman of seventeen, and would have married him too had not his father, who objected to the match, sent him off up the country, and the poor girl for a month at least could not hold up her head. It was not until a fresh regiment arrived that she in any way recovered her usual buoyant spirits, and had no less than three admirers at once dangling after her. One was so old that she could not make up her mind to accept him. Another was over head and ears in debt, and asked me to pay his bills, on condition that he would take my daughter off my hands, and a third had, I found out, an unacknowledged wife. So you see my sweet Angelica is perfectly free to give her heart and hand to the first person who asks her.”

The major, as he made these revelations, did not appear at all aware of the effect they were likely to produce on his auditor, who, as may be supposed, found it difficult to offer any remark on some of them.

“I think I may now venture below, as time has been given for the storm which raged in a certain region to calm down,” said the major, who was beginning to feel a little tired from so long pacing the deck.

Jack advised him by all means to return to his cabin. He wanted, indeed, to enjoy a good hearty fit of laughter by himself, as he felt every instant ready to explode. He somewhat astonished Tom, who was on deck, when he at length gave way to his feelings as the major’s head disappeared below the deck.

Tom, on hearing the account of the major’s expulsion from the cabin, as may be supposed, joined his brother Jack in his merriment, and it was with difficulty for hours afterwards that he could refrain from bursting into fits of laughter.

The Bellona steamed on; not at full speed, however, for the engineer found something amiss with the machinery, and begged the captain, as soon as the wind should shift, to proceed under sail, that he might have an opportunity of repairing the defect.

The young ladies were constantly on deck, endeavouring to make themselves as charming as possible. Archie Gordon and Tom were respectfully polite, and took care not to commit themselves by any undue attentions. Billy Blueblazes was far less cautious. Whenever he could find a spare minute, he was sure to make his way to the side of the fair Angelica.

At last, one night, while Tom was on watch, he was surprised to find Billy walk up to him.

“I thought you’d turned in,” remarked Tom.

“It wouldn’t have been of any use; I couldn’t have slept had I tried,” answered Billy, with a sigh. “I want, Tom, to confide a secret to you.”

“What is it?” inquired Tom. “You have had no quarrel with any of those military officers, I hope?”

“Oh, no, no,” answered Billy. “I know, Rogers, that you were once susceptible of the tender passion, and I want to make you my confidant. I am in love, irretrievably, hopelessly in love, and the fair object of my affections returns it, she assures me, with the same ardour. But, you know, my income is small. At present I have nothing but my pay, and that will only keep me and allow me a few pounds to spend on tarts and jellies and ice creams, and I should have to give those up at all events, which would be a terrible sacrifice. And then the major, her father, is evidently a hard-hearted, stubborn old fogey, and the mother’s a she-dragon. The adorable creature insists that I shall marry her on the first opportunity. She, indeed, proposes that the chaplain should perform the ceremony on board, but I am afraid the captain would not allow that, and I am in a fearful state of perplexity.”

“Which of them is it?” asked Tom; “for you appeared equally attentive to both whenever I have seen you together.”

“Ah! but you have not observed the glances Angelica has cast at me, nor the blush which mantles on her cheek when I approach. I thought that every one must have observed it, though I desired to keep the matter a secret in my own breast until I confided it to you. We have been shipmates for many years, so that I felt sure I could trust you.”

“Indeed you can,” answered Tom. “I’ll give you the best advice I can. Don’t say anything to any one else for a few days; at all events restrain your ardour, do not commit yourself while the lady remains on board. You can write to her, you know, at any time, when she’s safe on shore, then the captain would not interfere. Perhaps, after a little absence, you may find your affection cool; for, from the way you describe her parents, I am, as a friend, bound to tell you that there are some objections to the match, and I am sure the captain would see them.”

“I am sure that I shall never love her less than I do now,” answered Billy. “I have been thinking of composing some verses to present to her. As you know, I am something of a poet, but I should like to show them to you before I give them.”

“Didn’t you once begin some to a young lady in Sydney?” asked Tom, slily. “I don’t think you ever finished them.”

“No, nor did I; still, I thought of completing them now. You must remember that the young lady there gave me no encouragement, but at present I know that they will be received, and my poetic genius will be stimulated. Oh, Tom! it is very delightful to be in love, but it sadly unhinges a man, you know that from experience.”

“Bosh! If I ever was in love, it is so long ago and I was such a boy at the time, that I have forgotten all about it,” answered Tom, not quits liking Billy’s remark. “But what about the verses?” he asked.

“I have them in my pocket, as far as I have gone. I would read them by the binnacle lamp but that the helmsman would overhear me. I think, however, I can recollect them. They begin—

“‘Angelica, my own beloved,

An earthly angel thou!’

“I forget the third line, but the fourth is—

“‘Before thy shrine I bow.

“‘The jasmine, lily, and the rose,

In thee are all entwined.’

“Those third lines bother me, but the fourth I thought of terminating with ‘combined.’ Perhaps you can help me, Tom?”

“Couldn’t you put in something about a sunflower or a poplar,” suggested Tom. “The lady in question rather brings to my mind some of the taller productions of nature. You must have remarked she’s a head and a half taller than you are, Billy, and Mrs Bubsby even more than that above the major.”

“I might begin, ‘Tall art thou as the stately pine,’ but I think I should be bothered if I had to introduce the sunflower,” observed Billy.

“Give them to me,” said Tom, “and I will look them over; perhaps I may get the paymaster to help me—he’s a capital hand with his pen.”

Billy, pulling a paper out of his pocket, gave it to Tom, and after pacing the deck for a few minutes longer went below to turn in, though, he averred, not to sleep. It should have been mentioned that Billy had been promoted before leaving England, and was now junior lieutenant of the ship.

Tom, however, had no opportunity of looking at the verses. The following night the ship was five or six miles from Waterloo Bay, but Jack deemed it prudent to wait until next morning to stand in.

Billy was very miserable at the thoughts of having so soon to part from Angelica.

“I say, Rogers, do you think the captain would let me go on shore just for a day or two? The ship is sure to remain here for some time.”

“I’m not so certain of that, and you cannot be spared,” answered Tom. “The captain would smell a rat; depend upon that. He’s too sharp-sighted not to have observed what has been going on. I don’t think he altogether admires the young lady as much as you do.”

“Have you read the remainder of the verses?” asked Billy. “Some of the lines want endings, and some of the verses want lines and rhymes. My ideas are very grand, but I am apt to break down for want of appropriate rhymes.”

“I’ll find them for you,” said Tom. “I’ve got a dictionary, and I’ll run my eye down it, and select as many as you can want.”

“I should like to have finished them before she goes on shore,” said Billy.

“I don’t see how that can be managed,” observed Tom. “You can send them to her before we again put to sea; it will be a last tender mark of your affection, and she will appreciate it. If you will write the address on an envelope I will get it sent with the captain’s letters.”

Billy was contented with this proposal, and turned in until his watch on deck came round. At daylight the Bellona slowly steamed in for the land, for it was very nearly a calm, though heavy undulations rolled on beneath the ship towards the shore. On approaching it the loud roar of the surf was heard. It soon became evident that it would be utterly impossible to land the troops. Jack made a signal to ask how long this state of things would last. The answer was unsatisfactory. It might be for a week or ten days. The troops were greatly wanted, but it would be impossible for them to land, and Captain Rogers was requested to keep close to the coast, that no opportunity might be lost in case the surf should unexpectedly cease. He accordingly put the ship’s head round, and was steaming off, when suddenly the engines stopped.

The anchor, of course, was now the only resource, as there was not sufficient wind to enable the ship to claw off the land. As rapidly as possible the anchor was let go. No sooner had it caught the ground, and the cable run out, than the influence of the rollers began sensibly to be felt and the ship began pitching in a very unsatisfactory manner. Astern was the threatening, barren-looking coast, with a broad line of white breakers dashing savagely on it. On trying the current, it was found setting west by north at the rate of a mile and a half an hour, which, with the swell, would soon have placed the ship in a most dangerous position. Jack himself went below to ascertain the amount of damage to the machinery, and to urge the engineers to work with all speed. The chief engineer looked grave.

“We ought to be in harbour, with smooth water, to accomplish this work,” he observed; “but we will do our best, sir.”

“Should a breeze spring up, we will get under way, and the ship will be far more steady than she is now,” answered Jack. “What was the cause of the accident?”

“A flaw, sir, which ought to have been discovered. It is only a wonder that it did not give way before, and I cannot account for its going now. However, as I said, sir, we will do our best.”

“You can do no more, Mr Rivett,” answered Jack. “Send for as many hands as you want, if they can assist you.”

“Our own people are enough at present, but we may want them by-and-by,” was the answer.

Jack returned on deck to find his principal guest looking rather pale. The major had been often enough at sea to know that a ship caught on a lee shore, with the chance of a heavy gale springing up, was not in a pleasant position. He felt also somewhat physically upset by the unusual motion. The ship was indeed riding uneasily, pulling at her cable as if at any instant she might haul the anchor from the bottom. Jack ordered another cable to be ranged in case of accident, for, should the bower anchor be carried away, there would be no time to lose in bringing up.

It is an ill wind that blows nobody good; and Billy was congratulating himself on the happiness of spending a few more days in the society of Angelica, but the motion of the ship had produced the same effect on her as it had on her papa, and when at length she did appear on deck, Tom remarked that she looked wonderfully yellow about the region of the mouth.

“I say, Billy,” he observed, mischievously, “I think it would be very appropriate to compare her to the sunflower now.”

In vain Billy tried to console her; she was too miserable to speak. He at length had to lead her below to the door of her cabin.

The calm continued all night, though the weather looked very threatening. In vain the engineers toiled on without ceasing. It might take two or three days even now before the damage could be repaired. The night came on. The captain, first lieutenant, and master felt too uneasy to turn in. Either the second or third lieutenant remained on the forecastle, ready to issue the necessary orders for letting go the other cable, should the first give way. It held on, however, until morning, but still the same heavy surf as before rolled on the shore, from whence, in answer to Jack’s signals, the reply came, “Troops cannot yet land.”

“I think, sir, before long, we shall have a breeze,” said the master. “I hope it won’t come due south; and from the look of the sky I should say that we shall have it from the south-west, or perhaps from the westward.”

“I trust, if we do get it, that it will be from a quarter which will enable us to make sail,” answered Jack.

Still hour after hour went by, and no breeze came. At length, towards night, a few ripples were seen on the water. They became more frequent. The dog vanes blew out.

“Hurrah! here comes a breeze!” cried the master. “We shall have it strong enough presently to make sail,” he added. “We may then get that ironwork of ours to rights.”

The capstan was manned. Scarcely had the men commenced tramping round than a loud report was heard. The messenger had given way, when the cable ran out to the clench, carrying away the stoppers, and running through both compressors. By great exertions, however, the messenger was again shackled together and the anchor hove up. No sooner did it appear above water than Tom, who was on the forecastle, exclaimed—

“Both flukes carried away, sir; nothing but the shank and stock remaining.”

Sail was now made; but the ship was evidently drifting to the westward, by which she approached nearer and nearer the shore. Every stitch of canvas that could be set was hoisted. The wind shifted to the very worst quarter from which it could blow. The ship stood on, however, close-hauled, first on the starboard tack, and then, the wind shifting half a point or so, for the purpose of taking advantage of it, she was put about. Every sheet and brace was flattened aft; still, judging by the roar of the breakers, she was no further off the threatening coast than at first.

Many an eye was turned to leeward in an endeavour to discover the line of the coast, which, through the gloom, could dimly be distinguished below the bright sky.

“We still hold our own,” said Jack to Archie Gordon, who was walking the deck. “If we can continue to do that until the sea goes down, we may still do well; and we must hope, if we should let drop an anchor, that it will prove sounder than the last. Probably the engineers will by that time have accomplished their task, and we shall be able to get steam on the ship. She doesn’t sail close-hauled as well as I expected, and we never before have had an opportunity of testing her as we are now doing.”

“I suspect that it is the current carrying her to leeward,” observed Archie. “Possibly the wind may increase before daylight, and we shall then be better able to claw off the land.”

All night long the captain, endeavouring to take advantage of every change of wind, frequently put the ship about, anxiously wishing for daylight, to be able to judge better than he could during the darkness of her distance from the land. The lead kept going showed no increase of depth, which ranged from thirty-five to forty fathoms. As morning approached, the water shallowed, showing that she was nearer than she had been when night closed in.

“By the deep, twenty,” sang out the man in the chains. A short time afterwards, “fifteen fathom,” then “twelve.” Just at daylight she was in ten fathoms of water. As the sun rose, the marks denoting the entrance to Waterloo Bay were seen under the lee. The bay afforded no shelter with the wind blowing, as it then did, directly into it. Jack hoisted the signals, “Can the troops land?” The answer run up on shore was, “Not until the weather moderates.”

In a short time a pilot came off in a surf-boat, and the ship was brought up in nine fathoms, about a mile and a half from the shore. A spring was also got on the cable, in case of requiring to slip, and a bow-rope for a slip-rope, while the spare anchor was shifted to the cathead, in lieu of the one carried away, that everything might be ready in case of necessity.

The pilot, on discovering that the machinery had given way, looked grave. He had been accustomed to sailing vessels all his life, and had no love for steamers.

“I hope your engineers will look sharp and get their work done,” he observed to the master. “This is a queer place when the wind is as it is, though well enough when it’s off shore.”

After breakfast, the major and his family came on deck. Angelica, looking about her, inquired why they could not land.

“Because the boats would be upset and rolled over and over in these breakers, and you, my sweet girl, would be gobbled up by a shark!” answered Billy, to whom the question was put. “They would choose you first. I’m sure, if I was a shark, I shouldn’t like to eat your papa or mamma!”

“Oh, what a dreadful idea!” exclaimed Angelica; yet she smiled at what she considered Billy’s compliment.

Billy, who had recovered his verses from Tom, although he had not had time to look at them, thought this a good opportunity of presenting them; and, observing that the major’s eyes were turned another way, took the paper out of his pocket and gave it to her.

“These lines, my dearest, will show you the depth of my affection,” he said.

Angelica, with a blush, which she had the art of commanding at pleasure, took the paper. A frown, however, gathered on her brow as she read—

“‘Tall as a poplar, sharp as a thorn;

I should never have missed you had you never been born.

Roses are sweet and lilies are fair,

But they lose their beauty when seen in your hair.’”

“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed Angelica, in an angry tone, as she continued to read on the doggerel which Tom had substituted for those Billy had given him. Just then the major, turning round, saw his daughter with a paper in her hand, and Billy standing by her side. He, supposing it to be a formal proposal which, in his paternal anxiety, he had carefully been looking for, approached with the intention of clinching the matter in the presence of witnesses, and allowing Billy no chance of escape. So convinced was he of this, that, without asking to look at the paper, he grasped Billy’s hand.

“My dear fellow,” he exclaimed, in his enthusiasm, “I am happy to congratulate you on your success and good taste. She will make you an admirable wife; and you will prove, I am sure, an affectionate husband. I accept your offer on my daughter’s behalf and you shall have my blessing and that of Mrs Bubsby.”

“But I have not made a downright offer,” answered Billy.

“No, indeed he has not,” exclaimed Angelica. “Look at these abominable lines he has just presented to me. What his object was I cannot divine.”

The major took the paper and read the lines.

“Do you mean to insult my beloved child by putting such wretched trash as this into her hands?” exclaimed the major, with a sudden revulsion of feeling.

“I did not write them,” answered Billy. “Indeed I did not. I had no wish to insult Miss Angelica; for I thought her a most charming person, and had got some beautiful lines almost ready, which I had intended to give her.”

“This does not satisfy me, sir,” answered the major. “The only apology you can make is to go down on your knees and beg the forgiveness of my innocent child, and offer to marry her forthwith.”

“That I’ll not,” answered Billy, who had not at all liked the ominous frown which he had seen gather over the fair Angelica’s brow, and still less the dictatorial tone of the irate major. Billy had a fair proportion of good sense, although he made a fool of himself sometimes; and was, when put on his mettle, as brave as any man. His good genius suggested to him the various remarks which Tom had made respecting the Bubsby family.

“I say that I did not intend to insult your daughter, and that I had not read the lines presented to her, nor did I compose them myself. I must beg that she will give them me back. I am ready to apologise for my unintentional mistake, and do so now.”

At this juncture Mrs Bubsby and her other daughter joined the party, and at once set tooth and nail on poor Billy, not literally, but metaphorically. His spirit, however, was up. He positively refused to marry the fair Angelica, or to offer any further apology than he had already done.

“Then, sir, I must have satisfaction,” exclaimed the major. “Your blood or mine must dye the soil of Africa ere many days are over!”

“Oh! my beloved husband, do not say that,” exclaimed Mrs Bubsby. “He is beneath your notice. If he refuses to marry Angelica, the loss will be his. She will find ere long a far better husband.”

“You wicked, deceitful, cruel, abominable young man!” exclaimed Angelica. “If you do not marry me you’ll break my heart! It’s not the first time I’ve been treated in this way. It shows me, however, more and more that you naval officers are not to be trusted.”

Jack observed that something unpleasant was going on; but he was too much occupied with watching the position of the ship to interfere, as were the other officers. Billy himself also had presently to hurry forward to attend to his duties, while the major and his wife and daughters retired to their cabins to discuss the matter.

By this time heavy rollers were coming in, breaking within a cable’s length of the ship on each quarter, making her position far from pleasant. There was but a light air from the southward, insufficient to enable her get under way.

Jack much regretted having come to the place, for it was evidently a far from satisfactory one for landing troops. The cutter was now lowered, and sent round the ship to sound. On her return on board the master reported only seven fathoms close to the breakers. The breeze now freshened from east-south-east, but the rollers increasing, the sea broke heavily half a cable’s length from her. Everything was now prepared for making sail. On the cable being shortened in, it was discovered that it had swept over a rock about fifty fathoms from the anchor, and that at any moment it might give way.

“Stop heaving!” cried the captain. “Make ready to slip!” The sails were loosened; but as they were about to be sheeted home, the cable parted. Instantly the sheet anchor was let go. For some seconds it seemed doubtful, before it could reach the bottom, whether the ship would strike on the rocks; but it happily brought her up, though fearfully near them.

By this time it was again night; the rollers had greatly increased, and should the sheet anchor give way, it was clear that nothing could save the ship. Jack had seldom been in so anxious a position. All on board saw the danger they were in. The major’s cheek lost its ruddy hue, and even Mrs Bubsby’s countenance exhibited signs of alarm. Not far off lay a small vessel with both anchors down. Her master coming on board volunteered to make a hawser fast to her for the purpose of casting the man-of-war the right way.

The engineer stated that it would be some hours before steam could be got up.

“Then let me advise you, sir, to get under way forthwith,” said the master of the merchantman. “Should the anchor fail to hold, the ship must inevitably strike on that reef of rocks where the surf is breaking so furiously, and where, strong as she may be, she will not hold together for an hour, while there will not be the slightest chance of saving a single human life.”

Jack gladly accepted the worthy master’s offer. The cutters were lowered, and hawsers carried to the vessel. The sheet anchor was then weighed, when, on its coming above water, it was found that both the flukes had gone. Her only hope of safety was on the remaining anchor. Would it hold until sail could be made? From the direction the beats were drifting it was soon seen that, in spite of all the efforts of their crews, it would be impossible to carry the hawsers to the merchantman. Jack looked anxiously at the compass and dog vanes. He knew full well that at any moment the cable might part, and, should the ship not cast the right way, she must be driven on the rocks and every soul perish.

“I would advise you to return on board your own vessel, my friend,” he said to the master of the merchantman. “You will be safer on board her than here.”

“Now is your chance, captain,” exclaimed the master, as the wind veered a point well to the eastward.

The cable was slipped. The ship mercifully canted the right way under single-reefed topsails, topgallant sails, jib, and driver, and with a strong breeze stood out of the treacherous bay.

Jack and all on board had good reason to thank a merciful Providence that they had escaped the danger to which they had been exposed. At length the Bellona was clear of the land. Now came the question of what to do with the troops. There was only one anchor left. Jack considered that it would be extreme rashness to bring up again close to the shore until he had steam power on which to depend to help him off, should the wind continue to the southward. Still it was of the greatest importance that by some means or other the troops should be landed. The major, who was by this time anxious to leave the ship, insisted that “it ought to be done, and must be done.”

“The must depends upon circumstances,” answered Jack. “If I can land your men I will, without risking their lives or those of my boats’ crews. By running further to the eastward, a place may be found where you can be put on shore, and you must march from thence to the place you were ordered to garrison, but until the machinery is in good working order, I must do my utmost to keep off the land.”

To this the major had nothing to say.

The breeze freshened. By nightfall the Bellona was out of sight of land, and Jack felt much more easy than he had done for several days. Although the rough seas had greatly delayed the engineer, he was at length able to report that the machinery was again in order. The wind also had fallen considerably, and the sea having much gone down, Jack hoped that he might at length get rid of his guests. Both officers and men had behaved admirably, and had assisted on all occasions in making sail, or when pulling and hauling was required on deck. The ship was, at this time, about forty miles from the port of debarkation. After many anxious hours of watching, Jack turned in, leaving Tom, as officer of the watch, on deck.

Young Alick Murray had been placed in Tom’s watch, and besides him there was a mate and another midshipman. The night was tolerably clear, the stars shining, but a mist hung above the surface of the sea, so that no object could be seen until tolerably near. Tom constantly hailed the look-outs forward to ascertain that they were keeping their eyes open, and young Alick paid frequent visits to the forecastle, sent by Tom for the same purpose. The engines were working, though not in so satisfactory a manner as was desirable. Alick was forward, when his sharp eyes discovered an object almost ahead, though slightly on the starboard bow.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing it out to Tim Nolan, who was on the watch. “A boat, a raft, or a sunken vessel?”

“It looks to me like a raft, and we must starboard the helm if we don’t want to run into it,” said Tim.

“A raft on the starboard bow!” shouted Alick, in his clear voice.

“Starboard the helm!”

“Starboard it is,” was the answer, and presently what looked like a hen-coop and a grating with a few spars lashed together, came in sight, and an object, evidently a human being, lying on it, but whether alive or dead could not at once be ascertained. Presently, however, as the ship was abreast of the raft, a man rose on his knees and waved his hand, while he shouted out, “Ship, ahoy!” His voice sounded hollow and shrill; he apparently supposed that he had not been seen. Tom immediately ordered the engines to be stopped, and a boat to be lowered, but before this was done she had got a considerable distance from the raft. Another cry escaped the forlorn occupant of the raft, as if he fancied he was to be left to his fate. Tom hailed him, telling him that assistance would be sent. In a few minutes a boat was pulling as fast as the crew, with sturdy strokes—eager to rescue a fellow-creature—could drive her through the water. Alick had jumped into the boat, which he steered carefully up to the raft. No voice was heard as they approached. The poor man, overcome with the thought that he had been deserted, had apparently fainted or sunk down again from weakness. At first Alick thought that he was not there, but his form was seen stretched out at full length on the frail raft.

“Look out not to capsize it!” sang out Alick to his men, two of whom were about to spring on the raft. “Let one at a time get on it, and lift the man carefully into the boat.”

His orders were obeyed, the man was got on board and passed along to the stern sheets, where he was laid with his head on a flag, which happened to be in the boat. Alick pulled back as hard as possible, that the stranger might be placed under charge of the doctor. The poor man breathed, and that was all. Alick was afraid that he might go off unless speedily attended to, for the boat had come away without brandy or any other restorative.

The rescued man was handed on deck with all the tenderness with which sailors are wont to treat the sick and wounded, or women and children. The doctor was immediately roused up to do what he considered necessary.

The stranger seemed by his dress to be an officer, although, whether officer or man, he would have been looked after with the same care. Tom had him at once carried to his cabin, where the doctor undressed him.

The various remedies which his case required having been applied, the stranger soon gave signs of returning animation.

“His pulse is improving,” observed the doctor, “and he will do well enough after a time. No one must talk to him, however, when he comes to his senses, or try to learn how he got into the situation in which he was found.”

Tom’s watch being over, and having given up his cabin he was about to roll himself up in his cloak in a corner of the ward room, when the fearful cry of “Fire! fire!” was raised. He hurried on deck, where Jack and all the officers and crew quickly assembled. The drum beat to quarters. The men flew to their stations. The soldiers, who well knew the meaning of the tattoo, hastened on deck and fell in, according to their officers’ orders, on either side.

During that moment of awful suspense, strict discipline prevailed. The last persons to appear were the major and Mrs Bubsby and their two tall daughters. The former, with a blanket thrown over his head, making him look very much like a young polar bear, and the lady in her nightcap, with a bonnet secured by a red woollen shawl fastened under her chin, while the costume of the young ladies showed also that they had hurriedly dressed themselves, and in a way they would not have wished to have appeared in, under ordinary circumstances, one having her papa’s military cloak tied round her waist, while the other had a railway rug, of large size, covering her shoulders and hanging down behind.

“What’s the matter? what’s the matter?” asked the major, in a tone of agitation.

“The ship is on fire, and we, with the aid of your men, have to put it out,” said Jack.

“Fire!” exclaimed Mrs Bubsby. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! what will become of us. I thought such a thing was impossible on board of a well-regulated man-of-war.”

Jack had no time to reply to the lady. That the ship was on fire was too certain, as they could perceive a strong smell of burning, and although the smoke could not be seen through the darkness, its suffocating effects were felt as it ascended through the after hatch-way. Jack at once ordered the first lieutenant and boatswain with a party of men to go below and ascertain the cause and extent of the fire, while the soldiers stood ready with buckets full of water in their hands, as did a party of the crew, with wet blankets and sails, to extinguish it. No sooner was the hatch taken off, however, than not only smoke but bright flames ascended. On this the soldiers, who were standing on the lower deck, were ordered to advance and heave the contents of their buckets over the spot. At first it appeared to produce but little effect. The steam pump was set to work and the hose carried aft, but scarcely had it begun to work, than the machinery by some accident gave way, and it was of no service.

The major, seeing the serious aspect of affairs, at length rushed up to Jack.

“Captain Rogers, what is to become of my wife and daughters?” he asked, in an agitated tone.

“We will lower one of the boats, and put them into it,” said the captain, “with the senior mate and a midshipman.”

Jack at once issued the order for the cutter to be lowered and manned. Her own crew went in her with the officers Jack had appointed.

“Murray, you go too,” he said. “We will take you on board again as soon as the fire is put out.”

Alick touched his cap, but was evidently very unwilling to go, though he said nothing.

“The boat is ready, major, for your wife and daughters,” shouted Jack.

The accommodation ladder was lowered to enable them to descend.

“Now, my precious ones,” cried the major. “Your lives shall be saved at all events, though it’s my belief that the ship will burn to the water’s edge and go down.”

Billy was too busy attending to his duty below to assist his fair friends; indeed, he would not have been sorry to keep out of their way had he known what was taking place.

Mrs Bubsby was the first to descend, helped by two of the crew, who could for a moment be spared to assist her. The eldest daughter went next, when the major descended, supporting Angelica, who, overcome by her feelings, appeared to have fainted. When the crew offered to assist her into the boat, he exclaimed—

“No, no, hands off, I must place her in her mother’s arms,” and stepped in, not without a risk of pitching over into the stern sheets.

Jack, who just then looked over the side, observing that no one else remained to get into the boat, ordered her to shove off.

“But the major is in her, sir,” answered Alick.

“He must not go back to the dreadful ship!” cried Mrs Bubsby, her words being echoed by her daughters, while Angelica, throwing her arms round his neck, held him down. In vain the major struggled, or appeared to struggle, to regain the accommodation ladder, but each time that he made an attempt to get on board, his wife and daughters pulled him back.

While this was going forward, the boat was veered astern by a long warp, and now and then the major attempted to shout, but his wife placed her hand over his mouth, so that his demands to be taken on board were unheeded.

At length, appearing reconciled to his fate, he subsided down and remained quietly with his wife and family, without any further effort to return to the ship.

“It can’t be helped, sir,” said young Alick. “They’ll do very well without you, as there are quite men enough to put out the fire. I wish, though, that I was on board to help.”

“Do you think there is any chance of the ship blowing up?” said Mrs Bubsby. “If it does I’m afraid we shall lose all our things.”

“You may be very sure, madam, that if the ship does blow up you will lose everything, but I can’t help thinking that the lives of the officers and crew, not to speak of the poor soldiers, are of more consequence than your traps,” answered Alick.

“Oh dear! oh dear! will the ship blow up, do you suppose?” inquired Angelica. “And poor Lieutenant Blewitt, what will become of him?”

“I suppose that Billy must share the fate of others,” answered Alick. “But I can assure you that I have no fear that she will blow up. Her crew are well-disciplined, and the soldiers appear to be equally so, judging by the way they were behaving when we left the ship, and it was only as a matter of precaution, in case of accident, that Captain Rogers had you put into the boat, and it is probable that we shall be on board again in an hour or so, or in less time.”

“Do you venture to call Lieutenant Blewitt ‘Billy?’” exclaimed Angelica, in whose tender besom the full amount of affection she had ever felt had returned for our friend, on supposing that he was in peril and might be lost to her for ever.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Angelica. I forgot when I spoke that you and he were spooney on each other,” answered Alick, with perfect gravity. “I confess that we always call him ‘Billy’ in the berth, but on duty we address him with due respect as ‘Lieutenant Blewitt’; the other lieutenants, however, always speak of him as ‘Billy Blueblazes,’ and he likes the name, he has got so accustomed to it.”

Meantime, as far as could be ascertained by those in the boat, the fire continued burning on board the ship. Sparks were seen occasionally rising above the deck, and Alick now began to entertain serious apprehensions that the ship would be destroyed. Some of her crew might escape in the boats, but he was very sure that the officers would be the last to leave her, and that it would be impossible to construct rafts to convey them all. He had been ready up to this time to joke and even to laugh. He now became very serious. The fire might reach to the magazine, though he felt sure that Captain Rogers would order it to be drowned or the powder to be thrown overboard, if such could be done.

Meantime Jack and those under his command were making every effort which men could make to extinguish the fire. It was discovered to have originated in the after bunkers, and that the flames had got hold of some of the wood-work. By persevering efforts they having been extinguished, Tom, covering up his head with a piece of wet blanket, followed by Jerry Bird and a gallant party of seamen similarly protected, made their way, buckets in hand, to the very seat of the fire.

Again and again they were driven back, and Jerry, stout-hearted as he was, was hoisted senseless on deck, overcome by the smoke; two others suffering in the same manner, Tom and the rest persevering. He was ready to perish rather than allow Jack’s ship to be destroyed. More volunteers were called for. At length, by their united efforts, as one party being overcome, another taking their place, the fire was got under, when the bunk being cooled by water, the coals were scraped out.

By this time the sun was just rising above the horizon, casting a bright glare on the ship, as she slowly moved over the calm water. Jack and all the naval and military officers were still on deck, many of them with their faces and hands blackened, as well as their clothing, by the smoke, while the ship herself presented far from her usual trim appearance. The boat was hauled alongside. The first to appear was the major, still wearing his blanket, which he had forgotten to throw aside, and not recollecting the curious figure he cut. His own officers turned from him, disgusted at what they supposed his pusillanimity and his desertion of them and his men; while the naval officers only laughed at his unusual and somewhat absurd costume. He was followed by his two daughters, Mrs Major Bubsby bringing up the rear, though it might have been wiser in her to have led the van. Her curious appearance did not lessen the merriment of those who had not before seen her, and those of the crew who were standing near in no way attempted to restrain their laughter.

“What’s it all about?” asked the major, in an indignant tone. He was too acute not to perceive the effect his conduct had produced on his own officers, but he determined to brazen it out. “You think I deserted you, gentlemen,” he said. “You are much mistaken. I was the victim of affection. My beloved wife and daughters kept me an unwilling prisoner. I put it to you, gentlemen, how would you have behaved under similar circumstances? I made the most strenuous efforts to regain the deck, but these two dear girls of mine clung to me with frantic energy, and Mrs Bubsby held me down by main force.”

“I did, I own it,” exclaimed Mrs Bubsby, who, now the danger was over, saw the dubious position in which her husband was placed. “My deep affection overcame every other consideration, and all I thought of was the safety of my beloved husband. My daughters were animated by the same spirit.”

“Yes, we are. We thought that you would all be burnt, or blown up, or go to the bottom, and poor dear Lieutenant Blewitt into the bargain; and we could not endure the thoughts of losing our papa, so we held him tight, though he is as brave and strong as a lion. It was a very difficult thing to keep him down, I can assure you;” and Angelica burst into tears.

Whether or not they produced any effect on the hard hearts of the captains and subalterns of the regiment it is impossible to say.

“I should advise you, major, and Mrs Bubsby to go below and turn in, or change your dress, which is not quite becoming the deck of a man-of-war, and I hope your daughters will follow your example,” observed Jack, who thought that matters were proceeding too far.

It was impossible to stop the shouts of laughter which escaped the ship’s company as, one after another, they managed to get a look at the curious group.

“I will take your advice, Captain Rogers,” answered the major, and he, followed by his tall family, disappeared.

The ship had received less damage than might have been expected, and the machinery not having been injured, she proceeded towards her destination. Next day she came off a small, but land-locked, bay. The master, by careful pilotage, brought her in, and she anchored safely.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he thought that he should now get rid of the major and his family, as well as of the troops, admirably as they had behaved on board. The officers thanked him for the courtesy he had shown them. They eyed the major, who was standing at a little distance, with looks askance.

“What we shall do under such a commanding officer is more than I can tell,” said the senior captain. “I am sorry, Captain Rogers, that you have had so bad a specimen of a military man on board your ship. Were any superior officers on shore, we should at once bring him to a court-martial, and you would be under the necessity of carrying him and his belongings back. As it is, in the face of an enemy, we cannot refuse to serve under him, and we can only hope that his wife and daughters will cling round his neck and keep him at head-quarters, or that a shot may disable him from active service. A very little thing would, I suspect, do that. We wish him no further ill.”

“I am very willing to oblige you in everything,” said Jack, laughing; “but I would rather not have the pleasure of carrying him and his ‘woman kind,’ as he calls them, back to Simon’s Bay.”

The boats were busily employed in landing the soldiers, who bade an affectionate farewell to their blue-jacket brethren. Most of the officers had landed; the major and his family still remained. He appeared to have arrived at the conclusion that he did not stand very well with those under his command. Had the ship gone down, he would have saved his life, and there would have been nobody to complain; but as it was, and there had been no real danger, he found himself placed in a very awkward position. Of this he was well aware. He came up to Jack.

“Age and infirmity have told upon me lately, Captain Rogers,” he said. “Mrs Bubsby and my daughters are of the same opinion. My charming daughter Angelica is very anxious to go back with you to Cape Town. I have, therefore, come to the conclusion of resigning my command and returning home, whatever may be the consequences.”

“Are you speaking seriously?” asked Jack. “Have you considered the consequences of such an act? I should have thought that you would have been anxious to retrieve your character by showing your courage the first time you had an opportunity of meeting the enemy.”

“My courage!” exclaimed the major; “who ever doubted that? It was not my courage gave way; it was the stout arms and affectionate embraces of my beloved daughters which kept me back in the boat when they thought that the ship was going down. My courage and honour are as bright as they ever were in my best days, when I was known as a perfect fire-eater. Do you know what I did in the Crimea—how gallantly I behaved at the storming of Sevastopol? how I held the rifle-pits against a host of the enemy? how at the Alma I climbed up the heights, shouting ‘Death or victory!’ when my men were driven back by the showers of bullets hissing past us and might have fled? Why, sir, if any officer deserved the Victoria Cross, I did!”

“I have not heard of your brave deeds, Major Bubsby,” answered Jack, “and it is my duty to land you and your wife and daughters at the nearest place to your destination. The state of the surf prevented my doing so at Waterloo Bay, and now I have only to inform you that the boat is waiting to convey you and your family on shore. Your heavy baggage has already been sent off; what remains can be carried with you.”

The major looked aghast. “Surely, Captain Rogers, you do not mean to say you insist on my landing, whether I like it or not, and would compel me and my delicate wife and those fair young creatures to march thirty miles or more through the sands of Africa without conveyance for ourselves and baggage?”

“Duty is duty, major,” answered Jack, who was determined not to take him back if he could help it. “Your duty is to land, mine is to put you on shore. You’ll excuse me for saying this, but I intend to perform my duty.”

The major, seeing that he had no help for it, made a virtue of necessity. He called out to his wife—

“We must go, my beloved, and our sweet children must be exposed to the fearful dangers of this unknown land.”

On hearing this Mrs Bubsby approached Jack, who stood boldly prepared for the assault he had every reason to expect from the frown which had gathered on the lady’s brow.

“Captain Rogers!” she exclaimed, in a voice which made Jack answer—

“Madam!” He had no time to say more, when she went on—

“Have you, who belong to the sister service, the barbarity to refuse a passage to my beloved husband and my delicate daughters, when the request has been made to you? For myself, I care not; I can march wherever the regiment can go. I did not expect this from you; and I’d have you know that I do not consider your conduct worthy of an officer and a gentleman.”

“Madam!” again ejaculated Jack, “I must not submit to such language, even from a lady. I have simply to perform my duty, which is to land Major Bubsby and his family. If he will not go, I should be sorry to have to hoist him and you over the side; but I intend to do so.”

Mrs Bubsby plucked off her gloves. Jack looked at her hands; her nails were long, but the captain of a man-of-war was not likely to be assaulted on the deck of his own ship, even by a lady. Still Jack could not tell what might be the irate dame’s intention.

The fair Angelica cast a glance at Lieutenant Blewitt, who was standing at the gangway, hoping heartily to have the honour of handing her and her sister down the accommodation ladder, and of uttering a last farewell, but he averted his eyes when he saw those of his charmer fixed on him. The major now began to be seriously alarmed that his wife, of whose temper he had full experience, might proceed to extremities, and that it would be better to face the scorn of his officers and the assegais of the Caffres than be ignominiously tumbled over the side.

“Come, come, my beloved! Captain Rogers knows his duty. He fulfils it sternly, I must say; but still we must obey; so march!” In the mean time Archie Gordon, having received directions from Jack, was seeing the light baggage of the major conveyed to the boat. He sent Alick to say that all was ready. The major saw that there was no excuse for further delay.

“Farewell, Captain Rogers,” he said, lifting his hat. “Farewell, gentlemen. You see a doomed man!” and he marched to the gangway.

“Oh, cruel! cruel!” uttered Mrs Bubsby, an exclamation repeated by Eugenia and Angelica.

“Give her another copy of verses,” whispered Tom to Billy, “or repeat those I wrote for you.”

“I forget them, or I would,” said Billy.

“Good-bye, Miss Angelica,” he added, as the young lady passed him with an averted countenance, not deigning a reply. The major descended into the boat. He would have been in a still greater hurry to be off had he not known what he was to expect on landing. He had some thoughts of throwing himself overboard; but the fin of a shark gliding by turned him from his intention. The ladies followed; and as they took their seats they put their handkerchiefs to their eyes, but whether to weep at parting from the naval officers or on account of their harsh treatment, it was impossible to say. Alick, who steered the boat, declared that he did not think they were crying at all. The major sat silent and moody for some time. Once he got up, “with fury in his countenance,” as Alick afterwards described; but his wife and daughters pulled him down, and at length he and they were landed safe on the beach, their various articles of baggage being carried up after them to a spot where a sergeant and a party of men were standing ready to escort them to the camp which had already been pitched in an advantageous position inland. They might at any time be attacked by the Caffres; but the force was sufficient to keep at bay any number of the enemy likely to be in that part of the country.

“Have you any message to send to Lieutenant Blewitt, Miss Angelica?” asked Alick, touching his cap with perfect gravity to that lady, who was walking last; he having already wished the major and the rest “Good-bye.”

“Yes; tell him he is a base deceiver,” answered Angelica, “and that I hope he may catch a tartar the next time he attempts to make love to an innocent maiden by presenting her with any of his abominable verses.”

“Yes, miss,” answered Alick; “I’ll faithfully deliver your message.” And as he had been ordered to return without delay, he hurried back to the boat.

“Well, Alick, what did they say?” asked Tom, as he returned on board.

Alick described what had happened, and did not fail to repeat Miss Angelica’s message to Lieutenant Blewitt.

“I would rather not deliver it myself. Perhaps you will, sir, as it may appear somewhat disrespectful coming from me,” added the midshipman.

“All right,” said Tom, chuckling. “I’ll take care he gets it.”

Tom took the opportunity, when most of the officers were collected at the mess table, to deliver Miss Angelica’s message.

Billy laughed as heartily as any one. “I don’t care what she called me, now that I am rid of her. I’m very much obliged to you, Rogers, for your verses, although I confess that at the time I certainly did feel considerably annoyed.”

Jack, having got rid of his guests, and being anxious to repair the damage caused by the fire, without delay steamed out of the harbour and proceeded on his voyage to Simon’s Bay.

The man who had been picked up just before the fire broke out had been carefully tended by the surgeon. During the whole time that efforts had been made to extinguish it, he had remained in a state of insensibility, and only recovered after the troops had landed. Tom, whose berth he occupied, visited him frequently, but found him ill able to converse or even to give any account of himself. At length, after a refreshing sleep, he awoke greatly recovered.

“I understand from the doctor, sir,” he said, when Tom soon afterwards went to see him, “that you have placed me in your berth, and I wish not to keep you out of it longer than possible. I am a ruined man, and must not expect longer to enjoy any of the comforts of life, until I can retrieve my fortunes, if that can ever be done.”

“Pray do not consider that you have inconvenienced me,” answered Tom. “I am very happy to be of service to you. All we know is that we found you nearly perishing, and are happy to render you any aid in our power. We are naturally somewhat curious to know how you came to be floating all by yourself on a raft.”

“That’s very natural, sir. My story is not a long one. My name is Cooper. I was master and part owner of a fine barque, the Flora, trading to Hobart Town, in Tasmania. I was coming home by the southern route, when during some thick weather we sighted a rock not laid down in my chart. I call it a rock, but it was rather a small island rising in lofty precipices out of the sea. The weather clearing, somewhat to my surprise I made out a signal flying from a flag-staff, and on standing in close I could see through my glass a small hut. Believing that some shipwrecked people were there, I stood still closer in, when a sudden squall struck my vessel, and laid her on her beam ends. She righted without much damage, as far as could be discovered; but the weather coming on very bad, I was obliged to keep off the shore. I made a second attempt, but was again driven off, and soon afterwards as heavy a gale as ever I experienced coming on from the southward, having lost my main and mizzen masts, and very nearly my fore-topmast, I was compelled to run before it. I had hopes of getting into Simon’s Bay, when the carpenter came to me and reported eight feet of water in the hold. I sent the crew to the pumps, but all their efforts could not free the ship, for the water kept rushing in with fearful rapidity. A butt had been started. A heavy sea was running at the time, but I hoped the boats would live. I ordered them to be lowered when the cry arose that the ship was sinking. A panic seized my crew, and all hands rushed to the sides. Some leaped into one boat, some into another. Almost immediately the boats were swamped, and I had the misery to see the poor fellows drowned before my eyes. I alone remained on deck. The ship floated longer than I expected, and I had time to lash together the imperfect raft on which you found me, get it overboard, and to leap upon it, and with only a few biscuits which I stuffed into my pockets and a bottle of water. Had I not taken them I must have perished. How I could have existed for a whole week, as I did, I know not; but I must have been very far gone, when through the mercy of Heaven you found me.”

“You have indeed escaped from a terrible danger,” said Tom. “But I wish that you could have given more perfect information about the rock on which you saw the signal flying, and its position.”

“I noted it down at the time, sir, but my log was lost, and the events which have since occurred have put that and many other things out of my head, though I have been trying in vain to recall it. I do not remember at all clearly how many weeks’ sail we were from Hobart Town, or how far I ran after sighting the rock; nor, indeed, how long I must have been on the raft, though while I retained my consciousness it seemed an age. On considering over the matter, I conclude that the gale could not have lasted much less than a week, and perhaps longer.”

Tom, on obtaining this important information, at once communicated it to Jack, who immediately went to Captain Cooper, and had a conversation with him.

“It is within the range of possibilities that the Empress may have been lost on the rock sighted by Captain Cooper, though how she could have got so far to the east, when she should have hauled up long before for Aden, it is difficult to say,” observed Jack, when afterwards talking the matter over with the lieutenant and master. “Probably her machinery broke down, as ours did.”

“And meeting with a gale, she had to run before it,” remarked the master. “These steam-kettles of ours can never be depended upon. I wish we could go back to the good old sailing ships. When we had them we knew what we were about, and took good care to keep off a lee shore; or, when it came on to blow, we hove the ship to and rode it out comfortably. Now we trust to the machinery, and it fails us in time of need. I shouldn’t like to say that to the engineer, for he sticks up for his engines, and wonders how ships used to cross the ocean before they got steam power.”

Jack smiled. The master was a thorough seaman, and he was allowed always to have his say against the “new-fangled notions of the day,” as he called them. Both Gordon and Tom agreed with the master that there was a great probability that the Empress had been lost on the rock seen by Captain Cooper, as she had not touched at Aden nor been heard of further to the eastward. Some of her crew might have escaped, although it was too probable that many were lost, and if so that Adair was among them; he certainly would not have quitted the wreck until the last—they knew him too well to suppose that.

“The signal seen by Captain Cooper may, however, have been hoisted by the people who escaped from some other wreck,” observed Tom.

“Perhaps the Empress went down during the gale in which we lost sight of her,” said the master.

“I trust that such was not the case; she was as likely to keep afloat as we were, unless some unforeseen accident happened—”

“To the machinery,” put in the master. “If the steam was shut off and Captain Adair had trusted to his stout canvas, I should have no fear on the subject.”

“Heaven forbid that she should have foundered. If she did, we shall never obtain proof positive of the fact,” said the captain. “I am far rather inclined to believe that she struck on some unknown reef, and that the rock or island was reached in the boats, or that the ship herself gained it, unless too much damaged to continue her voyage. One thing I am determined to do as soon as our repairs are completed, to obtain leave to go in search of her, and should any other unfortunate persons be on the rock, we shall at all events have the satisfaction of rescuing them.”

Fortunately the weather continued fine, and the Bellona, without further misadventure, reached Simon’s Bay. The repairs, however, took longer than was expected, as the damage received was far more serious than at first supposed. However, the work was such as could be accomplished while the ship was in Simon’s Bay.

“Take care your machinery don’t break down again, Mr Rivett,” observed Mr Scales, the master, who was generally known as Gunter Scale. “We’ve got a ticklish part of the ocean to navigate, I can tell you, and if your engines fail just at the moment they are wanted to back astern off a coral reef, or keep the ship from being drifted on a lee shore, I shan’t have much to say in their favour.”

“I beg, Mr Scales, that you will not take the ship into any such position. I understood that every rock and shoal between us and the south pole was well laid down, and it will be your fault if we come upon danger without knowing it beforehand.”

“You were wrongly informed, Mr Rivett; and there is many a rock, and many a shoal, and many an island, too, between us and the pole which no one alive knows anything about, although many a poor fellow has found them out too late, when his ship has run right upon them.”

“What you say reminds me of the Irish pilot who told the captain of a ship he was taking to an anchorage, that he knew every rock on the coast. The captain doubted him, and five minutes afterwards the ship went crash upon one. ‘Bedad! I tould your honour I knew thim, an’ that’s one of thim. There’s many a rock I’ve found out in the same manner,’” said Tom, who thought it better to put an end to the discussion.

“I hope we shall find out none in that fashion,” said Mr Rivett.

“That will depend on your machinery,” said Mr Gunter Scale, chuckling. “We shall have to keep a bright look-out ahead and the lead going, and if your piston rods and boilers prove faithful, well and good. If not, I cannot warrant that the ship will keep out of the danger into which that screw of yours will run us. Let me have her under canvas and I’ll know where I’ll go and where I’ll not go, and I’ll answer for it that I won’t run a ship under my charge into a place where her sails can’t take her off again.”

“Then you have not perfect confidence in my machinery?” observed Mr Rivett.

“No, I have not, and I wonder that you expect me to have. I say again, give me tough masts, sound spars, well set-up rigging, and stout canvas, with a properly built ship under my feet, and I’ll keep the sea in all weathers, and carry her safely round the world.”

The discussion might have continued for many hours had not both officers been summoned to their respective duties.

Jack, according to his intention, reported to the admiral the account he had received from Captain Cooper, who afterwards repeated it.

“I’m afraid that there is but little chance of your finding the missing ship, but at all events you shall go in search of her,” was the answer.

The repairs at length being completed, the Bellona sailed in search of the Empress.

Chapter Seventeen.

The Empress loses sight of the Bellona—A gale—Sails blown away—Runs before the wind—A leak—The pumps manned—Crew set to bale—Pat’s dream—Pete discovers the leak—A thrummed sail got under the bottom—Another leak—The gale increases—Steer for Virginia Island—All hands spell and spell—The ship passes over a reef—False keel carried away—The water gains on them—Adair addresses the crew—The midshipman and ship’s boy with their water jugs—Land in sight—Reached at night—A beacon fire appears on shore—Ship drifts from her anchor—Surmises as to its being Fly-away Island—The ship regains an anchorage—Two boats sent on shore—Green grasps the hand of Lord Saint Maur—Stores and part of the crew landed—The ship again driven off the shore.

We must now go back to the Empress, which we left somewhere about the Tropic of Capricorn, in a heavy gale of wind, approaching to a hurricane. The weather having come on very thick, she soon lost sight of her consort, when the heavy sea which got up compelled Captain Adair either to heave the ship to or to run before the wind. He chose the former alternative, the steam still being kept up. Waiting for a lull, he brought her to the wind under a close-reefed main-topsail. Heavy ship as she was, and deep in the water with stores and provisions of all sorts, she did not ride it out in the comfortable fashion of an old wooden frigate. A fierce blast blew her canvas to ribbons, and a sea striking her carried away the bulwarks forward, and swept her deck, knocking two of her boats to pieces, and doing other serious damage. Her screw working brought her up again, or the consequences might have been still more serious. It took a long time with all the strength that could be applied to set another sail, when the ship for a time rode rather more easily.

She thus continued hove to for a couple of days, the weather in no way moderating. Adair felt anxious about the Bellona, which he hoped to have seen, not being aware that by running south he would have got out of the gale as she did. Many a good seaman under similar circumstances has made the same mistake. Suddenly the engines stopped. Adair sent to inquire the cause. Part of the machinery had got out of gear, but the engineer reported that it would be soon again in order if the ship could be induced to remain steady for a time.

“He might as well tell us to land him and his engines and to set up a forge and shop,” observed Jos Green, the master, who had no greater affection for “steam-kettles” than had old Gunter Scale, his brother master of the Bellona.

The ship was now in an uncomfortable position, to say the best of it another blast might blow away a second topsail, and if she fell oil it would be a difficult task to bring her to the wind again; her only resource would then be to run before the gale. The danger apprehended came upon her: the ship fell into the trough of the sea.

“Hold on, hold on, all of you for your lives!” shouted Adair, as he saw a heavy wave come rolling on. It struck the ship, the decks were again swept, and two poor fellows, who had failed to obey the captain’s orders, were carried away without the slightest hope of being rescued. Adair sent below; he received the same answer as before from the engineer. Meantime an attempt was made again to set head sail. As she thus lay the sea broke over her several times, doing more damage.

The well was sounded, and the carpenter reported four feet of water in the hold. The donkey engine was immediately set to work. Fortunately, that not refusing to do its duty, after being some time in operation it gained on the water.

In the mean time another main-topsail was set and an attempt made to wear ship. Suddenly the wind shifted to the north-west, and filling the sails of the sorely battered ship she flew before it, though the heavy broken seas which rolled up astern threatened at any moment to poop her. The engineer complained bitterly of the way in which the ship tumbled about.

“Never mind it now, my good fellow,” said Green; “we are under snug canvas and as much as we can carry, and your engines may have some rest. By-and-by we shall get into a calm; it will be your turn then. We seamen have the ship to ourselves at present. If we put into Simon’s Bay, and there happens to be no rollers tumbling in, you will have time enough to put your gimcrack machinery to rights.”

“That’s just what old Gunter Scale would have said,” observed the engineer, who had once served with him on the Bellona, and was accustomed to his satirical remarks.

The ship, however, was not destined to touch at the Cape, for one of those terrific gales which occasionally blow off the African coast caught her when within a hundred miles of land, covering her deck with a fine impalpable sand, and having only her canvas to depend upon, she was driven so far to the southward that it would have compelled her to go considerably out of her way had she hauled up again for the Cape. She then fell in with a trade wind, which carried her under all sail to the eastward, and Adair, hoping to regain the lost time, continued in that course until in the longitude of Madagascar, outside of which he intended to stand, avoiding the Mozambique Channel, and probably, if necessary, to touch at the Mauritius, where he could get his engines repaired.

Once more, however, another gale, not inferior in power to those she had already encountered, came on from the north-west. The battered Empress was but ill-prepared to encounter it. The donkey engine had been kept going, and the water had not hitherto considerably increased, but still it was evident that a serious leak existed somewhere, although where it was had not yet been ascertained. Adair and his lieutenant, as well as the carpenter and boatswain, had made repeated efforts to discover the exact spot. The only way to do this was to creep under the bunkers among the bilge water, an unpleasant and dangerous task. It was evident that the water must be reduced before the leak could be discovered.

The word was given to man the chain pumps, and the bilge pumps were also set in motion, while a double line of men were formed with all the buckets which could be found on board, from the main-deck to the hold, to bale out the water, one line passing down the empty buckets and the other handing up the full ones, almost as quickly as a chain pump could have done it. The men worked with a will, for they knew full well the danger to which they were exposed. Perfect discipline, however, was maintained; no one showed the slightest sign of fear, no one complained. Adair had shipped among his crew our old acquaintances Pat Casey and Peter the black, the last-named as a stoker, being better able to perform the office than most Englishmen. With one or two exceptions, the remaining stokers were either Irishmen or Germans, the latter having an aptitude for becoming stokers and sugar bakers, avocations which require the power of enduring heat.

The gale continued to increase, and in spite of all the efforts of the crew the water rushed in as furiously as before. Even had the engines been in order, it would have been impossible to steam back against the wind to the Cape, and it was a great question whether the ship could be kept afloat until the Mauritius—the nearest land—could be reached. Adair and Jos Green anxiously examined the chart.

“Should the wind shift a few points more to the westward, we might manage it under sail, but in our present circumstances the only thing to be done is to keep the ship before the gale,” observed the master.

In few parts of the ocean is the sea more heavy than in the latitude in which the Empress now was, except, perhaps, to the southward of Cape Horn. All the other pumps were now set going, and a fresh party was told off to bale out the water with iron hand-buckets. These were hoisted up at the rate of seventy an hour.

“Set the fiddle and fife going, it will keep up the spirits of the men,” said Adair to the first lieutenant, who at once issued the order. Presently merry notes were heard amid the howling of the gale, sounding strangely, and yet inspiriting the crew. Still, in spite of all that could be done, the water rose higher and higher.

“Peter,” said Pat Casey to his old shipmate, when, after toiling for four hours, they knocked off to get a little rest, “it’s my opinion that this is the last cruise you and I shall take together. I’ve been in many a mighty quare fix before now, but niver one like this. Sure, there’s nothin’ I hate more than a ship with a hole in her bottom, an’ that’s what we’ve got, an’ a pretty big one, I’m after thinkin’.”

“You no gib up, Pat,” answered Peter. “We fall in with ’nother ship, or sight some land, and we get ’shore, or stop de leak. When de cap’n finds de ship make too much water, he keep her ’float by fixin’ a sail under her.”

“You may say what ye plaise, but before a sail could be thrummed an’ passed under her keel, she’ll be many fathoms down into the depths of the ocean. An’ supposin’ we did fall in with a ship, sure, how could we get aboard of her with this sea runnin’? Then, as to reaching land—where’s the land to reach? I niver heard speak of any land away to the south’ard, except the icy pole, an’ that we should niver see if we wished it ever so much.”

“Dat may be de case; I nebber could make out de meanin’ ob a chart, but wheneber I hab been in de Pacific, me find many islands, and tink dere mus’ be some here’bout. Why you so down-hearted?”

“Down-hearted is it, sure? I’m not down-hearted, Pater; but I’ll tell ye, I dreamed a dream the night the gale came on, as I lay in me hammock; the ould mither—who’s gone to glory these six years—came and stood by me side, an’ I saw her face as clearly as I see yours, an’ says she, ‘Tim, me son, I’ve come to wake you;’ then says I, ‘Mither, what’s that for?’ Says she, ‘I can wake ye well, although I cannot give ye dacent burial.’ Upon that she sit up such a howlin’ I thought it would be heard all along the deck. Says I, ‘Mither, just hold fast there, or you’ll be afther disturbin’ the whole watch below.’ But she wouldn’t, an’ still howled on, jist as I mind th’ women doin’ in ould Ireland whin I was a boy. Again I sung out, ‘Mither, if ye love me, hold your peace. I don’t want to be waked just now,’ and as I uttered the words I heard the boatswain pipe all hands on deck, when sure if the wind wasn’t shrieking, an’ the blocks rattling, an’ the masts groaning, showin’ that a dacent hurricane was blowin’. Me mither vanished immediately, an’ I tumbled up on deck, more asleep thin awake, thinkin’ of what the good soul had been saying to me.”

Peter fell asleep while Pat was talking, and both in a brief time were again summoned to take their spell at baling. All efforts to discover the leak had been hitherto in vain. Peter went to the chief engineer.

“Pardon, sir, me tink find out de leak. If black Peter get drowned, easily find better man to take him place.”

“I shall be very glad if you do, Peter, for I suspect if the leak is not found we shall all be drowned together,” said the engineer. “What do you propose doing?”

“Jus’ dive down under de water, wid rope round him waist, an’ have a bright light held above where him go down. You see, sir, lantern no burn under de water, or me take him down.”

“You might possibly succeed; but I fear you will lose your life,” answered the engineer. “But you shall try if you like.”

“All right, ear,” said Peter, “me try, no matter what happen.”

The engineer reported to the captain the offer of the black. Adair allowed him to make the attempt, and ordered the gunner to bring several blue-lights, as well as a dozen ship’s lanterns, and he, with his first lieutenant, the chief engineer, the gunner, and boatswain, and three men to hold the rope, went below, where Peter stood prepared for his undertaking. The hatches overhead were taken off to allow the fumes of the blue-lights to escape.

“Now,” cried Peter, “me ready,” and slipping into the water, he disappeared beneath it. A blue-light was instantly ignited, the bright glare of which must, it was hoped, penetrate to the very bottom of the ship. It seemed impossible to those standing by that Peter could exist beneath the black fluid which surged over him. The seconds went slowly by, each second appearing to them almost like a minute. The doctor, who had come down, kept his watch in his hand. Adair expected him every moment to give the signal for drawing up the man.

“The poor fellow will be drowned if he stays any longer,” observed Adair.

“He will endure it for twenty-five seconds more,” answered the doctor. “We must have him up by that time, if he does not return.”

“Haul him up,” cried Adair; “he cannot stand it longer.”

Just as he spoke, the black’s head appeared above the water.

“Me find it next time,” he said, drawing a deep breath. In a couple of minutes Peter declared himself ready again to descend. Another blue-light was burned, irradiating the depths below. As before, the doctor watched the time Peter was under the water. Two minutes had passed, when Adair ordered the man to be hauled up. It was not a moment too soon. At first, from his appearance, all supposed he was drowned, and the doctor began to prepare to resuscitate him, when he came to himself.

“All right!” he exclaimed; “de leak found, big ’nough to put him hand through.”

Peter, as soon as he had regained his strength, showed the exact spot where the hole existed, through which the water was spouting as through a hose. Adair was satisfied that the black was right. The question was now how to stop it. The carpenter had got plugs ready, but Peter averred that no human power could force them in, unless the pressure of water was first taken off from the outside. The only way of doing this was by getting a thrummed sail under the ship’s bottom. The engineer suggested that an iron plate should be screwed on, but the difficulty was to screw it in the proper position. He then proposed fixing an iron bar to the plate and securing the other end to a beam above it. The plate was quickly prepared as he suggested, but though it prevented the water spouting upwards as it had before done, it found an entrance notwithstanding, between the plate and the ship’s bottom. Adair now gave orders to have a sail thrummed. The operation is as follows: A sail is stretched out and masses of oakum are fastened on to one side, so as to give it the appearance of a large rug of great thickness. Strong ropes are secured to the four corners; it is then dragged under the ship’s bottom, when, by the force of the water rushing in, it is sucked into the leak, and although some water still finds its way through, it is calculated greatly to impede its entrance. Happily there came a lull, and during it the ropes were got over the ship’s bows, and dragged on until the part where the leak existed was reached, when the thrummed sail was hauled under the bottom, and firmly secured.

A hundred more hands were now told off to bale at the different hatchways with canvas buckets, which the sailmaker’s crew and other men had been employed in making to supplement the iron ones. Adair anxiously watched the result of their labours.

“If the weather improves we shall do well yet,” observed Green to the first lieutenant.

“One does not see much prospect of that,” was the answer.

The sky indeed was as gloomy as ever, the wind blew a perfect hurricane, while the thick mist and spray which flew over the deck wetted every one to the skin. As the hours went by there was no relaxation for the hard-worked crew. The seamen and marines, engineers, and stokers, as well as the officers, laboured away with but short intervals for rest.

No sooner were the men relieved, than, overcome by their exertions, they threw themselves down on the deck and waited until it was their turn again. The carpenter reported the water diminishing.

“We ought, howsumever, to have got more out of the ship by this time than we have,” he observed. “To my mind, there must be another leak somewhere.”

Adair feared that the carpenter was right, and Peter, hearing his opinion, volunteered again to do down and grope about until he could discover it. The same precautions were taken to save him from destruction.

He persevered until he was so utterly exhausted that the doctor declared him to be unfit again to go below. Though he had not succeeded, Adair thanked him for his gallant conduct, and promised that it should not be overlooked.

“Me berry happy, cap’n, if de ship get into harbour. No want reward,” answered the brave negro.

Scarcely had the thrummed sail been got under the ship, than it began to blow as hard as ever. Should the gale continue for many days longer, all hope of saving the ship must be given up, and probably every soul on board would perish. Adair did not conceal this from himself, although neither by word nor look did he show what was passing in his mind. There were rocks, rather than islands, he knew to the southward, one of which might possibly be reached, but much depended on the state of the weather. Should the sea go down, the ship might be kept afloat, but he could not hope to get back to the Cape nor even to the Mauritius. At present he could steer no other course than directly before the wind.

On examining the chart, he discovered that about 200 miles off to the southward of east was a rock marked Virginia Island, but he could not find any description of it. Whether its sides were precipitous and could not be scaled, whether low and easy of access, or whether it possessed a harbour of any description, not a word was said. It might be a barren rock without water, or any means of affording sustenance to even a small number of men. He could scarcely expect it to be otherwise, for in that latitude, he knew, where exposed to the icy blasts of the southern pole, all vegetation would be stunted if not destroyed, while he could scarcely entertain a hope that springs existed. Still it was the nearest land of any description, and land is eagerly sought for by those on board a foundering ship. He was aware that other rocks in this latitude were the product of volcanic action, and that this was so likewise he had little doubt; should such be the case, it was very improbable that water would be found.

Poor Adair felt his position keenly. Through no fault of his, the lives of all entrusted to him were placed in jeopardy. Often and often his thoughts went wandering away to his dear Lucy. Although he would not have allowed any fear of losing his own life to oppress him, he could not help dreading the idea of plunging her in grief and exposing her to long months of anxious suspense. Still his officers, as they watched his calm countenance and brisk manner, fancied he was as light-hearted as ever, and some thought that he could not have realised the fearful position in which they were placed.

They were now running across a little-known sea. The chart showed dangers, but marked as somewhat uncertain. Still the storm-driven ship could pursue no other course. A hundred miles at least had yet to be accomplished before the island they hoped to sight could be reached; but even should that prove to be correctly marked on the chart, Green had some doubt about sighting it. The ship might pass it and yet it might not be seen, or the gale, continuing, might drive her on with headlong force, so that she might not be able to haul up in time to get under its lee. Twelve or fourteen hours would decide the point, perhaps even less.

The wind had begun to moderate slightly, and some of the older hands on board, accustomed to the southern ocean, prognosticated a change of weather. All prayed that it might come. Night returned, but it brought no rest to the labouring crew. Every man and boy on board, except those on the look-out, were engaged in pumping or baling, unless lying down recruiting their strength for renewed exertions. They were working spell and spell, knowing full well that unless such were done, the ship could not be kept afloat. As she had before being recommissioned undergone a thorough repair, no one could account for the leak. Many did anything but bless the ship-builders. Some declared that the outer coat of wood was rotten, and that the inner one of iron had become corroded and had just been patched up to deceive the eye of the surveyor.

“Bedad! I belave it must be one of thim big fishes with the long noses has run against us, an’ drilled a hole before he could get off again,” said rat Casey to his shipmate Peter; “or, maybe, the big say sarpint was swimmin’ by and gave us a whisk of his tail unbeknown.”

“Me tink, Massa Pat, dey make you officer, if eber we get into harbour, if you swear to dat.”

“Faith, me boy, swear, is it?” observed Pat. “It’s just th’ sort of yarn a dockyard matey would swear to, if only to plaise his superiors; but there’s one thing I believe, an’ that is, that the wood an’ iron are both rotten. Bad luck to thim who didn’t repair the damage whin they found it out! You are of the same opinion, though it wouldn’t have become ye to say so. All you’d got to do was to find out where the hole was, an’ ye did it like a brave man, an’ sure I’d be sorry not to get home, if it were only because you’d be afther losin’ your reward.”

What other reflections might have been cast on the dockyard officials it is impossible to say, when a grating sound was heard, and the ship quivered fore and aft. For a moment her way seemed to be stopped, and the cry rose from many a mouth, “We are lost! we are lost!” A tremendous sea came rolling up astern.

“Hold on, for your lives!” shouted Adair, and the order was echoed along the decks. The wave struck the vessel’s stern. A portion broke over her, but the next moment she was again driven forward. That fearful, dread-inspiring sound, which tells that the keel has come in contact with a hard rock, continued. Every instant Adair dreaded that the terrific crash would come which would denote the doom of all on board. Still he stood calm, and apparently unmoved, as before.

“Keep to your stations, my lads! we will not yet let the old ship go down,” shouted Adair.

The order was repeated along the deck. The magnificent discipline which prevails in the British navy, even at that terrible moment, triumphed. Not a man deserted his post, but continued pumping or baling away as if no rugged reef was beneath the ship’s keel. Several times she rose and surged onwards, but it was only to feel the rock still under her. On she went. At that instant the wind began to abate, and even the sea was calmer than it had been before she had touched the reef. Still it could not be doubted that she had received a serious injury. As the howling of the tempest abated, Adair could make his voice heard along the decks.

“My lads,” he said, “I know you to be true British seamen. Things may be bad enough, but we must not give way to despair. Maintain the discipline of which we are justly proud, obey your officers, and don’t give in while a plank remains above water. The weather is moderating, and as soon as it is calm enough we will try and discover the amount of damage the ship has received. Stick to the pumps and buckets, and we will see if we cannot heave the water out of her faster than it comes in. Now, turn to again!” The men, while Adair was speaking, had knocked off for a few minutes. He saw, however, that he had gained time, by the energy with which they again set to work, he himself showing an example by handing along the buckets, as did all his officers. Adair and Green, however, had to knock off to try and take an observation, for the clouds gave signs of breaking, and they hoped every moment to see the sun burst forth. It was all-important indeed to ascertain the ship’s exact position on the chart, that they might steer for the nearest spot where she might, if necessary, be beached, or at all events under the lee of which she might anchor, and an endeavour be made to repair damages. Whether this could be done or not could only be ascertained by a more thorough examination of her bottom than had yet been possible. The midshipmen were summoned to assist. Adair and his officers stood with their sextants in their hands ready to note the sun’s altitude should he burst forth, while the first lieutenant watched the chronometer. The tossing seas rose round the labouring ship. They had already lost their leaden hue, and here and there bright green tints could be seen, while their crests no longer hissed and foamed as before. Suddenly, as if by a stroke of the magician’s wand, the clouds parted, and the bright sun shone forth in a clear space of blue. The men on deck cheered as they saw it. To them it seemed an augury of safety. A satisfactory observation was taken, the exact longitude was obtained, at noon they would find the true latitude, and then, should Virginia Island have been laid down correctly, they might steer with confidence towards it. According to the chart, it was still to the eastward, and might, if the ship had not run too far south, be sighted before night.

Noon was anxiously waited for. The crew continued labouring away with the same energy as before, though in the case of some it was the energy of despair. Again Adair took his place in the line of men passing the buckets up and down. Still all their efforts did not avail to lessen the amount of water within the ship, but they kept it from increasing—that was something. As long as their strength held out, they might continue to do that. Every one knew that, should they relax in their efforts, the water would conquer them; the great point was to keep it sufficiently low to prevent the fires being put out. Should that occur and a calm come on, their case would then be desperate, even though in sight of land. Some, it is true, might be saved in the boats and others on rafts, should the ship float long enough to enable them to be constructed, but the bulk—two-thirds, probably—must be doomed to perish. Adair knew that he must be among the latter. While a soul remained on board, he could not quit his ship. Dear as life might be to him, for the sake of others it must be sacrificed. When also the trying moment should come, would discipline be maintained? Would not the crew scramble into the boats and swamp them? or leap headlong on the rafts and render them useless?

Frequently the captain and master looked at their watches. Once more they returned to the poop, with their sextants in hand. Noon was approaching. Clouds were still passing slowly across the sky; they might too probably rest between the sun and the ship, rendering it impossible to take an observation. The officers watched their progress. A large cloud was floating by; would it pass onwards before the sun gained its extreme altitude?

“Now, master!” cried Adair, in a cheerful tone.

The western edge of the cloud, tinged with a golden hue, was seen, and the sun came forth. The captain and Green with the first lieutenant had their sextants to their eyes in a moment: the sun was still rising.

“It has dipped!” cried Adair.

They carefully noted down the latitude, and Green, in a few seconds, worked out the observation on a little slip of paper, not bigger than one’s thumb nail. Hurrying below, the chart was got out, and now the exact position of the ship was obtained.

“Hurrah! If this volcano of an island doesn’t prove a fly-away piece of rock, we shall be up to it before sunset,” exclaimed Green.

The wind had now sufficiently gone down to allow all sail to be set. The part of the crew who had knocked off from the pumps and the buckets were roused up. With the greatest alacrity, as if they had had their usual rest, they flew to their stations.

The topsails and courses, long furled, were let fall and sheeted home; staysails were hoisted, and with the screw thus aided, the ship again rushed rapidly through the water. She steered, however, with some difficulty; and Green expressed an opinion that damage had been done to her false keel, that a portion of it had been torn off, and that another part was still hanging down attached to the bottom.

“We must take that into account when we wish to bring up,” observed Adair, “so that there may be no chance of running the ship on the rocks, where we do not want her to go.”

The next few hours were as anxious as any that had been passed; for, although the sea was going down and the wind was moderate, the water rushed in through the leaks at a rate which required the ceaseless efforts of the crew to keep under. The youngest midshipman on board—Tommy Pratt, hitherto unknown to fame or to our readers—was observed, with one of the ship’s boys, who had been considered not strong enough to handle the buckets, running up and down with two big jugs, which they emptied through the scuppers.

“Every little helps, I’ve heard say,” answered Tommy to the first lieutenant; “and I suppose a few quarts too much would sink the ship. So I got Ned Jones, who was doing nothing, to lend me a hand; and I calculate that we have emptied two hundred gallons at least, and that’s something, sir.”

“Well done, my boy,” answered the lieutenant. “I’ll not forget you and Ned. Who knows but that you and he have kept out the last hundred gallons which might have sent her to the bottom?” Some time afterwards they were found still working away, though Tommy confessed that “his arms were aching considerably, and that he should be very glad when they could stop the leak.”

Men with sharp eyes were sent to the mast-head, to look out for Virginia Island. It was uncertain whether it was a high rocky a fertile island, or little better than a sand-bank. Should it be the first and correctly laid down, the master hoped that it might at any moment be seen; but should it prove to be a low island, it might not become visible until they were close upon it. Then again came the question, was it laid down correctly? Adair, though he had assured his crew that they ought to be there before night, was not quite satisfied on that point. Hitherto the men had laboured away bravely, but some of the weaker and less spirited began to show signs of fatigue; and the instant they were relieved, threw themselves on the deck as though utterly incapable of further exertion. Some of the men, indeed, actually sank down at the pumps, but others took their places, and the doctor went round to the exhausted ones, giving them stimulants, and urging them to fresh exertions. Several, however, when it came again to their turn to pump or hand up the buckets, declared that they were unable to move. It was important to maintain discipline; at the same time the first lieutenant, who went among them, was unwilling to use harsh measures. Suddenly he recollected Tommy Pratt. Taking one of the men, he showed him where the young midshipman and his companion were still working away with their big water jugs, running up and down as nimble as squirrels.

“They have been at that work for the last eight hours, to my certain knowledge,” said the lieutenant. “Are you, a big, strong man, not ashamed of yourself?”

“Yes, I am,” was the answer; and, rousing up the other men, they all again set to work without further grumbling.

“I was sure the example of those youngsters would do good,” observed the lieutenant to Captain Adair. “Not only have they baled out several hundred gallons, but through their gallant conduct many thousands probably will be pumped out of the ship.”

As the Empress ran on, and no land was seen, the spirits of all began to fall lower than before. In that latitude gales were as likely to prevail as often as fine weather; and another might spring up before the ship could be carried into a harbour, or run on shore if necessary. Even Adair, who, since he had ascertained the correct position of the ship, had had his hopes revive, now felt it was too probable that the shore might never be reached.

The hours were passing by. He and Green again consulted the chart, to decide for what other spot in the ocean they should steer should Virginia Island not appear. They had just returned on deck, when the look-out aloft shouted—

“Land! land!”

“Where away?” inquired the captain. “Just over the port bow.”

“Are you sure it is land?” asked the captain.

“Certain, sir. I’ve seen it for the last ten minutes; but there was a mist about it, and I could not make it out clearly enough.”

The master and second lieutenant immediately went aloft, and took a look through their glasses at the land. On coming below they reported that there was no doubt about its being land of considerable elevation, but of no great extent, with indented shores; and that they hoped, therefore, a harbour might be found there.

The ship’s course was accordingly slightly altered, and she stood towards it under sail and steam. In a short time a high, rocky island could be seen rising out of the now blue ocean, sparkling in the rays of the setting sun. It was several miles to the eastward of the spot marked on the chart.

“If it affords us shelter and the means of repairing the ship, we must be truly thankful,” observed Adair.

No murmurs were now heard. Even those who had shown an inclination to skulk, laboured away with might and main. In a few more hours their safety might be secured.

The sun set. Although the land was for some time distinctly seen, it was yet a considerable distance off. Adair determined to run on and anchor under the lee of the land, and to await until daylight, when a harbour might be found.

The crew by this time might have given in, for the muscles even of the strongest ached; but one and all laboured as before. Tommy and his companion worked away with their jugs, although the poor little fellows were almost dead beat.

“Cheer up, Ned!” Tommy kept saying. “If we keep the water out of the ship, we shall see our mothers and sisters again; and if we don’t, we shan’t. So work away, boy, work away!” The lieutenant declared afterwards that he believed the boys would have continued heaving water overboard until the sea had got up to their necks, and the ship was going down.

As the Empress approached the island, sail was shortened, her way stopped, that the lead might be hove; but no soundings were found. She therefore kept at a respectful distance, cautiously steering round to the lee side, with the lead constantly going, lest she might run against any reef below the water. The outline of the island could only dimly be seen rising high out of the ocean against a clear sky. It looked barren and forlorn enough. As Adair and his officers, and indeed all who could find time, were eagerly watching it, a light was seen suddenly to burst forth. It gradually increased, until what must have been a large fire was observed blazing on a height.

“There are inhabitants, at all events,” exclaimed Adair to the first lieutenant.

“There is one, any way,” said the latter, “or that fire could not have been lighted. Perhaps there is a harbour, and he expects that it will serve as a beacon to us.”

“He would scarcely suppose that we would venture in without some one on board who knows it, unless there are no dangers in the way,” answered the captain. “Our only safe plan will be to bring up outside, and wait till daylight. We will stand in as close as we can—a dozen fathoms, if possible.”

The leadsmen stood in the chains on either side, swinging the leads high in the air as they hove them. The ship appeared already very close before any bottom could be found. Slowly she stood on. The first heave showed twenty fathoms, the next fourteen, when it seemed as if the ship was directly under the cliffs. But the more experienced seamen knew that the darkness was deceptive.

“Let go!” shouted Adair, and the anchor ran out. The ship quickly brought up, and Adair hoped that, now she was at rest, the water would run in with less rapidity, though it would still be necessary to keep the crew steadily pumping away.

For the first time for several nights Adair turned in, desiring to be called should any event of importance occur. When he awoke, he had the satisfaction of hearing that the crew had gained six inches on the leak, though, from any relaxation of their efforts, the water would quickly have flowed in again.

All hands anxiously waited for daylight. The fires were kept banked up, ready at any moment should it become necessary to put on steam. It was fortunate that this precaution was taken. It had just gone two bells in the second watch, when a sudden squall, descending from the cliffs, struck the ship. The lead, which the second lieutenant, who had the watch, ordered to be hove, showed that she was drifting.

Adair was on deck in a moment. He ordered more cable to be veered out. The third lieutenant, who was in the forecastle, reported that the anchor was away. It was accordingly hove up, when it was found that it had parted close to the shank, leaving both flukes fast in the sand or rock into which it had stuck. Steam was immediately got up, although by that time the ship had drifted some distance out to sea. When the morning broke she was surrounded by a thick mist, shutting out every object half a mile off. Still, the direction of the land was known, and the engines being set to work, she soon steamed back.

“I was afther thinkin’,” said Pat, “that that black rock we saw last night was but Cape Fly-away, afther all. It will be a wonder to me if we ever sight it again. But, hurrah! there’s the fire we saw burning, so there must be a human being there; an’ Cape Fly-away contains no living sowl except, maybe, the Flyin’ Dutchman, afther he got tired of cruising about in his ould craft, an’ taken to livin’ on shore.”

Similar ideas, although expressed in different language, were uttered by many of the other men. However, that did not prevent them from pumping away as before. All this time, it must be remembered that without a moment’s cessation the whole crew were thus engaged spell and spell.

“If that’s Cape Fly-away, it’s not had time to fly very far,” observed Pat, as the land once more came in sight and the anchor was let go in seven fathoms of water, still closer in with the shore, where it was hoped it would hold.

The engineer, however, received orders to keep the fires up, so that she might hold her own against any ordinary blast which might again strike her.

As the mist cleared away, every object on shore could be distinctly seen. The ship was found to be but a quarter of a mile distant from an almost circular line of cliffs, forming a deep basin, the only opening towards the sea. They rose in many places to the height of nearly 900 feet, extending on either side of this curious basin for about a mile. It was thus conjectured that the island was about two miles in length. That there was a bar at the entrance of the harbour was evident from the way the water broke completely across it; but, from the size of the basin, it would have contained a fleet of ships as large as the Empress. While they were looking at the shore, a Dutch flag was run up to the end of a staff at the end of a high rock at the southern side of the entrance.

“Sure, I thought so!” said Pat, when he saw it. “That’s the Flyin’ Dutchman. Before the boats reach the shore he an’ his island will be off again, an’ lead us a pretty chase!”

“Maybe, Massa Pat,” replied Peter, “if it come on calm, we beat him by de steam. He hab always sail head to wind; but me tink dat big rock no play us dat trick.”

Before sending any of the boats on shore, Adair mustered all hands.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “I have to tell you what I did not think it right before to acknowledge, although you may have guessed it, that this ship will not reach Aden or the Mauritius, or any other land that I know of; and that, to save your lives, I propose running into yonder harbour and beaching her to prevent her going down; but, remember, there is one thing I must have—that is, strict discipline and obedience to orders. You will understand that I will severely punish any man who exhibits insubordination. It is as well to say that, at the same time, I know that I can trust you. You have all shown what you can do by having kept the ship afloat so long. You will, I know, work with a will, and every man must do what is necessary for the preservation of our lives. Return to the pumps until you can get the ship into harbour, or, if not, to some spot where she can sink no lower.”

The crew gave three cheers, and resumed their labours. Adair immediately despatched two boats, with the first lieutenant and master, to sound the entrance of the harbour and communicate with the person or persons who had lighted the fire at night and hoisted the flag in the morning.

The master in his boat led the way, sounding as he went, until the entrance was nearly gained. Twelve feet were found, which shallowed to eight, the greatest depth over the bar. As the boats got in closer Green observed a person at the end of the point, dressed in a conical goat-skin cap, with jacket and trousers of the same material, who had been watching them closely and waving vehemently. The master, having performed the first part of his duty, steered in the direction towards which the stranger was pointing. As the boat touched the beach he sprang out, and the instant afterwards, instead of seeing a stranger, what was his surprise and delight to find his hand grasped by Gerald Desmond.

“How, by all that’s wonderful, did you come here?” exclaimed the master. “We had long given you up for lost.”

“I was afraid so,” answered Desmond. “And, faith, I had some idea myself that I was lost, for here I’ve been for many a long month, with only two companions who escaped with me from the wreck of the Dutch ship which brought me thus far. But, tell me, did the Stella escape with my uncle and the rest of the party on board?” Green relieved Desmond’s mind on that point, and astonished him not a little by adding that Captain Adair commanded the ship outside. “And who are your companions?” asked the master.

“An honest Dutch lad—Rip Van Winkle, as I call him—who was wrecked with me, and our faithful dog Snarley. They set off this morning to bring in a couple of goats to be sacrificed for your entertainment. I saw you coming in last night, and I suspected that you were an English man-of-war. You may, therefore, judge of my disappointment this morning when I found that you had disappeared. Though I guessed the truth, that you had been blown off again and would steam back, sometimes the horrible thought would occur to me that the ship had gone down; but, if such was the case, I hoped that some boats would have escaped and come on shore.”

Desmond expressed his great satisfaction on receiving the information that his uncle Terence was captain of the ship which had in so extraordinary a manner been driven for refuge towards the very rock on which he had been wrecked.

“We very nearly met with the fate you supposed, and as the ship’s bottom somewhat resembles a sieve, such must be her destiny if we cannot manage to get her over the bar at high water. At all events, we must run her on it, for as the men are well-nigh worn out, she cannot be kept afloat many hours longer,” added Green.

“The sooner that’s done the better, then,” answered Desmond, “for should the gale blow heavily, either on or off this shore, and provisions and stores not have been saved, we may all quickly be reduced to starvation. Rip and I have found enough to eat with the aid of our fishing-lines, but the ship’s company will be an over-abundant population for our small kingdom.”

“But I am eager, Desmond, to know how you reached this said ‘small kingdom’ of yours,” said Green.

“I’ll tell you all about it as we pull off,” answered Gerald, “though I am anxious to see my uncle’s honest face again and to learn how things have gone on at home—whether any other claimant has taken possession of my title and estate. Poor fellow! he won’t bless this island, whatever you do, for having afforded me shelter, though it may be a mighty long time before I get back to old Ireland to disappoint him and to delight the heart of our old friend, Counsellor McMahon, who will be fancying that all his toil and trouble have been thrown away, while his purse too will have suffered not a little. I have often wished that I possessed the means of tranquillising his mind on that point.”

“From what Captain Adair has said, I don’t think the counsellor has ever given up the idea of your safety,” answered the master, “but you will hear all about it very soon.”

This conversation took place as the boat was returning to the ship, after Desmond had exchanged greetings with the first lieutenant.

“Well,” exclaimed Jos, “‘it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,’ and although I’m sorry enough to lose the ship, yet finding you goes a long way towards reconciling me to her fate, especially as I have not to pay for her.”

Adair expressed himself in somewhat similar language on seeing his nephew, Saint Maur.

“I was sure that you would turn up one day or other, Gerald,” he said, “and so was the counsellor, and I don’t mind the court-martial and all the bother I shall have to go through, now that I have found you. Although I am anxious enough to hear how you came here, I have too much to do just now to listen to you.”

Such, indeed, was the case. Before an attempt could be made to carry the ship over the bar, everything possible must be got out of her. The boats were immediately lowered and loaded with provisions and canvas for forming tents. All hands worked away with a will, young Lord Saint Maur turning to with as much energy as the rest, officers and men pulling and hauling away at the ropes. To land the stores more rapidly, Adair directed the carpenter to construct several rafts, which would be serviceable as long as the sea continued smooth, but which would be most untrustworthy should it come on to blow.

Lord Saint Maur gave the satisfactory intelligence that he had found three large boats on the island, which had apparently been left by a party who had been there for the purpose of catching whales, but for some reason or other had gone without having had time to remove them. He considered that they could be quickly repaired. He accordingly, accompanied by the carpenter’s crew, returned on shore, and soon after mid-day, he and the men sent to assist him brought them off. They were soon loaded and on their way back to the shore. Not a moment was lost. The marines were at once landed to help unload the boats and carry the cargoes to the spot selected for the proposed encampment on the right side of the entrance, where there was a level space of some size at no great distance above the water. Desmond’s companion, Rip Van Winkle, had, in the mean time, brought in a couple of goats, which he had killed and prepared for the refreshment of the boats’ crews. No one, however, had time to do more than “fist” a piece and run back with it to the boat.

Not until it became too dark to see the entrance did the boats cease plying backwards and forwards, and even then the crew on board were engaged in hoisting up articles of all sorts from the hold, to be discharged at daybreak. The night was calm, and every hope was entertained that the next day a large portion of stores and provisions might be landed, as well as the ammunition and some of the guns. A careful watch was kept, but the greater portion of the officers and crew turned in to obtain that rest they so much needed. Those not actually on the look-out were engaged in pumping as before, for although the water ran in less furiously than at first, it would very soon otherwise have gained its previous ascendancy. Strange that men should sleep so soundly in a sinking ship, for sinking she was, slowly though gradually, and any relaxation of the efforts necessary to keep her afloat would have proved their doom. Several times during the night Captain Adair turned out, too anxious to sleep soundly. As morning approached, he feared, from the appearance of the sky, that the weather would change. His nephew, who had slept on board, joined him.

“I don’t think we need fear that as yet,” he observed. “I’ve watched the appearance of the weather ever since I landed, for every day I have been on the look-out in the hopes of seeing a ship passing and being able to attract her attention. Not long ago a vessel hove in sight, but the weather came on very bad, and although she made an attempt to near the rock, she was driven off again, and I saw no more of her.”

Captain Adair was cheered up by Saint Maur’s remarks. No sooner had the first streak of dawn appeared in the sky, than he roused up all hands, and the boats, which had been hoisted up, were lowered and immediately loaded with the stores which had been got ready the previous night. The other boats came off from the shore, and now as fast as they could load and unload they passed backwards and forwards between the harbour and the ship. To save the long pull, Captain Adair determined, by Saint Maur’s advice, to carry her closer in. Steam was got up, and the anchor being hove from the bottom, she stood towards the shore.

As the day advanced the wind, hitherto coming off the land, shifted and began to blow much stronger than before, while a white line of surf formed across the mouth of the harbour. The boats, however, continued to pass through it, although not without risk of being swamped, while their crews on each occasion got their jackets well wetted. No one thought of that or any other danger or inconvenience. Their great object was to land stores and provisions sufficient to last them as many weeks or months, it might be, as they were to stay there, for all well knew that the old ship must go to the bottom or be knocked to pieces, unless run safely over the bar and beached inside the harbour. She had still a good store of coals on board. This was sacked and sent on shore, a small quantity only remaining, little above what was required to carry the ship over the bar. Night put an end to their labours. Besides the marines, several officers and men had been landed. As on the previous night, while part of the crew slept, the rest worked the pumps and kept a look-out.

It had just gone one bell in the middle watch, when Tommy Pratt knocked at the door of the captain’s berth, and in a hurried tone exclaimed, “The wind is blowing hard; dead on shore, sir. Mr Green says the ship is drifting towards the land.”

Adair sprang on deck. As he listened to the sound of the wild breakers and watched the masses of foam which appeared through the darkness leaping over the rocks, he saw that if the ship was drifting she must very soon be dashed on the wild coast under her lee. He immediately ordered steam to be got up. Small as was the amount of coal left on board, it must be employed to get the ship out of danger, when she must be carried to a safer anchorage, and some more coal brought back from the shore.

Some time elapsed, however, before steam could be got on her. She was riding to the wind with her stern to the shore, instead of, as before, with her head to it. Adair and Saint Maur anxiously paced the deck, watching the rocks under their lee. Every instant the wind was increasing. The roar of the breakers sounded louder, while masses of foam could be seen flying in sheets over the rocks.

At length the engineer announced that steam was got up, and the engines being put in motion, the cable was slipped and the still sinking ship steamed away from the only place which could afford her refuge in her last extremity. Still, with the sea there was breaking on the shore, she would to a certainty strike, and in all probability many of those on deck would be washed away, while she herself would be exposed to the full force of the waves, when ere long she would go to pieces. Adair addressed the crew, urging them to renewed exertions at the pumps. All day long she continued under steam, with her head to the wind, though still making but little way. The captain saw the importance of waiting until the spring tides, when, lightened as she was, he hoped that she would get across the bar.

That day was one of great suspense. There was too much sea for the boats to be got out, and should the bad weather continue, the coal on board would be exhausted, and she, perfectly helpless, would be driven to a distance from the land, and might be unable to regain it under sail. Saint Maur did his best to cheer up his uncle.

“I have escaped so many dangers, when I thought that all hope was gone, that I cannot say I feel as anxious as you do,” he observed. “I have remarked that the wind here never blows long together from one quarter. We may have it fine and calm again to-morrow.”

“I pray Heaven it may,” said Adair, in a more melancholy tone than he had yet spoken in. However, to his officers and crew he kept up the same cheerful aspect as he had done all along.

Chapter Eighteen.

Lord Saint Maur narrates his adventures—Carried off by the Dutchman—Ill-treated—Drunken skipper and mates—Rip Van Winkle and Snarleyow—Ship strike, on a reef—Crew desert her—Saint Maur, Rip, and Snarley get into the long-boat—Ship goes down—Remain under the lee of the reef all night—Make sail in the morning—No water—Virginia Island reached—Boat capsized on the bar—Saint Maur and Rip saved by Snarley—Their life on the island—Water found—Goat’s flesh—The Empress seen approaching the island—Preparations for crossing the bar—Awful suspense—Ship steams on—Strikes with a crash on the bar—More stores landed—The jollies alarmed by a jet of steam—Sails seen in the distance.

“By-the-by, I never told you how I came to be playing Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday on yonder barren rock,” observed Saint Maur, as he and his uncle paced together the deck of the Empress.

“You remember the night I was hooked off the yacht by a stranger which ran us down, and, as I thought, sent you to the bottom. I leave you to judge in what a state of fear and anxiety I was left. From the way the fellows talked when I got on board, I discovered that they were Dutchmen. I rushed aft to the skipper and entreated him to heave to and lower his boats to try and pick up any of you who might be floating, but he either did not understand me or would not. When I ran to the helm, intending to put it down, that he might the better comprehend my meaning, he and his mates held me back. I pitched into one fellow and knocked him over, and was about to treat the other in the same way, when the skipper with his big fist hit me a blow on the head which brought me to the deck.

“When I came to my senses it was broad daylight, and I knew that long before that time, if the yacht had gone down, you must all of you have lost your lives. I believe the Dutchman intended to apologise for having treated me in so unceremonious a fashion, but, as I could not understand a word he said, I am not sure. He behaved, however, afterwards, far better than I should have expected from the way our acquaintance had commenced. I was never a very good hand at picking up languages, so that it was some time before I could make myself even imperfectly understood by any one on board. Strange to say, not a man among them spoke a word of English. I wanted the skipper to put into some port, but he replied that, ‘Out of his course he would not go for me or any man.’ I then begged him, chiefly by signs, that should we fall in with a homeward-bound ship, to put me on board of her. He nodded his head and let me understand that, providing it was during calm weather, he should have no objection, and advised me meanwhile to console myself with his schiedam, of which he had a plentiful supply. Both he and his mates indulged in it pretty largely, I found. I expected that he would touch at the Cape, but to my disgust he ran to the south’ard, in order to fall in with the westerly trades, and I found that he intended to touch nowhere until he reached Batavia.

“This was anything but consolatory, besides which I had no one to talk to, and not a book on board I could read. I tried hard to make out the few Dutch books he had on board, and used to ask him or the mates, or indeed any of the men I found at hand, to pronounce the words, when I tried to discover their meaning. I believe, had the voyage lasted longer, I should have learned to speak and read Dutch fluently; but, as the skipper was drunk half his time, and the mates the other two quarters, I could not get much out of them. The only fellow who really was of use was young Rip Van Winkle. He took a liking to me, as I did to him, from the first, and I often saved him from many a cuff and kick which he was wont to receive from the crew. He was, I confess, a sort of ‘dirty Dick’ on board, and so he would have continued had I not taught him to clean himself; and now he is as fond of washing as any one, except when the weather is cold, then he rather objects to it, and falls back into his bad habits. My only companion besides Rip was a large dog—no great beauty—whom I called Snarleyow, from being unable to pronounce his Dutch name, and he took to it, as he did to me, immediately, and always came when so called. I treated him as a friend, whereas, from the skipper downwards, he was accustomed to receive more kicks than ha’pence, except from poor Rip, and consequently had no great affection for his masters.

“Besides my anxiety about you, and my disappointment at not being able to take advantage of the new position into which, through Counsellor McMahon, I was placed—not that that weighed very much with me—I could not help feeling anxious about the way in which the ship was navigated. Being unable to understand the Dutch books, I could not myself work out the reckonings, though frequently I took an observation, to keep my hand in.

“I once only had a chance of communicating with England. We sighted a British ship, and as by that time I had picked up enough Dutch to use the signal-book, I hoisted the signals ‘British officer on board; heave to for him.’ I thought when the skipper saw the other ship heave to that he would do the same, but it was blowing hard, and he obstinately refused to lift tack or sheet or lower a boat, and you can just fancy how I felt when I saw the homeward-bound vessel standing away from us. From the temperature of the weather I now suspected that we had got a very long way to the south, when it came on to blow hard. The Dutchman shortened sail, as he generally did when there was any wind, and continued the course on which he was steering. The old ship, though a tub, was a good sea boat, and I had no reason to fear danger, provided she did not run her stem into an iceberg or strike any rocks or reefs. Blow high, blow low, the skipper walked the deck with his hands in his pockets and a huge meerschaum in his mouth, looking as composed as usual?

“One night I was about turning in, when I felt the ship strike. Of course I sprang on deck, where I was followed by the skipper and the first mate, the second mate having the watch. The crew were singing out that we were lost.

“‘Do not be afraid, boys!’ cried the skipper, calling for a light for his pipe, and thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘She’ll drive over it. Another hand to the helm. Keep all standing!’

“I knew, by the thickness of his voice, that he was half seas over, for he never exhibited his state in any other way, except when he sank down under the table. Still, I hoped from his composure that he knew where we were, and that we should scrape clear of the sand-bank over which the sea was breaking with fearful force. Several seas, indeed, nearly pooped us; but we surged forward, touching occasionally in a way which threatened to split the ship into fragments; but she held together wonderfully. The men, however, had not the same hope that I had; for I saw them gathering on either side, near the boats, taking the falls in their hands, ready to lower them with or without orders.

“Rip came up to me. ‘What’s going to happen, mynheer?’ he asked.

“‘The ship will probably go to the bottom or get knocked to pieces; but we may perhaps escape the danger, and so at last reach Batavia,’ I answered. ‘Whatever happens, stick by me, Rip, and you can lend me a hand whenever I want it, and I may perhaps save you.’

“Scarcely, however, had I spoken than the ship struck with far greater force than before, the fore and main masts going by the board, but falling clear of the deck. Still she went on; but the carpenter sounded the well, and found that the water was rushing in at a rate which precluded all possibility of keeping the ship afloat. She had gone over the edge of the reef, which rose on the starboard bow, high above the water, and broke the force of the sea. Springing aft, I put down the helm, which the man had deserted, and she rounded to under the lee of the rocks.

“The crew instantly began lowering the boats. The skipper and his first mate tumbled into one, and they with several of the men shoved off; while the second mate took possession of the other, with the rest of the crew, leaving Rip and me still on deck. So overcrowded were they, that I saw they were both likely to go down; and I determined to take my chance in the ship, which I thought, having a light cargo on board, might possibly float long enough to enable us to build a raft. The two boats quickly disappeared in the darkness, without provisions or water, which the men in their hurry forgot to take, while the skipper and his first mate were too drunk to think of it. I bethought me of examining the boat amidships, which I feared might have been crushed by the falling mast; but fortunately it had escaped. I told Rip to cut the lashings clear, reminding him that our lives depended on it—to see that not a rope remained attached to the vessel’s deck. I jumped in, followed by Rip and Snarley, who had been left on board with us, and whose instinct showed him that the boat was likely to prove the only ark of safety. The oars, as well as the masts and sails, were stowed in her, with a couple of hen-coops, our last surviving pig, and a variety of other articles. Rip was about to heave the pig overboard, when I stopped him, and told him to hunt about for the plug-hole, which he had just time to stop with a bung, when I saw the water rushing over the deck. The ship did not go down immediately; and I suspect that, had all hands remained on board, we might have kept her afloat until daylight, at all events.

“We got out the oars to shove the boat clear the instant the water rushed over the deck. I do not think I ever experienced a more anxious moment in my life. At last a sea came sweeping along, round the reef, and lifted us clear, right above the bulwarks, and free of the masts and spars still hanging over the side. We pulled away for our lives, and just saw the masts dragged down as the ship went to the bottom. The mizzenmast remained the last above water. We pulled under the lee of the reef; but, having no anchor, we were compelled to hold her in her position by paddling all night. When morning broke, no land was in sight; but as the wind was from the westward, I judged that our safest plan was to steer to the northward, when we might either fall in with some ship, or make Java, or the western coast of Australia, should we not sight any island on the way. We had a small cask of water in the boat, and three empty casks, put there to be out of the way. My hope was that we should be able to fill these with rain water before we got into a more northern latitude, where we were likely to meet with a ship. The reef off which we lay ran half a mile from north to south above the water; how much further below it I could only judge by the line of white foam which extended as far as the eye could reach. As this was a place no ship was likely to approach, the sooner we got out of its latitude the better. The wind having moderated, we accordingly made sail and stood to the eastward.

“We had been three days in the boat, our small cask of water gradually diminishing, while not a drop of rain had fallen to fill our casks, when we sighted this small island. Hoping that it might afford us some shelter, and at all events that we might obtain water, we steered towards it. As we approached we saw the harbour opening out before us. Though I thought that there would be some risk in crossing the bar, yet I determined to make the attempt. Anything was better than dying of thirst. The water appearing to be smoother in the centre, I stood under all sail the boat could carry towards it, for it was still blowing fresh. The bar was reached; and I expected the next instant to be in smooth water, when an abominable roller came tumbling in, swamped our boat, and turned her over, washing Rip away. I clambered up on the bottom, when I saw Snarley, who had just come to the surface. The dog, having looked about him, made towards a point inside the harbour, and, exerting his strength, hauled Rip up. I, meantime, was tossing about on the bar, expecting every moment to be washed off, when I saw Snarley returning. Knowing that I should have his help, I sprang off and swam towards him. I twisted the fingers of my left hand in his long, shaggy hair, and he towed me through the surf safely to the shore, where I found Rip already recovered waiting for me. He threw his arms around my neck and burst into tears, exclaiming in Dutch—‘I thought you had gone, mynheer, and that I was left alone; but now you are come we shall manage to live.’

“He then bestowed his caresses on Snarley for having saved me. The sun being bright and warm, we soon dried our clothes; but how we were to exist was the next question, when we had eaten up our pig, who was doomed quickly to die to satisfy our hunger. I had no fancy for raw pork, although my companions were not so particular. Suddenly I bethought me that before the wreck I put a tin box of matches in my pocket to light my pipe. I felt for it. It was there; and although the water had got in, I hoped that the sun would restore their efficiency. I laid them out carefully on the rock, and sat down to watch them, turning them over and over, while Rip set off to obtain fuel. Pieces of driftwood strewed the shore; and some, during high tide, having been thrown up to a distance from the water, were perfectly dry. Rip discovered also plenty of moss and branches of the low shrubs which grew in the hollows and level parts of the island. He had soon a sufficient supply for a good fire. I looked anxiously at the matches. I was afraid to strike one of them until I was certain that it was thoroughly dry, as I should otherwise have knocked off the end. I selected one from the middle of the box, which appeared never to have been wetted, and getting into a sheltered place, I drew it along the side of the box. To my great delight it ignited immediately; and leaving Rip to blow up the fire, I replaced the other matches in the box, which I stowed carefully away in my pocket. We had our knives, for I had got a large one on board for cutting up tobacco. We both turned our eyes on poor piggy, who was grubbing about near us, trying to find roots. In a moment Rip sprang upon him, and before he could give two grunts and a squeak he was turned into pork.

“We did not stop to singe him, but quickly had some steaks toasting before the fire, while Snarley looked wistfully on, giving a hungry sniff every now and then at piggy’s carcase. It was somewhat lean, as he had been on short commons in the boat.

“‘Good dog, you deserve some food,’ said Rip, giving Snarley certain portions which I for one had no inclination to eat.

“While we were at our meal we saw a cask wash on shore. The pork had excited our thirst, and Rip ran down, hoping to find water in it; but it was empty. We looked about, trusting that the cask which had some still remaining in it might be sent to us, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“‘Patience,’ I observed; ‘we may have a shower before long, and fill our cask, so bring it up where it will be safe.’ The boat, I should have said, had been tumbling about on the bar. At length it was driven inside the harbour. Rip offered to swim off and tow her in. I hesitated for fear of sharks, but he declared that in that latitude they were not likely to be found. I begged him to wait until she got nearer, which she soon did, and then stripping off his clothes, he boldly plunged in.

“‘You remain on shore, mynheer,’ he said; ‘you will better be able to help me than if you come now. Should I get tired, I can always rest on the bottom of the boat.’

“When Snarley saw him set off, he also plunged in. On reaching the boat Rip put a rope in the dog’s mouth, and taking another himself, they began to tow the boat towards the beach. It was hard work, though the wind was partly in their favour, but at the same time it was sending the boat towards the foot of the cliffs opposite the entrance, against which the surf broke heavily, and would soon have knocked her to pieces. When Rip got tired, he climbed up, as he intended, on the bottom of the boat, and after resting a few seconds, again took to towing, Snarley all the time swimming bravely on. I never saw an animal exhibit so much sagacity.

“At length the boat was brought near enough to enable Rip to wade, when I going to his assistance, we dragged her up until she grounded. A slight examination showed us that without tools we should never be able to repair her, for the whole of one side was crushed in and the other was greatly damaged. We accordingly determined to break her up and build a hut with the fragments to shelter us. By this time, however, our thirst became almost unbearable.

“‘Perhaps water may be found in the hollows of some of the rocks,’ observed Rip.

“Snarley was apparently suffering as much as we were, and when he saw us moving away from the landing-place he ran on ahead.

“‘He’ll find water, if there’s any to be found,’ said Rip; and I had the same hope. We climbed up the rocks, and after some exertion we reached the top of the island, when Snarley dashed forward, and to our great joy we saw him with his head in a hollow, evidently enjoying a draught of water. We ran on, nearly toppling on our noses in our eagerness as we made our way over the rough ground. We soon were following Snarley’s example, for a pure pool of water was at our feet, while there were two others close at hand, each about a dozen yards in circumference. Although they were apparently filled with rain water, and not from a spring, there was a sufficient quantity to supply all our wants. Even could it be possible to exhaust them, they would be refilled by fresh showers.

“Having quenched our thirst we stood up to look around us, when we caught sight of several animals at no great distance off stopping to gaze at us. They were goats, and some had kids by their sides. Here was food enough to last us for years to come, though we might have a difficulty in catching them ourselves. We felt that Snarley would render us valuable aid in the matter, and that we need have no fear of starving. Refreshed, we set off to take a further survey of the island.

“As we passed along the cliffs overlooking the harbour, we caught sight in a little bay of three boats, hauled up on the beach, with a couple of huts, but no human being was to be seen. We shouted; our voices, however, might possibly not reach the spot. It was evident, at all events, that the island had at some time or other been inhabited, but at that distance we could not judge of the condition of the boats or the huts, so that it might have been years before. As we wished to be housed before night, we now returned to the landing-place, discovering on our way, among the grass, some leaves which tasted like spinach. I felt sure that they would serve as vegetable diet, which it was important to obtain. The mast, yards, and sails were still attached to the boat. Though we had not strength enough to drag her up entire, we got hold of them and put up a small tent, which served to shelter us for the night. We were thankful even for this protection, for after sunset the atmosphere became very chilly. We were in pretty good spirits, and thankful to Heaven that we had found the means of sustaining life. I thought it probable, too, that before long a vessel would appear and take us off. Snarley, who had dried himself by running about, crawled into our tent and assisted to keep us warm, while for the first part of the night we kept a large fire blazing at our feet. We did not keep watch, for our island did not certainly contain any savage inhabitants or wild beasts, so that we slept soundly with a sense of perfect security.

“Next morning, after breakfasting on pork and sorrel leaves, which we ate raw, for want of means of boiling them, we set off to examine the boats and huts. It was a long walk round to where the huts were; as we expected, we found them empty. The boats were in tolerable condition; and though they had not, we judged, been used for several months, were still serviceable. Without tools, however, we could not repair even one of them sufficiently to enable us to continue our voyage. While examining the huts, we discovered an iron pot, which was likely to prove of the greatest value to us. Rip immediately set to work to scrape it clean. On our way back we filled it with water. The rest of the day was spent in pulling to pieces the wreck of the boat, and carrying them up to the spot we had selected for our habitation, which we preferred to those we had discovered near the boats.

“As soon as we had finished our pork, which lasted us for ten days or more, we set off in search of a kid, which we felt sure Snarley would help us to catch. We were not disappointed, though its poor mother fought bravely in its defence. As she stopped until we got up, we captured her also, and soon managed to tame her sufficiently to afford us milk. We spent our time in improving our habitation, in hunting a goat when we wanted one, and in collecting sorrel, which enabled us to make some tolerable broth. Salt we got in abundance from the crevices of the rocks, and manufactured spoons out of drift-wood, and wooden platters and cups. We also brought materials from the other huts to improve our own. I think you’ll say, when you see it, that it is a very respectable abode for a couple of bachelors. I own that very often I longed for a loaf of soft tack and a glass of something stronger than water. I managed to keep myself and Rip constantly employed.

“While rummaging about in the huts during one of our early visits, he discovered in a corner a bag containing a palm and sail needle, and nearly a dozen fishing-hooks and other articles. The hooks were likely to prove of great value. We immediately twisted some fishing-lines, and taking a piece of goat’s flesh as bait, we scrambled out to the end of a rock, below which the water was deep, to try our luck. That day we caught ten fine fish. We had an additional cause to be thankful, for our health required a change of diet. We no longer had the slightest apprehension of starving. Still after a few months of this sort of life, I began to wish to get away. We rigged the flag-staff you saw, and hoisted the Dutch flag, one we had found in the locker of the boat.

“Day after day I looked out for a sail, but none appeared, and I began to think that I was doomed to spend the remainder of my life on this desert spot. At last our clothes wore out. To replace them I prepared some goat-skins, and we rigged ourselves out in the strange costume in which Green discovered me. I had often when a boy fancied that it would be very pleasant to live on an island by myself, or with one companion; but faith! I found the reality very different, and I would gladly have given up my title and estates to escape. ‘It is an ill wind that blows no one good.’ I can assure you that my heart leaped into my mouth when I saw the Empress approaching, not dreaming at the time of the dangerous condition to which she had been reduced. I own, however, that I shall be very glad to see her safe inside the harbour.”

After some hours, the gale having moderated, the Empress again stood back to the mouth of the harbour, and came to an anchor as close in as Adair thought it safe to go. A boat now came off, with a sufficient supply of coal to enable her to cross the bar. Adair began to fear that it would be impossible to wait for the spring tide, as the leaks had again begun to gain on the pumps in spite of the efforts of the crew to keep the water under. The larger the quantity of water which got into the ship, the lower she would be, and the less able to cross. As the surf had considerably gone down, the boats were again employed from morning until night in landing stores. But every time they returned loaded over the bar, they ran a considerable risk of being swamped.

Adair was seated in his cabin, the day’s work being over, with his nephew, when the carpenter desired to speak with him.

“The men have been doing their best, and I have done my best; but it is my opinion and my duty to express it: the ship won’t swim four and twenty hours longer,” said Mr Gimlet. “All hands are ready to work on at the pumps and with the buckets until we drop, but the water is rushing in faster than we can pump it out, and should it come on to blow again, no human power can keep the ship afloat.”

Adair was not offended at the freedom with which the warrant officer spoke.

“You and all the hands have done your very best, Mr Gimlet,” he answered. “We must manage to keep the ship from going down to-night, and to-morrow morning, at the top of high tide, we will attempt to take her over the bar. It is a question whether we shall succeed, and I am very loth to lose her, but the risk must be run.”

“No doubt about that, sir,” answered the carpenter. “If she once strikes on that bar, she’ll never get off again, except piecemeal; but that’s better than going to the bottom.”

Although, besides the marines, a good many men had been landed, a sufficient number remained to work the pumps, watch and watch, and Adair and Desmond set an example by labouring with them, as they had before done. That night was as trying a one, to the captain at all events, as any yet passed. To-morrow must decide the fate of the ship, whether she would be cast a helpless wreck on the reef or be carried into smooth water and beached on a spot where it might be possible to repair her. Besides, her upper works were strong and sound, but below she was too evidently of a very different character, like many another fine-looking craft. Morning came at length. Adair urged Saint Maur to go on shore.

“I don’t hide from myself that crossing the bar will be an undertaking of considerable danger—some, if not all of us, may be lost,” said the captain. “I want you to return home to assume your title and property, and to enjoy your life for many years, and to benefit the peasantry on your estate by doing all the good you can. I am getting on in life, and at the best cannot expect to enjoy many more.”

Nothing, however, that the captain could say would induce the young lord to quit the ship.

“I know the bar as well as any one. There exists a channel, though a narrow one, through which I think I can take her,” he answered.

Adair at last consented; preparations were made for crossing the dangerous spot. Adair ordered the men to take breakfast, and then all went to their stations. The whole of the crew were on deck except the engineers, who of course had to remain below attending to the engines. There was no time to be lost, for already the water in the hold had risen higher than it had ever done before. Steam was got up. The engineer reported that all was ready below. Two of the best hands were sent to the wheel. The crew stood some forward, some aft, where most of the officers were stationed. Desmond took his post by the side of the captain, whence he could direct the helmsmen. All on board felt it to be an awful time. Some said that the ship, the moment she touched the ground, would go to pieces, and that the sea breaking over her would wash all hands from her decks. Desmond, however, assured the captain that he had no such fear; even should the ship not cross the bar, she would run far enough over it to escape the full force of the breakers, besides which, at present they were very moderate, and were not likely to injure her materially.

The anchor was now hove up, the fore-topsail only was set to assist in steering her, and she was headed in towards the mouth of the harbour. Onwards she seemed to fly towards it. Many even of the stoutest held their breath. The boats were all waiting inside the harbour’s mouth, to render assistance should it be necessary. To a stranger on the shore watching the approaching ship, she appeared as trim and stout a man-of-war as need be. Nothing on deck gave indication of her rotten condition below. Pat Casey and Peter were standing together.

“Shall we get in an’ put the ould boat to rights, or shall we stick on the bar an’ see her knocked to pieces?” asked Pat of his companion.

“Me tink, Massa Pat, dat if de ship stick on de rocks him go to pieces, and dat it better for him to do dat dan you and all hands get drowned, ’cause we den get ’shore while him break up.” Similar remarks were exchanged amongst the men generally.

“Silence, fore and aft!” sang out the captain, as the harbour’s mouth was approached. All on board turned their eyes towards the white line of foam which stretched across it. Desmond pointed out to the helmsmen the exact spot for which they were to steer. He had not to give another order; no one spoke. The smooth water could be seen inside. Would the ship ever float on it?

Full steam was put on. Forward she glided like an arrow towards its mark. Already the outer barrier was reached where the water broke, hissing and foaming on either side. Onward she plunged; then there came a crash, her masts quivered, and all knew that the noble ship was devoted to destruction. A roller came sweeping on astern. It lifted her. Again she moved forward, but it was only to strike with greater force than before. Once more she floated on the buoyant water, but it was again to descend with a crash which was heard and felt from stem to stern, telling that the rocks had gone through her bottom. There she remained firmly fixed, her engines continuing to work until the rapidly rising water rushing in, put out the fires. The engineer, having thoughtfully turned off the steam to prevent the boilers from exploding, his duty done, appeared on deck to announce to the captain that the engines had stopped.

“I see that they have,” said Adair, smiling, even at the moment so sad to a captain who had just seen his ship wrecked. The vessel was evidently immovable, and even had the rollers come in with sufficient force to lift her, she must have sunk immediately in deep water. Crash succeeded crash, as the rocks burst through her planks, but not a cheek blanched, not an eye quailed, not a cry was heard, not a man deserted his station.

The rollers continued to tumble in, breaking close under her stem, but failed to wash over her. Adair stood earnestly watching for what would next take place. At last he was satisfied that the lives committed to his charge were safe.

“My lads,” he exclaimed, “our brave ship will never float again on the ocean; but you still form her crew, and whether on board or on shore, I am sure that you will exhibit the same good discipline you have hitherto maintained. We will now turn to again and get all we can out of her. We may be discovered and taken off in a few weeks, or we may have to remain months here. As we must be prepared for the latter alternative, we must husband our provisions and stores. I hear that the harbour is full of fish, and that there are goats on the island, and, what is of more consequence, that water is to be found, so that we need have no fear of starving. The rest all depends upon yourselves. We may be a very happy ship’s company if we make the best of everything, or we may become the contrary if we grumble and are discontented. I don’t expect that of you, and I’m sure we shall all work with a will and look at things on the bright side.”

The crew gave three hearty cheers, and Adair directing the first lieutenant to summon the boats alongside, all hands turned to in loading them with the numberless articles which still remained on board. The most valuable things had already been got out. By the doctor’s advice four main-deck tanks were landed, with the smith’s forge and other apparatus pertaining to his trade, that the engineers might manufacture a machine for turning salt water into fresh. The sails and ropes were also sent on shore, and indeed every article likely to prove of service which the ship contained. The captain and Desmond, with several of the principal officers, still remained on board, a careful watch being kept at night to give them due notice should a change of weather threaten and make it advisable for them to quit the ship.

Fortunately the weather continued fine and the wind mostly blew off the land, so that the boats were able to ply backwards and forwards all day long. One of the assistant-surgeons, who had only lately come to sea, declared that he should not have believed it possible that the ship could have contained the multitudinous articles he saw landed; he had no idea where they could all have been stowed away. In that latitude the winter was likely to prove severe, and as it was approaching, it was important not only to land stores and provisions, but to house the party comfortably.

For the latter purpose, Adair went on shore for the first time and laid down the plan of their town. It formed one long street, with blocks on either side, while a cross road ran at right angles with the main one. One block formed the barracks of the marines, another a hospital. The captain’s own house was at the top of the street, and opposite to it one for the lieutenants, another for the rest of the ward-room officers, and a third on their side of the way for the midshipmen. Then came rows of huts, eight on each side, for the seamen. Another was put up for the petty officers, the stokers had one for themselves, and the officers’ servants one. At the top of the street, so that it could be seen from the very bottom, was the officers’ mess tent, with flags flying over it, and a very tasty-looking affair it was. The walls were partly composed of stone, partly of turf, roofed over with canvas. The roof of Captain Adair’s house was also lined with canvas, as were the walls, and divided by partitions.

Some of the midshipmen expressed their regret that there were no ladies among them.

“The ladies are very much obliged to you,” observed Charley Roy, who had joined the Empress, and was now senior mate on board. “I suspect that they would rather remain comfortably on shore. Perhaps you’d like a grand piano, a ball-room, and a croquet lawn?”

One building there was called the grand hotel, and it was frequented by all ranks, from the warrant officers and sergeant of marines down to the stokers and ship’s boys. Liquor in very small quantities and well watered could be obtained there, as could tea and coffee, and various beverages, such as ginger beer, which the doctor continued to manufacture with certain ingredients in his possession, and which was highly appreciated in hot weather. The sergeant of marines was a temperance man, and persuaded half his own corps and fully a third of the blue-jackets to sign the pledge, which, as they had not the means of breaking, was very faithfully kept. Thus not a man ever got drunk, and many who found that they could get on as well without liquor as they could with it, became very steady, sober men. The officers did their best not only to keep the men employed, but to amuse them in a variety of ways. No grumbling was heard from any ranks. One fellow only showed signs of insubordination. He had long been known on board as “Grumpy Dick.” No sooner had he set his foot on shore than he asserted that he was a free man, and would no longer work.

“Very well, my fine fellow,” said the captain. “If all hands side with you, the officers and I shall have to do what you ought to do to keep you all and ourselves alive. But if not, you shall as surely taste the cat as our stout ship lies there on the rocks. Sleep upon it, and let me know what you think about it to-morrow morning.”

Grumpy Dick, who was as obstinate as a pig going to market, was in the same mood the next morning, on which the captain ordered him to be triced up and to receive a dozen at the hands of the boatswain’s mate. This example had a very good effect; and if any other men were inclined to follow it, they thought better of the matter, and from that time forward all worked away as well as if they had been on board. They had plenty to do in building their houses. When the men were not otherwise employed, they were engaged in pulling down the materials of the old huts, and bringing them round to strengthen the new. They were fond of boasting of the size of the town, and Pat Casey averred that it was quite large enough to send a member to Parliament, offering to be their first representative on Liberal principles.

Then water had to be brought to supply the town from the ponds Desmond and Rip had discovered at the top of the hill. It was a work mainly accomplished by means of piping of various descriptions. Some was of lead, another part was of canvas, and another portion was of wood in the form of a trough. It could be turned off at the top as was required. The apparatus for turning salt water into fresh also supplied them with such water as they required; but, on account of the fuel it consumed, it was only used when in dry weather there was a risk of the ponds becoming empty.

As soon as the town was finished, Adair had a flag-staff erected and fully rigged, in a way which Desmond, with only one assistant, had been unable to accomplish. A couple of men and a midshipman were stationed there with spy-glasses, to watch the horizon, and to hoist a flag directly a ship was seen, a hut having been built for their accommodation. A small six-pounder, used on board for signalising, was also hauled up to be fired in case of a stranger coming near enough for it to be heard. A pile of wood was also collected in order that a beacon fire should be kindled at night, and rockets and blue-lights were kept ready for letting off should a ship appear in the offing.

A hag of fish-hooks and lines had been found on board, and a party every day were told off to fish, and who never failed to return with an abundant supply.

“Our friend ‘Blueblazes’ would have been perfectly happy here,” said Desmond, laughing, as he and the captain sat at the wardroom mess table, at which they daily dined. They had had some especial fine fish for dinner that day—indeed, they were never at that time on short commons. Of articles of luxury, as well as of meat and biscuit, which must, should they be kept there many months, ultimately come to an end, a small allowance only was of course served out. To keep up good feeling, dinner-parties were given by one mess to another. The first lieutenant invited the warrant officers and the engineers, who ranked with them, on one occasion, and the midshipmen invited them on another. Some of the seamen occasionally dined with the marines, and vice versa. Then they had games; though there was no ground for cricket, quoits could be played, and of course there was a fiddler on board, and hornpipes were danced. On Sunday no work was done after the first week or two, and the chaplain had service regularly twice in the day, and occasionally also on other days in the week when they became settled on the island.

Adair and Desmond had been walking a short distance from the town one afternoon, just after the men’s dinner hour, when, as they came in sight of the marines’ barracks, which were, as has been described, at a short distance from the high street, they heard a slight explosion, while a jet of white vapour ascended above the roof of the huts, and at the same instant the “jollies” were seen rushing out, shouting in English, Scotch, Irish, Yorkshire, and South country dialects, tumbling over each other, some sprawling on the ground, many without caps or jackets, some making their way to the town, others down to the harbour, others scrambling away up to the hill.

“What’s the matter, my man?” asked Adair, as soon as he got one of them, who happened to be an Irishman, to stop.

“Arrah! your honour, captain dear, we’re blown up entirely. Sure there must be a big fire or an engine of some sort under the barracks, and we would have been roasted or boiled, if it had been at night an’ we had all been in our beds.”

The column of steam, for Adair saw that it was not smoke, continued to ascend.

“There must be some volcanic agency at work,” observed Desmond; “and I am not surprised at the fellows being frightened when it burst out suddenly in their midst.”

“We’ll examine it, at all events,” said Adair. “If there’s a vent-hole, I don’t suppose we need apprehend any danger.”

“Don’t go near it, cap’n, it may go off again,” exclaimed the Irishman, as he saw Adair and Desmond making their way into the huts.

Several of the men, who recognised their captain, shouted to their companions to stop, and the greater number came back, forming a circle round the spot, ashamed probably of their sudden flight. On examining the place, Adair found that directly under where the men’s table had stood, a jet of steam had burst forth and upset it, when it must have fallen with no small force against the men seated on one side. Two poor fellows were still under the table. At first Adair feared that they were killed, but they appeared only to be stunned or frightened into unconsciousness, and in no way injured, for the table had saved them from being scalded.

The orifice was nearly a foot in diameter, and was apparently increasing, as fresh columns of steam, issuing from it, ascended high into the air, having blown off the canvas roof of the hut. The captain and Desmond summoned the men within hail, ordering them to carry their injured comrades to the hospital, where the surgeons, who had come up on hearing the noise, examined them.

The whole population had by this time turned out, and various were the surmises as to what might occur. One thing was certain, that the island was volcanic. What might ultimately happen it was impossible to say. The “croakers” feared that it was but the commencement of disasters, and that at any moment the town might be blown into the air, or the whole island itself, for what they could tell. Adair and his officers endeavoured to quiet their alarm.

The “jollies,” having recovered from their fright, were ready to pull down their barracks and rebuild them at a short distance only from the vent-hole, the surgeon assuring them that they would be better off than their shipmates in the winter season, by having warm ground under their feet. As all hands turned to, the huts were shifted to another spot, a little above their former site, and before evening the work was completed.

Two days afterwards, however, a rocking motion was felt, accompanied by a low, rumbling sound, and immediately afterwards two fresh jets of steam burst forth. Day after day the rumblings were heard, and those who wandered to a distance from the town brought word that they had seen, not only jets of steam, but of smoke and fire, while certain rocks, which they had remarked rising above the water, had disappeared, and others, in different places, had come to the surface. Although Adair did not believe that any violent convulsion would take place, he naturally became more anxious than before to escape from the rock. Any spot in the neighbourhood of an active volcano is no pleasant place to live in. Still more disagreeable did the officers and ship’s company of the hapless Empress feel it to find themselves on the side of a mountain which might at any moment be overturned or sink into the ocean, without the possibility of making their escape. As, however, Adair saw no prospect of averting the evil, should it overtake them, he endeavoured to keep up his own spirits and those of his people by persuading himself and them that such an event as they feared was highly improbable.

After a time the men got accustomed to the appearance of jets of steam, and the “jollies” even made use of them by putting their pots on them to boil their fish. At length the public mind became perfectly tranquillised, and things went on much as before. Still the captain could not help feeling it more than possible that a fresh outbreak might occur, and he found that the surgeon and first lieutenant were of the same opinion.

A sharp look-out had of course been kept for any passing sail. The royals of two ships had been seen, but the signal-gun was probably not heard; nor could the flag have been sighted. The time spent on the rock was, meanwhile, not altogether uneventful.

Week after week, however, passed by, and many by that time were perfectly reconciled to their lot; but others, especially the officers, began to grow weary of the life they were leading, and longed to get away. Trips also were taken to the ship every day, as long as anything remained on board to get out of her.

Chapter Nineteen.

Captain Adair’s last visit to the Empress—Resolves to build a vessel out of the wreck—The doctor fears that the island may be blown up—A hurricane—The boats get adrift—The sea washes up the beach—A flash of lightning reveals the ship parting amidships—The masts fall—The ship breaks up—An earthquake—Rocks fail from the cliffs—Rafts constructed—The boats launched—A still more fearful convulsion than before occurs—The crew embark on the rafts and in the boats—Roy left on the cliff—Saint Maur returns to call him—A fearful rush for their lives—Reach the gig in time—The island in a terrific state of commotion—A sail in sight—Approaches the island—Proves to be the Bellona—All safe on board—Touches at the Cape—The last of Major Bubsby—Arrival at home—Happy meetings—Conclusion.

Adair and Desmond paid a visit to the Empress one bright morning, when the harbour was smooth as a mill pond, and scarcely a ripple even was seen over the expanse of ocean outside. She lay as firm as ever, with her masts standing, and to all appearance in as good condition as she was the day when the attempt was made to bring her into the harbour, except that when they looked below they could see the clear water washing in and out of her. At a distance she might have been supposed to be at anchor.

“I have been thinking that as no vessel has come near us since we have been here, we might have to wait for months, or perhaps years more, unless we make an attempt to get off by such means as we have at our disposal,” observed Adair.

“What, you would not try to cross the Indian Ocean in the boats, would you?” asked Saint Maur.

“No; I would not thus risk the lives of my people, but we must endeavour to build a craft out of the wreck large enough to get as far as Batavia, or even Madras or Calcutta,” answered Adair. “I had hopes when we first came on shore that a ship would shortly appear, or I should at once have decided on building a vessel. I have now determined to delay no longer. When we return I will draw up plan for carrying my intention into effect.” Adair took several turns along the deck. “This is the third ship I have lost, and I suppose that I shall never get another,” he said, with a sigh. “I shall be looked upon as an unlucky man, though in neither case could I blame myself, nor could any one blame me. We will go on shore.”

He stepped down the accommodation ladder, which still remained at the side.

Some time was spent in consulting the carpenter and making the arrangements for pulling the old ship to pieces. Next morning all hands were to begin work. It was likely to prove a long undertaking, and one which no sailor likes to be engaged in. It was also doubtful if the weather would continue fine enough to enable it to be completed. During the day a slight movement of the earth was felt, and the same rumbling noise as before sounded beneath their feet, while another jet of steam burst forth from an orifice at a distance from the town. But the ship’s company had become so accustomed to the sight of these spouts, that they did not trouble themselves about the matter. In the evening, while Adair and Desmond were seated together, the doctor called upon them.

“I have come, Captain Adair, to state that I have been made anxious for some days past by various phenomena which I have observed on the island. I cannot help fearing that some internal commotion is taking place beneath our feet, which may produce serious consequences. The orifices through which the steam we have observed makes its escape may prove safety valves, but what if a larger quantity of steam is engendered than they can let off?”

“You mean to say, doctor, that you fear the island may be blown up, and that we shall be blown up with it?” said Adair, laughing, though he did not feel altogether comfortable in his mind on the subject.

“Such, captain, I apprehend may be the case, but whether shortly or some time hence I cannot take it upon myself to say,” observed the doctor. “I would only urge that a vessel be built in which we can all embark, for I should not like to leave a human being to run the risk of being destroyed, which would be the case were such a convulsion as I dread to take place.”

“That’s the very thing we are now doing as fast as possible,” said Adair. “Do not, however, let the men know what you think may possibly occur, nor the officers either. The carpenter considers that it will take us two months at least to break up the ship and build a new craft out of the materials, and we can only hope that the land will remain quiet until that task is accomplished. Lord Saint Maur and I will accompany you to inspect the new vent-hole and the other phenomena you speak of; and although we would not pit our scientific knowledge against yours, yet perhaps we may make some discovery which may allay your apprehensions.”

They set out at once, as there was still sufficient daylight to enable them to reach the spot to which the doctor had alluded. Adair, after making a considerable circuit, during which they discovered several spots so hot that they could scarcely touch them with their hands, thought that possibly the doctor might be correct. All that he could do, however, was to make arrangements to afford the chance of escape to portion of his people, should the island be overwhelmed.

He resolved to have all the boats fitted for sea with stores, water, and provisions. The whole of the community had turned in for the night with the exception of the sentries, who were told off to keep watch according to man-of-war fashion, although there was no enemy likely to attack them, when they were roused by the well-known sound of a furious gale blowing on the shore. It came on as suddenly as a clap of thunder, and ere long the breakers could be heard roaring as they dashed against the rocky coast. Already the wind had lashed the surface of the harbour into foam, and the water rushed up the beach, threatening to carry off the boats, the largest of which were moored a short distance off, while the others were hauled up on the sand.

The captain and officers were the first to be aroused by the sound of the gale. They hurried out, and turned up all hands to secure the boats. This was no easy matter, for two had already broken adrift, and it was necessary at all risks to go off after them. They, however, were brought back before the full fury of the hurricane burst on the island. They were at length hauled up on the beach by means of rollers placed under them and the strength of fifty hands at least applied to each. The sea continued to rise, and it became necessary to drag them still further up out of the danger of being washed away. Even in the harbour so enormous were the waves that they washed right up to the huts, threatening to destroy the whole lower part of the town, the inmates of which were compelled to carry off their goods and chattels higher up the rock. The largest of the boats still remained on the beach, and the men, headed by the captain, and accompanied by several officers, were attempting to drag her up, when a loud sound, like the report of a heavy gun, was heard.

“There goes the old ship!” cried several voices.

Adair feared that the remark was true. Scarcely had the words been uttered, when a flash of lightning revealed the ship parting asunder amidships. The mizzenmast fell at the same time, but the mainmast was seen still standing. In another minute down came the mainmast with a crash, followed shortly afterwards by the foremast and bowsprit, and, high above the roar of the surf and howling of the wind, the rending and crashing of the ship’s timbers could be distinguished.

“There goes all chance of our being able to build a craft,” observed Saint Maur to the captain. “The fragments which come on shore will be so battered and crushed that they will be of no use.”

“I fear so, indeed,” answered Adair; “but we must not show the men that we are disheartened.”

The gale went on increasing, while the sad sounds of the ship breaking up continued, and huge fragments were cast by the force of the waves on the beach, several striking the stern of the large boat, and almost staving her in before she could be hauled out of danger. Though the men could do no more, they stood watching the catastrophe which, though many of them had long expected it, had come at last so suddenly upon them.

As they thus stood grouped together they felt the earth rock beneath their feet in a way it had never done before. Then came a sound far louder than any yet heard. Several of the men cried out that the island was blowing up. At that moment there was a fearful crash, and by the light of another flash of lightning a glimpse was caught of a huge mass of rock descending from the summit of the hill into the water. Another and another followed. Adair and Saint Maur remembered the doctor’s prognostications, and began truly to fear that the whole island was breaking up, and that ere long it might present a mass of broken fragments or sink down bodily beneath the sea.

They endeavoured, notwithstanding, to maintain their own composure and to restore confidence to the men, many of whom were greatly alarmed.

“Whatever becomes of those high cliffs which seem to be crumbling away, I consider that we, on this level spot, have every chance of escaping,” exclaimed Adair. “We must, however, keep out of the way of those rocks, which, tired of their existence up in the sky, are going to find out how they like the bottom of the sea.”

By this time the night was nearly over, and when morning dawned and Adair looked out, not a particle of the ship remained entire except her engines, which, like some huge creature, could just be distinguished, surrounded by the masses of foam breaking on the bar, while over the surface of the harbour and outside along the coast could be seen fragments of wreck of every size, tossed here and there by the waves. Adair heaved a deeper sigh than he had ever done before in his life.

The storm still continued to rage as fiercely as at first, and it was impossible to secure any portions of the wreck except those which were washed ashore in the harbour, and even to do that was a service of danger, as they were tossed about, threatening to crush those who approached them. Still Adair thought that it might be possible to save wood sufficient for the building of a vessel. It would, at all events, give the men something to do and keep up their spirits with a prospect of getting off. The carpenter shook his head when he spoke to him on the subject.

“I am afraid, sir, it will be a rum sort of craft we should build, but if you will permit me to say so, I think if we were to lengthen some of the boats and rise upon them two or three feet, we should produce a better style of craft than we are likely to put together.”

Adair thought the matter over, and discussed it with Saint Maur. They agreed that it was possible, and that, should some fearful convulsion of the island take place, it would be as well to have the boats thus fitted, in order that some of their lives, at all events, might be preserved.

“We will hope that some ship will come in sight before the land sinks down to the bottom of the sea,” said Saint Maur, in a cheerful tone.

The captain just then remembered that the men had been on foot all that morning without breakfast.

“Pipe to breakfast, Mr Smalls,” he sang out to the boatswain, who was near.

The shrill pipe of the boatswain was heard sounding above the roaring of the breakers, the howling of the wind, and the crash of the falling rocks, which still, though in smaller pieces than before, came toppling down from the summit of the cliff above into the seething waters of the harbour.

The men willingly obeyed the call, and were quickly seated at their mess tables, talking and laughing away as usual. Adair and Saint Maur returned to their cottage. The roofs of the huts had been too securely fastened down to be blown away, and all hands were soon beneath their shelter. All day long the gale raged. In spite of it, the carpenter, with the hands he required, set to work in preparing the wood they had obtained for enlarging the boats. The largest had, it must be remembered, been left just above the influence of the sea, where it was fancied she was free from danger.

In the morning, as usual, a party was sent off to the flag-staff, which was not visible from the town. Some hours had passed and a relief was proceeding to take their place, when they were observed coming down the cliffs, holding on to the rocks as they slowly made their way.

“What has happened?” asked Charley Roy, who commanded the second party.

“The flag-staff is gone and we were all well-nigh carried off with it,” was the answer. “There is no ship in sight; and if there were, she would take good care not to come near this rock if she could help it, so that there is no use in your going on and running the chance of losing your lives.”

“You are quite right,” said Roy, and he returned to obtain further orders.

Adair, of course, told him not to go on to the hill, adding, “We must get another flag-staff ready to set up as soon as the gale is over,” and he at once issued orders to the carpenter to prepare it.

When night closed in there was no appearance of a cessation of the gale; indeed, if anything, matters looked worse than they had done all day. At the usual hour all hands turned in to obtain the rest they required, while the men on watch stowed themselves away in the most sheltered corners they could find, for not a human being even during four hours could have stood exposed to the pitiless tempest.

It was about midnight when those nearest the water were aroused by a crashing sound, and before they had time to dress themselves, they found the sea washing right up to their huts, far higher than it had done the day before. Adair, who slept lightly, was also awakened by the voices and the shouts of the men as they rushed with their clothes bags and mess things out of their huts. He and Saint Maur hurried down to ascertain what was the matter, when on looking towards the beach where the large boat had been left, on which their hopes of safety depended, she was nowhere to be seen. A mass of timber and shattered fragments, surrounded by the seething water, alone marked the spot. A portion of the wreck, it was evident, had been driven against her, and the retiring sea had carried her off knocked to pieces. The remainder of the night was spent in shifting the huts exposed to the waves to a safer spot. Adair allowed no word of complaint to escape him, but he could not but dread what might next happen.

Towards morning the gale abated, and the men were employed in hauling up the fragments of spars which floated among the rocks. Some were of good size, while others were broken into small pieces, which could be of no use but to saw into planks. With the large ones the carpenter contrived, in the course of a couple of days, to build a fresh mast to supply the place of the old one. By this time the weather was again calm, and Adair and Saint Maur and several officers accompanied the party who were selected to set it up. They carried their telescopes, hoping against hope that a ship might appear. But not a sail was to be seen in the horizon, nor a wreath of smoke to indicate a passing steamer. The flag-staff was erected, the ensign run up, and the gun fired to do it honour.

But we must hasten on with the account of the adventures of the captain and crew of the unfortunate Empress. Day after day, week after week went by. Occasionally the earth trembled and shook, but no more jets of vapour or gas burst forth, and the orifices of those which had first appeared were stopped up. The surgeon’s face grew longer and longer.

“Well, doctor,” said Adair, when the latter was paying him a visit, “we are not to be blown up yet, and I hope that the old rock will stand firm enough until long after we have left it, unless we are to spend our lives here.”

“That’s no reason why that fearful event should not some day occur, captain,” answered Dr McQuae. “I last night heard worse rumblings than have yet occurred. My bunk moved up and down in a curious fashion.”

“You must have been dreaming,” said Adair. “I slept but lightly, and heard no noises nor did I feel the slightest movement of the earth.”

“Pardon me, Captain Adair. I was broad awake at the time, and could not be mistaken.”

Adair, on making inquiries, was surprised to find that several other persons had heard noises and felt a movement, especially the sergeant of marines, who averred that he was very nearly thrown out of his bunk. His statement, however, was somewhat discredited by the warrant officers, who expressed their belief that he was addicted to romancing. Be that as it may, a very uncomfortable feeling prevailed both among the officers and men, and all were wishing themselves away from so treacherous a locality. A few days after this a commotion took place throughout the length and breadth of the island, which left the matter no longer in doubt. Vast fragments of rock came tumbling down from the summits of the cliffs, sending huge waves rolling up the beach, although the sky was serene and the wind blew gently from the northward, so that no surf broke along the mouth of the harbour.

“If this continues much longer we must launch the boats and build rafts sufficient to carry all the people, to give some of us a chance for our lives, at all events,” observed Adair to Saint Maur.

“Cheer up, Uncle Terence,” exclaimed Desmond; “the cliffs may tumble down, but still, as you remarked before, we may have firm ground to stand upon.”

“I don’t know what I should have done without you,” answered Adair. “Frankly, I believe I should have broken down altogether: For my poor Lucy’s sake and yours I am as anxious to escape, if I can do so with honour, as any man, but desert my people while one remains in danger I must not.”

“At all events, there can be no harm in getting the rafts built,” said Desmond.

“I will direct the first lieutenant to set the people about the work at once, just as a matter of precaution, so as not to alarm them,” answered Adair.

There were few, however, who did not feel as anxious as the captain to get the rafts completed, and all hands set to work to collect every particle of timber they could find along the coast, and to haul it to the bay.

The carpenter, upon calculation, found that he could form six rafts, thirty feet long and twenty wide. These would carry all the crew who were not able to find room in the boats, provided the sea was tolerably smooth. A couple of rafts had been completed, and as many hands as could be employed were working away at the others, when again that ominous sound which before had alarmed them was heard, and the whole island seemed to be convulsed, as if about to be rent asunder. Although the movement ceased, it made them work away with almost frantic haste. By means of hand-spikes and rollers, the rafts, as they were finished, were launched, when the boatswain and his mates commenced rigging them in the best fashion they could, while the sail-makers were employed in cutting out the canvas, some of which had been kept in store, the rest being, taken for the roofs of the huts.

Although so much of the cliff had fallen down as to half fill the harbour, the point on which the flag-staff stood remained intact. Charley Roy was stationed there with a party of men, who kept a look-out around the horizon from sunrise to sunset. They were relieved at night by another party under the third lieutenant, who was directed to burn blue-lights and let off rockets at intervals, in case any ship should be passing.

Night brought no cessation to the toils of the crew. Torches were formed, and fresh hands laboured away at the rafts. Several times as they were thus toiling, the ground below them shook more or less violently.

“Stop a bit, an’ we’ll be afther gittin’ off you,” cried Pat Casey, who was always ready with a joke to cheer up his companions. “Jist keep quiet, me darlin’, for a few hours longer, an’ you an’ me will part company, whin ye can trimble as much as ye like.”

Whether or not the volcano would accede to his request seemed very doubtful. Towards morning the commotions increased, crash succeeded crash, and they could perceive that other portions of the cliff had given way, while there was some fear that the rafts would be swamped by the sea which the falling masses created, before they could get out of the harbour. Strange to say, in spite of the fearful danger in which they were placed, the men joked as much as ever, though they worked away in a manner which showed that they were fully conscious of the necessity of speed, the officers labouring with them as hard as any one. At the sound of the boatswain’s call they scampered off to breakfast, which they bolted in a few minutes, and soon came back to their work.

The weather now became finer than it had been since they had landed on the island many months before. The sky was clear and the air pure, and there was not an invalid among them.

The sixth raft had just been completed, and the men were working it down to the water, when a rumbling sound far louder than any thunder was heard. The tall cliffs appeared as if about to fall down and fill up the whole of the harbour, the mouth evidently of an ancient crater. The rocks were seen to lift and heave; Adair stood on the shore, superintending the launching of the raft, apparently as cool and unmoved as ever.

“Now, my lads, get the boats into the water,” he exclaimed. “Let their proper crews attend to them; the rest of you assist the marines in bringing down the provisions and water.”

It should have been said that, under the direction of the pay-master and his assistants, all the casks had been filled with water, and all the provisions done up in packages, which could be easily transported.

Even at that moment perfect discipline prevailed; the men hurried backwards and forwards, it is true, as fast as their legs could carry them. They worked like a colony of ants, knowing exactly what they had to do. The midshipmen were ordered into the boats with their respective crews to stow the packages, and to keep the rafts off the beach. These were next loaded, and the boats being filled, the men were ordered to take their places on the rafts.

Captain Adair and Lord Saint Maur stood alone on the shore, when the sound of a gun was heard.

“I forgot Roy and the men with him,” exclaimed Adair.

“I’ll go for him,” cried Desmond, and before he could be stopped, he darted off.

Adair now ordered the boats to take the rafts in tow, and to proceed over the bar, as it would be impossible to find a more favourable opportunity for crossing it. One boat—his own gig—with four hands in her, only remained, so that she was able to carry, in addition, Roy and his party.

Again the sound of the gun was heard, followed by a third report. All this time the cliffs above the further end of the harbour appeared crumbling away, while the ground where the marines’ huts stood, as well as beyond them, was heaving in visible undulations. Adair felt that at any moment the whole island might be convulsed in such a way as to destroy all remaining on it. He anxiously looked out for the return of Saint Maur and Roy. The movements increased in violence. He saw the men in the boat turning their eyes towards the cliff, as if they were eager to be away, fearing lest they themselves would be involved in the expected destruction of the island. He drew his breath more freely when at length he saw Saint Maur appear on the top of the path leading from the hill, followed by Roy and his men. Down they rushed at headlong speed. They had not a moment to lose; already huge rents appeared in the ground, some of a width across which it seemed scarcely possible they could leap, while the rocks on either side were tumbling and leaping along, and threatening to crush the party as they made their downward way.

Adair ordered the men in the gig to come in, and he stood half in the water holding her stem. He had no need to hurry Saint Maur and the rest. One poor fellow was struck, but his companions did not wait for him; they saw at a glance that he was killed. Another narrowly escaped, and a huge block came near Saint Maur as he sprang over a wide gap. With frantic haste they dashed along, and almost breathless reached the beach.

“Spring in!” cried Adair; “I shall be the last to leave the shore!”

Roy and the other men followed. Adair now jumped on board, and made his way to the stern sheets. The bow-men shoved, off without waiting for orders, and bending to their oars the gig was soon across the bar. Saint Maur and Roy were too much out of breath to speak. Indeed, Adair himself forgot to ask the reason of the signals they had heard; as, while steering for the bar, and casting a momentary glance over his shoulders, he saw the whole island rocking to and fro, and not only steam and smoke, but flames bursting forth from several fissures. Even now neither he nor his men were in safety: for should the island sink, the rafts and boats would be drawn into the vortex; or should it blow up, as seemed very likely, the fragments would too probably fall down and crush them, or create so violent a commotion of the ocean that they would scarcely escape being overwhelmed. Steering for the heaviest raft, he joined another boat in towing her. As yet they were under the lee of the island, and their sails were of no use. Long paddles had been formed for the use of the men on the rafts, who worked energetically, as the boats, heavily laden as they were, were unable to make much headway.

Roy, who had been hitherto panting too much to speak, now recovering himself, exclaimed—

“A sail, sir! a sail! We saw her standing towards the island. She’s a steamer, I think, though I could not make out her funnel. I caught sight of a wreath of white smoke hanging above her masthead.”

“Too probably she’s only passing,” said Adair.

“No, sir, she was standing steadily this way; and the heads of her courses had already risen above the horizon. We left the flag flying, so if the hill doesn’t come toppling down, she will see that, and know that there is some one on the rock. Perhaps she is coming expressly to look after us.”

“Thank Heaven!” cried Adair, in a voice choking with emotion, for the first time the calm composure he had hitherto exhibited giving way. “My poor people will be saved!”

The joyful news soon spread from boat to boat and raft to raft. At length feeling the wind, sail was set, and the little squadron steered a course as close to it as was possible, not to near the ship, but to get further off from the island. As soon as they had gained what Adair considered a safe distance, he ordered the first lieutenant, who was in one of the boats, to cast off and stand towards the stranger, whose topsails by that time could be seen. He had now only earnestly to pray that the weather would continue calm until they were all on board. Meantime he had cast many an anxious glance towards the land, which seemed, at the distance they were now from it, to be at rest, though the rumbling sounds which reached them and the thick clouds of smoke and flame ascending, showed them that they had good reason to be thankful that they had escaped it.

The first lieutenant’s boat was eagerly watched as she glided rapidly over the smooth water. At last her white speck of canvas disappeared beneath the horizon, and a further period elapsed.

The stranger was pronounced by the cut of her canvas to be a British man-of-war. At last she was seen to change her course, and to stand directly for the rafts. Soon afterwards the glorious ensign of England blew out at her peak. The sight was welcomed by a cheer from the whole crew. There could be no doubt that the first lieutenant had got on board. On she came until she approached, when her canvas was reduced.

“Hurrah! she’s the Bellona!” exclaimed Saint Maur and Adair at the same moment. They both knew her, and in another minute they recognised Captain Rogers and several old friends. Adair and Desmond, springing up the side, were heartily welcomed.

“We have come expressly to look for you,” said Jack, as he grasped their hands, and he told them of the information he had received from the master of the Australian trader. The Bellona’s boats had been lowered and now approached to take off the crew from the rafts, as well as the provisions and water.

“We have arrived in the nick of time,” said Jack; “but as your island now seems tolerably quiet, we may as well remove the stores, the men’s bags, and your own things, which it will be a pity to lose, and I shall be glad to leave some of these boats which we cannot take away.”

The Bellona accordingly steamed on towards the entrance of the harbour, keeping, as may be supposed, at a safe distance in case of a sudden outbreak. By this time the smoke and flames had disappeared, and the boats pulled in, piloted by Adair and his officers.

The blue-jackets were highly delighted at recovering their bags, and the marines their kits, which had of necessity been left behind. The boats which Saint Maur and Rip had found when they landed were hauled high up on the beach and covered over with canvas to protect them from the weather. The more valuable stores were carried off, though provisions and other articles were left which might afford assistance to the sufferers of any ship which might be wrecked on the island.

The Bellona steered directly for the Cape, in a short time, as the wind became fair, making all sail. That night the watch on deck declared that they saw a bright glare in the sky above the rock and that a low rumbling noise was heard coming from the same direction. Whether or not Virginia Island had blown up remained a matter of doubt, and Captain Rogers did not think that with two ships’ companies on board it was his duty to return and ascertain the fact.

Crowded as they were, both officers and men were as happy as could be under such circumstances, and wonderful were the yarns which the crew of the Empress had to spin, none of the facts which had occurred losing in the narration, besides which there were many more to describe which are not chronicled in this history.

The Bellona, immediately on her arrival in Simon’s Bay, was ordered home, where Captain Adair and his officers would have, of course, to undergo the usual court-martial for the loss of the Empress. Scarcely had she dropped her anchor, when, in one of the first boats which came off, was seen a stout military man, accompanied by two ladies. Shortly after, Major Bubsby and the two Misses Bubsby ascended the side. Jack, who was never wanting in politeness, whatever were his feelings, stood ready to receive them.

“My dear Captain Rogers,” exclaimed the major, grasping him by the hand, “I was at the telegraph station when you made your number, and I immediately hurried down to welcome you, picking up Eugenia and Angelica on the way. Will you do me a favour?”

“What is it?” inquired Jack.

“Yes, it is a favour; I will acknowledge it as a favour if you grant it. Will you convey Mrs Bubsby and myself with our two dear daughters to England? You must know that I was compelled to resign my command, and I do not find my stay here as pleasant as I should wish.”

Billy Blueblazes, who was standing behind the captain, observed Miss Angelica casting loving glances towards him. “Heaven forbid that the captain should grant the major’s request,” he said to himself.

He need have had no fear on that score. Jack as politely as possible declined, and did not even invite the major and the Misses Bubsby below.

“You must understand, Major Bubsby, that I have the officers and part of the ship’s company of the Empress to carry home, so that we have not an inch to spare. I cannot turn them out of the only berths I have to offer, and you and your daughters would not like to sling up your hammocks on the lower deck.”

“I did not expect this of you, Captain Rogers,” said the major, an angry frown gathering on his brow.

“Hard-hearted man!” murmured Miss Angelica.

But Jack was deaf to all they could say, and felt very much inclined to order the master-at-arms to escort his visitors, nolens volens, down the side. They at last made a virtue of necessity, and returned to their boat.

Billy heaved a sigh of relief as he watched them pulling towards the shore. It was the last he or his captain ever saw or heard of Major Bubsby and his daughters, the major’s name disappearing soon afterwards from the army list. Lord Saint Maur, of course, went home in the Bellona. He was accompanied by Rip and Snarley, the former begging that he might enter his service as valet. Old England was reached at last, when Captain Rogers made the pleasing discovery that he had become an admiral by seniority.

In a very short time, telegrams having conveyed the joyful intelligence of the arrival of the ship with Captain Adair and Lord Saint Maur on board, Julia and Lucy, the former accompanied by her fair daughters, arrived at Southsea, which had so often before witnessed their grievous partings and happy meetings. This, as may be supposed, was one of the happiest. Captain Adair was honourably acquitted for the loss of the Empress. Though he did not again obtain a ship, he accompanied the expedition to Coomassie, and took an active part in an exploit which redounded so greatly to the honour of the troops, blue-jackets, and marines engaged in it, as well as to that of its noble leader, proving what stern discipline and courage can effect, even in the most pestiferous of climates and against hosts of brave foes.

Lord Saint Maur, shortly after his return home, married Miss Lucy Rogers, and Archie Gordon became the husband of another of Jack’s daughters. Tom was supposed to be a confirmed bachelor, notwithstanding his early susceptibilities to female attractions, until, on going over to pay a visit to his old shipmate at Kilcullin Castle, he there met the Misses McMahon, the youngest of whom he married. Billy Blueblazes, who came to act the part of his best man, fell head over ears in love with the eldest—not the first Englishman under similar circumstances who has been captivated by one of Erin’s fair daughters, and she, discovering attractions which satisfied her, and the counsellor ascertaining that he was heir to a good estate, no objections were raised, and Billy became a happy benedict, quitting the service as a retired commander.

Tim Nolan and Pat Casey made their appearance at the castle one day, “just,” as they said, “to see how his lordship was getting on.”

“What are you going to do with yourselves, my good fellows?” asked Lord Saint Maur.

They twirled their hats and scraped their feet and acknowledged that they had not quite settled, except that they had made up their minds not to go to sea again.

On this Lord Saint Maur offered them cottages rent free, and employment on board his yacht in summer, and charge of his boats on the river which ran through his estate.

Jerry Bird obtained a pension and settled near Admiral Rogers, while Peter became butler to Billy Blueblazes. Indeed, a satisfactory account can be given of all the friends who have played a part in this history.

Soon after his return from Africa Captain Adair obtained his flag, and the “Three Admirals” remain, as they had been in their youth and through the whole of their career, the firmest friends, and, though they themselves are shelved, take the warmest interest in the glorious service in which they spent their lives, and in the welfare of their younger relatives and former followers.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Three Commanders"

Chapter One.

Murray’s Highland Home—A Visit from Admiral Triton—Adair and his Nephew appear—Murray appointed to the Opal, Adair First Lieutenant—Preparations for Departure—Admiral Triton and Mrs Deborah invite Mrs Murray to stay at Southsea—The Opal and her Crew—A Poetical Lieutenant—Parting between Miss Rogers and Adair—The Opal sails for the East Coast of Africa.

Alick Murray had not over-praised the Highland home of which he had so often spoken when far away across the wide ocean. The house, substantially built in a style suited to that clime, stood some way up the side of a hill which rose abruptly from the waters of Loch Etive, on the north side of which it was situated. To the west the hills were comparatively low, the shores alternately widening and contracting, and projecting in numerous promontories. The higher grounds were clothed with heath and wood, while level spaces below were diversified by cultivated fields. To the east of the house, up the loch, the scenery assumed a character much more striking and grand. Far as the eye could reach appeared a succession of lofty and barren mountains, rising sheer out of the water, on the calm surface of which their fantastic forms were reflected as in a mirror. Across the loch the lofty summit of Ben Cruachan appeared towering to the sky. The scenery immediately surrounding Murray’s domain of Bercaldine was of extreme beauty. At some little distance the hill, rising abruptly, was covered with oak, ash, birch, and alder, producing a rich tone of colouring; the rowan and hawthorn trees mingling their snowy blossoms or coral berries with the foliage of the more gigantic natives of the forest, while the dark purple heath, in tufted wreaths, and numerous wild-flowers, were interspersed amid the rich sward and underwood along the shore beneath. Behind the house were shrubberies and a well-cultivated kitchen-garden, sheltered on either side by a thick belt of pines; while in front a lawn, also protected by shrubberies from the keen winds which blew down from the mountain heights, sloped towards the loch, with a gravel walk leading to the landing-place. Murray had added a broad verandah to the front of the house, to remind himself and Stella of Don Antonio’s residence in Trinidad, where they had first met. Indeed, in some of its features, the scenery recalled to their memories the views they had enjoyed in that lovely island; and though they confessed that Trinidad carried off the palm of beauty, yet they both loved far better their own Highland home.

It was a lovely summer day, and Stella was sitting in the verandah with a small stranger, whom her faithful black maiden, Polly, had just placed in her lap. She was fully employed in bestowing on him those marks of affection which a loving mother delights in affording to her first-born. Alick stood by her side, watching her and their child with looks of fond pride. He had just come in from the garden, which it was one of his chief occupations to tend, and had taken off his gardening gloves, that he might pat his child’s cheek and tickle its chin to make it coo and smile. He might have been excused if he was proud of his boy, for he was a noble little fellow,—a “braw chiel,” as he was pronounced to be by his grand-aunt, Mistress Tibbie Mactavish, who had presided at his birth,—and likely to do no discredit to the name of Murray.

“The cutter ought to have been back by this time,” said Alick at length, looking at his watch; “Archie has had a fair tide from Oban, and a leading wind up the loch. I hope that he has not managed to run the Stella ashore. Ben Snatchblock knows the coast, and he himself should be pretty well acquainted with it.”

“Perhaps Mr Adair did not arrive at the time expected, and Archie would, of course, wait for him,” observed Stella.

“That may be the case,” said Alick, taking the telescope from a bracket on the wall, and looking through it down the loch. “There is no sail in sight like her, but I see a four-oared boat, which has just passed Bunaw Ferry, pulling up the loch. Can Adair by any means have missed the cutter, and be making his way alone to us?”

“Probably she contains a party of tourists on an excursion,” said Stella.

“She is, at all events, steering for Bercaldine,” observed Murray; “if she does not bring Paddy Adair, you will have the opportunity of exhibiting the small Alick to some other visitor. I will go down to the pier to receive him, whoever he is, with due honour.” Saying this, Murray, having bestowed a kiss on his wife’s brow, and given another tickle to his baby’s chin, which produced an additional coo of delight, hurried down to the landing-place, towards which the boat was rapidly approaching. He had his telescope in his hand. He stopped on the way to take another look through it.

“It is not Terence, but—who do you think?—our old friend, Admiral Triton!” he shouted out, as he looked back to his wife; and then hurried on to the landing-place, that he might be there before the admiral could step ashore. In a few minutes he was receiving the old man’s hearty grasp of the hand, as he helped him out of the boat.

“I had long promised to pay a visit to some friends in the Highlands, and I determined to make a trip a few miles farther and take you by surprise, for I knew that I should be welcome at whatever time I might arrive,” said the admiral.

“Indeed you are, my dear sir,” answered Murray; “most sincerely I say it. We are flattered by your visit.”

“Give me your arm, my boy, for I don’t walk up hill as easily as I used to do a few years back,” said the admiral, leaning somewhat heavily on the young commander as he stumped along with his timber toe. “Stay! by the bye, I must dismiss my crew,” he exclaimed, stopping short.

“Let them come up to the house first, admiral,” said Murray; “they would consider otherwise that we were forgetful of Highland hospitality at Bercaldine. You will find your way up to the kitchen, my lads, by yonder path,” he added, turning round to the boatmen. “The cook will have a snack for you before you pull back to Oban.”

The men touched their bonnets, and gratefully grinned their assent to the laird’s proposal, as they tumbled out of the boat; while Murray conducted Admiral Triton by the centre path, which led through the grounds to the house.

Mrs Murray, having deposited the wee Alick in the arms of Polly, stood ready to receive them.

“I am delighted to see you looking so bright and blooming, my dear Mrs Murray!” exclaimed the old admiral, shaking her warmly by the hand; “it shows that the Highland air agrees with you, notwithstanding your long sojourn in the West Indies.”

“Except in being more bracing, the climate differs but little from that to which I was accustomed in the north of Ireland till I grew up; and I was scarcely long enough in the West Indies to become acclimatised,” answered Stella, and a shade passed over her countenance as she recollected the trying scenes she had gone through during the time to which the admiral referred.

He observed it, and changed the subject. “And so you are expecting to see our old shipmate, Terence Adair?” he remarked, as he sat himself down in a chair which Murray placed for him. “I shall be heartily glad to shake him by the hand again, and to talk over old times. I haven’t forgot his making me carry his portmanteau for him, the rogue!” and the admiral chuckled and laughed, and told Stella the story while he rubbed his hands. “I made him pay, though. He thought he was going to do me out of that, but I was too sharp for him. Ha! ha! ha!” and he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. He was becoming more garrulous than before—another sign of advancing age, which Murray was sorry to observe. He told many of his old anecdotes, laughing as heartily at them as ever. He was interrupted by the appearance of Polly, who had been watching for an opportunity of introducing the baby, which she now brought to its mamma.

The admiral started up on seeing it. “What! I hadn’t heard of this small stranger!” he exclaimed; “is it a boy or a girl? A fine little creature, at all events! I congratulate you, my dear Mrs Murray, with all my heart. A sailor’s wife is all the better for a few small ones to occupy her thoughts when her ‘guid mon,’ as you call him in Scotland, is away from home; though I suppose you have no intention of letting Murray go to sea again just yet?”

“I hope not, indeed,” answered Stella, turning pale at the thought. “There are numberless officers who have nothing to do on shore, and he has plenty to occupy him.”

“But he ought to take a trip to sea, to prevent himself from growing rusty,” said the admiral. “We want the best officers to command Her Majesty’s ships, and he is among them. You will not contradict me on that point?”

“I am sure he is,” said Stella, with a sigh.

“Then, in case the Admiralty require his services, you will not dissuade him from accepting an appointment?”

“Oh, admiral, are they going to send him to sea?” exclaimed Stella suddenly.

“Not that I know of,” answered the admiral. “I have not been let into their secret intentions, and I don’t wish to act the part of a bird of ill-omen; though I confess that, were he to have the offer of a ship, I should advise him to accept it.”

Stella’s lips quivered. She had thought herself very heroic, and that she should be ready to sacrifice her husband for the good of his country; but when it came to the point, she could not bear the idea of parting from him.

Alick had gone round to see that the boat’s crew were attended to. On coming back, he took another glance through his telescope down the loch. “Here comes the Stella; we shall soon have Terence Adair with us!” he exclaimed.

“What brought him home?” asked the admiral. “Surely he went out with Jack Rogers to India?”

“He got an ugly wound in cutting out a piratical junk in the Indian seas,” said Murray. “It was a near thing for him, and the doctors insisted on his returning home as the only chance of saving his life; so he wrote me word in a few lines. But he is not much addicted to letter-writing; I, therefore, know no particulars. He will give us the account when he arrives.”

Murray stood watching the cutter, while the admiral continued talking to Stella. The little craft, a vessel of about twelve tons, had been built by the young commander soon after he settled at Bercaldine. What naval officer, who has the means in his power, would fail of possessing a vessel of some sort? She was not only a pleasure-yacht, but was useful as a despatch-boat to bring the necessary stores for the house from Oban, and served also for fishing in summer and for wild-fowl shooting in winter. She was a trim yacht, notwithstanding her multifarious employments. Ben Snatchblock, who acted as master, with a stout lad as his crew, was justly proud of her. He boasted that nothing under canvas could beat her, either on a wind or going free, and that in heavy weather she was as lively as a duck. Not a better seaboat could be found between the mainland and the Hebrides. Indeed, she had often been pretty severely tried; and on one occasion Murray had had the satisfaction of preserving the crew of a wreck on a dangerous reef, when no other craft was at hand to render them assistance. He had, of course, named his yacht the Stella; for what other name could he have thought of giving her? He now watched her with the interest which every seaman feels for the vessel he owns, as, close-hauled, she stood up the loch. Now a breeze headed her, and she had to make a couple of tacks or more to weather a point. Now she met a baffling wind, and it seemed impossible that she would do it. “Keep her close, Archie!” exclaimed Murray, as if addressing his cousin; “now keep her full again and shoot her up round the point. That will do it, lad. Capital! Another tack and you will have the wind off the shore; that is only a flaw. Put her about again. With two more tacks you will do it.”

The breeze freshening and proving steady, in a short time the Stella was near enough to enable Murray to distinguish Terence Adair and another person, in addition to those who had gone away in the yacht. As the jib and foresail were taken off her, she shot up to the buoy. Murray hastened down to the landing-place, in time to meet Adair and the stranger, whom Archie pulled on shore in the punt.

Adair sprang to land with much more agility than the old admiral had exhibited, and was warmly greeted by Murray. “As you told me that Archie was staying with you, I brought that broth of a boy, my nephew, Gerald Desmond, to bear him company and to help keep him out of mischief,” exclaimed Adair, turning round and pointing to his nephew, who hung back till his uncle had offered some explanation as to the cause of his appearance uninvited.

“Desmond, you have grown such a strapping fellow that I didn’t recognise you,” said Murray, putting out his hand. “You are welcome to Bercaldine, and we can easily stow you away in some odd corner or other, notwithstanding your inches. Will you come up to the house with us, or will you wait for Archie?”

“I will wait for Archie, sir, thank you,” answered Gerald; and Murray and Adair walked on.

“We have had sad times at Ballymacree,” said the latter, speaking in a much graver tone than usual for him. “Gerald only arrived a couple of weeks ago. Although he has grown so much, the climate of the China seas has played havoc with his constitution, and I didn’t like to leave him in a house of mourning. His mother died while he was away, and my poor sister Kathleen caught cold, and went off in a rapid consumption a few days after he arrived.”

“Your sister Kathleen! to whom Rogers was engaged!” exclaimed Murray; “I am truly sorry to hear it. What a blow for him, too, poor fellow! You said nothing about this in your letter, though I saw that you were in mourning.”

“Faith, I hadn’t the heart to do so,” answered Terence. “I knew that I’d have to tell you all about it, and so I thought it better just to ask the question whether I might come and see you, without saying more, knowing very surely what your answer would be, if I didn’t get it—which I didn’t, seeing I left home before it arrived; but I suppose it’s all right, as Archie said that you were expecting me?”

“Of course, my dear fellow,” said Murray. “Poor Jack! Have you written to him?”

“No, but Kathleen did, while she had strength to hold a pen; and her mother put in a few words to tell him that all was over. On my life, I couldn’t have done it. Things have gone badly, too, at Ballymacree in other respects. The old place must go, after all; and it will break my father’s heart, I am very certain. If we had had a good rattling war, and I had picked up lots of prize-money, I might have saved it. But that is not to be thought of. And then, my dear Murray, a little private affair of my own, which has put me out sadly. I wrote, when I first came home, to Lady Rogers, asking leave to pay a visit at Halliburton Hall. I got an answer from Sir John, very kind and very polite. At the same time, he gave me to understand that he considered it better I should not make my appearance there; in other words, that I wasn’t wanted. I fancied that Lucy had begun to care for me, and so Jack thought, I suspect, from what he said when I confessed to him that I was over head and ears in love with his sweet little sister, and had for her sake kept my heart intact, notwithstanding the fascinations of all the charming creatures we met with in the West Indies. So in truth, Murray, I am about as miserable a fellow as any in the three kingdoms just now.”

“I am very sorry to hear what you tell me,” answered Alick. “We will do our best to cheer you up; and our old friend, Admiral Triton, who arrived a couple of hours ago, will, I am very sure, lend a hand in the good work.”

Terence, having unloaded his heart of his griefs, had considerably regained his usual spirits by the time he had got up to the house, and had shaken hands with Stella and the admiral. While he was talking to the latter, Murray hinted to his wife not to ask questions about his family or the Rogers’, telling her briefly what had occurred. The admiral immediately attacked Terence about the old story of the portmanteau, and that led him into a whole series of yarns, laughing so heartily himself at them, that Adair was compelled to laugh also.

“You must give me a cruise in the Stella to-morrow, Murray,” he said; “she will be far the best style of locomotion for me, for these mountains of yours don’t suit me—and yet I should like to see something of the magnificent scenery surrounding you.” The proposal was at once agreed to, and Stella said that she should like to go also.

Archie and Desmond now arrived, and paid their respects to the admiral. Desmond was introduced in due form to the young heir of Bercaldine.

“Faith, Mrs Murray, he’ll be after making a fine young midshipman one of these days,” said Gerald, patting the baby’s cheek. “Won’t you just let Archie and me take him to sea with us next time we go afloat? We’ll watch over him as carefully as any she-nurse can do on shore, and teach him all manner of tricks.”

“I daresay you would,” said Stella, laughing. “His nautical experiences must be confined at present to a cruise on board the yacht now and then in fine weather, though I don’t forget the good care you took of Master Spider on board the Supplejack. By the bye, what became of your pet, may I ask?”

“Tom Rogers and I took him with us on board the Niobe. He was making immense strides in civilisation, having taken to sleeping in a hammock under bedclothes, and learned to drink tea in a teacup, when he was lost at sea in a gale of wind rounding the Cape. Tom tried to write a poem to his memory, but broke down, declaring that his feelings overcame him; though in truth he couldn’t manage to make even the two first lines rhyme, so that that might have had something to do in the matter.”

While Gerald was rattling on, Archie produced the letter-bag, which he had hitherto forgotten to give to Commander Murray. It contained several letters for him, as also others forwarded by his navy agent to Lieutenant Adair. Among them were two long, official-looking despatches, with the words, “On Her Majesty’s Service,” printed outside. Murray looked somewhat grave as he read his; at the same time, an expression arising from gratified pride appeared on his countenance.

Terence tore his letter open. “They don’t intend to let me rest on shore, at all events. I expected to have my promotion, however; but instead, their lordships send me off to sea again. I am appointed to the Opal, just commissioned at Portsmouth, as first lieutenant. I ought to be highly flattered; and, Desmond, my boy, you are to go with me.”

“The best thing that could happen to you; I congratulate you,” said the admiral. “And what news does your despatch contain?” he continued, to Murray. Without answering, Alick put the letter into the admiral’s hands, and, taking his wife’s arm, led her into the garden, where they were concealed from sight by the shrubbery.

“It will be a blow to her,” said the admiral, as he glanced over the official document; “still it is flattering to Murray, and, unless he has resolved to give up the service altogether, I could not wish him better luck. You and your old shipmate are not to be parted, Adair. He is appointed to the command of the Opal, and I have a notion that she will be stationed at the Cape, and probably sent to the East Coast of Africa, where there is work to be done, and prize-money to be picked up, not to be got every day in these piping times of peace. It is no easy matter, however, to catch those slippery Arab slavers, so you mustn’t count your hens before they are hatched. Still, the Opal is a fast craft, and if any man can do what is to be done, Murray will do it.”

“At all events, I am delighted to hear that I am to serve with him. I was anxious to be off to sea as soon as possible, and it makes amends to me for my disappointment in not getting my promotion.”

“I say, Archie, I suppose that you will be appointed to the same craft?” exclaimed Desmond.

“Nae doot about it, mon,” answered Archie; “I’ve a notion it’s the doing of our cousin, Admiral McAlpine, who returned home not long ago from the West Indies, and would of course have been looking after our interests, for he is a very kind man.”

“I suspect that Mrs Murray considers it a very cruel kindness,” observed the admiral; “but every sailor’s wife must be prepared to be parted from her husband, and to make the most of him when he is on shore.”

“He is a lucky fellow who has got a wife to be parted from,” said Terence, thinking of Lucy; “at all events, when he is away, he can look forward to the happiness of being again united to her, instead of having to come home, as is the lot of some of us, without anyone who cares for him to give him a welcome; so the favours of Heaven are very fairly divided, and in my opinion Murray has the best of it, though it may give him and his wife a severe pang to part from each other.”

“Here they come, and we shall learn how they have settled the matter,” observed the admiral; “but as duty has ever been my friend Murray’s guiding star, I am very sure that he will not allow his inclination to prevent him from acting as he thinks right, and, unless I am mistaken as to his wife’s character, she will not utter a word to prevent him.”

No one would have supposed from the countenances of Alick and Stella how much their hearts were agitated. “I am sorry, admiral, we must give up our projected cruise for to-morrow, and cut yours and Adair’s visit short, as we shall have much to do in preparing to leave Bercaldine, though I must beg you to stay as long as we remain,” said Alick, quite calmly. “We must treat you without ceremony; and I know, Adair, that you and Desmond will lend a hand in setting things in order for our departure.”

“Then you have made your mind up to accept the command of the Opal,” said the admiral. “I said it would be so; I was sure of it. I must compliment Mrs Murray, for there are some wives, who don’t love their husbands a jot the better, who would have turned the scale the other way. Duty, my lads, duty should carry everything before it,” continued the admiral, turning to the midshipmen. “Learn a lesson from your superiors, and never let anything induce you to swerve from duty!”

Murray, of course, had an immense amount of work to get through. It was at once settled that Stella should accompany him to Portsmouth, and should take up her residence in the neighbourhood during his absence. Bercaldine was to be let, and a tenant had to be found, arrangements made with the factor and grieve, and other retainers; various articles to be stored up, and others to be carried with them; the Stella to be laid up, and the horses to be sold.

A couple of days thus passed rapidly away, and, all working with a will, the party were ready to start. The rays of the sun, just rising above the lofty summits of the hills, glanced down the loch as they assembled on the landing-place with their dependents, and every cotter on the estate from far and near, who had come to bid them farewell. Many a tear was shed by the females of the family, as Mrs Murray, the baby and Polly, with the gentlemen of the party, embarked on board the Stella, which was to convey them to Oban. The men waved their bonnets, and uttered a prayer in Gaelic that the laird and his good wife and the “bairn” might be brought back to them in safety.

Sail was made, and the little craft glided away from her moorings with a fair breeze down the loch. Mrs Murray looked with fond regret at the lovely home she was leaving, though no longer the home it had been to her without her husband. The admiral, of course, did his best to keep up her spirits, and whatever Alick might have felt, he was as cheerful as if they were merely making a day’s excursion. The scenery around the home he loved so well looked even more attractive than ever. On the port hand Ben Cruachan rose proudly amid the assemblage of craggy heights which extended to the eastward along the shores of the loch. The ruins of Ardchattan Priory, covered with luxuriant ivy, and o’er-canopied by lofty trees, soon came in sight on the starboard side.

“The monks of old, wise in their generation, chose pleasant places for their residences,” observed the admiral, pointing to the ruins.

“They must have been of great benefit to the surrounding population in those turbulent times,” said Mrs Murray. “I have sometimes thought that it would be well if they still existed in districts where no landed proprietors live to look after the people.”

“Very well in theory, my dear madam,” said the admiral; “but we must take into consideration what human nature really is. Monks in many instances proved themselves to be arrant knaves, and among every assemblage of mortals such will ever be found in time to leaven the whole mass. These and friaries and convents were not abolished a day too soon; and, advanced as the present generation esteems itself, I am very sure that if we were to shut up a dozen men together, picked from among the most learned and enlightened students at our universities, or the same number of the most charming women to be found, and insist on their living as celibates to the end of their days, and devoting themselves to a certain routine of strict forms and ceremonies, they would very soon come to loggerheads, and do more harm to themselves and others than they could possibly do good. The wisest men in all the nations of Europe have seen the necessity of abolishing the conventual system, and I cannot suppose that English men and women are more likely to be holy and immaculate than the people of other countries. The whole thing is an illusion; and I am very sure that the system, if, as according to the wishes of some, it should again prevail in England, would only tend to the corruption of those who are beguiled by it, and to the dishonour of true religion.”

“You are right, admiral, and certainly my wife does not advocate the re-establishment of monasteries in this country,” remarked Alick.

“Oh no, no! I was thinking rather of the past,” said Stella; “and probably, if we could look into the interior of convents in their best days, we should see much to grieve and shock us.”

The tide was on the ebb, and as the cutter passed through the narrows at Connel Ferry, she pitched and tossed in the turbulent current, here forming a perfect race, in a way which put a stop to further conversation. The breeze being steady, she, however, with Murray’s skilful handling, ran through and glided forward on her course. Now Dunstaffnage Castle, standing on a slight elevation near the shore, came in sight—a picturesque ruin, its high walls and round towers rising boldly against the sky. Farther on appeared Dunolly Castle—an ivy-clad, square keep, in former times the seat of the Macdougals of Lorne; and now the cutter entered the bay of Oban, with the long island of Kerrera on the right, and brought up amid a fleet of small craft and coasters. A steamer on her way to Glasgow was waiting for passengers, and the party had just time to get on board before she began paddling on to the southward.

“You will take good care of the craft, Dougal,” said Ben Snatchblock, as he handed over his command to the old Highland skipper, into whose charge Murray had given the yacht: “cover her over carefully, and keep the sun from her in summer and the snow in winter, and we’ll have many a cruise in her yet when we come back from the East Indies.”

“Dinna fash ye, mon; she’ll no’ take harm under my charge,” said Dougal.

“Dougal has been somewhat jealous of Ben on account of his having been appointed to the yacht instead of himself,” remarked Alick.

Glasgow was reached before nightfall, and the next morning the whole party started by train for the south. Admiral Triton insisted on accompanying his friends to Portsmouth. “My sister Deborah and I have taken a house on Southsea Common for three years, and you and your wife and bairn must be our guests, and we have a room for Archie till it is time for him to take up his berth on board. You will cheer us up, and we old people want companionship, for I can’t get about as I once did; and the young fellows fight shy of me and don’t laugh at my yarns, as you and Jack used to do; and I say, Murray, if you want to do me a favour, you will let your wife stay on as our guest. The boy will be a great amusement to us both. We’ll not spoil him, depend on that. I then can come and go as I like. And when I am away, she’ll help to keep my good sister alive and cheerful. When Deb hasn’t me to look after, she’s apt to get out of spirits, and to be thinking about her own ailments—fancied more than real, for she is as hearty as she can expect to be at her age; while, if she has a guest and a little child to occupy her thoughts, she’ll be perfectly happy and contented; so, you see, you’ll be doing her and me the greatest possible favour. Don’t say no, but settle the matter at once.”

Murray, of course, thanked the admiral very heartily. He was sure that the invitation was given from the kindest of motives, and he fully believed that Stella would contribute greatly to the happiness of the old man and his sister, who, without kith or kin, required someone to solace them in their declining years. He seemed truly grateful when Murray, after talking the matter over with Stella, accepted his kind proposal.

“She mustn’t consider herself a mere visitor, but must be as much at home as if Deb were only her housekeeper—that is just what Deb will like. And I must be looked upon as their visitor when I come back from paying a visit to any of my friends who are still willing to receive me; though the only people on whom I can now depend to give me a hearty welcome are Sir John and Lady Rogers; they don’t get tired of my yarns, and Sir John laughs at them as heartily as he did many a long year ago.”

So the matter was settled; and, on reaching Portsmouth, Murray and Stella accompanied the admiral to his very comfortable house at Southsea, at the entrance door of which Mrs Deborah Triton—she had taken brevet rank—stood with smiling countenance ready to receive them. It overlooked Spithead and the Isle of Wight, with the Solent stretching away to the westward; the entrance to Portsmouth harbour, with steamers and vessels of all sizes running constantly in and out, being seen at no great distance off across the common. But Sister Deb, as the admiral generally called her, is more worthy of a description than the house. She was remarkably like her brother, except that she had two feet, whereas he lacked one; and that her still plump face was free from the weather-beaten stains contracted by his honest countenance during his days afloat. Her figure was short and round, exhibiting freedom from care—it was such, indeed, as only a good-natured person could possess; but her face was the index of her mind and heart. That bore an unmistakable expression of kindness, gentleness, and good-temper, which perfect faith in the simple truths of Christianity could alone give. Murray felt perfectly confident that his wife and child would be in good keeping during his absence, and his heart felt lightened of one of its chief cares.

Next morning, Murray, accompanied by Archie, went on board the Opal, which, having just been brought out of dock, lay alongside the hulk. She was still in the hands of the riggers’, who, busy as bees, swarmed in every part, rattling down the rigging, swaying up the topmasts, and getting the yards across. Her appearance in that condition was not attractive; but as he surveyed her with a seaman’s eye, he felt satisfied that she was a fast craft, and well calculated for the service on which she was to be sent.

“I have no wish to command a steamer, but I cannot help fancying that a pair of paddles would be more likely to catch the Arab dhows we are to go in search of than is the fastest craft under canvas,” he observed to Adair, whom he found on board.

They at once set to work to collect a crew, in which business Ben Snatchblock was especially active. Ben a few days afterwards received, to his satisfaction, his warrant as boatswain, his zeal being considerably enlivened thereby. He, before long, managed to pick up a number of prime hands from among his old shipmates, on whom he could thoroughly depend. The gunner and carpenter joined the same day he got his warrant. The former, Timothy Ebbs, was a little man, but he had a big voice and a prodigious pair of black whiskers, which, sticking out on either side of his face, gave him a sufficiently ferocious aspect to inspire ship-boys and other young members of the crew with the necessary amount of awe; while the able seamen respected him for his tried courage and undoubted nautical experience. Adair was very glad to find that Jos Green was appointed as master, as he had known him well when he was second master of the Tudor, in the West Indies, and a more merry, kind-hearted, better-disposed fellow never stepped. Jos, it was said, never went anywhere without finding friends, or came away without having made fresh ones. Adair, Archie, and Gerald, with all the officers who had as yet been appointed to the corvette, took up their quarters on board, and the work of fitting out made rapid progress.

“I wonder whom we shall have for our second lieutenant?” said Gerald, as they were sitting in the berth; “an old shipmate or a new one? I hope we may get a good sort of a fellow. I should like to have old Higson. What a good-natured chap he was!”

“That was when he was first promoted; he may have grown rusty by this time, at not getting another step,” observed Archie. “He is older than the captain, and yet junior to Mr Adair.”

On going on deck soon afterwards, an officer came up the side, who introduced himself to Terence as Lieutenant Frank Mildmay, come to join the Opal as second lieutenant. No two persons could be more dissimilar than the first and second lieutenants of the corvette. He had a smooth face with pink cheeks, whiskers curled to a nicety, and hair carefully brushed. His figure was slight and refined, and he wore lilac kid gloves, his appearance being certainly somewhat effeminate; indeed, he looked as if he had just come out of a bandbox.

“He’ll never set the Thames on fire,” observed Paddy Desmond to Archie. “Faith, the men will be after calling him Mr Mildman, unless he condescends to dip those delicate paws of his into the tar-bucket.”

The men probably looked on their second lieutenant with much the same feelings as did the two midshipmen; while he, regardless of what they thought of him, accompanied Adair into the gun-room to make himself acquainted with the rest of his messmates. The remainder of the gun-room officers and midshipmen joined the next day, and, the complement of the crew being made up, the corvette, casting off from the hulk, took up her moorings in the middle of the harbour. Of the new-comers, two small midshipmen, who had never before been to sea, Paddy Desmond immediately designated one “Billy Blueblazes,” in consequence of his boasting that he was related to an admiral of that name, while the other was allowed to retain his proper appellation of “Dicky Duff,” Paddy declaring that it required no reformation. An old mate who was always grumbling, and two young one who had just passed their examination, with an assistant-surgeon, two clerks, and a master’s assistant, made up the mess; and pretty closely stowed they were in the narrow confines of the berth. The only other person worthy of note was the third warrant-officer, the carpenter, who rejoiced in the designation of Caractacus Chessle, the name of the British hero having been bestowed on him by his father, who had once on a time been a stage-player. He was as tall and bulky as the gunner was short and wiry; indeed, the three warrant-officers formed a strange contrast with each other.

Murray frequently came on board to see how things were getting on, but never interfered with Adair’s arrangements. He was sometimes accompanied by Admiral Triton, who seemed to take almost as much interest as he did in fitting out the ship. The sails were now bent, and Murray waited in daily expectation of receiving his sailing orders. Meantime, the kind admiral and his sister were moved with the thoughts of poor Stella’s approaching bereavement, and, knowing nothing of Adair’s attachment, he got Deb to write to Lady Rogers, inviting one of her daughters to pay them a visit, and assist in taking care of Mrs Murray. As it happened, he said nothing of the first lieutenant of the Opal, and Sir John and her ladyship, supposing that Adair was at Ballymacree, made no objection to Lucy’s accepting the invitation. She accordingly, much to Murray’s satisfaction, arrived the very day the ship was ready for sea. It so fell out that Adair, who had managed to escape from his multifarious duties, and was not aware of her coming, called to pay a farewell visit at the house. He was ushered into the drawing-room, where a lady was seated with a book in her hand, though her eyes were oftener cast over the blue ocean than at its pages.

The servant announced his name; the lady rose from her seat, and gazed at him with a look in which surprise was mingled with pleasure, a rich blush suffusing her countenance. “Mr Adair!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand, which Terence took, and seemed very unwilling to relinquish. Nor did she withdraw it.

“I thought you were at Ballymacree,” she said. “I was very sorry that papa thought it right not to accept your proposal to pay us a visit at Halliburton while Jack was absent, but, believe me, he did not intend to be unkind.”

“I felt that, though it made me very unhappy,” answered Terence; “but did you wish me to come?”

“Yes,” said Lucy, “I should have been very glad to see you; I should not be speaking the truth if I did not say so.”

“Then, if I get my promotion and come back with lots of prize-money, may I hope—”

“Pray don’t speak about that,” answered Lucy, growing agitated; “I can make no promise without papa’s sanction, and I have already said enough to show that I am not indifferent to you.”

Terence was an Irishman, and Irishmen are not wont to be bashful, but at that moment Alick and Stella entered the room, not failing to remark the confusion their appearance created. Terence, of course, explained that he had called, not expecting to see Miss Rogers, but had come to pay his respects to Mrs Murray. She tried to send her husband out of the room, intending to follow, but he would not take the hint; and Terence, who had but a short time to spare, was compelled at length to pay his adieux without eliciting the promise he wished from Lucy. She looked very sorry when he had gone, but probably was the better able, from sympathy, to afford consolation to poor Stella, when the moment for her parting with her husband arrived. That moment came the very next day. It need not be dwelt on. Stella’s lot was that which numberless wives of naval officers have to endure; but, though widely shared, her grief was not the less poignant as she watched with tearful eyes through the admiral’s spy-glass the corvette under all sail standing down the Solent.

Chapter Two.

Crossing the Equator—Billy Blueblazes looks out for the Line, but does not see it—He and Gerald mastheaded—Tristan d’Acunha: Jos Green, as usual, “meets with a Friend”—The Opal at the Cape—Sails for Madagascar—Commodore Douce of the Radiant—A Boat Expedition up the Angoxa River—The Slavers’ Stronghold—Mildmay’s Sonnet interrupted by the Guns of the Fort—Attack on the Slave-Dhows—The Commodore is landed by Tom Bashan—Capture of the Fort—Crossing the Bar.

Her Majesty’s corvette Opal, under all sail, was slowly gliding across the line, for which Dicky Duff and Billy Blueblazes were eagerly looking out, Paddy Desmond having assured them that if they watched fast enough they would be sure to see it. Mr Mildmay, being addicted to poetry, was busily engaged in writing a sonnet on the subject, which, however, did not corroborate Gerald’s statement, as it began, “Ideal cincture which surrounds the globe;” but as he was interrupted by Ben Snatchblock’s pipe summoning the crew to exercise at the guns, the second line was not written, when Jos Green caught sight of the manuscript which he had left on the gun-room table.

“I say, Desmond, Dicky and I have been looking out this last hour or more for the line, and haven’t sighted it yet,” said Billy.

“Of course not; and you never will on deck. You should go to the fore-topgallant-masthead; you will see it clearly from thence, if you keep your eyes open wide enough; but if not, you have no chance.”

“But if we do, we shall miss Neptune’s visit. I suppose he’ll be on board us before long?” answered Billy.

“Of course he will, if he doesn’t happen to be otherwise engaged; but he has plenty of work on hand just now, and is just as likely as not paying a visit to some other ship away to the eastward. You see, he can’t be everywhere at the same time. Or maybe his children have got the measles or whooping-cough, and of course he wouldn’t like to leave them, especially if his wife happens to be out marketing. He’s a domestic old fellow, and the best of husbands and fathers. So you youngsters mustn’t depend on seeing him; and lucky for you, too; for his barber would be after shaving your chins off, seeing you’ve nothing else round your faces for him to operate on.”

Paddy, the rogue, knew very well that the commander did not intend to allow the once usual frolics and gambols to take place; the time-honoured custom having, of late years, been generally abandoned on board Her Majesty’s ships of war, as has the barbarous custom of burning Guy Fawkes been given up on shore by the more enlightened of our times; albeit the fifth of November and the lesson it teaches should never be forgotten.

The two midshipmen, who mustered a binocular between them, thus instigated by Paddy, made their way aloft, where, for their own pleasure, they remained looking out for Mr Mildmay’s “ideal cincture” with the utmost patience, though they would have grumbled greatly had they been ordered up for punishment. At length they were espied by the first lieutenant. “What are you two youngsters doing up there aloft?” he shouted.

“Looking for the line, sir,” was the answer, in Billy’s shrill voice.

“Then remain till you see it, or till I call you down!” cried Adair. “I say, Gerald, you’ve been after bamboozling those youngsters,” he added, as he caught sight of a broad grin on his nephew’s face. “Go up to the main-topgallant-masthead, and assist them in looking out for the line. Perhaps you will sight it sooner than they will, and it will help you to correct your day’s work.”

Gerald, pulling a long face, began to ascend the rigging, greatly to the amusement of Archie and his other messmates.

“I say, Adair, you’re somewhat hard upon the youngsters,” observed the commander, who had just then come on deck. “You remember that Rogers and you and I thought ourselves severely dealt with when we three had to grace the mastheads of the old Racer.”

“Faith, but I think we were rightly punished, and that’s the reason I sent Desmond aloft, and allowed the other youngsters to remain where they had gone of their own accord.”

“You forget that the sun is somewhat hot, and they may come down by the run and knock their brains out; so don’t you think it would be better to call them down presently, and give Master Gerald a lecture on the impropriety of playing on the credulity of his younger messmates?”

Of course Adair did as the commander wished, though he had some difficulty in keeping his countenance when he called up the three youngsters before him to receive his lecture.

“Remember, Master Desmond, if you begin by bamboozling, you may end by practising more serious deceptions on your fellows; so let me advise you in future to restrain your propensity in that direction,” he wound up by saying, with as grave a countenance as he could command. He then informed the youngsters that the line was only imaginary, to denote the sun’s course round the globe.

“An ‘ideal cincture,’ you will understand, youngsters,” observed the master, who had heard Adair’s remarks, giving at the same time a nod to Mr Mildmay, who blushed an acknowledgment of being the author of the poetical simile.

The two youngsters were very greatly disappointed when they found that they had got some way to the south of the line without having made acquaintance with Neptune and his charming family.

Rio was at length reached, and Gerald and Archie had time to pay visits, in company with the good-natured master, to many of the localities with which they were acquainted when there before, though unable to get up the harbour, as they wished to call on the officious old magistrate, the Juiz da Fora who had imprisoned them and Higson. They remained, however, only long enough to take in a stock of fresh provisions and water, and then steered eastward across the Atlantic to the Cape of Good Hope.

About sixteen days after leaving Rio, land was sighted.

“What, have we got to the Cape already?” exclaimed Desmond, who heard the cry from aloft.

“No, my lad; if you had been attending to your day’s work you wouldn’t have asked the question,” answered Green. “The land ahead is the island of Tristan d’Acunha, not the most delectable of spots for the residents, though I believe there are some on it. We are going to put in to get some more fresh mutton and beef, with any vegetables they are able to spare.”

“Hands shorten sail and bring ship to an anchor!” shouted Adair soon afterwards, and the corvette brought up before a green slope, spotted with small whitewashed buildings, the hill becoming more rough and craggy till it reached an elevation of eight thousand feet above the sea. The other side of the island, as they afterwards discovered, rose sheer out of the water in a vast precipice to the summit. Between the anchorage and the shore was a prodigious mass of enormous seaweeds, inside of which the water was perfectly calm, forming a safe harbour for small craft. Off it appeared two small islands, known as Inaccessible and Nightingale. To the latter, Billy and Dicky Duff were anxious to go and catch some of the birds, from which, as they were informed by the irrepressible Paddy Desmond, the island took its name. Its feathered inhabitants are, however, only the wild sea-fowl which seek their prey from among the denizens of the ocean.

“You will not find any friends here, Jos, I suppose?” said Adair to the master.

“It is possible, as I have never been off the place before,” answered Jos; “but still I am never surprised at meeting someone who knows me. Once, when pulling up the Nun, in Africa, on the first visit I paid to that delectable stream, as I happened to be remarking that I had no friends there, at all events, a black, who had swum off from the shore, put his head over the bows and exclaimed, ‘Massa Green, glad to see you. What! sure you ’member Jiggery Pop, who served aboard the Frisky, at the Cape?’ And sure enough I remembered Jiggery well, seeing that I had once picked him out of the water when he was near drowning, and he had served me the same good turn.”

While Jos was narrating this anecdote, a boat, pulled by half a dozen stout seamen in blue and red shirts, was coming off from the shore to the ship. Without ceremony they stepped on board, when one of them, coming aft, touched his hat to the master. “You’ll remember me, sir. Served with you aboard the Pantaloon. I’m Jerry Bird.”

“Glad to see you, Jerry; you saved me from being cut down when we had that affair out in the Pacific.”

“No, sir, I think it was t’other way,” said Jerry; “I haven’t forgotten it, I can tell you, sir.”

“Well, it was one or the other,” observed Green. “Tell me what brought you to this out-of-the-way place?”

“Couldn’t help it, sir—ship cast ashore, and I was the only one to get to land alive, and have been living here ever since; but, if so be the captain will ship me aboard, I’ll enter at once.”

As Jerry was a prime hand, the offer was not likely to be refused, and he was entered accordingly.

A boat with several officers visited the shore, making their way, not without difficulty, through the floating breakwater of seaweed. The inhabitants, consisting of about forty men, women, and children, gathered on the beach to welcome them in front of their little stone-boxes of dwellings which were scattered about here and there. They appeared to be a primitive race, the descendants of two old men-of-war’s men, who, having been discharged from the service at the end of the last century, had lived there ever since with wives whom they had brought from the Cape, their respective children and grandchildren having intermarried. Their wealth consisted in bullocks and flocks of sheep, which, having increased in the same proportion as their owners, were now very numerous. Their carcases, as well as the skins and wool, were exchanged for such luxuries as they required with the skippers of ships calling off their island. Here the old patriarchs, with their families, had dwelt for well-nigh half a century or more, knowing little of what was going forward in the world, and by the world unknown.

The Opal, having supplied herself with a stock of fresh provisions, once more weighed anchor, carrying off Green’s old shipmate, Jerry Bird, who seemed heartily glad to get away from his friends, whom he described in no very flattering colours. After a run of twelve days, the Opal came in sight of the Cape, but it was night before she dropped her anchor in Simon’s Bay. Dark masses of land were seen towering above her mastheads, and rows of light streaming from the maindeck ports of two frigates, between which she took up her berth; while the sound of bugles coming across the water betokened the neighbourhood of troopships, with redcoats on board, bound out to India, or returning home. It reminded those whose thoughts were with the loved ones in Old England, to lose no time in sitting down to their desks. Of course the commander wrote to his wife, and Adair humbly requested that he might be allowed to enclose a letter to Lucy, in case, as he observed, she might still be staying with Mrs Deborah Triton. They both also wrote to the kind old admiral.

As the morning broke, a ship was seen standing out of the harbour, and a boat sent with a well-filled letter-bag to overtake her. How hard the crew pulled! for they knew by the commander’s manner that he intended that letter-bag to be put on board. They did it, however,—as British seamen generally do whatever they are ordered,—though at no small expenditure of muscular strength, and, of course, received, well pleased, a glass of grog on their return on board.

The Opal remained but a short time at the Cape. Murray received orders to follow the Radiant, one of the frigates seen on the night of her arrival, to the Mozambique Channel, as soon as she had filled up with water and other stores.

The corvette made but a short stay, and again sailed for Saint Augustine’s Bay, at the southern end of Madagascar, which island was sighted in little more than a fortnight. The Radiant was found at anchor in the bay, Commodore Douce, who commanded her, having put in to water the ship.

Murray went on board to pay his respects and receive his orders, and numerous visits were exchanged between the two ships. The commodore, a remarkably small man with a fiery countenance, overshadowed by a prodigious cocked hat, was walking the deck with hasty strides as Murray came up the side.

“I have been expecting you here for three days, at least, Commander Murray,” he exclaimed, as Alick made his bow. “There is work to be done, and the sooner it is done the better. I have received notice that a piratical band of Arabs, who have long had possession of a strong fort up the river Angoxa, have a number of barracoons full of slaves and several dhows lying under the protection of their guns. I have resolved to make a dash up the river to cut out the vessels, capture the slaves, and destroy the fort.”

“I am very glad to hear it, sir,” answered Murray, “and will send my boats on shore to procure water immediately, so that we may be ready to sail with as little delay as possible. The men, when they hear the object, will work with a will, you may depend on that, commodore; and I trust that the crew of the Opal is not to be surpassed in smartness by that of any other ship in commission. I think that you will acknowledge that when you have an opportunity of judging.”

“Well, well, you brought to in very good style, I must confess that,” answered the commodore, who, though inclined to be irascible, was quickly appeased. “When you send your boats on shore, let the officers in command keep an eye on the natives, and take care that none of the crew stray. The people about here are treacherous rascals, and would murder anyone they could catch hold of without any provocation. I’ll send three of the frigate’s boats to assist you, and order the crew of one of them to remain on guard while the others are filling the casks.”

The news which Murray took when he returned on board made everyone alive. In a few minutes the boats were ready to shove off. The brown-skinned natives kept hovering about all the time, seeing the sailors engaged in filling the casks; and it was very evident that, had they dared, they would have treated their visitors as the commodore had thought probable. Not long before, in the bay, a short distance to the northward, the inhabitants had murdered an officer and boat’s crew, without, as far as could be ascertained, the slightest provocation. Murray was therefore thankful when his boats returned safely on board.

Leaving Saint Augustine’s Bay, the frigate and corvette sailed across the Mozambique Channel, and came to an anchor off the mouth of the Angoxa. During the passage, every possible preparation was made for the intended expedition; the firearms were looked to, cutlasses sharpened; the surgeons packed up their instruments, bandages, and medicines. The Arabs were not fellows to yield without a determined struggle, and some sharp fighting was expected. About midway across the channel, a thin wreath of smoke was observed to the southward. “A steamer in sight, standing this way, sir,” reported Adair to the commander. “The commodore has made the signal to heave-to.”

In a short time the steamer got near enough to allow her number to be made out. “The Busy Bee” reported Archie, who was acting as signal-midshipman. The commodore directed her to join company; her boats would be an important addition to the proposed expedition. The three vessels now stood on to the mouth of the river, off which they brought up, for the depth of water on the bar was not sufficient to allow even the Busy Bee to enter. The boats were therefore immediately lowered, those considering themselves most fortunate who had to go in them; and it was hoped that by pulling up at once the Arabs might be taken by surprise. The frigate sent four boats, the corvette three, and the steamer two of her paddle-box boats and a gig. The larger boats were armed with guns in their bows, capable of carrying shell, grape, and canister, as well as round-shot. The crews were provided with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses; and all formed a pretty strong body, against which the Arabs were not likely to make any effectual stand. All hands were in high spirits—there is nothing Jack enjoys so much as an expedition on shore, whether for fighting or for a game of cricket. Provisions for three days were stowed away in the boats, with plenty of ammunition, and numerous articles, including pots and pans for cooking, blanket-frocks and trousers, blankets and other means for making themselves comfortable at night. The surgeons did not forget a supply of quinine to mix with the men’s grog, the only way in which they could be induced to swallow the extract, albeit the only reliable preventive for fever.

Jos Green was much disappointed at being compelled to remain in charge of the corvette. “I fully expected to find some old friend or other among the Arabs or captured slaves; however, give my kind regards to anyone who knows me, and say I shall be happy to see them on board,” he exclaimed, as Terence went down the side.

Murray went in his gig, accompanied by Archie; Adair had command of the pinnace, a mate and Desmond going with him; Mr Mildmay commanded the cutter, accompanied by Billy Blueblazes; and Dicky Duff was in the boatswain’s boat. The commodore led the expedition in his own gig, in the stem of which sat, as coxswain, Tom Bashan, noted as the biggest man in the fleet—even the carpenter of the Opal looked but of ordinary size alongside him. He had followed Captain Douce from ship to ship, and had often rendered his commander essential service, when the little man might otherwise have come to serious grief. Bashan had the affection for his chief which a nurse entertains for the child under her charge, and considered it his especial duty, as far as he had power, to keep him out of harm—not that the commodore ever suspected that his subordinate entertained such a notion; he always spoke of him as an honest, harmless fellow, who knew his duty and did it.

The bar being tolerably smooth, the boats crossed without any accident, the crews giving way with a will up the river. The tide was flowing, so they made rapid progress.

“This is something like our expedition up the San Juan de Nicaragua,” observed Desmond to Adair. “Except that we had white fellows to fight instead of Arabs, and a hot stream to pull against instead of having the tide with us.”

“The tide will turn before long,” answered Adair; “and if the boats get aground we may find these same Arabs rather tough customers. However, we must look out to avoid the contingency, and if we can take the fellows by surprise, we may manage to get hold of a good number of slaves.”

The tide before long, as Adair predicted, began to ebb, and the boats made much slower progress than before. It was nearly nightfall when they got up to Monkey Island, inside of which the commodore ordered them to anchor; the boats being brought up close together, the awnings were spread, the mainbrace spliced, and other preparations made for passing the night. An extra allowance was served out to induce the men to swallow the quinine mixed with it; for though some made wry faces, their love of grog induced them to overcome their objection to the bitter taste.

After the grog, songs were sung alternately by the crew of each boat, the commodore, who had nothing of the martinet about him, being always ready to encourage his men to amuse themselves harmlessly; and they were yet too far off from the fort to run any risk of their approach being betrayed by their voices.

“Sweethearts and wives,” sung out a voice from one of the boats, and was taken up by the rest, as the last drop of grog was drained. Murray and Adair drank the toast heartily, though in a less demonstrative manner than their companions, who possibly might have been very little troubled with the thoughts of either wives or sweethearts. No one for the time dwelt on the somewhat serious work on which they were likely to be engaged the next day. At length, each man looked out for the softest plank he could find, and turned in to sleep, the officers enjoying no more luxurious couches than their inferiors; to some poor fellows it might be the last rest they were to take here below.

A look-out, however, was kept, in case any of the Arab dhows should slip down the river. Two of the gigs were sent alternately ahead to watch for any craft which might come in sight. None, however, were seen, and just as the first streaks of daylight appeared in the sky, the commodore gave the order to “pipe to breakfast.” Fires were lighted on the island, and cocoa and coffee warmed up, while another dose of quinine was served out to each man.

The operation did not take long, and once more the flotilla advanced, the tide carrying them rapidly up the river. About noon, as the sun was beating down with tremendous force, Angoxa came in sight, with, as the commodore had expected from the information he had received, several dhows at anchor before it under the protection of its guns. Directly the boats rounded the last point, which had before concealed their approach, the red flag was hoisted above the fort, and at the same time the loud sounds of the beating of tom-toms and drums commenced, continuing incessantly, as if to intimidate the English tars and induce them to pull back again to their ships.

The men laughed. “What a row them niggers do kick up! I wonder whether they think we’re going back frightened by all their tom-tomming. We’ll show them presently that we’ve got some chaps aboard which will bark not a little louder and do a precious deal more harm,” exclaimed Ben Snatchblock, who accompanied Mr Mildmay in one of the Opal’s boats. That young officer took things very coolly. He was observed with his notebook jotting down his thoughts, but whether in the form of a poetical effusion or not, Billy Blueblazes, who was beside him, could not ascertain, though he tried hard to do so.

“The great Wolfe recited poetry when about to die in the arms of victory on the heights of Abraham,” observed Mr Mildmay to the midshipman; “do you recall the lines to your memory, Billy? What were they?”

“I think, sir, they were something about ‘the curfew tolling the knell of parting day,’ but I can never recollect more of the poem.”

“Ah! so they were—let me see,” and the lieutenant bit the end of his pencil. “‘As Britain’s tars who plough the mighty deep.’”

“‘Sheep’ or ‘sleep’ come in rhyme with ‘deep,’” suggested Billy.

“Be silent—I want a grander term,” said the lieutenant. “‘Where waves on waves in wild confusion leap’—that’s fine isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Billy. “We’re up an African river, and are going to lick a lot of blackamoors; you’ll have a difficulty in bringing blackamoor into your lines, I’ve a notion.”

“Of course I should call them Arabs, their proper designation, when I get as far,” replied Mr Mildmay.

Just then the boat grounded, as did several others near her, and there the whole flotilla lay in sight of the fort, outside of which appeared a number of barracoons, but whether full of slaves or not it was impossible to say. The unavoidable delay of the leading boats enabled the others to overtake them; and as the tide rose, their crews shoved them over the shoals, and once more they advanced in line abreast. Their progress was slow; again several of the larger boats grounded, and the whole, consequently, had to wait till the rising tide floated them. The next time they grounded, the Arabs seemed to have discovered that they were within range of the eight guns mounted on the fort, as well indeed as the muskets of the large party sent out along the bank. The latter, as well as the guns in the fort, now began blazing away, shot and bullets flying thickly over and around the boats. Mr Mildmay at this juncture thought it as well to put his notebook into his pocket. The boats’ guns, however, were not to be idle; the commander gave the order to fire, and immediately they opened with spherical case-shot, grape and canister, the former thrown with great accuracy into the middle of the fort, while the latter quickly sent some of the swarthy heroes under shelter, and put the greater number to flight. Several of the men in the boats had been hit, which excited the eagerness of the crews to get at the foe. The first thing, however, to be done was to destroy the dhows. As the boats worked their way up over the shoals towards them, a hot fire was opened from those lowest down. This was quite sufficient to show their character, and the marines and small-armed men began peppering away at every Arab turban or cap of which they could catch sight, while the shells and grape prevented the enemy from returning to their guns in the fort. The tide, rushing in more rapidly than before, quickly enabled the smaller boats, led by Adair, to get up to the dhows. He was the first on board the largest, a craft of a hundred tons or more. Her crew, having had no time to escape, fought desperately. Some were cut down, and the rest driven overboard, not a human being remaining alive on board. She was at once set on fire, and the rest of the dhows were attacked in the same manner in succession. On board, some resistance was offered, but the crews of others, leaping overboard, attempted to save themselves by swimming to the shore. As there was no object in carrying any of them off, they were all burned, there being no doubt of their piratical character.

Though the guns in the fort were for the time silenced, they were still capable of mischief, and the commodore wisely resolved entirely to destroy the hornets’ nest. “We must land, Commander Murray, and drive the enemy into the woods, burn their stockade, spike their guns, and tumble them into the river,” he shouted. The first part of the business, on which the rest depended, was not so easily accomplished. The banks shelved so gradually that the boats grounded when still some twenty yards or more from the shore. The rising of the tide would in time carry them nearer; but in the interval they were exposed to a galling fire from the enemy, who were under shelter both in the fort and in several other spots along the bank; while, in all probability, before the fighting on shore was over the tide would again ebb and leave the boats high and dry, exposed to the attacks of the numerous bands who were gathering on the spot in the hope of wreaking their vengeance on their foes. Still the plucky little commodore, in spite of all risks, was determined to carry his plan into execution. The commanders of the boats received orders to sweep round in line, run their bows as far up as they could, and while the enemy were driven from the banks by showers of grape and canister, the marines and small-armed men were to land and attack them with the bayonet should they attempt to make a stand.

The order was quickly obeyed; the guns from the larger boats sent forth so deadly a shower of missiles that the Arabs, who were coming down in force to dispute their landing, took to flight, leaving many dead and wounded. The difficulty was now to get on shore; the bottom was likely to be muddy, the water tolerably deep. Murray and Adair, with their boats’ crews, were among the first to gain a footing on dry land. The commodore was eager to be up with them, but, at the same time, was very unwilling to get wet. Tom Bashan, having stepped out into the mud, received orders from his chief to lift him on his shoulders and carry him on shore. Tom, who had his musket in his right hand, did as he was ordered by taking the little commodore up with his left arm and placing him behind his back, where the brave leader of the expedition sat, his head just above Tom’s grinning countenance, while he waved his sword with no little risk of cutting off his coxswain’s nose, shouting in his eagerness, “On, my lads! on! form on the beach as you land—skirmishers to the front. Now let the brown-skinned rascals see what British sailors are made of!”

The marines, who had landed by the time the commodore had been deposited by Tom on the ground, formed in good order, with parties of bluejackets on either flank. The Arabs appeared to be taken completely by surprise, never apparently supposing that the British would leave their boats. They had halted at some distance, and looked a formidable body, ten times more numerous than those who were about to attack them; while the commodore, nothing daunted, waving his sword and dashing forward, shouted, “Charge, my lads! charge!”

The British bayonets gleamed brightly in the sun, as, with steady tramp, the line of redcoats and bluejackets advanced at the charge. The Arabs fired a round, the scimitars of their leaders flashing for a few seconds, and then, unable to face the bristling wall of bayonets, their courage gave way, and they fled helter-skelter for safety towards the neighbouring woods. The English pursued them for some distance, firing as they advanced, and halting only to give sufficient time to reload. If they advanced too far, as the fort was yet unsubdued, there was a risk of a sally being made from it and the boats being destroyed. The commodore, carried away by his ardour, had already gone farther than was wise. Discovering his error, he ordered his followers to fall back as rapidly as possible on the boats.

Just then a strong body of men were seen issuing from the fort. Not a moment was to be lost, or they might reach the boats. The commodore was pretty well blown by his recent exercise, but, putting forth all his strength, he led his men back even faster than they had come. As soon as the enemy saw their approach, they hastily retreated within the stockades.

“Now, my lads,” cried the commodore, “we have the last part of the business to accomplish. Before a quarter of an hour is over, we must be inside that fort. I know that you can do it, and will do it.”

The men replied by a loud cheer, and advanced, in high spirits at their previous success, towards the stockades. The Arabs, who had seen their friends beaten, lost heart from the first; and though they defended the stockades for some minutes with considerable bravery, they quickly took to flight as the bluejackets came tumbling down over their heads, cutlass in hand. In a few minutes the place was won, the garrison escaping by a western gate, as the English forced their way in over the eastern side. The commodore’s first impulse was to follow the enemy, but there were still too many people in the fort to make such a proceeding safe. The non-combatants, women and children, received orders to take themselves off with such of their personal property as they could carry, an act of leniency which surprised them not a little. In a short time not a single inhabitant remained behind.

The guns were then spiked and dragged to a part of the fort directly over the stream, into which they were tumbled, and from whence it would give the Arabs no small amount of trouble to fish them out again. The place was next set on fire in every direction, when the party, each man carrying such booty as he had managed to pick up, left the fort to the destruction awaiting it. The flames spread amid the wooden and thatch-roof buildings, till the surrounding stockades caught fire, and the whole hornets’ nest was one sea of flame.

The barracoons, from which the slaves had, as it was expected, been removed, were treated in the same manner, when the commodore, highly satisfied with the result of the expedition, ordered the men to embark. To get the heavy boats afloat, however, was no easy matter; the tide had already begun to ebb; it seemed very doubtful whether they could be got off, till the crews, putting their shoulders under the gunwales, lifted them by sheer strength into deeper water. Before a single man attempted to get on board, the gallant commodore, who, though not afraid of the hottest fire, had an especial dread of getting wet, was again carried for some distance on Bashan’s shoulders, till he was safely deposited in the sternsheets of his boat, where the giant, with dripping clothes, followed him.

Further delay would have been dangerous, as, the channel being unknown, the boats might at any moment get aground, and be left there by the rapidly-falling tide. It was, besides, important, for the sake of the wounded men, to return as soon as possible to the ships. Although not a man had been hit on shore, either when attacking the enemy in the open or storming the fort, during the first part of the day several casualties had occurred; two poor fellows had been killed, and six others had been wounded, one very severely. Excepting, however, on board the boat in which the dead bodies lay, the men were in as high spirits as usual, exulting in the success of the expedition. Now and then they restrained their mirth, as first one and then another of the boats grounded, and there seemed a probability that the rest would share their fate. They, however, were got off, and the flotilla continued its course down the stream, one boat following the other in line.

They reached their anchorage inside Monkey Island soon after darkness came on. Though the water was here of sufficient depth, even at low tide, to allow the boats to keep afloat, and, the dhows having been destroyed, they could not be assailed from above, still their dangers and difficulties were not over; for, should their position be discovered, a force might gather on the banks, and cause them considerable annoyance. During the night, therefore, the men were ordered to keep their arms by their sides, ready for instant use—it being impossible to say at what moment they might be attacked.

The bar, also, had to be crossed. It was sufficiently smooth when they came over it, but how it would be on their return was the question. Those who had before been on the coast declared that they had frequently seen a surf breaking over it in which even a lifeboat could scarcely live.

“Faith, Archie, we’ve had a jolly day of it,” remarked Desmond, whose boat was lying alongside that of the commander of the Opal; “if this is the sort of fun we’re generally to have, I’m mighty glad we came out here.”

“Small fun for the poor fellows who have been shot,” answered Archie; “I hear one of them groaning terribly; the sooner we get back to the ships the better for them.”

“Faith, it isn’t pleasant to have a shot through one, and I hope that won’t be our lot,” said Desmond. “I only wish Tom Rogers was with us. From what I hear, the boats of the squadron are constantly sent away on separate cruises to look after slavers, and it would be capital if we could get sent off on a cruise together—much more amusing than having to stick on board the ship with the humdrum, everyday routine of watches and musters and divisions.”

To this, of course, Archie agreed. The youngsters, forgetting that their commander was close to them, were chattering away in somewhat loud voices, when Murray ordered them to knock off talking, and to turn in and go to sleep. The night passed away quietly, and all hoped to get on board their respective ships at an early hour the next morning.

After the men had breakfasted on the island, the squadron of boats, led by their gallant commodore, pulled down with the ebb towards the mouth of the river, up which a stiffish breeze was blowing, just sufficient to ripple over the surface of the water glittering in the rays of the rising sun. On either hand rose a forest of tall trees, their feathery tops defined against the clear blue sky. In a short time the ships could be discerned in the offing, rolling their masts ominously from side to side, while ahead rose a threatening wall of white foam, extending directly across the river’s mouth. The crew of the commodore’s boat ceased pulling, and the other boats as they came up followed their example.

“Here we are, caught like mice in a trap, gentlemen!” exclaimed Adair, as Murray and the commander of the Busy Bee came up alongside him.

“It will be madness to attempt forcing the boats through yonder breakers; the largest would be swamped directly she got among them,” observed Murray. “It’s now nearly low tide; but perhaps at the top of high-water they may prove less formidable, and we may be able to get out. We shall, at all events, have to wait till then.”

As the boats, during this conversation, had been carried somewhat close to the dangerous breakers, the commodore ordered them to pull round and to make their way some little distance up the river, where the men could lie on their oars and wait for an opportunity of crossing the bar. Many an eye was turned towards the shore, where a game of leap-frog or some other amusement could be indulged in, but not a spot appeared on which they could land. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, his rays beating down on their heads and blistering their noses and cheeks, while the stock of water and other liquids which had been brought rapidly diminished.

“I hope that we shall be able to get out when the tide rises,” said Desmond to Adair; “if not, I’ve a notion that we shall be pretty hard pressed.”

“So have I,” said Adair; “but it is possible that the bar may remain in its present state for several days together, and, if so, we shall have to forage on shore for whatever food we can pick up. It may not be so easy to find pure water, though.”

“For my part, I should be ready to drink ditch-water,” exclaimed Desmond; “I never felt so thirsty in my life.”

Many others were in the same condition as Paddy, but no one complained. A small quantity only remained, which was willingly given up for the use of the poor wounded men, who of course suffered greatly. Hour after hour passed by, and anxious eyes were cast at the white wall of surf, which cut them off from the blue ocean beyond; its summit, dancing and leaping, glittered brightly in the sun’s rays.

At length, the tide rising, the breakers appeared to decrease somewhat in height. “I think, sir, that I could carry my gig through,” said Murray, “and, if so, the heavier boats may be able to follow.”

“You may make the attempt, provided all your people can swim, for your boat may be swamped,” said the commodore; “but as the tide is rising, you will be drifted back, and we must be ready to pick you up.”

“All my boat’s crew are good swimmers,” said Murray, “but I hope they will not be compelled to exercise their powers.”

Murray, having placed the remainder of the stores, with all unnecessary weight, on board the larger boats, prepared to make the bold attempt; Adair and Snatchblock following him, as close as they could venture, to the inner line of breakers. Standing up and surveying the bar for some minutes, he at length selected a part where the rollers which came in from the ocean appeared to break with less violence than on either hand.

“Give way, my lads,” he cried suddenly; and the crew bending to their oars, the boat shot quickly up the foaming side of the first of the formidable watery hills which had to be passed before the open sea could be gained. His progress was watched with intense eagerness by those in the other boats. Now she was lost to sight, as she sank into a valley on the farther side of the inner roller; now she rose to the foaming summit of the next.

“He’ll do it!” cried the little commodore, standing up in the sternsheets, that he might the better watch the progress of the young commander’s boat, and clapping his hands like a midshipman. The more dangerous part of the bar, however, had not yet been reached; still Murray continued his course. Now the summit of another roller was gained, the white foam hissing and sparkling over the boat, and almost concealing her from sight.

“She’s capsized after all, and they’ll have a hard swim of it,” shouted someone.

“No, she isn’t,” cried another voice; “I see her bows rising up on the outer roller. In another minute she’ll be clear of them.”

“Bravo! well done!” exclaimed the commodore, dancing with delight; “she’s through it, and will soon be on board the Busy Bee.”

The officer in charge of the steamer, it should be said, not finding the boats at the time expected, had, according to orders, got up steam and stood in to ascertain what had become of them.

“Now, my lads,” cried the commodore, “what the gig has done we can do. I’ll bring up the rear, and be ready to help any boat which may meet with an accident. The post of most danger is the post of honour, which I claim for myself; for those in the last boat will have less chance of being rescued than any of the rest.”

Adair was the next to attempt the hazardous experiment. His boat was half filled, but he got through without being swamped, and the water was baled out. The rest in succession followed, each officer waiting for a favourable opportunity to steer through the line of surf.

Chapter Three.

Mozambique—Visit to the Governor—Hamed, the Interpreter—Escape of a Slave to the Opal—Preparations for Sharp Work—A Slave Dhow in Sight—Her Wreck—Adair after her through the Breakers—Several of the Slaves rescued—Ben Snatchblock attempts to comfort them—His Efforts not appreciated—Return to the Ship—Horrible State of the rescued Blacks.

While the frigate stood to the northward, and the Busy Bee buzzed across to Madagascar, the Opal stood for Mozambique, where Murray had to obtain an interpreter, to pick up all possible information regarding the movements of slavers. Two days afterwards the corvette came to an anchor off the chief settlement of the Portuguese on that coast.

The town stands on an island, about a mile and a half in length, situated on a deep inlet of the sea, into which several small rivers fall. The harbour is of considerable size, its entrance guarded by a fort, beyond which appeared an avenue of trees on a gentle slope, then a collection of flat-roofed whitewashed houses, then the palace of the Portuguese governor, with pink walls, and a considerably dilapidated cathedral, below which a stone pier, with buttresses of a sugar-loaf form, runs out into the sea.

“Not a very attractive-looking place,” observed Terence to his brother lieutenant, as they viewed it from the ship.

“Yet it speaks of the bygone magnificence of the once proud Lusitanian,” answered the poet. “I must write some lines on the subject. The place is not without interest.”

“Those dhows, and low, dark, piratical-looking schooners, have considerably more interest to us, however,” said Adair; “they are not employed in any honest calling, depend on that; and there lie two Spaniards and a Yankee. If they have no slaves on board, they will have before long, and we must do our best to catch them. We must depend on our own wits, though, for it’s impossible to get any correct information from the Portuguese officers—they are most of them as arrant slave-dealers as the Arabs themselves. That man-of-war schooner, for instance, is much more likely to help the slavers to escape than to assist us in catching them, and is very likely often employed in bringing off a cargo of ebony from the shore.”

The schooner he pointed at was a handsome vessel, with a thoroughly piratical look about her. However, she formed a strong contrast to the Arab dhows by which she was surrounded. They were of all sizes, the largest measuring, perhaps, three hundred and fifty tons.

“If I had to describe a dhow, I should say that her shape was like half a well-formed pear, cut longitudinally,” observed Adair, looking towards the large craft over the quarter, which lay at some little distance, and was preparing apparently to put to sea. “See, her bow sinks deeply in the water, while the stern floats lightly upon it. Large as that craft is, she is only partially decked. She has cross-beams, however, to preserve her shape, and on them are laid flat strips of bamboo, which enable the crew to make their way from one end to the other. At the afterpart she has a large house, lightly built, the roof of which forms a poop, while the interior serves, I have no doubt, for the cabin of the skipper, and probably for his wives and children, as well as his passengers and the whole of his crew. She has a heavy, rough spar for a mast, tapering towards the head and raking forward. The sail which they are now just hoisting is, in shape, like a right-angled triangle, with a parallelogram below its base; the hypothenuse or head of the sail is secured to a yard, like an enormous fishing-rod; the halyards are secured to it about a third of the way from the butt-end, and it is hoisted close up to the head of the mast. A tackle brings down the lower end of the yard to the deck, and serves to balance the lofty tapering point, while the sheet is secured to the lower after-corner of the sail. Though many of the smaller dhows have only one mast, that big fellow has two, with a sail of the same shape as the first, but more diminutive. The larger sail is of preposterous proportions, and it seems wonderful that she can carry it without being capsized. It appears to be formed of a strong soft cotton canvas, of extreme whiteness. Those vessels don’t tack, but when beating to windward wear by putting up the helm and taking the sheet round before the yard and bringing it aft again on the other side; the deepest part of the dhow being, as you see, under the foremast, it forms a pivot round which the shallow stern, obeying the helm, rapidly turns. Clumsy as they look, I hear that these craft are wonderfully fast, and, with the wind free, will put us on our mettle to overhaul them.”

“I should like to judge for myself on that point,” observed Mildmay. “Fellows who have allowed prizes to escape them always declare that the craft they have chased is faster than anything afloat.”

“I hope we shall have the chance before long,” said Adair; “we must keep a bright lookout from the ship and try to do what we can. The commander intends running down the coast, and then despatching all the boats which can be spared to look into the creeks and harbours, and other hiding-places in which any slavers are likely to take shelter. I should like to go on such an expedition myself, if the commander can spare me, shouldn’t you?”

“No, thank you,” answered Mildmay; “I’ve no fancy for going away and sleeping in an open boat, without a change of linen or any of the necessaries of life.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to do my duty on board, and volunteer to command the first expedition sent away,” said Adair; “you’ll take good care of the ship in the meantime.”

“Ah, yes!—though I have never aspired to the post of first lieutenant,—to oblige you,” said Mildmay.

“Thank you,” answered Adair, laughing.

In the afternoon the captain and lieutenants went to pay their respects to the Portuguese governor, and Desmond and Archie were invited to accompany them. Landing on the stone pier before described, they made their way along the narrow, dirty streets, which literally swarmed with slaves. There were faces of every form, if not of colour, for all were black as jet; their faces disfigured in every variety of manner, some with lip-rings, others with rings in their noses, and some with pieces of bone stuck spritsail fashion through the cartilage. Some, instead of bone, wore brass-headed nails, while many had pieces of bone through their ears. The faces of others were fearfully gashed, a yellow dust filling up the grooves.

Mozambique, indeed, is the chief slave-mart of the Portuguese, and thousands of unhappy beings are kidnapped and brought there from all parts of the interior, ready to be shipped to any country where slave-labour is in demand.

The English officers found the Portuguese governor seated in a broad verandah, in an easy chair, smoking a cigar, and enjoying the sea-breeze, while sheltered from the hot sun. He received them courteously, begging them to be seated, and ordering coffee and cigarettes, which were immediately brought by his slaves, the latter accompanied by a plate of hot charcoal, from which to light them. He expressed himself gratified by their visit, and assured them that his great desire was to put down the slave-trade; but, shrugging his shoulders, he acknowledged that it was no easy matter. “In spite of all I can do,” he added, sighing, “my subordinates will indulge in it. What can be expected? They do not like the country, and are naturally in a hurry to make their fortunes and get away again. It is a second nature to the Arabs, and their chief mode of existing; and as long as the French and Brazilians and Cubans will buy slaves, what can prevent it? The former, to be sure, ship them as emigrants and free Africans, though not a negro would leave his country if he could help it.”

The governor was so frank, and apparently so sincere in his offers of assistance, that Murray told him one of his chief objects in coming to Mozambique was to obtain an interpreter who could thoroughly be trusted.

“I know the man for you,” said the governor; “though not a beauty, he is worthy of confidence—knows the whole coast and the tricks of the slave-dealers, and would obtain for you all the information you require. I’ll give directions to have him sent on board, and you can there make any arrangements you think fit.”

Murray having thanked the governor for his courtesy, he and his party took a walk round the island. “Faith, for my part, I’d rather be first lieutenant of the Opal than governor-general of all the Portuguese settlements in the East put together,” exclaimed Adair; “for of all the undetectable places I ever set foot in, this surpasses them in its abominations.”

Soon after they returned on board, an individual, who announced himself as the interpreter sent by the governor-general of Mozambique to serve on board Her Majesty’s warship, came up the side.

“And what’s your name, my fine fellow?” asked Murray, as he eyed the unattractive personage. The governor had certainly not belied him when he described him as destitute of good looks. On the top of his grisly head he wore a large white turban. His colour might once have been brown, but it was now as black as that of a negro, frightfully scarred and marked all over. He had but one eye, and that was a blinker, which twisted and turned in every direction when he spoke, except at the person whom he was addressing. His lips were thick, his nostrils extended—indeed, his countenance partook more of the negro than of the Arab type. His feet were enormous, with toes widely spread. He wore a loose jacket, striped with blue, over a dirty cotton coat reaching to his knees, and huge blue baggy trousers.

“Me Haggis ben Hamed at your sarvice, Señor Capitan,” he answered, making a salaam; “me undertake show where you find all the slaves on the coast, and ebbery big ship and dhow that sails.”

“And what payment do you expect for rendering us these services?” asked Murray.

“Forty pesados for one month, sar; eighty, if I take one dhow; and hundred and sixty, if I help you to one big ship.”

“Pretty heavy payment, Master Hamed,” observed Murray.

“Ah, Señor Capitan, you not take one vessel without my help—you see,” answered the interpreter, drawing himself up and looking very important. Murray suspected that he was right, and finally agreed to pay the reward demanded. From that moment Hamed was installed on board.

As a fair breeze blew out of the harbour, Murray was in a hurry to be off. The pilot, however, asserted that he could not venture to take out the ship except during broad daylight. The Opal had therefore to wait till the next morning. The pilot accordingly took his departure, promising to come off again at an early hour. Some time after sunset, Adair and the master were walking the deck, discussing the plan of their proposed boat excursion, to which the commander had agreed, when, as they turned aft, they caught sight of the dark figure of a man who had just climbed over the taffrail, and now stood quaking and shivering before them.

“Where do you come from, my friend?” asked Jos; but the stranger did not reply, except by an increased chattering of his teeth, though he put up his hand in an attitude of supplication.

“Well, no one wishes to hurt you,” said Green; “come forward and let us see what you are like,” and he called to the quartermaster to bring a lantern. The stranger, gaining courage from the master’s kind tone of voice, followed him and Adair. He was evidently greatly exhausted.

“Bring a cup of hot coffee and some biscuit; it will restore the poor wretch, and help him to tell us what he wants,” said the master.

After taking the food and liquid, the negro speedily revived, and, drawing his finger across his throat, with the addition of other signs, he intimated that his master was about to kill him, when he made his escape; and it was evident that he must have swum a distance of two miles or more at the risk of his life, to put himself under the protection of the British flag. His name, he intimated, was Pango; and that his master, if he should recapture him, would carry him off and kill him. Hamed, on being summoned, interrogated the black; and from the account he gave, Adair and Green were convinced that they had clearly understood Pango’s pantomimic language.

The commander, who had not turned in, on coming on deck and hearing the case, promised poor Pango that he should be protected; and to do so effectually, at once entered him on the ship’s books. The negro expressed his gratitude by every means in his power, and, being taken below by Ben Snatchblock the boatswain, was speedily, to his delight and satisfaction, rigged out in seaman’s duck trousers and shirt. He was, notwithstanding, far from being at ease, dreading lest the tyrannical master from whom he had fled should discover his place of retreat, and claim him. Hamed, however, made him understand that he now belonged to the ship, and that all on board would fight for him with their big guns and small-arms, and go to the bottom rather than give him up. On comprehending this, he showed his joy by capering and singing, and making a variety of demonstrative gestures, signifying that if his former owner came to look for him, he would get more than he bargained for. At length he stopped, and a shade of melancholy came over his countenance. Hamed, who, in spite of his ugliness, possessed some of the better feelings of human nature, asked him what was the matter.

He sighed, and said that he had a brother on shore who was as badly off as he had been, and that he should now be parted from him for ever, as he could never venture back to Mozambique, or set his foot on shore in the neighbourhood, lest he should be kidnapped and carried back to a worse bondage than that from which he had escaped.

Hamed, of course, could give him little hope of rescuing his brother, and advised him to turn in and be thankful that he himself had escaped. Notwithstanding poor Pango’s fears, no one appeared to claim him, and the next morning he was seen among the men forward, lending a hand at all sorts of jobs, evidently anxious to make himself useful.

The pilot at length came off, announcing that the tide and wind would now serve for taking out the ship. “Hands shorten in cable!” shouted Ben Snatchblock, his pipe sounding shrilly along the decks. Pango remained forward, concealing himself behind the foremast, though he every now and then took a glance at the ill-favoured pilot, a big, cut-throat, piratical-looking individual, who was standing aft near the master, while his boat hung on alongside the quarter.

Sail was made, the anchor lifted, and the ship was gathering way, when a black sprang out of the boat alongside through a port, and tried to hide himself under one of the midship guns. The savage-looking pilot espied him, and ordered him back into the boat. Instead of obeying, he clung tightly to the gun. “Remove the man and put him back into the boat,” said the commander; “but do not handle him roughly.” Now, as the poor black clung with might and main to the gun, and shrieked loudly for mercy, the latter order prevented the seamen from executing the former.

“The nigger won’t let go, sir,” shouted the master-at-arms, Ned Lizard, “unless we cut off his hands and feet—might as well try to haul a cuttle-fish from a rock without leaving its feelers behind it.”

“Let him alone, then,” said Murray; and, turning to the pilot, he intimated that he must take his man himself if he wanted him, but that he must, in the meantime, look out not to run the ship on shore.

The pilot accordingly continued at his post, every now and then glaring savagely at the poor negro, and uttering a growl signifying that he would very soon have him in his power. Blackie still clung fast to the gun, casting a piteous look at the good-natured countenances of the seamen, imploring them to help him, which it was evident they would be very ready to do.

At length the ship was in the open sea, and the pilot, who had received his payment, was in a hurry to return. Approaching his slave, he ordered him to get into the boat; the latter only replied by piteous shrieks and cries, clinging as tightly as before to the gun with arms and legs, while he seized the tackle in his jaws.

“Tell the pilot, Hamed, that he must carry off the gun and all, if he wants the man; but take him by force he must not,” said Adair.

No sooner had Hamed interpreted this than the pilot, drawing his dagger, would have plunged it into the back of the miserable slave, had not the master-at-arms seized his arm, exclaiming, “No, no, my fine fellow; we’ll have none of that sort of thing on board here. If you want the man, as the lieutenant says, you must take him by fair means; and, if not, you must let him stay. Tell him, Hamed, if he tries that trick again, he’ll be run up to the fore-yardarm there before he is many hours older.”

The pilot stamped and swore all sorts of Mohammedan oaths, which might have shocked even the ears of the prophet, and appealed to the commander, who intimated, in return, that if the slave sought the protection of the British flag, it would be granted him, and that it was very evident he had no desire to go back to Mozambique. At last Mustapha saw that he must make up his mind to lose his slave, and, casting a last ferocious look at him, as much as to say, “If I ever catch you on shore, my fine fellow, your skin and bones will part company,” he lowered himself down into the boat.

Blackie peered through the port till he saw that she had actually let go and was dropping astern, when he jumped up, and the next instant, Pango, coming from his hiding-place, rushed aft, and the two blacks, throwing their arms round each other, burst into tears of joy. The last runaway was no other than Pango’s brother, who was forthwith christened Bango. Not forgetting the pilot, they together ran aft, and waved their hands triumphantly at him, as the ship, increasing her speed, left the boat astern, he shouting and grinning with mad and impotent rage.

The corvette stood down the coast, a bright look-out being kept both for native dhows and square-rigged vessels, of which not a few Brazilians, Spaniards, and Americans were known to be engaged in the nefarious traffic. The carpenters had been busy fitting the boats, raising the gunwales of the smaller ones, and adding false keels to the larger, to enable them the better to carry sail; and all hands guessed that something was to be done, but what it was the commander kept to himself, or made known only to his lieutenants.

In spite of the utmost vigilance of the look-outs, not a vessel had been seen, till one morning, just at daybreak, as the ship was standing in for the land, the wind being to the southward, a dhow was discovered coming up before it, her canvas of snowy whiteness glittering in the rays of the rising sun. The commander, who was on deck, in a moment gave the order to lower the lifeboat; and Adair, with Ben Snatchblock and Desmond, leaped into her and pulled away for the coast, so as to intercept the dhow should she attempt to pass ahead of the corvette.

“We’ve caught the dhow in a trap, at all events,” observed Adair, “for she’s no chance with the ship on a wind. She is certain to try and run for it close inshore, when we shall as certainly catch her. Give way, my lads! she hasn’t seen us as yet, and stands on with a flowing sheet, thinking that she has a good chance of slipping between the corvette and the land.”

The wind being light, the corvette was making but little way through the water, and had a breeze come off the land, the dhow would have had a fair chance of escaping, had it not been for the boat ready to intercept her. The dhow, under her immense spread of canvas, glided on rapidly; and her Arab captain was probably congratulating himself on the prospect of escaping from his powerful foe, when he caught sight of the boat lying in wait for him. Heavy rollers broke on the shore, sending the surf flying up many yards over the beach. The dhow was seen suddenly to put up her helm and to steer directly for the shore.

“Good heavens!” cried Adair; “the Arab isn’t going to attempt to carry his vessel through those breakers?”

“He is, though, sir,” observed Snatchblock. “It’s a pretty sure sign that he has got a cargo of slaves aboard. Poor beings! not many of them will reach the beach alive.”

Adair immediately steered the boat towards the dhow, though he had little hope of reaching her in time to prevent her from running on destruction. Several shots were fired to make her heave-to, but the Arab crew heeded them not; and Adair had got almost within a cable’s length of the breakers when the doomed vessel was seen plunging in their midst, to be cast in a few seconds on the shingly beach.

Wildly the sea broke over her, and almost as if by magic, her bulky hull, melting away, exposed to view a hundred or more black forms struggling in the water, endeavouring to make their way to dry land. Some of the unfortunate beings succeeded, but others were carried back into the surf, and, hurled over and over, were lost to sight, none of them being drifted out as far as the boat.

All this time Adair was pulling in towards the breakers. He saw that the Arab crew, who had been the first to reach the shore, were urging on the blacks to run towards a thick wood, the outer edge of which was a few hundred yards only from the beach.

“I think we can do it,” he said to Snatchblock; “I have been through worse breakers than those in a less buoyant boat than ours. If we don’t manage to get on shore, the Arabs will carry off every one of the slaves.”

“She’ll go through it, sir,” answered Snatchblock, looking round at the breakers.

“We might save some of the poor wretches, at all events. Give way, my lads!” cried Adair, and the boat, urged forward by the stout arms of the crew, was speedily in the midst of the breakers. The sea struck her abaft, and washed clean over her from stern to stem; and had not Snatchblock aided Adair in hauling away on the yoke-line, she must have broached-to. A lifeboat alone could have existed amid those heavy breakers.

The next instant another sea struck her, washing over her whole length, and covering everyone in her; but as it went right over the bows, only a few inches of water remained. A third time she was deluged, and then down she sank, it seemed, into comparatively smooth water, and glided up easily on to the shelving beach.

The firearms, having been fortunately covered up, were fit for use. Calling to his men to follow, two only being left in the boat, Adair set off in pursuit of the Arabs and their captives. It seemed extraordinary that the latter should have been willing to run off when friends were at hand eager to rescue them from captivity, but they were evidently as eager to escape as their masters. The Arabs, seeing only a small number of Englishmen, would probably, as soon as they had gained the shelter of the wood, have turned round and fired, and Adair fully expected to be attacked. Fortunately, in their hurry to escape from the dhow, they had left their muskets behind them, and their only chance of safety was by flight. How the slaves, when they found them unarmed and in their power, might be inclined to treat them was a different question.

Several black forms were still seen running as fast as their legs could carry them towards the bush, and Adair and Desmond, who kept ahead, came up with two young men, looking more like skeletons than living beings. As they caught them by the arm, the poor wretches sank down on the ground, shrieking with terror. Snatchblock and the men caught three more, but it was no easy matter to induce them to run to the beach. Not one Arab was to be seen, and the remainder of the blacks disappeared among the thick bushes, where it would have been next to madness for so small a party to have followed them, not knowing what enemies might be lurking near at hand. After some persuasion the blacks were induced to come back to the beach, though trembling in every limb from terror and weakness as they walked along. Here four small children were found in the same emaciated condition as their elders, and one unhappy woman, to whom one of the children appeared to belong; she had injured her foot in landing, and had been unable to run away. From her cries and shrieks it was evident that she believed some dreadful fate was about to befall her. How many poor creatures had been lost in the surf it was impossible to say, and, as Hamed had not accompanied them, no information could be gained from the blacks.

Adair, indeed, had now to consider how they were to get off again. As from the higher ground on which he stood he looked over the wide belt of foaming breakers, it seemed almost impossible that the boat, buoyant as she was, could be forced through them. Even Snatchblock eyed them anxiously. “We may do it, sir,” he remarked, “if there comes a lull; if not, we shall have to wait here till the sea goes down. The worst is the want of grub and water, and we are not likely to find either in these parts, I’ve a notion, unless some wild beast or other comes to have a look at us; then we may give him a shot, and try what his flesh tastes like.”

The day was by this time drawing on. As not a particle of food or a drop of water had been brought in the boat, all hands were excessively hungry and thirsty. It was dangerous to separate, though, in search of provisions, as it was more than possible that the Arabs might instigate the natives to attack them. Snatchblock and Desmond, however, volunteered to go, taking different directions, each accompanied by one man. For the sake of the poor blacks, who seemed literally perishing from starvation, Adair would willingly have consented, but it would be far better, he thought, if possible, to get off to the ship. Anxiously he watched the long line of breakers, but they extended up and down the coast as far as the eye could reach, without an opening through which the boat might possibly pass. Another hour or more went by; no shade was to be obtained except at a distance, under the trees of the forest; and Adair considered that it would be dangerous to venture so far from the shore, as the natives might then have the opportunity of stealing on them unawares. They accordingly sat down on the beach watching the breakers, in the hopes, as the tide rose, that their violence might decrease, and an opening appear through which the boat might be forced. The rays of the sun struck down on their heads with terrific force, quickly drying their drenched clothes; but they would gladly have remained wet as they were, could they have found a few yards of shade beneath a neighbouring tree or rock.

The wretched blacks sat with stolid looks, as if totally unconscious that their liberators wished to benefit them. Every now and then, when they fancied that they were not observed, they cast frightened glances at the sailors. “I don’t know what the poor niggers are thinking of,” observed Snatchblock; “maybe they fancy that we’re going to eat them, though it would be a hard matter to scrape enough off the bones of all of them to feed a young dog. I wish I knew something of their lingo, I’d try to make them understand that when we get on board we’ll give them a good blow-out, and that in a week or two they’ll not know themselves. I say, Sambo! we not want to mangy you, old chap,” he added, to the black nearest him, and making significant signs; “we want to put some honest beef and pork flesh on that carcass of yours and fill you out, boy; then you dance and sing, and become as merry as a cricket.”

The black certainly did not understand what was said, and probably misunderstood his pantomimic gestures. One of them, the farthest off from the men, had been sitting with his head sunk down between his bent knees, apparently utterly unable to move; turning his head over his shoulder, he suddenly started up, and, before anyone could seize him, darted off towards the wood.

“Come back, you silly fellow!” cried Desmond, who, with two of the men, rose to follow him; but before they had got many paces, a large party of natives armed with bows, arrows, and spears, accompanied by several of the Arab crew, rushed out from among the trees, uttering threatening shouts, as if to intimidate the Englishmen.

“Stand to your arms, my lads,” cried Adair; “we must not let those fellows get near us, or we may be overpowered by numbers.” Still the natives came on, some flourishing their spears, and others preparing their bows to shoot. Adair lifted his rifle. “Don’t any of you fire till I tell you,” he said to his men, while he took aim so as to strike the ground a few yards in front of the headmost of the party. No one was hit, but they knew enough of the effect of firearms to be aware that another bullet might find a billet in one of their bodies. Springing back, the foremost tumbling the rear-ranks over, they threw themselves flat on the ground, and began to creep away towards the shelter of the bush. Adair, shouting to them, pointed to his own rifle and to the muskets of his men, intimating that if they ventured to advance, they would have to receive their contents.

The hint, apparently, had the desired effect; for, though the Arabs seemed to be doing their utmost to induce the blacks to attack the strangers, they remained carefully hiding themselves among the trees. As, however, they might at any moment rush forward, the seamen kept their muskets ready for instant service, with a watchful eye on their movements. In the meantime, the black who had escaped had joined them. What account he had given of the white men it was impossible to say. One thing was certain, that the presence of the natives would prevent any attempt to go in search of food and water, and that if they could not get off, their sufferings from thirst and hunger would become serious. With increased anxiety, Adair cast his eye over the foaming rollers, both up and down the coast. The breeze blew strong as ever, and not a break appeared in that long line of glittering surf. The party were literally hemmed in, almost without hope of escape. They might have beaten off the natives, and made their way into the interior till they could fall in with some game and a stream of water, but then they would have had to leave the boat and the blacks unprotected. Still, to starve where they were was not to be thought of.

“Faith, I’m growing fearfully peckish,” exclaimed Desmond; “if you’ll let me, sir, we’ll try and get hold of one of those fellows, and make him order the rest to bring us some grub; if the sea won’t go down, it’s the only chance we have.”

Snatchblock was of Desmond’s opinion, and of course the men were ready to follow them. Still, Adair was unwilling to run the risk of being overpowered. “No, no,” he answered; “we can hold out some time longer, and if at last we find it impossible to get off, we can but do as you propose.”

“I think, sir, the sea is going somewhat down,” said Snatchblock, at length; “we might get through just a little to the right there. See, sir, some of the rollers come in with only just a slight top to them, and if we take the right moment, we may get through.”

“We can but try it,” cried Adair. “Lift the poor blacks into the boat; they’ll not add much to her weight. Be smart about it, my lads, though.”

The negroes seemed very unwilling to move, and shrieked out as if they were about to be put to death; but they were but as infants in the arms of the stout seamen. The woman clung to her child as she was lifted with it into the sternsheets. The men were carried next, and placed at the bottom of the boat with the little children between them. She was then run off into the smooth water inside the breakers, the crew jumping into her; but each time the water receded, she struck on the hard coral beneath, her admirable construction alone preventing her from being stove in. The oars were got out, and the boat pulled along till the spot Snatchblock observed was reached. Her head was then put to the sea.

“Give way, my lads,” cried Adair, he and Desmond holding on to one yoke-line, while the boatswain held the other, their eyes eagerly cast towards the foaming breakers, amid which they were about to force their way. The crew put forth all their strength. The first breaker was past. Though they bent to their oars like true British seamen, the second, as it came thundering on, hurled them back; and it required all the skill of Adair and his companions to manage the boat till they reached the smooth water.

“Never say die, lads!” cried Adair, after waiting a few minutes to allow the men to recover their strength; “we’ll try it again; if the ash-sticks hold, your muscles will, I am sure.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the crew; “we’re ready.”

“Then give way.” The attempt was made as before, but again a mighty roller dashed back the boat, and sent her nearly up to the beach. Still Adair was unwilling to abandon the attempt. He waited as before, allowing the boat to remain where there was just water to float her.

“I am afraid we shall have, after all, to haul up the boat, and sleep on the beach without our suppers,” he observed to Snatchblock; “we can easily keep the natives at bay, and must hope for smoother water in the morning.”

“If it must be so, it must,” answered the boatswain, standing up, however, as he spoke, and looking seaward. “We’ll tackle them this time, sir,” he exclaimed suddenly; “the outer line of breakers has gone down since we shoved off.”

Adair stood up. “Yes, we’ll not be driven back again, lads; never fear!” he cried, dropping into his seat. The crew, with a hearty shout, bent to their oars, and the boat, urged by their strong arms, bravely breasted the foaming rollers. The first and second were past; the third came on hissing and roaring; the boat still advanced; its heavy curling crest swept her from stem to stern, but she held her way, and was ready when another came on to meet it boldly. Over it she went, throwing out the water which she had taken in, and in another minute was dancing merrily on the heaving seas outside the breakers.

Adair looked anxiously to see whether any of his sable passengers, young or old, had been washed away. In spite of the risk they had run, all were safe. The poor mother had grasped her child, and the men the other young ones. The sun was by this time sinking behind the land; the crew pulled away with right good will towards the corvette, which could be seen at a distance of three miles or so. She was standing away from the land to get a good offing during the night. “They’ve seen the state of the surf, and have thought we couldn’t get through it, or maybe that we were lost,” observed Snatchblock.

“Shure, it’ll be the greater pleasure to them when we come back,” said Desmond. “Mr Mildmay will be mighty glad to find that he hasn’t to do duty as first lieutenant, though I don’t know what old Sandford may wish in his heart of hearts. He might not object to be made acting lieutenant.” Sandford was the senior mate on board.

“Had he thought that any accident had happened to us, the commander would have sent in a boat to ascertain the fact,” said Adair.

Darkness was rapidly coming on, and by degrees the canvas of the corvette became shrouded in the mists of night. Adair, however, had taken her bearings, and by the help of the stars was able to steer directly for her. Still Desmond, who had become perfectly ravenous, could not help wishing that the commander, instead of keeping off the coast, had stood in nearer to pick them up.

The men, however, pulled away cheerily, encouraged with the thoughts of a good hot supper and a quiet snooze till the next morning. After some time, a bright light burst forth, sending a lurid glare across the ocean.

“There’s the corvette,” cried Snatchblock; “they hadn’t forgotten us. We’ll be snug on board before many minutes are over.”

At last the boat reached the ship’s side, and eager hands were stretched out to lift the emaciated creatures they had brought off on board. The doctor took charge of them, and administered some weak broth, while the rest of the party hurried below to obtain the more substantial viands of which they stood so much in need.

On Hamed’s questioning the liberated slaves, it was discovered that Snatchblock had been right in his suspicions that the Arabs had told them, in order to induce them to escape on shore, that if captured by the white men they would be cooked and eaten. They stated that the dhow had been crammed full of slaves, many of whom had been drowned in their attempt to reach the shore, while it was probable that a still larger number would perish before they were again put on board another slave-ship by their cruel masters. Had anything been necessary to induce the officers and crew of the Opal to exert themselves in putting down the horrible traffic, the state of these poor negroes, and the account they gave, would have been sufficient to stir them up. One of the men and two of the children, notwithstanding all the care taken of them, died before morning. The rest quickly recovered, their skins filling out perceptibly every day with the good food they received.

Chapter Four.

Ordered again to Angoxa—Island of Mafamale—Seine Fishing—Desmond’s Victory over the Fish—The Carpenter tries his Hand, but catches a Tartar—Life on the Island—Jerry Bird’s “Kettler”—Second Boat Expedition—Lightning in the Tropics—Up the River—Capture and Burning of a Dhow—Land for Provisions—Treachery of Natives—Adair and Desmond made Prisoners—Adair turns the Tables on the old Chief.

The corvette lay becalmed, lapping her sides in the shining water, as the glass-like undulations under her keel rolled her now to starboard and now to port, the sun striking down and making the pitch bubble up out of the seams of her deck. No sail was in sight, but still a bright look-out was kept. In case any slaver bringing up a breeze might attempt to slip by inshore of her, the boats were in readiness to shove off in chase.

“A steamer to the nor’ard, sir,” shouted the look-out to the second lieutenant, who reported the same to the commander. All hands were quickly up on deck. She was probably a British cruiser, perhaps bringing news for them—a mail via the Isthmus of Suez and the Red Sea.

At last, after various conjectures as to what she was, the Busy Bee made her number, and paddled up in a way which made the crew wish that they possessed similar means of locomotion. She blew off her steam when close to them, and a boat from her side brought her commander on board. He was the bearer of despatches from the commodore.

Murray called Adair into his cabin. “The commodore has received information that the Arabs are rebuilding the fort we destroyed,” he said, “and so I suppose that we shall have to go up the river to do the work over again. He has directed me in the meantime to station two of our boats, with one from the Busy Bee, to be joined shortly by a fourth from the frigate, at the island of Mafamale, which is about seven miles from the mouth of the river. I may select the officer to command the expedition, and if you wish to go, I will appoint you, with Jos Green and Desmond and Gordon. You will look out for dhows either going up to, or coming down from Angoxa, and for others running along the coast, which are certain to pass between the island and the mainland. The corvette and the steamer will in the meantime stand down the coast, and the dhows seeing us will hope to get to Zanzibar without interruption. The plan seems to be a good one, and I trust that we shall be able to strike a more effectual blow at the slave-trade than the commodore has hitherto been able to give it.”

Terence, who had been wishing for this sort of work, gladly accepted Murray’s offer. The corvette stood on till she came off the island, when the pinnace and barge, well fitted for the duties they were at once to engage in, were got out. The Busy Bee landed a couple of water tanks, for not a drop of the necessary fluid was to be found on the island; while she and the corvette sent three months’ provisions on shore, with tents, arms, and ammunition.

With three hearty cheers from the crews, responded to by their respective ships, the boats shoved off and pulled away for the island, to become their headquarters for the next three months. Its appearance was not over-attractive, for it was low and sandy, scarcely more than two miles in circumference, with a small forest of Casuarina trees on the highest part, bordered by a belt of thin grass.

One of the first boats sent on shore contained a large seine, and Jos Green was directed to haul it as soon as possible for the purpose of supplying the ship’s company with fresh fish. All hands were well pleased to hear the order, and the men destined for that object quickly transmogrified themselves into fishermen with blue jerseys, tarry trousers, and red caps, looking more like lawless pirates than well-conducted men-of-war’s men. Two of the smaller boats under the command of the master, who was accompanied by Desmond and Archie, then pulled in. On the north side of the island was a shelving beach, where the water was perfectly smooth and not a rock or stone to be found. It was just such a beach as to satisfy all the requirements of men-of-war’s men, capable at the same time of supplying sand for holy-stoning the decks, and to afford admirable ground for hauling the seine.

The net was quickly run out, forming a wide semicircle, and surrounding, no doubt, vast numbers of fish, as they could be seen of various forms and sizes sporting in the clear water. The boats being hauled up, the work of hauling the net began. Just at that juncture several officers who had before landed came across the island to see the fun, and immediately all hands tailed on to the hauling-lines. As the net drew nearer and nearer to the land, innumerable specimens of the finny tribe could be seen leaping and springing about, mutually surprised at finding themselves brought unexpectedly in such near proximity to each other and to the shore; evidently thinking that it was time to make a dash for the more open water. Vain were the attempts of those who foolishly fancied by swimming slow and concealing themselves they might the more surely effect their escape. The bolder fish, who, leaping high, cleared the encircling net, were alone successful, some enormous fellows setting the example. Others attempted to follow them.

“We shall have them all getting off if we don’t bear a hand,” cried Green; “haul away, my lads.”

“Better be after them and hook them out,” exclaimed Desmond, suiting the action to the word, and plunging in amid the struggling fish. Archie could not resist doing the same, and presently every officer, including the commander and Adair, were up to their knees in the water, each trying to seize one or more of the monsters, who, it was evident, would, if they attempted it, clear a passage for themselves through the meshes. Desmond had fixed upon two, and down he went upon hands and knees, endeavouring to kill the creatures leaping, wriggling, and struggling to get free. As he did so, one of them, making a bolt between his legs, toppled him over on his nose, where he lay kicking and plunging, scarcely to be distinguished from the fish surrounding him. He quickly, however, got his head above water, as he did so, spluttering out, “Arrah, the baste! I haven’t let him go, though,” and, kneeling on the creature, he managed to work his hands under its gills, when, holding it up, he dragged it triumphantly to the shore.

One of the smaller youngsters, Billy Blueblazes, upon trying to follow his example, was literally dragged off his feet, and, had not Archie seized him and the fish which he held by the gills, might very possibly have been drowned.

The shouting and laughing and hallooing which arose on all sides would alone have been sufficient to drive the unfortunate fish out of their minds, as officers and men were plunging about here and there grasping at the larger fish right and left. At length the greater number of the monsters who had failed to escape having been captured, the men drew the seine high up on the beach, with some hundreds of fish, most, if not all of them, as Green declared, excellent eating. As soon as they had been rendered incapable of effecting their escape, the seine was again carried out; and though it might have been supposed that the fish would have avoided the spot, as many as at the first haul were speedily drawn to land, when a similar scene was enacted, and, all hands being thoroughly wet, everyone not required for tailing on at the hauling-lines plunged in as before. Among the most adventurous was the carpenter, who in his eagerness rushed forward till the water was up to his armpits; when, fancying he saw a fish of unusual size, and desirous of gaining the honour of bringing it to shore, he plunged down his hand. Scarcely had he done so, when, with a shout which might have reached almost to the ship, he drew it up again, exclaiming, “Bear a hand, mates, and help me to get rid of this imp of Satan. I’m blessed if I thought such creatures lived in the ocean.”

He uttered this as he staggered towards the shore, when it was seen that his whole arm, which he held at full length, was grasped by the dark slimy tentacles of a monster which, with a beak resembling that of a bird, was attempting to strike him in the face; had the creature got hold of a smaller person, it might have succeeded in doing so. Desmond and Billy Blueblazes were at first inclined to laugh, till they got closer to the hideous creature. Several of the men with their knives open hurried forward to the assistance of the carpenter, who bravely kept his arms stretched out till they succeeded in cutting off its head; but even then those powerful tentacles retained so much vitality that it was necessary to remove them one by one. The carpenter’s arm was almost paralysed, and he complained of considerable pain and irritation.

His adventure, however, did not prevent the rest of the party from continuing their chase of the larger fish, though they kept a bright look-out not to be caught by crabs, or to avoid catching hold of a squid. Though, as before, some escaped, the second haul was almost as productive as the first. The boats, being loaded with the fish, returned to the ship.

The shore party then set to work to prepare for their Robinson Crusoe life, while the Opal stood away to the northward. Tents were set up, a hut for the blacksmith’s forge, and another for the carpenter close to the beach, before which a coral reef made a secure harbour for the boats. A third hut was built near the camp for the cook—not that any skilled one belonged to the party. The magazine was wisely placed at a distance, in case a spark from the kitchen or a tobacco-pipe might chance to find its way to the gunpowder. Everyone was in high spirits and supremely happy. As soon as the work of the day was over, the men took to playing leap-frog, diversified by bowls and quoits, which had been brought on shore. The officers had not forgotten foils and boxing-gloves, as well as books and writing-desks and drawing materials. All was not play, however; the arms had to be cleaned every morning, the men inspected, and a bright look-out kept from dawn to sunset, and even at night, when the moon afforded sufficient light to distinguish a sail at any distance gliding over the dark waters. For this purpose a platform was erected between the summits of two trees, which grew conveniently close together at the west end of the island, with steps cut in the trunk of one of them, a man-rope hanging from the top making it an easy matter to get up.

Jerry Bird, Green’s old shipmate, the man who had been taken off from Tristan d’Acunha, was the wit of the party. He was the cook the first day. “Now, my boys, I’ll give you a treat,” he exclaimed, as he carried off the various provisions served out by the storekeeper; “don’t suppose that I have lived among savages for no end of years without learning a trick or two.” The fire was lighted, and Jerry put on a huge kettle to boil. He was soon busily plucking a couple of the fowls which had been obtained from the last place at which the ship had touched. It was naturally supposed that there was to be roast fowl for dinner. While the rest of the party went in various directions,—some to collect oysters, which clung to the rocks, with hammers and tomahawks to break them off; others to the look-out man up the tree; and some to lie down and read under the shade of the tents,—Jerry proceeded with his culinary operations. A frying-pan and a ladle served him instead of a gong. When dinner was ready, he commenced a loud clanging, which sounded from one end of the island to the other. The hungry party soon collected. There were rows of plates, with knives and forks and basins with spoons laid out in order, while Jerry stood, ladle in hand, before his kettle, stirring away with might and main.

“Here, Tim, stand by with a plate and basin, and take the officers their dinner,” he said. Tim Curran was one of the ship’s boys who did duty as officers’ servant.

As Jerry ladled out the contents of the kettle, it was seen to contain every article with which he had been furnished; the fowls and beef cut up into small bits; peas, biscuit, flour, preserved vegetables, emitting a most savoury odour. No one had cause to complain, for Jerry had added a seasoning which all acknowledged to be superior to anything they had ever tasted.

“I knew you’d like my ‘kettler,’” he observed, with a self-satisfied air, as he sat down with his messmates, who gathered round him.

The rogue had wisely beforehand consulted Adair, who had approved of his proposal on the subject, and so excellent was his “kettler” pronounced, that from henceforward it was the everyday meal of the party; and though others tried to surpass him when their turn came, they all confessed that they could never do it, and it was voted that it was unequalled by the best Scotch hotch-potch, which it much resembled.

They were not long, however, allowed to lead so pleasant a life on shore. Adair sent off one of the boats across the channel to the mainland to be in readiness to pounce down on any dhows creeping up on that side, while he himself went away in the pinnace to the southward, accompanied by Gerald and Archie, leaving Jos Green in command of the island. Jerry Bird formed one of the crew, so the party on shore lost their cook. Pango also, one of the escaped slaves, went as interpreter, he having by this time acquired enough English to make himself understood and to understand what was said to him. The boat was provisioned for three weeks, and Adair hoped, by getting fresh food and vegetables from the shore, to be able to stay out longer if necessary. He had on board several articles for barter, and, in addition, a store of empty beer-bottles, for which he had heard the natives have an especial fancy.

Adair’s intention was to examine every opening and indentation in the coast in which a slave dhow could take shelter. He accordingly steered for the mainland, towards the first bay to the south of Angoxa, into which it was possible one of the hoped-for prizes might have crept during the night. On reaching the bay, however, no vessel was to be seen, and the pinnace accordingly stood out again with a light breeze, which enabled her to stand down the coast. The day was passed much as men-of-war’s men are accustomed to spend their time on boat expeditions; the meals were cooked in one pot, common to officers and men, whether “kettler” for dinner or chocolate for breakfast and supper. Pipes were smoked, yarns spun, songs sung, journals written up, and now and then, though not often, books were read. Regular watches were of course kept, and, as a rule, everyone took as much sleep as he could get. The life, as all agreed, was pleasant enough while the weather was fine, but it would be pleasanter to catch a few dhows, send them as prizes into port, and restore the negroes found on board to liberty.

“Faith, I wonder whether we ever shall catch one of those rascals,” exclaimed Desmond, beginning to lose patience when, after three days at sea, not a single dhow had been caught sight of.

“No fear, Gerald,” observed Archie; “they’ll be dropping into our jaws before long if we keep them wide enough open.”

At night the boat was sometimes hove-to, or when the wind was light kept slowly gliding on over the calm surface of the deep. One night Archie Gordon had the middle watch. Scarce a breath filled the sails; the ocean was like glass; not a cloud dimmed the sky, from which the stars shone forth with a brilliancy which afforded light almost equal to that of the full moon; every star, reflected in the mirror-like deep, gave it the appearance of being spangled and streaked with gold. Suddenly there burst forth over the land so vivid a flash of lightning that rocks and trees and the distant hills for a moment stood out in such bold relief, that Archie could not help fancying that the boat had been carried by some unknown current close to the beach. With a cry of surprise he aroused his companions.

“Is anything the matter?” asked Adair, starting up.

“Arrah, what’s in the wind now?” exclaimed Gerald, echoing the question.

“The whole country seems on fire,” answered Archie. “I can by no means make it out.” As he spoke, another flash lighted up, as brilliantly as during the brightest sunshine, the distant hills and wide expanse of ocean. The flashes continued bursting forth in rapid succession, lasting fully ten seconds, with even a less interval between them. Not the slightest sound of distant thunder was heard; silence reigned over the ocean. Even the men, who had roused up their companions to gaze at the wondrous spectacle, uttered not a word. A slight flapping of the sail against the mast, as a catspaw caught it, or an increased ripple of the water against the bows, alone struck the ear.

These brilliant phenomena lasted the greater part of the night.

“It’s very fine,” exclaimed Jerry Bird at last; “but to my mind a sound snooze is more to the purpose than straining our eyes out by winking at it, seeing we can’t say what work may be cut out for us to-morrow; and so I’m going to turn in.”

His example was followed by the rest of the watch below, though the more sentimental of the officers continued gazing at it for some time longer. Adair wished that Lucy Rogers could enjoy it with him.

“I say, Archie, wouldn’t Mr Mildmay now be after writing a splendiferous sonnet if he was here?” whispered Desmond.

“Can’t you try your hand, Gerald?” said Archie.

“Not I; I’m no poet. I can make a very good line to begin with, but when I come to the second, I can never manage to fit the words in properly.”

“Just try now,” said Archie. Thus encouraged, Desmond at length exclaimed—

“‘The lightnings flashing o’er the boundless deep—’”

“Very good,” said Archie.

Gerald repeated the line several times. “‘Arouse the seamen from their “something” sleep,’” he added. “I’ll get Mr Mildmay to put in a proper word instead of ‘something,’ for it’s more than I can be after doing.”

“Hold your tongues, youngsters!” exclaimed Adair, whose thoughts had been far away till they were brought back by his nephew’s voice. “Turn in and get some sleep instead of chattering nonsense.”

The midshipmen, obeying, coiled themselves in the sternsheets, while Adair, who took the helm, sat indulging in a mood to which he had hitherto been a stranger.

The morning came, and soon after breakfast, as the boat was running along the coast, the entrance to a river, apparently of some size, was discovered. The sea was tolerably calm on the bar, and as it appeared a likely place for slavers to ship their cargoes, Adair resolved to run in and explore it thoroughly. The wind carried them close up to the mouth, when, it failing altogether, the oars were got out, and the crew pulled away lustily, in the hopes of at length finding a slaver which they could make their lawful prize. At this time, however, the Sultan of Zanzibar issued licences to no inconsiderable number of vessels, on the pretence that they were engaged in bringing him negroes to work on his plantations; although, were his island ten times the size that it really is, he could not have employed one-tenth of the blacks carried off to slavery. On this flimsy pretext they might therefore find a dhow full of blacks, and yet not be able to capture her. This, of course, was often the cause of great disappointment to the crews engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade.

A belt of mangrove trees running far into the water being passed, a long reach of the river was opened up, with a large dhow at the farther end of it, lying at anchor in mid-stream, apparently ready to sail. The crew of the pinnace could not restrain a shout of satisfaction. In spite of the hot sun beating down on their heads, they eagerly bent to their oars in the hopes of soon being on board her. As they approached, they saw that her sails were unbent, so that she could not have been on the point of putting to sea. On getting still nearer, about twenty fierce-looking Arabs popped their heads over the side, and in loud voices, with threatening gestures, ordered the boat to keep off, intimating that if she did not, they would fire into her. That she possessed the power of doing mischief was evident, as a three-pounder gun was seen mounted on a sort of raised deck in her bow.

Neither Adair nor his crew were likely to be deterred by the menaces of the piratical-looking fellows from boarding the dhow. With a loud cheer they dashed alongside, and quickly scrambled on her deck, cutting down several of the more daring of the band, who, not knowing what English seamen were made of, ventured to oppose them. A fine-looking old fellow, with a long white beard, who proved to be the Arab captain, exchanged a few passes with Adair, who, however, quickly disarmed him, and tumbled him head over heels into the hold, while the rest of his men leaped below to escape from their daring assailants. On following them, Adair found, to his disappointment, that there were no slaves on board. The Arab crew having been secured, Adair ordered his men to bend the sail, while he and Desmond, accompanied by Jerry Bird, searched the vessel to ascertain whether she had anything on board by which she could be legally condemned. Besides the three-pounder gun, a number of muskets, spears, and swords were found on board, with a supply of water and a large quantity of rice, in addition to which her hold was fitted with three tiers of bamboo decks, which could be intended for no other purpose than for the stowage of slaves.

Adair pointed this out to the old skipper, and made him understand that he considered the vessel his lawful prize.

“It is the will of Allah,” answered the captain, who made no attempt to show either papers or colours, so it was considered evident that he did not possess them.

“There are whole hosts of people collecting on shore, sir,” shouted Archie; “many of them are armed, and by the signs they are making they don’t seem in a friendly mood. They’ve got, too, plenty of canoes, and it looks very much as if they intended to come off and attack us.”

Adair hurried on deck, and could not help being of Archie’s opinion. “Be sharp there with the sail,” he cried.

“It’s more than we can manage to bend it, sir,” answered Jerry Bird; “for there’s not a bit of rope-yarn or stuff of any kind we can find to do instead.”

Adair and Desmond, stepping forward to lend a hand, found that the men were right. The blacks on shore, increasing in numbers, were already uttering most terrific shouts and cries, and had begun to launch their canoes. It would be impossible to defend the dhow without running the risk of losing the boat. Adair had no wish to bring on an encounter with the savages.

“We must burn the craft and make the best of our way out of the river,” he exclaimed. “Get the prisoners into the boat, and we will then set the dhow on fire, and prevent her, at all events, from taking on board another cargo of ebony.”

While the men were carrying out his orders, the old Arab captain, who had been left at liberty, came up to him, and made signs that there was some object of great value in the hold which he was anxious to recover. In his eagerness, as with half bent body he stretched out his hands, he seized Adair by the beard, tears actually running down his eyes.

“Can he have his wife or children stowed away anywhere?” suggested Desmond.

“It may be, but we must not let them be burned, at all events,” said Adair. “Well, old fellow, go and bring them up,” he added, making a significant gesture. The Arab, however, did not comprehend him, and at length, pulling out a piece of gold, he made signs that he had a box or bag full of such pieces stowed away.

“Faith, it’s myself will go and help ye hunt for them,” cried Desmond, about to accompany the old Arab, who was hurrying below.

“Stay,” exclaimed Adair; “there is not a moment to spare. See, the canoes are coming off, and we shall be surrounded presently. I suspect it is only a trick after all, that he may induce us to remain till the tables are turned. Here, tumble the old fellow into the boat, and set the dhow on fire fore and aft.”

While the men obeyed this order, Archie and Gerald, who had been lighting some bundles of tow, threw one of them down forward among the other combustible materials, while another was placed aft; and another, still larger, which Desmond ignited, was let drop into the hold. A thick smoke, followed by flames, immediately burst forth, showing that the craft had been effectually set on fire.

A good-sized canoe was floating alongside the dhow. “We will have her,” said Desmond; “make her fast astern. She’ll assist us in landing the prisoners, and be useful afterwards.”

A whole fleet of canoes, full of shrieking savages, was now coming off towards the dhow. “Give them a shot from the six-pounder,” said Adair, putting the boat’s head round; “it will teach them that they had better not follow us.” The missile went flying over the water, just ahead of the canoes. It appeared to have had the desired effect, for some ceased paddling, and others went back as fast as they could make way towards the shore; while the pinnace, with the canoe in tow, proceeded down the harbour.

Night had now come on; the flames, which rose from every portion of the burning dhow, their glare extending down the river and casting a ruddy light against the tall trees on either side, enabled them, without difficulty, to make their way towards the ocean. The cut-throat-looking Arabs, with their venerable captain, appeared to be very uneasy in their minds, not knowing what was to be done with them; perhaps supposing that their captors were carrying them out to sea to drown in deep water. They were evidently much relieved when, a point some little way down the river being reached, Adair intimated to them that they were forthwith to be put on shore. As many as the canoe would hold were tumbled into her, and they, being quickly landed, she returned for another cargo. The old skipper was the last. As he gazed at his burning vessel, he wrung his hands, mourning his hard fate.

“Very hard for you,” observed Archie; “but it would have been harder for the unfortunate blacks you would have carried off into slavery.”

During this time the natives, gaining courage, were coming down the river in vast numbers, beating their tom-toms and shouting and shrieking. They could be easily beaten off, provided they were not allowed to get too near; but Adair had no wish to shed blood, and therefore, having completely destroyed the dhow and got rid of the prisoners, he stood on down the river. The bar was fortunately as smooth as when they entered, and running out, the pinnace, with the captured canoe, was soon in the open sea. The latter was light enough to take on board should bad weather come on; but, as she would inconveniently occupy much space, she was allowed, while the sea remained calm, to tow astern.

“Well, we’ve done something,” said Desmond, as, the boat having got a good offing, all hands were piped to supper; “only I wish we’d got hold of that box of gold.”

“I very much doubt the existence of the box of gold,” said Adair; “the object of the old Arab was to delay us till his friends could come to his assistance, and cut our throats. However, if I am right, he acted his part to admiration.”

The pinnace continued her cruise. Happily the weather remained fine, and no one had to complain of hardship, though all hands would have been glad to get a run on shore, instead of being cramped up day after day in the boat. As their water was, however, running short, they at length stood into a small bay which offered a safe landing-place. The canoe was found very useful in conveying them on shore, while the pinnace brought up a short distance from the beach. Several natives came down, who appeared friendly, and showed Adair and Desmond, who had landed, a spring of water where the casks could, without difficulty, be filled and rolled down to the canoe. While four of the men remained in the boat with Archie, the rest brought the casks on shore, and all went on well. A supply of water was taken on board, and trifling presents, as an acknowledgment of the services they had rendered, given to those who appeared to be the leading men among the natives. Hands were shaken, and the party embarked.

“We must mark this spot,” observed Adair, as they once more made sail; “the natives appear to be good sort of fellows, and we’ll pay them another visit on our way northward.”

The balmy weather which had hitherto prevailed was not to continue. The south-west monsoon had begun to blow, and the sea got up, washing over the bows and flying-deck, and giving ample occupation to all hands in baling out the water as fast as it broke on board. It was impossible to spread the usual awning drawn over the boat in ordinary rainy weather, or when at anchor, as it would have been blown away in an instant; and all that could be done was to keep her jogging on under close-reefed sails. It was somewhat trying work, as the fire could not be lighted to cook, and the party had therefore to subsist on raw salt pork and biscuit, washed down with cold grog. Everyone, of course, was wet to the skin; but when the sun again burst forth, their clothes were speedily dried. The boat behaved admirably, rising over the seas like a duck. Two days the gale lasted, and then the weather again cleared.

“If we get any more downpours, I don’t intend to let my clothes get wet,” said Desmond.

“How are you going to prevent that?” asked Archie.

“Why, by stowing them away in the locker and jumping overboard,” answered Desmond. “It’s the wisest plan, depend on it. That’s the way the nigger boatmen manage in the West Indies, and it will answer here just as well.”

“Not if it is blowing hard, as it has just been doing,” said Archie.

“No,” replied Gerald; “but if it’s tolerably calm, we can easily get on board again when the rain is over.”

Adair, who had heard of the plan being adopted by other boats’ crews, had no objection; and the next day, when the clouds again gathered and sent down a deluge, such as only falls in the tropics, all hands, with the exception of two, who remained to take care of the boat, stripped off their clothes and jumped overboard, swimming about and amusing themselves till the rain was over. They did the same half a dozen times during the day, whenever a torrent descended from the clouds, and then again clambering on board, after rubbing themselves over, put on their dry garments. The only wonder was that no one was carried off by a shark, but probably, as they were splashing about and making a loud noise all the time they were in the water, the savage monsters were kept at a distance.

The weather again permanently cleared up. Several dhows were chased and overtaken. The first they boarded had, in addition to her brown-skinned Arab crew, an equal number of black seamen, who were pulling and hauling and making themselves very busy; while she also had a large party of black passengers, who sat ranged round the deck mute as statues, dressed up in Arab costume, each man having with him two or three wives and several children.

The captain, or “negoda,” as he was called by the Arabs, met Adair with a smiling countenance as he stepped on board, and expressed himself in choice Arabic as highly delighted to see the English officer.

“Well, my friend, who are all those black fellows there?” asked Adair, pointing to the negroes, who were jumping about and tumbling over each other as they ran from side to side.

The negoda or skipper made signs as if hauling on a rope. “Oh, they are your crew, are they?” said Adair; on which the skipper nodded his head as if he had really understood the question.

“And who are those ladies and gentlemen seated so comfortably on the deck?” continued Adair. The skipper signified that they were coming from some place in the South, and bound to Mozambique or Zanzibar to join their relatives. He did this by pronouncing the names of those places, talking away all the time, and transferring a piece of money from one hand to the other, as if to show that they had paid their passages.

“Now let me see your papers,” said Adair, moving his hand as if holding a pen and writing. The Arabs being accustomed to signs, the negoda at once understood him, and produced from a case some documents written in Arabic characters, which were about as comprehensible to the English officer as the words which the voluble skipper was pouring forth into his ear. The papers might be, for what he could tell, bills of sale for the negroes on board, or directions to the skipper how to avoid the English boats and cruisers, with the hint, should he find himself strong enough, to knock every Briton he could fall in with on the head. Adair, it is true, had his suspicions that all was not right, but how to ascertain this was the question.

Pango, who knew the true state of the case, was evidently very much troubled in his mind on the subject; but in vain he tried to explain his ideas while he sat in the boat, wriggling and twisting his body, and making such extraordinary grimaces as he tried to get out his words, that the rest of the crew burst into fits of laughter, which effectually prevented him from giving the information he possessed.

Had Hamed come in the boat, the case would have been different, and Adair resolved, if possible, not to go cruising again without the interpreter.

The skipper had no objection to his examining the vessel, though he seemed highly pleased on seeing his visitors about to take their departure. He and several of his crew shook them warmly by the hands, and showed an especial eagerness to assist them into the boat.

As the dhow stood away to the northward, both Gerald and Archie declared that they heard shouts of laughter proceeding from her; but Adair was of opinion that the Arabs were not wont to indulge in such exhibitions of hilarity, though he had very strong suspicions that he had been humbugged.

The southern limits he had designed for the cruise having been reached, Adair put the boat’s head to the northward, intending, as before, to search all the inlets and creeks; for although no birds had been entrapped on their previous visit, some might be caught on a second. He was half inclined to suppose that the slave-trade could not be carried on to the extent which was reported, for so many of the dhows boarded had no slaves or fittings for the reception of slaves, while others were carrying only black passengers, seized with the desire apparently to see the world. Adair was sorely puzzled. “I wish we had brought Hamed with us,” he repeated for the twentieth time; “he would have cleared up the difficulty, and enabled us to obtain more information than we are likely now to pick up.”

As they were again in want of water, by the time they came off the pretty little village where they had before been received in so friendly a manner, he determined to pay it another visit. The pinnace was accordingly steered into the bay, and anchored a short distance from the shore. Adair and Desmond landed in the canoe, accompanied by two men and as many breakers as she could carry. While the two men paddled back for more, he and his nephew walked up to the village. The primitive-looking palm-leaved thatched huts were picturesquely situated an eighth of a mile or so from the beach, under the shade of a grove of lofty cocoanut-trees. The chief man, with a party of his followers, came out to meet them, and invited them into the principal hut, used apparently as a guest-house. The chief made signs that the women were preparing food, and begged their guests to rest till it was ready. Adair was inclined to accept the invitation.

“There seem to be a good many of the fellows collected, considering the size of the village, and I see that they are all armed,” observed Desmond; “the chief, too, is evidently mighty eager for us to go into the hut. They may be very honest, but they may mean mischief.”

“I am inclined to agree with you,” answered Adair; “we must be on our guard, at all events, though I don’t suppose they will venture to commit any act of violence.”

He, accordingly, when the chief again pressed him to enter the hut, made signs that he was in a hurry, and could not accept his hospitality. He and Desmond, however, stood talking, or rather exchanging pantomimic gestures with the chief for some time, while the men were engaged in filling the casks and carrying them back to the boat. Desmond, who had returned a short distance towards the shore, to a spot whence he saw that the canoe was shoving off with her last cargo, on turning back to tell his uncle, what was his dismay to see a dozen savages throw themselves upon him, and, seizing his arms, hold him in a way which prevented him from offering the slightest resistance! Desmond, who had on his sword, as well as a rifle in his hand, was rushing back to render what help he could, regardless of the danger he ran, when another party of the natives, concealed behind the trees, suddenly sprang out upon him; and before he saw them, they had seized him and thrown him down on the ground. He struggled to free himself, as every Irishman would do, especially an Irish midshipman, but in vain. Some seized his legs, and others his arms, while one of the party threw a piece of cloth round his mouth to prevent him from crying out. He managed to get that off, however, and shouted at the top of his voice, in the hopes that the men in the canoe would hear him. Finding that all attempts to escape were hopeless, he submitted with as good a grace as he could, and was placed by his captors on his feet Adair was, in the meantime, trying to make the chief say why he had committed the outrage, and threatening him with the vengeance of Her Majesty’s fleet in those seas if he and the midshipman were not immediately released. The chief might possibly not have understood a word he said. At all events, he was not moved by his threats.

“Now, you scoundrel, what do you intend to do with us?” asked Adair. The chief seemed to understand the question, possibly from the tone in which it was put, and, pointing his musket first towards him, and then at Desmond, gave him to understand, by a sign not to be mistaken, that he intended to shoot them both. Things were now, indeed, becoming serious. They were just out of sight of the boat, and it was a question whether the men in the canoe had heard Desmond’s shouts. If not, probably more of the men would come on shore to look for them, and would to a certainty be made prisoners, and in all likelihood murdered.

“What is to be done?” asked Desmond. “I’ll give another shout, even though the rascals may gag me for doing so.”

After remaining perfectly quiet and apparently resigned to his fate, raising his voice to the highest pitch, he shouted out, “Help! help!” He had only time to utter these words, when a big negro standing near him clapped his hand before his mouth, and effectually prevented him from uttering another sound.

“Never fear, Desmond,” said Adair; “I think they must have heard that shout, and Gordon will to a certainty suspect what has happened to us.”

While a number of negroes collected round their captives, regarding them with savage looks, the chief and some of his principal men assembled to hold a consultation as to what was to be done with them. An immense amount of jabbering took place, and Desmond, who was closest to the circle of councillors, looked anxiously at their countenances to ascertain, if possible, what decision was likely to be arrived at. He gazed in vain—nothing could he learn from the expression of the hideous faces of those who might at any moment determine to shoot him and his uncle.

“It’s all owing to not having Hamed with us,” sighed Adair; “or even had we brought Pango on shore, he would probably have suspected the old rascal of a chief, and warned us in time; but cheer up, Desmond, I don’t think the black villains will dare to kill us. I’ll try and make them understand that if they do, a terrible vengeance will be wreaked on their heads.”

“That won’t help us out of the scrape, I’m afraid,” said Desmond; “but they are getting on their feet, and I suppose we shall soon know.”

In a short time the chief and his advisers, having come to a resolution what to do, approached their prisoners, and, with very little ceremony, seizing them by their collars, two on each side of them, dragged them along towards the beach till they reached a couple of trees, whence the boat was clearly visible. The canoe had returned on board, and Adair observed that the men had got out their arms and were pulling her in towards the shore, while Jerry Bird, who acted as gunner, was standing on the forecastle, busy apparently in loading the gun mounted on it; the greater portion of which was, however, covered up with a piece of tarpaulin, so that the natives might not discover what was there. The rest of the crew not pulling had their muskets in their hands ready for use. All this was seen at a glance.

Directly they arrived at the two trees, the savages without further ceremony bound Adair to one, and Desmond to the other, facing the boat; while the chief and several of his followers, who were armed with muskets, levelled them at their heads.

“By my faith, we’re in an unpleasant position,” exclaimed Desmond. “Sure the fellows can’t be after blowing our brains out.”

“They most certainly will, if Archie ventures to open fire on them; but I don’t think he’ll do that while we’re alive,” answered Adair. “Had Hamed been with us, we could have learned what they want. As it is, I’m afraid that there is as little hope of our understanding them as there is of their making out what we say. However, I’ll try.” Though Adair was lashed to the tree, his arms were left at liberty, and beckoning to the chief, he tried to make him signify what it was he wanted. At length he seemed to understand Adair’s question, and, going through the action of rolling a cask down the beach, he put on an angry look, and then, holding his musket and a piece of cloth in his hand, he showed that he wanted those articles in payment for the water carried off.

“The rascal!” exclaimed Adair; “however, it’s better to pay them than run the risk of being shot,” and, shouting to Archie, he directed him to send two of his men on shore with the articles demanded, there fortunately being still a supply of cloth on board, which had been brought for bartering with the natives.

“Let the small-armed men cover the men while they are landing,” he again shouted, “and let them leave the things on the beach, and take good care that the natives don’t seize them.”

Archie heard the order, and soon afterwards the canoe came towards the beach, bringing an old musket and a few yards of calico.

The chief, eager to possess himself of the treasures, hurried down to the water, while the men in the canoe, as directed, paddled back to the boat. When the chief had got possession of them, he, like Pharaoh, hardened his heart, and refused to liberate his captives, insisting on having a further ransom. Adair was very much inclined to refuse, and shook his head to show that he would pay no more. On this the chief levelled his musket, with significant gesture’s, showing that he intended to persist in his demand.

“We must yield to the fellow,” said Adair; “it would be folly to run the risk of being shot for the sake of maintaining our dignity.”

“I don’t think that musket would be after shooting us,” observed Desmond, with perfect calmness.

“Why so?” asked Adair.

“Because it happens not to have a lock,” answered Gerald; “and, as far as I can see, it is the best of the lot.”

“So far that is satisfactory,” said Adair; “as the fellows can’t injure those in the boat; but, notwithstanding that, they may give us club-law or run their daggers into us, so it won’t do to try them too much.” Adair asked the chief what he wanted in addition to the things he had received, but he could not make out the meaning of the old fellow’s reply. He therefore directed Archie to send some large rings and beads, and a few other articles used to trade with the natives. On these being received the chief seemed tolerably well satisfied, and ordered his men to release the prisoners, putting out his hand as if he had acted in no extraordinary manner, and wished to part good friends. Adair, not to be outdone, shook his hand, and, taking him by the arm, walked with him slowly down towards the beach.

“Stick close to his other side, Desmond,” he said. “I’m going to play the old fellow a trick he little thinks of.”

The chief seemed to have no suspicions of Adair’s design, and was evidently anxious to do away with the effect his conduct had produced. When they had got about half-way to the beach, however, on finding himself at some distance from his followers, he stopped, when Adair, suddenly pulling out a pistol from his pocket, which the natives had not discovered, held it to the old fellow’s head, and made him understand that he would shoot him through the brain if he refused to come on to the canoe, or if any of his people approached to his assistance. Archie, seeing what had occurred, had sent in the canoe, which had just reached the beach with a couple of hands. He had likewise brought the gun to bear on the mass of natives, who stood very much astonished at the sudden change of circumstances. Some way from the water, the old chief, fully believing that the English officer would put his threat into execution, sang out to his followers to keep quiet, and not to attempt to rescue him.

“Come along, old fellow, come along,” cried Desmond, hauling away at the arm of the reluctant chief, who had, by the bye, fastened Adair’s sword-belt round his waist. The old man, who exhibited but little heroism on the occasion, trembling in every limb, turned an imploring glance at the lieutenant, to entreat him not to pull the fatal trigger.

“Now, Desmond,” cried Adair, “trip him up by the heels as soon as we get to the canoe, and we’ll give him a lesson neither he nor his followers will forget in a hurry.”

The two men in the canoe, guessing what their officers intended, kept her afloat; and Adair and Desmond with a sudden jerk running the old chief into the water, the latter tripped up his heels, and, before he knew where he was, he was hauled on board and stowed away in the bottom.

“Shove off,” cried Adair, as he and Desmond sprang into the stern; and the next instant they were paddling away in the canoe, before even the natives on shore had clearly comprehended that their chief was being spirited off. He groaned and shrieked, without exciting the slightest compassion, and was soon lifted crop and heels on board the boat. Archie had already begun to weigh anchor; the sails were hoisted, and the wind being off-shore, the boat stood out to the offing, leaving the natives lost in wonder as to what had become of their chief.

“Thank you, Gordon; you behaved admirably under the circumstances,” said Adair.

“I am glad of your good opinion, sir,” answered Archie; “but, if you will allow me to say so, I think you and Desmond acted still more admirably.”

The crew, of course, were loud in their expressions of admiration at their officers’ conduct.

“Now we’ve got him, what are we to do with him?” asked Desmond.

“Treat him well, and send him back a wiser if not a better man than he was,” answered Adair. “We’ll carry him with us on board the Opal as a proof of the transaction, and perhaps, after a few months’ stay on board, he will have learned better manners.”

The old chief, however, did not seem at all to approve of the change of his circumstances, and at first it was thought that he was going to give it up as a hopeless case, and die of vexation. Jerry Bird, however, patted him on the back. “Don’t take on, old fellow, in this fashion,” he said, in a consoling voice; “you thought you were going to play the lieutenant a trick, and, like many a better man, you found you caught a Tartar. What’s the odds? we’ll give you as much pork and biscuit as you can eat, and a glass of grog to cheer you up, and you’ll come all right by and by.”

Whether it was the words of this address, or the tone in which it was uttered, need not be discussed; but it seemed to have the effect of bringing the old chief round, and when a basin of “kettler” was served out to him, he did not inquire what were the ingredients, but gobbled it up with evident gusto. He smacked his lips, also, after tasting the pannikin of grog which Jerry offered him, and though he put it down again once or twice, as if doubting about the matter, he finally drained it to the dregs.

“I thought as how you’d like it,” said Jerry, patting him on the back; “you shall have another presently, and you won’t have to say that we treated you with scant hospitality. That ain’t our way aboard ship.”

Adair, however, interfered, and prevented the men from giving the old chief as much liquor as they were ready to bestow on him, lest he might get drunk, and take it into his head to run a-muck or jump overboard. He had taken enough, however, to send him fast asleep in the bottom of the boat, where he lay, as Jerry observed, “like a porpus in a gale of wind.”

Chapter Five.

Three Dhows chased—One is captured and left in Charge of Desmond and Archie—Frightful Condition of Slaves on Board—Horrible Cruelties practised by Arabs—Jerry Bird sets the Slaves dancing to keep up their Spirits—Desmond’s Watch—He and Archie thrown Overboard.

As the breeze continued light and favourable, the boat ran on all night under easy sail. A bright look-out was kept, however, in the possibility of meeting a dhow creeping along-shore. Just as morning dawned, and they arrived abreast of a deep bay which Adair intended to explore, three dhows were seen standing out from under the land, with their wide spread of canvas wooing the light breeze.

It was pretty evident that the boat had been discovered. Adair therefore ordered the crew to lower the sails, and to take to their oars, which they did with right goodwill, hoping to catch two, at least, of the strangers in sight.

The smallest and leading vessel showed Arab colours. A shot across her fore-foot quickly made her haul them down. The other two exhibited no bunting. From the efforts they were making to escape, it was pretty evident they were full slavers. As soon as Adair reached the first dhow, he leaped on board; but a glance told him that she was a legal trader, with not a slave in her, as far as he could judge; although there were several black men, whom the negoda affirmed belonged to the vessel.

“We’ll give you the advantage of believing you,” said Adair, jumping back into his boat, which pulled away to the nearest of the other vessels. Just then she lowered her sail.

“Hurrah!” cried Desmond; “she has given in.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Adair; “see, she is going to set a wider spread of canvas than before.”

He was right. Presently a long tapering yard rose to the head of the stern, the sail swelling out like the balloon jib of a racing yacht, and shining brightly in the rising sun.

“Should the breeze increase, she will walk away from us like greased lightning, as the Yankees say,” observed Adair.

“We’ll hope, then, it will remain calm,” said Archie. As it was, though the men strained at their oars, it taxed their utmost strength to gain on her. Still, they were gaining. Desmond and Archie stepped forward to assist Jerry in getting the gun ready to fire a shot as soon as they got near enough to make her heave-to. Light as was the breeze, the dhow continued to slip rapidly through the water. It was evident, however, that the boat was gaining on her, and the men redoubled their efforts.

“Shall we fire, sir?” asked Archie. “We might manage to bring down her sail.”

“Fire over her,” answered Adair; “a shot might chance to hurt some of the poor slaves, instead of the rascally Arabs.”

Jerry elevated the gun, and pulled the trigger. Away flew the shot right through the dhow’s huge sail; but her crew, looking to windward, fancied that the breeze was about to freshen. The gun was quickly sponged and again loaded.

“Try another shot,” cried Adair; “if you can hit the yard or mast, it will save us a long pull.”

Jerry willingly obeyed; but again the shot, though well aimed, only went through the sail.

“Very good practice,” said Adair, “but just let it be a little better.”

Jerry Bird, though watching the chase, could not help now and then taking a look at the countenance of the old chief,—Mustapha Longchops, the sailors called him,—but whether he wished the dhow to escape or not, it was difficult to say. Jerry had again got the gun ready, and, putting it on the breech, he exhorted it this time to do its duty. Again he pulled the trigger, when the next instant down came the long yard by the run on deck. The midshipmen uttered a hearty cheer, taken up by Adair and the crew, and in a few minutes they were alongside the vessel.

The Arabs, however, seeing only a single boat, and unsupported, had made up their minds, it seems, not to yield without a struggle. Some twenty savage-looking fellows, some armed with two-handed swords, others with muskets and assegais, stood ready to defend their vessel. As the pinnace ranged up alongside, several shots were fired and assegais hurled at them, one of which, whizzing close to Adair’s ear, stuck quivering in the sternsheets as he was springing up the side. The dauntless seamen, however, were not to be stopped by their show of weapons and threatening gestures. In spite of the Arabs, who cut and slashed right and left with their two-handed swords, several of the bluejackets were about to spring up the vessel’s side, when one of the former, aiming a blow at the head of the boat-hook, with which Jerry Bird was holding on, cut it right through; and at the same instant some of the Arab crew, who had in the meantime been bending on fresh halyards, hoisted away on the sail, the dhow forging ahead.

“Fire at those fellows!” cried Adair to the small-armed men; who, letting fly with their muskets, bowled over three at once. The oars were meantime again got out, and the sail having come down on deck, the boat once more dashed up, this time making for the starboard bow. Jerry took the precaution of making fast with a stout rope; and, led by Adair, all hands were quickly on board, two more of the Arabs being shot down.

The others, however, still bravely attempted to defend their vessel, wielding their weapons with the same vigour as before; but, desperate as they were, they could not withstand the British cutlasses, and were driven aft for refuge in the cabin, crying out for mercy. All this time shrieks and groans arose from the hold, while the vilest of odours, a mixture of everything abominable, pervaded the vessel, leaving not a doubt, even had the crew not attempted to defend her, that she was a full slaver, and a legal capture.

“Hand over your arms,” cried Adair, “and we’ll spare your lives.” It is possible some one among the Arabs might have understood English; at all events, the whole of the crew soon hurried up and handed over their swords and other weapons to the victors.

“Tumble their arms into the pinnace,” said Adair; “we must have that other dhow. Gordon and Desmond, I’ll leave you with five men to manage these fellows, while I go in chase of her. If I take her, keep close to me. Signalise should they show any inclination to be mutinous, and I’ll bear down and help you. I’ll leave you the canoe; we shall make better way without her.” Saying this, Adair shoved off and pulled away in chase of the third dhow.

The first care of the midshipmen was to complete the task in performing which the three Arabs had been killed, and to hoist up the sail, aided by several of the crew, whom they compelled at the point of their swords to lend a hand; while, one of the seamen being sent to the helm, the dhow steered after the pinnace in hot chase of the still uncaptured slaver, the canoe, which had hitherto been alongside, being stowed astern.

The deck of the dhow, on board which the midshipmen found themselves, presented a horrible appearance. The three men who had first been shot lay stiff and stark, weltering in their blood at the foot of the mast. Farther off sat the negoda, with a shot through his leg and another in his body, glaring fiercely at them; while another man lay not far off, writhing in agony, with life ebbing fast. The rest of the crew, greasy, dirty ruffians, with close-fitting turbans and caps on their heads, baggy trousers, and vests covering their bodies, stood about with sulky, hang-dog looks, regarding the victors.

“We must keep an eye on these fellows,” said Jerry Bird to Archie; “they’ll not mind cutting our throats if they have the chance.”

“Little doot aboot that,” said Archie; “but hallo! here’s our old friend Mustapha Longchops. How did he get on board?”

It was very evident that the old chief must have scrambled up after the seamen boarded, and stowed himself away till the fight was over. What was his object in so doing was difficult to ascertain.

“It wasn’t with any good intention, I’ve a notion,” said Desmond; “however, we’ll be up to him.”

“I think, sir,” said Jerry Bird, “we may as well see if they’ve got any more arms stowed away. If they have, the sooner they’re hove overboard the better; for if they get hold of them, the Arabs would prove somewhat ugly customers on a dark night.”

Jerry’s advice was followed. While two of the hands kept an eye on the crew on deck, Jerry and Desmond, with the rest, searched the after-cabin, and discovered no less than a dozen muskets, several pistols and swords, and some formidable-looking knives or daggers, which would have proved deadly weapons in the hands of the Arabs. They were all quickly hove overboard, greatly to the disgust of their former owners. They were, however, not the only articles discovered.

“Hallo! what’s this?” cried Jerry, drawing out a box from the locker; “it seems pretty heavy for its size. Shouldn’t be surprised to find it full of gold.”

Desmond, who was superintending the search, laughed. “We can scarcely expect such good luck as that,” he answered.

“We’ll try, sir,” said Jerry, prising open the top with one of the daggers which he had retained. “Hurrah! I was right, sir,” he sang out; “golden pieces every one of them, four or five hundred, at least!”

“No doubt about it,” observed Desmond, examining the box; “it is not ours, however, after all. We must hand it over to the commander as part of the cargo found in the prize, as well as every other article of value; though we shall get our share in due time.”

“To be sure, sir, to be sure,” answered Jerry, with a sigh. “At first I thought you and Mr Gordon, and the rest of us, might pocket it; but it’s all right—we must share and share alike.”

Desmond ordered the box to be stowed away in the forepart of the cabin, which he and Archie intended to occupy. The Arab captain cast a longing glance at his treasure as it was carried away, possibly regarding the present possessors with no friendly feeling. The discovery induced the seamen to make a further search, and jewellery, pieces of cloth and silk, and numerous rich Arab garments were brought to light, sufficient altogether to fill a considerable portion of the cabin.

“Now let’s look after the slaves below,” said Archie; “the poor fellows must have been in a fearful quandary while the fighting was going forward.”

Whatever feeling of pity the condition of the wounded Arabs might have excited in the breasts of the English was removed when they came to examine the hold. Indeed, the horrible state of the unhappy beings surpasses all description. Upwards of two hundred human beings were found stowed away in the hold of the craft, which could not have measured more than a hundred tons. On a bamboo deck, scarcely raised high enough above the keel to be free of the abominably-smelling bilge-water which occupied her lowest depths, lay some eighty or ninety men, doubled up, and packed so closely together that it was utterly impossible for them to stretch their legs; while there was not room enough for them to raise their heads without touching the deck above. They were stowed away, indeed, literally, as Jerry Bird observed, “like herrings in a cask.” Above them were an equal number of women huddled together, doubled up in the same fashion, the space being insufficient for them to sit or recline. On the highest deck were penned away a still larger number of children of various ages, ranging from six years old to twelve or thirteen, girls and boys, with even less space allowed them, in proportion to their size, than their elders. The miserable wretches were evidently suffering fearfully from starvation and dysentery. Many were too weak to move, and several on the point of breathing their last. Five or six of the women had infants in their arms but a few weeks old. As one of the mothers was brought on deck, she exhibited her child with its head crushed in, which she intimated had been done, just after the boat had been discovered in pursuit, by one of the Arabs, because the child had been crying somewhat lustily.

“Let’s see the fellow who did it,” exclaimed Desmond, “and we’ll pay him off for his barbarity.”

The woman understood him, and looked about among the crew till her eye fell on the wounded Arab, who still lay writhing on the deck.

“Is that he?” asked Desmond. “Well, he has got his due, and little pity any of us can feel for him.”

The midshipmen, with their cargo of slaves and villainous prisoners, found themselves in a very trying position, requiring the full exercise of all their wits and energies. Probably, had Adair had time to consider, he would not have left them with so small a force on board; but his eagerness to overtake the other dhow prevented him from reflecting on the difficulties and dangers they would have to encounter.

Their first care was to try and ameliorate the condition of the slaves. Search was made for such food and water as the dhow contained, and the Arabs were ordered to prepare a hearty meal for them—a task they set about with no very good grace. The only provisions they discovered were rice and millet seed, with scarcely drinkable water, and of these in most limited portions, on which the slaves would have had to subsist till the termination of their voyage. No wonder that many had died, and that nearly all looked more like living skeletons than human beings.

“If we’d had Dick Needham on board, he’d have told us how they managed with slavers captured on the West Coast,” observed Archie.

“I’ll tell you,” said Jerry Bird; “I’ve seen many a one taken. The best way is to get up forty or fifty at a time on deck and set them dancing. It seems to put new life into them, bad as they may be.”

The midshipmen followed Jerry’s advice at once, and released fifty of the men, who crawled up and squatted down on either side of the deck. A mess of rice, with a little water, was then served out to each of them. They eagerly swallowed the food, cramming it into their mouths like monkeys, but with less intelligence or animation in their countenances than those creatures exhibit.

“They don’t look as if they had much dancing in them,” observed Gerald.

“Stay a bit,” said Jerry; “we’ll soon see,” whereon he began skipping about, snapping his fingers and singing. Then he took hold first of one and then of another, and in a few seconds more than half of them were dancing like magic on their feet, imitating his movements; many more of them seeming willing to join in the sport, had they possessed the requisite strength. They sang and laughed and jabbered away as if they had not a care in the world.

“Faith, they look more like dancing skeletons than anything else,” said Gerald, watching the poor fellows. The voices of many of them were also so faint as scarcely to be audible, in spite of their efforts to sing out; indeed, it seemed a wonder that they could utter any notes except those of wailing and despair.

Of course, an anxious eye had been kept on the pinnace and the vessel she was chasing. “She’s up to her,” cried Desmond, who was looking through his glass; “she struck without a blow, and there go our fellows tumbling on board. Little doubt, however, about her being a slaver, though, as they must have seen the way in which we got hold of this craft, they thought it as well to save their bacon, and make the best of a bad job.”

It was evident that Adair had got easy possession of the third dhow, as the sail, which had at first been lowered, was quickly hoisted again, while the pinnace was dropped astern. He appeared to consider that all was going well on board the first capture, as he did not shorten sail to allow her to come up. Perhaps he was too busy with the Arab captain and the slaves to think about the matter.

The first gang of blacks, having enjoyed themselves for some time in their own fashion, were ordered below. The women were next got up. Poor creatures! there was very little dancing power in them; many of them being mothers who had lost their children, and others with dying infants in their arms, many of them in the last stage of sickness. Still, some of them, on being set to work, began skipping about, clapping their hands, laughing and singing, at no little risk of breaking in the frail deck; for, in general, being fatter, they were heavier than the men. The Arabs looked on with evident disgust, not comprehending the object of the English in expending so much food, and allowing the negroes to move about, thereby increasing their appetites. The poor children were the last to appear on the stage, and they were all turned out together, looking more like apes than human beings. Having been on the highest deck, with some ventilation from above, they were less in want of air than the grown-up people, though they seemed to enjoy the exercise allowed them even more than the rest; but not a particle of the animation of childhood was discernible among any of them. From the way they moved about, they seemed to fancy that their dance was but a prelude to their being put to death to fill the cooking-pots of the white men, which their Arab captors had told them would be their lot.

All hands had been so busy that no one had thought of eating themselves. It was then discovered that a bag of biscuit alone had been brought on board and a bottle of rum, which one of the men in the pinnace had handed up to Jerry just as she was shoving off. This was, however, better than nothing, and they hoped before long to be up with the other prize, and to obtain more substantial fare. The day was now drawing to a close. The wind continued light as before, and the two dhows retained their relative positions; the last taken being about half a mile on the port-bow of the other. The four dead bodies were hove overboard (for the badly-wounded wretch had followed his companions to the other world).

Archie and Gerald had done their best to bind up the hurts of the negoda, who had been placed in the cabin with such care taken of him as circumstances would admit. They tried to make him understand that, as soon as they could fall in with a surgeon, his wounds would be better dressed. The Arab crew, being tired, coiled themselves away in different parts of the vessel, while Mustapha Longchops had seated himself at his ease near the skipper. Thus the management of the dhow was left entirely to her captors.

Archie and Desmond consulted together as to whether they ought to clap the crew in irons, or, rather, to lash their arms and legs together, thus putting it out of their power to commit mischief. They settled, however, as Adair had said nothing about it, to allow them to remain at liberty. Archie, of course, took one watch and Desmond the other, with the crew divided between them. As the night advanced, the wind increased, and the dhow made rapid way through the water, steering after Adair’s prize. No moon was shining, clouds gathered in the sky, and the night became darker than usual in those latitudes. Desmond was to keep the first watch, with one man at the helm and another on the look-out; while Archie lay down just inside the door of the cabin, with Jerry near him, the other two men going forward.

“I’ll sleep with one eye open, sir,” said Jerry, “and will be up in a moment if I’m wanted.”

The Arab crew were sleeping about in groups on the deck, where they had lain for some time, none of them having offered to lend a hand to do anything. Desmond had been awake for the greater part of the previous night, and, having undergone a good deal of excitement during the day, it was no wonder that he found it difficult to keep his eyes open; still, he did his best to watch a light which Adair had hung over the stern of his prize, and, after looking for some time, he felt convinced that they were slowly gaining on her. Every now and then he turned to the man at the helm with some remark, and then shouted to the other forward to keep a bright look-out. At length, however, the light ahead began to flicker and dance, and now to grow larger, now to decrease, till it was scarcely visible. He was holding fast on to the side of the dhow, and found some support necessary. He looked up at the huge sail, which, bulging out, seemed to grow larger and larger till it towered up into the sky. Desmond was a very promising officer, but even the most promising are made of flesh and blood, and require sleep to restore exhausted nature. The most vigilant would not have found him nodding, for he would have promptly answered with perfect correctness had he been spoken to. Notwithstanding that, Gerald Desmond was certainly not broad awake—or rather, he was as fast asleep as a midshipman standing on his legs, with his eyes wide open, could be. His thoughts, too, were wandering, now to Ballymacree, now to Commander Murray’s home in the Highlands, and now away to the West Indies, where he might still be for all he knew.

Just then, suddenly he felt a cloth thrown over his eyes, and before he could put up his hands to draw it away, he found his arms pinioned behind him. The same instant he heard Archie and Jerry Bird sing out, and the man at the helm struggling desperately with a number of the Arabs, while from every part of the dhow arose shouts and cries. Then there came a splash, then another and another; the next instant he was hurled headforemost overboard, happily his arms getting free as he struggled impulsively to save himself from his impending fate.

Chapter Six.

Adair boards the third Dhow—Her Crew and Passengers—Pango discovers that the latter are Slaves—Adair returns with the Dhow to the Island—Green absent on an Expedition—Adair’s Fears as to Desmond and Archie—Green returns with the Dhow left in charge of Desmond, but without the Midshipmen—Adair’s Anxiety increases—Interrogation of the Arab Crew—A Sail in Sight—She proves to be the Opal—Adair informs Murray of the Loss of the Midshipmen—The Commander’s Grief—The Dhow blows up with all on Board, and saves the Hangman a Job—The Opal goes in search of the Midshipmen.

Adair, after leaving the midshipmen on board the first dhow, eager to capture the second, urged his crew not to spare their arms, or the tough ash-sticks they handled. They, fully as eager as the lieutenant, were not the men to do that, and the boat made rapid progress through the calm water. They had every hope of catching her, unless a breeze should suddenly spring up, when they well knew that she would slip away from them at a speed which they had no chance of equalling. In case of such an occurrence, the gun mounted on the bow was reloaded, ready to send a shot after her.

The wind continued light, and at length, laying in their oars, they ranged up alongside, taking good care to make the boat fast; when, following their lieutenant, all hands leaped on board with cutlasses and pistols, ready to make short work of any who might oppose them—though, to their surprise, not the slightest resistance was offered. The deck appeared crowded with passengers, their skins black as jet, but dressed in every variety of Oriental costume. The numerous crew, a large proportion of whom were black, were collected forward; while the negoda stood aft, near the man at the helm. He advanced with a smiling countenance, and made a profound salaam to Adair, who, sheathing his sword, with his men at his back, stood ready to receive him; a couple only, one of whom was Pango, remained in the boat to look after her.

He was a wiry, daring-looking fellow, with a bold, piratical swagger, which gave an impression that he would not hesitate at the most audacious acts of atrocity which he might suppose would forward the object he happened to have in view. He put out his hand in the most cool and impudent manner to shake Adair’s, and then stood calmly eyeing his uninvited visitors, as much as to say, “Now make the most of me you can.”

“Well, amigo, where are you come from?” asked Adair. The negoda, who seemed to expect some such question, though he probably did not understand the words, pointed to the south, and then uttered a long string of sentences, in which Adair thought he could distinguish Zanzibar.

“Well, my friend, and who are all these people you have got on board?” continued Adair, pointing to the silent figures on deck.

The Arab poured forth a torrent of words, pointing in the same direction as before, and next putting a piece of coin from one hand into the other.

“Yes, I understand; they are travellers, going to see the world, and have paid their passage-money, all right and proper. And when they get to Zanzibar, what are they going to do?” asked Adair.

The last question the Arab evidently did not understand, and Adair saw that it would be useless to press the point, knowing that whatever the Arab might say, whether true or false, he should not be the wiser. “And now, as to those fellows tumbling about there, and butting against each other with their curly pates, and looking more like chimney-sweeps than sailors,” said Adair, “what have they got to do here?”

The Arab, who guessed by the direction of Adair’s eyes that he was asking questions about the men forward, made signs of pulling and hauling.

“Oh, they form part of your crew, do they? Well, I should like to see your papers, and how many hands you are licenced to carry,” said Adair, making the usual signal of pretending to write, which the negoda clearly understanding, produced from his capacious pocket various documents scrawled all over with Arabic characters.

Adair took them, but of course did not understand a single one of the curious-shaped letters and papers. “Very shipshape,” he remarked, pretending to scan the papers. “If you have no slaves on board, nor fittings for slaves, we must let you proceed on your voyage,” he added, returning the papers with a polite bow, on which the skipper appeared highly delighted. “You’ll give me leave first, however, to search the hold and take a look into your cabin.” The negoda’s countenance fell, as Adair, followed by two of his men, made their way into the space under the high poop. “Hallo! who are all these?” he exclaimed, as he saw seated round the sides some thirty sable damsels, bundled up in silks and cottons, with a variety of ornaments on their curly heads, most of them with children in their arms, or seated by their side, little and big.

The skipper looked somewhat nonplussed; but presently, pointing out three of the best-looking, he tried to make his visitor understand that they were his wives.

“Oh! very well,” said Adair, who comprehended his meaning; “but to whom do all those others belong?”

To this the negoda, without replying directly, shouted to his Arab crew, who came aft, each man taking the hands of a couple of negresses, and declaring that they were his better halves. Thus all the people who had hitherto been seen were accounted for, and the hold alone remained to be examined. Above the cargo, which was stowed in no very regular fashion, was a bamboo deck; but that of course would be necessary for the numerous male and female passengers and their offspring, and was not sufficient in itself to condemn the vessel. Still Adair was not altogether satisfied.

On returning on deck, he determined to interrogate some of the silent negro passengers, who did not look as if they were accustomed to the fine clothes they wore. Without an interpreter, this was a difficult undertaking. When he addressed the blacks, men or women, they put on the most stolid looks, showing him that it would be vain to hope to get any information out of them; but it was a wonder that such stupid-looking people should have any desire to see the world, or could be travelling either on business or pleasure. At last he had to give it up, and to turn to the black sailors. Going forward, he addressed one after the other; but as he spoke, their countenances also changed, and they stood before him with downcast looks, pictures of stolidity. Suddenly he at last bethought him of calling up Pango from the pinnace, to try if he could elicit any information from his sable countrymen. Pango, on being summoned, immediately sprang on board. No sooner had he done so than his eye fell on one of the blacks, from whom Adair was vainly endeavouring to extract information. The two negroes stared at each other for an instant. “Ki!” exclaimed Pango. “Ki!” answered the other, scanning Pango’s nautical costume. “Ki!” cried Pango, in a higher key; and then, both making a spring, they seized each other’s hands and began shouting at the top of their voices, now laughing, now crying, and again looking in each other’s faces.

A rapid conversation then took place between them, the seeming Arab seaman asking Pango all sorts of questions, which he as quickly answered.

“What’s it all about?” asked Adair, pointing to the former.

“Brudder! brudder!” answered Pango.

“Where does he come from?” inquired Adair.

Pango gave the incomprehensible name of a village in the interior, adding, “Make slavey, make slavey.”

“And who are all those others?” asked Adair.

“All slavey, all slavey,” cried Pango eagerly.

“Ah! I thought so,” exclaimed Adair. “Tell them that they shall be set free, and that they need no longer sham being sailors, which one can tell with half an eye that they are not.”

Pango understood enough of what Adair said to make his fellow-countrymen understand that they would be liberated very soon, as they had the British flag hoisted over their heads. Although a few believed what Pango told them, the rest did not appear altogether convinced of the fact. Adair, however, had now sufficiently ascertained the character of the vessel to warrant him in keeping possession of her.

The negoda, on discovering the resolution which the English officer had formed, looked very much taken aback. In vain he stormed and swore in the choicest Arabic, and cast vindictive glances at Pango, threatening him with condign punishment should he ever catch him on shore. Pango, caring very little for his threats, talked away eagerly with his countrymen, and soon the greatest number went over to the side of the English tars.

Their first care was to disarm the Arabs, and to throw their weapons overboard, while the dhow was searched fore and aft for any others which might be concealed. The negoda, finding he was discovered, very quickly stripped the blacks of their fine garments, and reduced them to the primitive appearance of veritable slaves, giving Adair to understand that the dresses were his private property, and that he expected to be allowed to carry them off. The poor women seemed very loth to part with their borrowed plumes; but the negoda treated them without ceremony, and, as evening approached, sent them and the children all down into the hold. The men were then made to follow them.

Adair had the satisfaction of feeling that he had caught a second slaver, but he saw that it would require all his vigilance to prevent the Arabs from playing him any trick. Looking out astern, he saw the first captured dhow following in his wake. “All right with the youngsters,” he thought; “they and Bird have their wits about them, and will keep the slaver’s crew under.”

As the dhow appeared to be coming up with him, he saw no necessity for shortening sail, as he hoped that she would close with him before nightfall. By the time the sun went down she had got considerably nearer, and, satisfied that all was right, he stood on. The night came on much darker than usual, but he made out the peak of her triangular sail rising against the sky, and therefore still felt perfectly at ease about her. With so many doubtful characters on board, he would not lie down even for a moment, or allow any of his crew to do so, but kept them together, ready to defeat any attempt the Arabs might make to regain their vessel. As they hoped to reach the island the next day, they might then take a long snooze to make up for their want of sleep. Several times he looked astern, when he saw the other prize still about the same distance as before. Suddenly there came a squall and a downpour of rain, but the wind being right aft, the dhow flew on before it. He, however, thought it prudent to send his men to the halyards, so as to be ready, should the wind increase, to lower the sail, the Arabs showing no inclination to assist in working the vessel.

The darkness was greater than ever. The rain indeed, even by itself, was thick enough to hide any objects except close to. In about an hour it cleared off again, when, on looking out for number one prize, he could nowhere distinguish her. “I suppose Gordon and Desmond judged it prudent to lower their sail; they will be hoisting it again presently,” he said to himself. Soon afterwards he thought he made her out, rather more over the port quarter than she had been before. Yes, he was certain of it, though she seemed to him farther off than she had hitherto been; still, if the midshipmen had lowered their sail that was to be expected.

Adair, still believing that all was right, continued his course, eager to reach the island, and to arrange for despatching the two dhows to the port of adjudication; though he had no doubt that they both would prove lawful prizes. When morning at length broke, dhow number two was nowhere in sight. This made him somewhat anxious, and he regretted that he had not shortened sail at first to allow her to come up. Still the midshipmen had their wits so completely about them, and Bird was so trustworthy a fellow, and fully alive to the importance of keeping an eye on the Arabs, that he had no very serious apprehensions about their safety.

A clump of trees rising in the centre of the island at length, to his infinite satisfaction, came in sight. He dropped his anchor in the small harbour formed by the coral reef which circled round the southern portion. He was seen coming in, and one of the boats pulled off to welcome him. He was informed that a vast number of dhows had been boarded, but none as yet captured, all being, as far as could be ascertained, lawful traders; though several had, like his prize, no small number of black passengers on board.

“Depend upon it, then, you have been deceived,” said Adair, “as I should, had I not the fortunate chance, by means of Pango, to discover the trick the rascally Arabs are playing us. All those black passengers were really slaves, dressed up by their masters. However, we’ll take care in future that their trick doesn’t avail them, and they must take to some other dodge if they wish to escape us.”

Jos Green, he found, had gone over towards the mainland, to watch for any vessels running in or out of Angoxa, or slipping by up the coast, and as he had been away for several days, it was expected that he would soon be back. Several times before going on shore Adair swept the horizon with his glass in search of the missing dhow, expecting every instant to see her sail, like the dark fin of a shark, rising above the waters. He looked, however, in vain. The other officers climbed, one after the other, to the look-out place, but came back with the report that no sail was in sight.

He at once, therefore, made up his mind to send the pinnace, with a fresh crew, in search of the dhow. The wind, though contrary, was slight, and she might reach the spot where the dhow had last been seen before nightfall, and, if any accident had happened to her, render assistance. His only dread was that she might have been leaky, as he knew to be the case with many such craft, and perhaps have gone down.

He and his men were pretty well worn—out from want of sleep and hard work. Having seen the slaves landed, and fresh hands placed in charge of the dhow and the Arab crew, he therefore lay down in his tent to obtain the rest he so much required. Completely exhausted, he slept on till morning.

His first inquiry on awaking was for the pinnace. She had not returned, nor had Green made his appearance. He naturally became more anxious than ever; something serious, he feared, must have happened to the midshipmen, or they would not have failed to have reached the island by that time.

He was on the point of despatching another boat, when the look-out man from the signal-station reported that a dhow was in sight coming across from the mainland. Her arrival was eagerly looked for. There could be no doubt that she was a prize made by Green. This was ascertained positively to be the case, and in about an hour she came to an anchor off the island, having Green’s boat astern. The two remaining boats at once put off, Adair going in one of them, accompanied by Pango (Bango had gone with Green to act as his interpreter).

“Why,” exclaimed Adair, as he drew near the dhow, “she’s the very vessel we captured! and has, I hope, the midshipmen and the rest of the boat’s crew on board.”

Green hailed them from the deck as they approached. “Glad of your assistance,” he said, “for I’ve got a pretty shipload of scoundrels, who gave us a tough job to take them.”

These words made Adair feel more anxious than ever. He recognised the Arab skipper and Mustapha Longchops on deck, but neither of the midshipmen nor any of the men. He was quickly on deck and shaking hands with Green, though the dreadful feeling which oppressed him prevented him for some moments from speaking.

“Where are the midshipmen, Desmond and Gordon,” he asked, “and the men I left on board this vessel?”

“You left?” exclaimed Green; “why, I only captured her last night, and had no notion that she had ever been in our hands before, except, by the bye, that Bango has tried to make me understand something which he had heard, though I confess I couldn’t exactly comprehend his meaning.”

“The night before last I left the midshipmen safe and sound, with four hands and a canoe towing astern,” said Adair; “the canoe, I see, is gone, but they would certainly not have deserted the vessel. We must seize these scoundrels, the skipper and that black fellow, with the rest of the Arabs, at once, for I very much fear they have been guilty of some foul play.”

Calling more of his men on board, Adair ordered them to handcuff the whole of the party. The Arabs looked somewhat alarmed, their skipper very much so. “What have you done with my officers and men?” asked Adair. The negoda, recovering himself, with the coolest effrontery made the action of shaking hands, then pointed astern, as if to signify that those whom Adair was asking after had parted good friends and gone off in the canoe.

“A very likely tale,” said Adair sadly; “let’s try what Pango and his brother can make out of the old black chief.” On this Green told them to hear what the old man had to say. They evidently spoke the same language. At last Pango, turning round to Adair, tried hard to give the information he had obtained. What with the numerous signs, and the few words of English uttered by the black, Adair understood that the old chief grieved for what had happened, but that he himself had nothing to do with it; that the Arabs had set upon the Englishmen, two of whom were below, had blindfolded them and thrown them overboard.

Adair and Green both interrogated their black friends, and each time came to the same sad conclusion. There could be no doubt that the two lads, Jerry Bird, and the other men had been foully murdered. Adair felt very much inclined to hang all the fellows at once, but of course this could not be thought of; they must first be tried, and there could be no doubt that they would be convicted. What satisfaction would it be to hang the scoundrels? Putting them to death would not probably prevent others from committing similar deeds, nor would it bring those who were lost to life.

It was necessary, however, to land the slaves at once, for the sake of preserving their health; for even during the last few hours several of the grown-up people had died, and nearly a dozen of the children; and others, it was clear, would not survive unless carried on shore, and supplied with better food and fresh water. Superintending this work occupied Adair, and prevented him from mourning over the loss of his young nephew and Archie. The party on shore had been occupied for some time in putting up huts for housing any slaves who might be brought to the island. These were soon filled with the women and children and the sick men. The others not so greatly requiring immediate shelter were set to work to put up some huts for themselves, an operation most of them seemed to understand very well.

In the meantime, the Arab crew were kept on board, under charge of an officer and a party of seamen. Towards evening the boat was seen returning, and Adair had some faint hopes that she might have obtained some information of the midshipmen, in case the skipper’s version of the affair was true. Adair hurried down to meet her.

“We bring you no news of the missing ones,” said the officer in charge; “we went as far as you directed, and then swept round inshore, but no dhow could we see.”

Adair, more out of spirits than he had ever been in his life before, got back to the camp. One of the men came running in with the information that a ship was in sight to the northward. Adair and several others hurried to the nearest point from which they could see her, and he and Green were both of opinion that she was the Opal. This was confirmed when she got near enough to make her number. Hopes were entertained that she was coming to take them off; for, though not exactly tired of the life they had been leading, they would gladly have gone to some other locality, where they would be likely to meet with better success than they could boast of hitherto. Adair, however, found himself wishing that Murray had not come back. How could he face him with the account of the loss of the two midshipmen? Murray might blame him, and not unjustly, for want of judgment in leaving them in charge of a vessel manned by desperate ruffians, who would, of course, be glad of the opportunity to revenge themselves on their enemies. “Why did not I think of that before?” exclaimed poor Terence more than once.

However, he ordered the gig to be manned, and as soon as the corvette approached the anchorage, he pulled away for her. She had just brought up, and the hands were aloft furling sails, when his boat got alongside. Murray was, of course, well pleased to see him, though struck by his grave looks.

“All hands are well, I hope? and the youngsters, have they managed to keep themselves out of mischief?” asked Murray.

Adair, a very unwonted thing, felt inclined to hang down his head, as, with a faltering voice, he told the story of their loss.

“You don’t mean to say you left those two lads, with only four careless men, to manage a set of cut-throats!” exclaimed Murray.

“I am sorry to say I did, not supposing that the said cut-throats would venture to turn upon them,” answered Adair.

“That’s it, Adair, that’s it,” exclaimed Murray, more testily than he was accustomed to speak; “you are too apt not to consider the consequences of what you do, and, from want of judgment, the lives of those boys have been thrown away.”

“Really, you are hard upon me,” cried Adair. “I acted as well as the circumstances would allow, and it was my duty to try and get hold of the other dhow.”

“You should have left a stronger force to keep in check a set of ruffians, with whom only a few minutes before you had been engaged in a struggle for life and death,” said Murray; “they acted according to their instincts, and murdered the poor boys.”

“I had no time to think of that or anything else,” said Adair, about to turn away; “it was my duty to take the other dhow, and I succeeded in doing so.”

Murray, observing how much Adair was moved, felt that he was speaking too harshly. “Well, well, I am sure you did as you considered best,” said he. “It is a very sad affair, but I don’t know that we ought to give them up as lost. You may have misunderstood the two blacks, though circumstances are strongly against the Arab captain. However, I will examine him and his crew and the old black chief, with the aid of Hamed, whom he can understand; and perhaps we may elicit something which will give us ground for hoping that they after all escaped.”

“I wish I could think so,” said Adair; “I shall blame myself as long as I live for their loss. I am certain they would not willingly have deserted their charge.”

Murray, having ordered Hamed to accompany him, pulled off in his gig with Adair. He found the rest of the officers standing on the beach ready to receive him, and he at once issued orders to have the slave captain and his companions brought on shore. Two boats were on the point of putting off to bring them, when a loud report was heard, and thick wreaths of smoke were seen issuing from the dhow, followed almost directly by flames bursting out from all parts. The boats dashed on to rescue those on board; as they did so, they saw a number of men, whom they recognised as their shipmates, swimming towards them, but not the dark face of an Arab among them.

The boats quickly picked them up one after the other, none, happily, of the party left on board being missing. Neither the officer nor any of the men could account for the accident. They were all on deck, the sentry near the hold in which the prisoners were confined; suddenly an explosion occurred which lifted up a portion of the deck, and sent the sentry and two other men standing near him overboard. Flames instantly afterwards burst out both fore and aft, and the natural impulse of the rest was to leap into the water to save their lives. The master’s assistant, who commanded the party, seeing that any attempt to rescue the prisoners would be utterly hopeless, to save his own life was compelled to follow his men.

Just as the last English seaman was picked up, the dhow’s stern, already a mass of flames, lifted, and she glided down, bow foremost, beneath the surface; a few pieces of charred wood and bamboo marking the spot where she had lately floated.

“Serve the fellows right,” observed several of the men who were watching the occurrence; “the hangman has been saved a job, and stout rope left for a better purpose.”

Murray and Adair, although acknowledging that the murderers, as they deemed them, had met with a just fate, could not help regretting that all means of obtaining information as to what had become of the midshipmen and their companions had thus been lost.

“All I can now do,” said Murray, “is to cruise over the ground the dhow must have traversed after you left her, and look out for the canoe, in case any of the party may have succeeded in getting into her. It is possible that some of them may have done so, although in this long interval they must have suffered fearfully for want of food.”

As no time was to be lost, Murray returned on board, leaving Adair with his party still on the island. The corvette, immediately weighing anchor, stood away close—hauled to the eastward, that she might on another tack fetch the spot where her search was to begin. Murray’s remarks had slightly raised Adair’s hopes that one if not both of the midshipmen might have been saved, had they been hove overboard alive; but it was too probable that the Arabs would have knocked them on the head first, and then thrown them into the water. He expressed his thoughts to Green.

“I don’t altogether give them up,” answered Jos. “Midshipmen have a wonderful way of keeping in existence, and by some means or other they may have escaped, though I can’t say how it may have happened.”

Adair’s anxiety prevented him from sitting quiet in his tent, and, in spite of the hot sun, he continued walking about, now visiting the look-out man, now seeing how the unfortunate slaves were getting on. Pango and Bango were of great assistance in communicating with them and dissipating their fears, though their captors had taken good care to instil into their minds the belief that the Englishmen wished only to catch them for the sake of salting them down for food, or disposing of them in some other horrible manner. Poor creatures! what their future lot was to be no one could tell. One thing was certain: they had been torn from their homes and families, many of those dearest to them had been killed by the savage men-hunters, and they themselves had been treated with horrible cruelty.

The boats, as usual, were kept in readiness to start off at a moment’s notice, while the look-out men had their eyes about them in search of any dhows running up the coast. “A sail in sight to the southward,” shouted the man up the tree.

“What is she like?” asked Adair.

“Square-rigged vessel, sir, with a broad spread of white canvas.”

Here was likely to be work. She might prove a Spanish or American vessel, or carrying the flag of one of the other powers which still permitted the slave-trade. If a slaver, she was not likely to yield tamely if she had a chance of escape. Many such vessels were known to be strongly armed, and to be commanded by daring fellows, who would be perfectly ready to fight if they saw a chance of success. All the boats, therefore, were manned, to be ready to attack her should she stand near the island; which, from the course she was steering, there was every probability she would do. Everyone looked forward to the work with satisfaction. The only fear was that she might be empty, and might simply be coming north to take in her slaves at Angoxa, or some other place farther north. Cutlasses were buckled on, pistols freshly capped, and other usual preparations made when fighting was in hand.

The wind was somewhat light, but at length the stranger’s courses rose above the horizon, when Jos Green, who had mounted to the signal-station, shouted out, “She’s an English brig-of-war, and is making her number.” Adair sent for the signal-book, and, inquiring the flag seen, quickly made her out as the Romp.

“Why, she’s been on the East India station,” he observed. “We shall soon know all about her, for she’s evidently steering for the island, and the breeze seems to be freshening. She’ll come to an anchor before long.”

Chapter Seven.

The Midshipmen swim for their Lives—Find the Canoe—Adrift on the Ocean—Their Sufferings—Picked up by the Romp, Commander Jack Rogers—Tom’s Meeting with Desmond and Archie—Adair’s Joy on seeing them—The Banquet on the Island—“Music hath Charms”—Burning of a Native Village—The Opal and Romp sail for Zanzibar.

When Gerald Desmond, surprised by the Arabs, was tumbled overboard, he happily managed to get his head clear of the cloth which had been thrown round it, and, striking out, he endeavoured to keep himself afloat, though he had little hopes of saving his life. Though the night was dark, he made out two or three objects floating near him. “Who’s there?” he shouted out.

“Is that you?” asked a voice which he knew to be that of Archie Gordon. “Help me, Gerald, to get this thing off my head, or I shall be drowned. Where are we? What has happened?”

A few strokes brought Gerald up to his messmate, and he quickly tore off the cloth which the Arabs had bound round his head.

“Praise Heaven that you’ve escaped, young gentlemen!” exclaimed another person, who proved to be Jerry Bird; “we’ve a long swim before us, but we must try to keep afloat somehow.”

While these remarks were being made, the dhow was gliding rapidly away, leaving them astern. “I’m afraid it’s more than mortals can do to swim all that distance,” said Desmond; “but hallo! what’s that? a huge fish coming to seize us?”

“No, sir,” cried Jerry Bird, “it’s the canoe. Someone has cut her adrift, and we’ve a better chance for our lives than I thought for.”

While they were speaking, a fourth head was seen, which Jerry hailed, and found that it was that of the man who had been at the helm. Urging him to keep up his spirits, the midshipmen and Jerry swam towards the canoe. It was no easy matter to get in without capsizing her; but they managed it, Desmond climbing over the bow and Jerry holding on to the stern. As soon as the two were in, Archie followed Desmond, and then Jerry himself got in. Their first impulse was to go to the assistance of the man who was swimming some little way off; but what was their disappointment on feeling about for the paddles to discover that none were on board. They managed, however, with their hands to work up to the poor fellow, who, being a bad swimmer, was almost exhausted, and on the point of sinking. Jerry caught him by the collar just as he was going down, and sang out to him to catch hold of the stern; but the difficulty was to get him in without the greatest possible risk of filling or capsizing the canoe, her gunwale being almost flush with the water.

“You must manage, Sam, to get in of yourself,” said Jerry at length; “I’ll go more for’ard. But take your time about it; there’s nothing to gain by being in a hurry, and all to lose.”

Sam Potts, having recovered his presence of mind, did as he was advised, and, the rest nicely trimming the canoe, he was enabled to crawl in directly over the stern, though not without causing a considerable amount of water to flow in over the gunwale. The midshipmen with their caps, and the two men with their hands; quickly baled it out; but so low was the canoe with their weight, that it was very evident, should any sea get up, that they would run a great risk of being swamped.

In vain they looked out for the other men, but no sign of them could they discover. They hailed, on the chance of their having been thrown overboard when the dhow had got more ahead, but no reply came to their shouts. They must either have been kept on board, or sunk immediately. Their own situation was, however, too precarious to allow them to trouble themselves much about the fate of their companions—without food or water, or the means of propelling their canoe, they might too probably, even if not drowned, die of hunger and thirst. Still, they had reason to be thankful that the canoe had been cast adrift at that very moment, and that they had been enabled to get on board her. The circumstance appeared providential, and why should they, therefore, fancy that they were to be allowed to perish?

The sea continued calm, and a downpour of rain gave them a sufficient amount of fresh water, which they caught in their hats and caps, to quench their thirst. They dared not move, so Sam Potts remained aft, Jerry amidships, Desmond next to him, and Archie forward, all of them sitting with their legs stretched out at the bottom of the canoe. The rain made them feel somewhat cold, notwithstanding that after some time Desmond went off to sleep, to finish the snooze so fatally indulged in while trying to keep his watch on the deck of the dhow. Before long Archie followed his example, as did Sam Potts, leaving Jerry alone awake.

Thus the night passed away. The two midshipmen were both awoke at the same moment by finding the rays of the sun shining in their eyes. “Where are we?” exclaimed Desmond. “Faith, I fancied that I was away snug at home at Ballymacree, and little did I think that I was floating about in a canoe out in the Mozambique Channel.”

“We may be very thankful that we are not at the bottom of the said channel,” remarked Archie.

“Faith, you may say that, my boy,” said Desmond; “small thanks to the rascally Arabs that we are not there. I only hope another of those slaving dhows won’t come by and run us down. They’re not likely to treat us with much courtesy if they guess what has happened.”

“If a dhow does come by, we must try to board her and take her,” exclaimed Jerry Bird.

“But we’ve got no arms,” said Archie; “how are we to manage without them?”

“Take them from the rascals, to be sure, if they show fight,” said Jerry. “As to running us down, we’ll show them that they’ve made a mistake if they attempt it. If a dhow comes near us, we must make the canoe fast alongside, jump on board all together, seize the arms of the fellows nearest us, and then lay about us with right goodwill till we’ve driven the crew below or overboard.”

Although Jerry’s plan seemed a somewhat desperate one, its discussion served to keep up the spirits of the party, who entered into it cordially; and all agreed that it should be attempted, should they have the opportunity. The sun now rose and beat down on their heads with fearful force, while around them the calm sea shone like burnished gold. Their hunger increased, while already they began to feel the want of water. The midshipmen suffered most. “I say, Archie, I’m getting mighty ravenous,” whispered Desmond; “I shall be turned into a living skeleton pretty soon, with no more flesh on my bones than some of the unfortunate slaves.”

“I’ve taken in a couple of reefs in my belt, and somewhat stopped the gnawing I was feeling just now,” answered Archie; “you’d better do the same.”

“Faith, I should be after cutting myself in two,” said Desmond, “before I could stop this abominable biting in my inside.”

Still the two midshipmen kept up their spirits, and talked away in a cheerful strain, in spite of the heat and their consequently increasing thirst. The sea continued calm and the wind so light that it would be long before a dhow or any other vessel could reach them. As their thirst increased, their inclination to converse lessened; and at length they and the two men continued, often for half an hour together, without uttering a word.

“I wonder what’s become of Harry and Bill,” said Sam Potts. “I’ve been thinking of them. Maybe they’re worse off than we are.”

“Too likely,” said Jerry. “The slaver’s crew wouldn’t have left them alive to bear evidence that we were hove overboard; so, depend upon it, if they didn’t send them after us, they knocked them on the head, or cut their throats whenever they found them. Bad as we are off, they, poor fellows, are much worse. We may be thankful, Sam, that we are where we are. This isn’t the first time that I’ve been in a boat out in mid-ocean, without a drop of water, and with nothing to eat except maybe a flying-fish and a brace of noddies we caught, and a dead bird we picked up, till we came across a whale floating, and, fed on the blubber for a week or more, though we had to hold our noses as we put it into our mouths, till we were at length picked up. So you see, bad off as we may be, we’ve no business to give way to despair; help will come from one side or the other.”

These remarks contributed to keep up the spirits of all the party, which had naturally begun to flag. As the day advanced the heat became greater and greater. They did what they could to keep themselves cool; they wetted their shirts and their clothes, but they very speedily became dry again. The evening of another day was approaching; nearly four-and-twenty hours had passed since they had taken any food, and not a biscuit had anyone by chance in his pocket. At length, after rummaging in his pocket for some time, Sam Potts drew out a black-looking lump of about the size of the end joint of his thumb. “Hurrah!” he exclaimed; “here’s a treasure! Jerry, ask the young gentlemen if they’d like to have a chaw, I suppose they won’t take it amiss, seeing we’re all in the same boat.”

The midshipmen thanked Sam, but declined his offer, feeling that it was more likely to increase their thirst than to lessen it. Jerry, however, expressed his gratitude to his mate, who generously gave him half his precious quid, which he immediately stuffed into his cheek. “Ah, this is something like!” he exclaimed; “bless my heart, it’s like meat and drink. Them as never was out at sea in an open boat, without as much food as would cover a sixpence, they shouldn’t cry out and abuse us poor fellows for taking a chaw, or enjoying a blow of baccy when we’ve a chance.”

“You’re right, mate,” said Sam; “I’d have given my last golden guinea for a quid, and I believe it will help to keep our bodies and souls together better nor anything else we was likely to find out here.”

The midshipmen, who had heard Jerry’s remarks about noddies and flying-fish, kept looking out in the hopes that they might get hold of some denizens of the sea or air. Though occasionally the fin of a shark appeared above the surface, or some huge monster was seen gambolling at a distance, no living thing, however, came near to enable them to satisfy their craving hunger. Thus the day passed away, and night once more threw her sable mantle over the ocean. The sky was clear. Archie thought it was his duty to try and sit up and keep watch, but it was more than he could do, and in a short time both he and Desmond dropped off into a sound slumber. Hour after hour they continued in a half-waking, half-sleeping state, their strength decreasing for want of food, and even when awake their minds wandering in a strange fashion, from which they were only aroused when Jerry or Sam spoke to them. Their case was becoming, they could not help feeling, serious indeed, and they were conscious that, should relief not arrive, they must, ere many hours were passed over their heads, succumb to hunger and thirst. The night seemed interminable, and they could only pray that the daylight might bring them assistance. Towards morning they were somewhat aroused by feeling the canoe tossing about far more than she had hitherto done, while every now and then the top of a sea washed over her gunwale, just sufficiently to show them that they had a new danger to apprehend. By this time, however, they felt almost indifferent to anything that might happen. They were, at length, aroused to action.

“It won’t do, sirs, to let the canoe get swamped. We must turn to and try to get the water out of her as fast as it comes in,” cried Jerry.

“Of course,” answered Archie, throwing off the torpor which oppressed him; “we’ll do our best.” Gerald said the same, and at once they began baling away. They were thus employed, managing to keep the canoe pretty clear of water, when dawn again broke.

“A sail! a sail!” cried Jerry, as he was casting his eyes round the horizon, from which the shades of night were gradually rising; “she’s coming up before the wind, but I’m much afraid that she’s one of those slaving craft after all. Still, though her crew may be arrant cut-throats, they can’t do us much harm, seeing we’re bad enough off at present.”

All the party now kept their eyes fixed on the approaching sail. On she came, steering apparently directly for them. As she drew nearer, she was seen to be a large dhow, and, there could be little doubt, a slaver. She was within a mile of them, when, just in her wake, rising above the horizon, appeared the loftier sails of a square-rigged vessel, also approaching directly before the wind. The crew of the dhow had in all probability seen her, and were endeavouring to escape.

“By the cut of her canvas,” exclaimed Jerry, after watching for some moments, “she’s an English man-o’-war.” Sam was of the same opinion. The two midshipmen hoped they were right. The question, however, was how the dhow would treat them. They were certainly less anxious than they had been before to get on board her. Would her crew, from mere revenge, on recognising the midshipmen’s uniforms, give them her stem? If she did, they must do their best to scramble on board; but then, with their strength so diminished, they would scarcely be able to clamber up, much less to fight, as Jerry had proposed.

A few minutes more must settle the question. As the ship was standing directly after the dhow, they might, at all events, be picked up by her; and they, therefore, earnestly hoped that the latter might pass without observing them, or, if she did, without molesting them. On she came.

“She’s steering somewhat wide of us, sir,” exclaimed Jerry, “and I don’t think we’ve been seen as yet.”

What the Arabs might have done had they not been chased, it was difficult to say. The canoe was apparently not discovered till the dhow was within a few cables’ length of her. The dhow would have had to deviate slightly from her course to run down the canoe; as it was, she passed scarcely twenty fathoms off, her dark-skinned crew casting savage looks at the Englishmen. While the dhow was gliding by, the two midshipmen and their companions sat up watching her.

“They’ve made out who we are, sir,” cried Jerry; “and the villains, if they’re not pointing their matchlocks at us! Lie flat down, and we shall have a better chance of escaping.” Scarcely had he spoken than several shots came flying by the canoe, one close over her; but happily, as Jerry’s advice had been followed, no one was hit, and the dhow, impelled by the fresh breeze, went rapidly ahead, leaving the canoe far astern, before the slavers could fire another volley.

“You arrant scoundrels!” shouted Jerry; “we’ll pay you off one of these days.”

After this excitement the whole party would have sunk back into their former state of apathy, had not the approaching vessel given them matter to keep them aroused. Her topsails were now above the horizon, and soon her courses appeared; by which time, however, the sails of the swift dhow had already begun to disappear on the other side. Indeed, it was evident that she was gaining rapidly on her pursuer, which would have very little chance of catching her.

“That craft is an English brig-of-war,” exclaimed Jerry, at length. “Though she hasn’t a chance of catching the slaver, she’ll see us, I’ve a hope, and before long we shall have some grub and water on board.”

“There’s no chance, I trust, of their passing us?” said Archie.

“No fear of that, sir,” replied Jerry; “they keep too bright a look-out on board. Depend on’t, they’ve made us out before now.”

The wind was again failing, and should it become calm, the brig might not come up before dark. Still, if the canoe, as Jerry supposed, was already seen, of course a look-out would be kept for her. For half an hour or more, hopes and fears alternately predominated. “They’ve made us out—no fear on that score,” cried Jerry; “I saw the people on the foc’s’le waving to us.” As he spoke, the brig shortened sail; a boat was lowered, and, ere a minute had passed, she sheered alongside the canoe. A midshipman and warrant-officer, with four hands, were in her.

“Bear a hand; lift the poor fellows on board carefully—sharp about it,” cried the former. “We must not lose a moment; they seem very far gone.” Desmond and Archie were placed in the sternsheets, while even Jerry and Sam could not, without the help of others, manage to crawl into the boat.

The canoe was dropped astern, while the boat pulled back to the brig; the whole manoeuvre, being properly executed, occupying but a very few minutes. The midshipman, attending simply to the work in hand, had not looked at the countenances of the people he had rescued. Just, however, as the boat had hooked on, he cast his eyes at the face of one of his companions, and then at the other. “Why, gunner,” he exclaimed, “I do believe that they are Gerald Desmond and Archie Gordon!”

“You’re right, Tom,” cried Gerald, who was not so far gone as to be unable to speak; “and mighty glad I am to see you—only, as you love us, get us some grub, or we shall be after hopping the twig.”

“No fear about that, young gentleman,” said Dick Needham, who was the warrant-officer in the boat; “we’ll have you on board in a quarter less no time, and under care of the doctor; he’ll soon bring you round, though you mustn’t be eating too much at first.”

The midshipmen and their companions were speedily hoisted on board, when Tom Rogers announced to the commander who they were, and the condition in which he had found them. Broth and other restoratives being quickly prepared, and duly administered, in a very short time they were able to use their tongues sufficiently to give an account of themselves.

“Well, I’m glad we fell in with you,” cried Tom, “and so is my brother Jack—if not for your sake, on account of his old shipmates, Murray and Adair. They would have been precious sorry to lose you, and so should I. And now we’ve fallen in with each other, we shall have the chance of some good fun together, for the brig is to be employed, during the remainder of her commission, in slave-hunting. My brother Jack is only acting-commander of the Romp, but he’s sure to be confirmed before long. He got no end of credit in the work we’ve been engaged in up the Irrawaddy, of which I’ll tell you by and by. I often wished that you fellows were with us. It beat all the service we saw out in South America.”

“And Archie and I have often, of late, said how we longed to have you with us, Tom,” answered Desmond; “not that we’ve had the same sort of fun we enjoyed in our first cruise. It has been much rougher work, on the whole, and I haven’t fallen in with any Irish cousins, or the lots of nice girls we met in the West Indies; but, after all, the life we lead when boat-cruising is as much to my taste as anything I can fancy.”

Tom, of course, replied that he hoped to have some of it, and that he should try to get his brother to send him away on an expedition.

Though but a short time had been lost in picking up the canoe, it was sufficient to allow the dhow to run out of sight. Jack, who was bound for Zanzibar, of course had now to bring up off Mafamale, for the sake of landing Archie and Gerald, and to set Adair’s anxiety about them at rest. He was very glad also of the opportunity he should thus obtain of seeing his old shipmates.

The two midshipmen, though still somewhat weak, had greatly recovered by the time the island was sighted. Scarcely had the Romp dropped her anchor than Adair came on board. His surprise on seeing Jack was almost as great as his satisfaction at finding the midshipmen and the two other men safe and sound. Jack had some time before heard of the death of Kathleen. The recollection of her threw a shade of melancholy over the meeting of the two friends, but after a short time he managed to cast it off, and talked away eagerly of their past adventures and future prospects.

“I am glad to find, Jack, that you are so certain of your promotion,” said Adair; “I wish that I could think the same of my own prospects. Lord Derrynane will do the best he can for me; but when he paid his last visit at the Admiralty, the First Lord told him that, though I was a remarkably promising young officer, he had so many promising young officers deserving of promotion that he should fill the service with commanders if he was to attend to the requests of all his friends. I can only hope for the chance of doing something which must compel their Lordships to promote me.”

“I hope you may, Terence, with all my heart,” exclaimed Jack; “and if not, we must get Admiral Triton to advocate your cause. I shouldn’t feel comfortable getting my step unless you, who deserve it quite as much, obtained yours also.”

As soon as Adair returned on shore, he found that Jos Green and the rest of the party had been arranging to invite the commander and officers of the Romp to a banquet on the island; and a note, couched in the usual formal style, was immediately despatched, a favourable answer being returned.

“But, as to provender—what have we got, Green?” asked Adair.

“Some of it isn’t yet caught, to be sure,” answered Green; “but we’ve sent the men out with the seine, and we shall have an ample supply, though there may be no great variety.”

Shortly before the dinner-time arrived, a sail was seen standing up from the southward, and was soon pronounced to be the corvette. The proposed banquet was therefore postponed till her arrival; an additional haul of the seine was made, and a further supply of fish secured. The breeze was fresh, and, as she was under all sail, the Opal soon came to an anchor, and Murray and his officers at once accepted the invitation sent off to them. He had naturally become very anxious at discovering no traces of the midshipmen, and was proportionately thankful when he found that they were safe.

Thus the three old shipmates, after an absence of upwards of two years, once again met. At the appointed hour, the invited guests from the two men-of-war arrived on shore. Jos Green had undertaken to superintend the arrangements. All hands who could be spared from their culinary duties, rigged out in their cleanest, were marshalled to serve as a guard of honour. He had formed also a band, and though regular musical instruments were scarce, he had with much ingenuity contrived half a dozen drums made out of empty meat-tins, the same number of horns formed of conch shells, and a similar number of fifes and flutes, which had previously been manufactured on the island, during the leisure hours of some of the men who took delight in harmonious sounds.

Murray and Jack, as they walked up from the landing-place, laughed heartily at the preparations for their reception. Though the music was open to criticism, the banquet surpassed their expectations. Their seats were three-legged stools, but the table was bountifully spread. At one end was a huge bowl of peasoup, at the other a similar one of fish; at the sides were several varieties of fried fish and boiled fish, roast and boiled fowls, obtained from a dhow—a legal trader, which had been overhauled; salt junk, of course, was not wanting, with preserved vegetables, and a liberal supply of yams; while bottles of beer, porter, and rum, constituted the chief beverages. Lastly, too, plum-puddings, somewhat resembling those stone-shot used by the Turks in days of yore, were placed before the carvers, and were pronounced excellent as to composition, but were declared to possess rather more consistency than was absolutely requisite. Indeed, few of the guests, with the exception of the midshipmen, made any great inroads on them.

The viands being removed, songs were sung and healths drunk; the most important of the latter being the success of Britain’s arms by sea and land, a speedy end to the slave-trade, and health and prosperity to the Queen and all the royal family. Dinner being over, races were run, leap-frog indulged in, games of rounders played on a grand scale, and hits made such as only sailors could accomplish, and a variety of other sports which the nature of the ground and circumstances would allow.

Business, however, had to be attended to. Adair had left four men on board the dhow, and two only besides the midshipmen had been recovered. There could be no doubt, therefore, that two had been murdered, as would have been the case with the whole party, had not the canoe so providentially got adrift at the right moment. It was suspected that the old chief, Mustapha Longchops, had instigated the crime, and though he and the Arabs had been sent to their account, his people, who had so grossly insulted the British officers, were not to be allowed to escape unpunished. The corvette and brig, therefore, early the next morning, accompanied by the boats, proceeded off to the village, where they brought up. The sea being tolerably calm, and there being no surf, as they neared the shore six boats were at once manned and sent in to inflict condign punishment on the heads of the transgressors.

The party, headed by Rogers and Adams, formed on the beach. Their arrival had been observed by the natives, who, with tom-toms beating and horns sounding, were drawn up in large numbers on the side of the hill to defend their village. Jack gave the order to advance; the natives stood for a few seconds—then, even before a single shot had been fired, they turned tail and scampered off as fast as their legs could carry them. The only volley fired brought a few down, and hastened the flight of the rest, who were out of sight before the village was reached. Not a human being was found in any of the huts, which were speedily set on fire and burned to the ground, while a grove of trees growing near was cut down—a far more severe punishment than the burning of the miserable huts, which could be easily restored. This necessary though unsatisfactory work being accomplished, the party returned on board, and the corvette and brig, having received the captured slaves, made sail for Zanzibar.

Chapter Eight.

Another Dhow chased—Slaves thrown overboard—Dhow captured—Her Hold—Zanzibar—“Spicy Odours”—A Trip on Shore—The Slave-market—Horrors of the Slave-Trade in the Interior—A Store in Zanzibar—Murray and Adair pay a Visit to the Sultan—Summary Justice.

Upwards of a fortnight had gone by since the corvette and brig last weighed anchor. Neither of them had been idle; numerous dhows had been chased, some of them overtaken and boarded. A large proportion of them had been of necessity let go, from want of sufficient evidence to warrant their condemnation. The corvette had captured two with slaves on board, and continued her course with them; while the Romp had parted company, chasing a suspicious sail which made every effort to escape. On being turned from the shore by the Opal, whose boats had been sent after her, she had stood to the eastward.

She was a large craft, with an enormous spread of canvas, and the little Romp had to put her best foot foremost to keep her in sight. Jack Rogers, however, was not to be disappointed of his prey. Setting every stitch of canvas the brig could carry, he steered after her, hoping that by some fortunate chance he might at length get her under his guns.

Dick Needham and Tom were standing on the forecastle, with their glances directed towards the chase, on which it was evident they were at length gaining. “It seems to me, Mr Needham,” observed Tom, who had been taking a long, steady look at the chase, “they’re heaving something overboard; what it is I can’t make out,—scarcely a cargo of ballast,—but we shall soon discover when we get up to her, as we shall, I hope, before long.”

Needham took another steady look. “As true as I’m an Englishman, it is her cargo though,” he exclaimed; “a living cargo, or what was living not long ago. They’re heaving overboard the black slaves; not one at a time, as I’ve seen down on the West Coast, just to induce the cruiser in chase to heave-to for the purpose of picking them up, but dozens at a time, so it seems to me. Yes, I am sure of it, the outrageous villains! they’ve no notion of the power of our glasses. I wish our guns would carry as far; we’d soon make them understand that we’d our eyes upon them.”

“I’ll go and tell the commander,” exclaimed Tom. “Can nothing be done to stop them?”

“We’re doing all we can, for we can’t make the brig walk faster than she’s going,” answered Needham.

Tom hurried aft with the information, and Jack and most of his officers were soon directing their glasses on the dhow. Although some doubted that the black objects they saw thrown over the side could really be human beings, the majority were of opinion that such was the case. Little had Jack thought, when going in chase of the slaver, that he was to be the unintentional cause of the death of numbers of his fellow-creatures; yet he was convinced that such really was the case.

Eager as all were to stop the butchery they believed going forward, it was impossible to set more sail or to do anything else to make the brig move along faster. They could only wish that they had steam-power, when, if a dead calm should come on, they might quickly have got up with the dhow. As it was, all they could do was to steer steadily after her, and as soon as they could get her within range of their bow-chasers, to fire away, and compel her to heave-to. The best of the day was before them, so that, should the wind hold, they must ultimately come up with her. This was their only consolation. Since she was first sighted they had gained a couple of miles on her, and should they continue to gain on her at the same rate, they might soon be throwing shot and shell through her canvas.

The men, when they heard what was taking place, entered fully into the feelings of their officers. Many a sincere prayer was offered up that the dhow might be taken and the murderers punished. Anxiously the course of the sun was watched as it sank towards the distant coast; for should night come on before the dhow was captured, the murderous Arabs might escape from the avenger of blood in hot pursuit after them.

“If they have been guilty of the horrible deed we suspect, I don’t think that they will escape,” said Jack. “Even if they do get free of us, Heaven will inflict on them the punishment they deserve, by some other means.”

Two more hours passed, when, the brig having gained another mile, the hopes of all on board rose proportionately. At length Needham came aft. “I think, sir, we might reach her with our long six-pounder, and a shot or two through her sails would take the speed out of her.” Already the sun’s lower limb was touching the horizon.

“The experiment is worth trying,” answered Rogers.

The gun was mounted on the forecastle, and charged with a shell. The first shell burst astern of the dhow, which still continued standing on. Needham was quickly ready, and fired another. “Hurrah!” he exclaimed; “I thought so.” It touched her large sail, and, exploding at the same moment, rent it in all directions. Still she did not heave-to. A third and fourth shell were thrown, the sail being again torn by the latter. The brig now gained fast on the chase; still, so rapidly does darkness come on after sunset in that latitude, that the Arabs possibly still hoped to effect their escape. Their courage, however, at length gave way, as one shot after another struck them, and both sails were seen to come down together. The brig now quickly got up with the chase, and, heaving-to to leeward, two boats were lowered, Tom accompanying the second lieutenant in one, with the interpreter, while Needham had charge of the other.

As they got up alongside, about thirty piratical-looking ruffians, headed by their skipper, stood prepared to receive them. They appeared in no way disconcerted as the English leaped on board.

“Ask the negoda what has become of the slaves with which he lately sailed, Hamed,” said the lieutenant.

The Arab answered at some length: “He says they have had no slaves on board, and the dhow was becoming leaky, and they had to throw the cargo into the sea,” said Hamed.

“Then inquire why he ran away from us,” said the lieutenant.

Again Hamed and the skipper had a long talk. “The negoda says he was in a hurry, and thought the brig was a pirate,” said Hamed.

“Very likely. You don’t think he speaks the truth?” observed the lieutenant.

“He speakee lie,” said Hamed.

“Tell him we, at all events, intend to search his vessel,” said the lieutenant, “and we shall judge whether she’s leaky or not, or whether there’s any foundation for his statement.”

Lanterns had been brought in the boat. While one-half of the English kept watch over the villains on deck, the others descended with Tom and Needham into the horribly-smelling hold. A large quantity of bamboos were found, the remains of slave-decks, with a larger supply of rice, millet, and water than the Arabs were likely to carry for themselves. There was a miscellaneous cargo below under the slave-deck, which had certainly not been interfered with. There was evidence sufficient to condemn the vessel, but not a proof that the slaves had been murdered, though there could be no doubt that, if not lately landed, they must have been disposed of by foul means.

“I fancied I heard a groan,” said Tom, as he was groping about. Needham came to the spot, and eager hands were soon engaged in removing some of the cargo; when, from beneath it, in a hollow space, they drew forth a human being, a boy ten or, twelve years of age, fearfully emaciated. One of the seamen carried him on deck, his appearance causing a considerable agitation among the Arab crew. Hamed addressed the lad, who replied to him in a faint voice. Even the interpreter’s unattractive countenance expressed horror.

“He say he got loose, and hide away because he hear the cries of the rest of the slaves. The Arabs cut their throats, and tumble them into the sea. He sure they were two hundred or more this morning, men and women and children, and now he alone remain,” said Hamed. No further evidence than this was necessary to condemn the Arab crew, and the lieutenant immediately ordered them into the boats, and sent them on board the brig, leaving Tom with four hands to take charge of the dhow.

On their arrival Jack immediately held a court to try the accused, with himself as judge, and his two lieutenants as assistants. The evidence of the slave boy was considered conclusive; the prisoners were called up one by one for their defence, but as they had no time to concoct a story, they each of them told a different tale. Jack felt very much inclined to run them all together up to his yard-arm, but as this might be looked upon as too summary a way of proceeding, he ordered them to be placed in irons, to undergo a regular trial as soon as he could fall in with the commodore. He arrived, however, at the conclusion that the dhow was a lawful prize, and to prevent the risk of her ever carrying more slaves, he issued an order that she should immediately be set on fire. Tom, who had been anticipating the result, was very much pleased when the gunner returned with Jack’s orders for her destruction. Light was set to her fore and aft, and as the boats pulled away, flames burst out from all directions, the glare, as they rose higher, extending to a far distance across the ocean.

The Arabs were kept on deck to witness the burning of their vessel. For a few minutes the fire raged furiously, the flames rising in one huge pyramid, till on a sudden they disappeared as she sunk beneath the surface, to which so many of her hapless passengers had lately been consigned.

“It would have served the villains right if they’d been left on board,” observed Needham; “and I say, Hamed, just tell them so, and it is to be hoped they will get their due before long.”

Meantime, the Opal, with her prizes, sighted the southern end of Zanzibar. As she ran along the western shore, the flat-roofed buildings, like palaces with numerous windows, gave the place an appearance of considerable opulence and magnificence. On either side of the city stretched away a low coast-line of glittering sand, above which could be seen cocoanut palms, raising their lofty heads at intervals, while the country, gradually rising towards the centre, appeared covered with bright green plantations of cloves, pineapples, and sweetly blossoming mangoes, the perfume of which Mildmay declared he could inhale even from that distance.

“Wait till you visit the town, and then you may talk of inhaling perfumes, though they’re not of the sweetest,” observed Jos Green. “If the wind comes off-shore we may get a sniff of spicy odours, but I never found them quite strong enough to swear to, whatever the poets may say on the subject.”

“Your olfactory powers are too coarse to enjoy them, that’s the fact,” observed Mildmay.

Here and there valleys opened up covered with orange-groves, sugar-cane, cassava, and other valuable productions of the soil. The harbour was full of dhows of all sizes, some at anchor full of slaves bound northward, but which, having licences from the Sultan, the English cruisers could not touch; others close to the wharves, landing or trans-shipping ivory, brought across from the African coast, gum, copal, spices, cocoanuts, rice, mats, and other produce of the island, besides several German, American, French, and other foreign vessels. Here also lay the Sultan’s fleet, with blood-red ensigns floating from their mastheads, the ships being remarkable, if for nothing else, for their weather-beaten, sunburned appearance.

“They put me in mind of scarecrows in a garden, which the birds have learned to look at with contempt; and so, I doubt not, do the Arab slavers or piratical gentry who cruise in these seas laugh at these useless ships,” observed Green.

In the afternoon, Murray, accompanied by his second lieutenant and the two midshipmen, went on shore. “We shall be after smelling the spicy odours in full vigour,” observed Desmond to Mr Mildmay, he having overheard the conversation of the morning. They had not, however, set foot on the shore many seconds, and commenced their walk through the narrow streets, before the lieutenant had his handkerchief to his nose. “Horrible! detestable!” he muttered; “never was in so vile a place in my life.”

The whitewashed houses, too, which appeared handsome palaces in the distance, were now discovered, with few exceptions, to be sadly dilapidated; while the streets were thronged by an ill-favoured mob of all hues, from jet black to a sickly parchmentlike yellow. There were shops in the dirty-looking town, filled with all sorts of goods from Birmingham and Sheffield. Their owners were chiefly Banians, who were seen sitting cross-legged among their wares, the men dressed in turbans of many folds, reaching to a point, with long robes and collars of gold or silver round their necks; the women profusely decorated with ornaments, with rings on their fingers and toes, and golden nose-ornaments and ear-ornaments studded with precious stones; while many had massive silver bracelets and anklets.

In an open court under the verandah was seated a schoolmaster, with long white beard, his pupils sprawling about on not over-clean mats, studying a huge Koran placed on a stand before them, mumbling in monotonous tones their lessons; the teacher more asleep than awake, the pupils imitating his example, and looking as lazy and indifferent as possible.

Inside and out of many of the shops were heaps of ivory-tusks, collected by the traders in the interior of Africa, and brought down to the coast; and in others food of the most disgusting appearance—sharks’ flesh, rancid ghee, and other unsavoury articles, the vendors of which were hideous negresses, rolling in fat, scarcely bearing any resemblance to the female sex. The commander and his followers, glad to get out of the narrow streets, found themselves in a square, where in a semicircle they saw collected a number of slaves, some standing up, others sitting down, incapable of supporting themselves on their feet; most of them miserably emaciated skeletons, looking as if they had not many hours to live. Within the semicircle were a number of Arabs of high and low degree, a few of them well-dressed and armed to the teeth, others dirty and shabby; but all intent on business. They were either slave—dealers, or purchasers of slaves for their private establishments. In one part of the square were five or six female slaves for sale, their ages ranging from twelve to sixteen, gorgeously dressed in coloured garments. One of the gentlemen Arabs approached to make a purchase. The slave-dealer vaunted the qualifications of his merchandise, much as an auctioneer does the goods of which he has to dispose. The purchaser felt the poor girls’ limbs, looked into their mouths, and trotted them out to see their paces; then, after haggling for some time, walked off with two which he had selected. The others were purchased much in the same manner; the remainder of the lots were disposed of with much less ceremony. On one side was a row of little boys from four to six years old, who were valued, so Hamed said, at about three dollars apiece. The girls, who were of a somewhat maturer age, went at from six to twelve dollars, while stout young fellows, out of whom plenty of work might be got, went for much higher prices.

The rest were wretched old men, broken down by the hardships they had endured during the fearful overland journey, and the not less miserable voyage. Many fetched not more than a dollar apiece. The old women, all of whom were either hideously tattooed, or had their lips extended with large holes, showing their teeth, went for very little more than the men. There they had been sitting since the morning, exposed to the fierce rays of the sun, their brutal owners having given them no food, or even a cup of water to quench their thirst. So worn out were several, that even when told to get up, they, as if not understanding the order, stared in stolid apathy. Had they exhibited the same obstinacy on the mainland, they would, in all probability, have been knocked on the head, and left to die on the roadside. Perhaps the most melancholy sight was the group of little children, all infantine life and animation crushed out of them. There they silently sat, without attempting to move, till ordered by their owners to rise. Poor little creatures! long ago they had been torn from their parents, and those parents probably murdered, or, if captured, disposed of to some other slave-dealers, while the persons around were in most instances utter strangers, perhaps from distant parts of the country, and unable to understand their language. They had been brought in legal traders under the sanction of the Sultan, and were intended either for domestic service, or to labour in the various plantations on the island.

Murray was glad to quit the scene, but it was important that he should have seen it. He was satisfied that his midshipmen should have done so likewise, that they might the better understand the horrors and abominations of the slave-trade.

“Faith, I’ll never complain of any hard work we may have to go through, provided we can catch more of those slavers,” exclaimed Desmond; “it would be a glorious thing to put a stop to the traffic altogether.”

“We’ll do our best, Desmond,” said the commander; “though it may take us long before we can teach the Arabs that it is more profitable to them to deal in the produce of the country than in their black-skinned fellow-creatures.”

Every seaport town abroad has its general store, kept by some noted individual, at which articles of every possible description, from a chain cable to a paper of needles, can be purchased, at more or less exorbitant prices; where masters and mates of merchantmen, and ofttimes their crews, as well as traders of high and low degree, congregate to discuss their business affairs, and to renovate the inner man with beverages more or less potent. Zanzibar, albeit not one of the most civilised cities, boasted such an establishment, kept by a personage yclept French Charlie. Although he possessed a Gallic appellation, he had nothing French besides his name about him; he being a mongrel of mongrels, with a large dash of Portuguese, and perhaps some African and Arab blood. Whatever his other qualifications, he had his eye open to the main chance.

Murray having now to order some stores, directed Hamed to lead him to the house. With pocket-handkerchiefs at their noses, the party proceeded along one of the narrowest and most dirty of the streets till they arrived before a stone edifice in a most dilapidated condition—such, indeed, is the normal state of all the buildings in the city. The main door opening into the street, they immediately entered the store, having to pick their way amid casks and huge coarse sacks filled to bursting, piled up to the ceiling; the dirty earthen floor full of holes more or less deep, while countless ants, cockroaches, spiders, centipedes, and other reptiles, crawled in all directions. On one side through an archway was seen a second apartment, in which, round a large table covered with tumblers, jugs, and flat round bottles, were seen seated a dozen or more merchant seamen of various nations, those from Yankee-land predominating, with an equal number of half-caste females gaudily dressed in Oriental costume, the whole party by their attitudes and looks already more than half-seas-over; some shouting and singing at the top of their voices, others attempting to sing, but uttering only spasmodic sounds, as the fumes of the liquor they were pouring down their throats mounted to such brains as they might possess.

Murray turned from the disgusting scene, and, passing on, was met by Monsieur Charlie, who, order-book in hand, with his dark-skinned, woolly—covered cranium and squat figure, resembled more a toad than a human being. “Anything, Señor Captain, you vant?—me got in my store, all so cheap and so excellent,” he said, making an attempt to bow, his keen, twinkling eyes fixed on his visitors, while he waited eagerly to note down the orders he might receive. “You will take vun glass, sare, of something cool? I have Bordeaux just arrived; and de young gentlemen, dey surely like something—and my goot friend Hamed, we know each oder, and surely de Prophet not object to him to take just a little vine for him tummuck.”

Murray, who had no wish to inhale longer than necessary the ill odours of the place, declined his liberal offers for himself and his companions, and, examining his list, gave an order for the articles he required, which Señor Charlie promised should be on board punctually the first thing next morning.

On their way back to the landing-place they caught sight of several of the Opal’s crew, who had been allowed to come on shore, surrounded by a group of ill-looking Arabs, all with arms in their hands, by their gestures showing that they were endeavouring to incite the Englishmen to quarrel, as they kept stalking round them, clutching their daggers. The sailors, each of whom carried a thick stick, regarded the Arabs with the utmost contempt, as they rolled onward along the streets, every now and then only turning round and advising them to keep at a respectful distance. As they caught sight of their commander, touching their hats, they came to a standstill, while the Arabs, scowling fiercely at them, hung back. Murray was thankful that he had fallen in with them, for it was evident that the Arabs would have taken the earliest opportunity of attacking them, in revenge for the loss of the slaving dhows which they had assisted to capture. He ordered them, much to their disappointment, to return with him to the boat, thereby saving them from the Arab daggers, or an almost equally dangerous visit to French Charlie’s store.

As he got down to the harbour, much to his satisfaction, he saw the Romp standing in, and before returning to his own ship he went on board her. Jack gave him an account of his capture of the slaver, and, having Hamed with him, they were at once able to interrogate the slave boy who had been saved, and to examine some of the prisoners. The boy, who had lately recovered by a few days’ good food and kind treatment, showed more than the ordinary intelligence exhibited by captured slaves. He had been taken while away from his native village, with several other boys, watching their cattle. The men of their tribe, hearing of their capture, attempted to rescue them, but were driven back with the loss of several killed and a considerable number taken alive. They were all, he and his friends, dragged away, till they joined the main body, who were forced along, secured two and two by a heavy pole with a fork at each end, into which their necks were fixed. He saw several drop from fatigue, whom the Arabs endeavoured to compel to rise with the points of their spears; if they refused to do so, the masters either killed them with their axes, or, driving their spears into their bodies, left them weltering in their blood, either to die of their wounds or to be devoured by wild beasts. After travelling for upwards of twenty days, the coast was reached, and they were embarked on board the dhow, which ran in to receive them, taking many more at other places, till her hold was filled. Having been detained by calms, they had been badly fed, with a limited amount of water; and, an epidemic breaking out among them, several had died, and not only they but others who appeared in a dying state were hove overboard. He, being strong and active, had been employed in assisting to carry food to the other slaves. He had, moreover, learned a little Arabic.

When chased by the brig-of-war, he had overheard the Arabs talking about what they would do should it become likely that they would be captured. He understood that they intended to throw all the slaves overboard, so as to pass for a legal trader. On finding this, he managed to creep below, and to stow himself away in the place where he had been found. Scarcely had he concealed himself when he knew, by the cries and shrieks of his own countrymen, that the work of butchery had begun. He had little hopes of escaping, but life even to him was dear, and he kept in his hiding-place, hoping, at all events, to prolong it. His evidence was clear and circumstantial.

Several of the Arabs were next examined, and had no valid excuse to offer, except that the slaves were their own property, and they had a right to do with them as they thought fit. As many had already died, and as, probably, the greater number would have been carried off by disease before they could reach their destination, this was probably their real opinion, and accounted for their determination to murder the whole of their captives in the hopes of saving their vessel from condemnation.

Murray and Jack at once resolved to call on the Sultan, and to state the case to him, on the possibility of its opening his eyes to the horrors of the slave-trade, and inducing him the more willingly to assist in its suppression.

As it was still daylight, and Hamed informed them that the evening was the best time to see the Sultan, they at once pulled on shore. Going through the dirty streets, they reached the Sultan’s tumbledown-looking palace, where His Majesty was seen seated in a half-open apartment facing the street, furnished with divans and piles of mats. He was surrounded by Arabs of rank, many of them dressed in rich costumes, talking familiarly with him, while his bodyguard of Beloch soldiers, cut-throat-looking individuals, lounged outside.

Murray and Jack, accompanied by the midshipmen, entering the hall, made their salaams, Hamed following them to act as interpreter. The universal pipes and coffee having been produced, they sat smoking, with intervals of dignified silence, while Hamed did the talking. The Sultan inquired whether the English commanders had made many captures, to which Murray replied that they had condemned only such vessels as were without legal permits; and Jack then introduced the subject of his capture, and described the murder of the slaves by the Arab crew.

The Sultan did not look quite as horrified as they expected he would.

“Surely the villains deserve condign punishment,” observed Jack; “if they are your Highness’s subjects, you will, of course, at once have them all hung up.”

His Highness shrugged his shoulders. “If I had to hang all the cut-throats in my dominions, there would be more work than a dozen executioners could get through,” he answered. “If they are my subjects, I give you full leave to treat them as you think fit; and if they are not, you are the best judges as to what should be done with them.”

Jack, who was convinced that all the Arabs on board the dhow, taken red-handed as they were, deserved hanging, would gladly have left the task of putting them out of this world to the Sultan. The difficulty was to prove that they were his subjects; and they were not likely to acknowledge this to be so, unless they thought that he would pardon them. After some further conversation, the two officers, with their companions, took their leave, feeling that they had taken very small change out of His Highness.

Jack accompanied Murray on board to dinner, and Adair, of course, was asked to join them. It was the first time for several years that they had been together with time to talk over old days. Though now and then a shade of melancholy came over Jack’s honest face, a joke of Adair’s, or some pleasant recollection conjured up by Murray, quickly banished it, and a very pleasant evening they had.

“Here’s to your speedy promotion, Terence,” said Jack; “the last letter I had from Admiral Triton, he told me that he had seen Lord Derrynane, who had promised that he would stir heaven and earth, and such bowels of compassion as the Lords of the Admiralty might possess, to obtain it, so that I’ve little doubt that you will ere long hear that you’ve got your step.”

“Faith, I’ve a great deal of doubt about the matter,” answered Terence. “To tell you the truth, I would rather get it in consequence of some dashing deed which would give me a claim to it than through family influence, by which any dolt may be pushed forward in the service.”

“Well, for my part, I hold that we should be thankful for favours on whatever account they may be granted,” said Jack; “you have seen as much service as any officer nowadays, and have twice been highly spoken of, and no one who knows you doubts that you will do any work which may fall in your way as well as it can be done.”

The three old shipmates were laughing and talking right merrily, when they were interrupted by a loud cry. Murray sprang on deck, followed by the rest of the party. Just as he reached it, an uproar of voices arose from forward, amid which those of Pango and Bango were the loudest, shrieking for help, while Ben Snatchblock was calling out, “Seize the rascals! tumble them overboard! knock them on the head! they’ve no business here!” while other voices in Arabic and negro language were uttering various incomprehensible cries, betokening either anger or alarm.

On going forward, Murray saw a confused mass of his own men, with three or four turbaned strangers and several blacks in their midst, among whom he distinguished Bango and Pango by their nautical costume. The strangers were quickly mastered by the seamen. Among the crowd he perceived the old pilot, who was forthwith dragged up to him.

“What’s all this disturbance about. You seem to have something to do with it,” said Murray.

“Me know nothing except that man come to take away him slaves,” was the answer.

“Who are the men who dared to venture on board with any such intent?” asked Murray; “and as to slaves, none remain such under our flag.”

“Me know nothing,” answered the pilot, in a dogged tone, which showed that he did not intend any more information should be got out of him. Hamed, who had turned in, was summoned on deck, and the strangers were speedily examined. One of them, with considerable hesitation, believing that he should be put to the torture if he did not, answered that he and his companions had come by the express orders of the pilot, for the purpose of seizing his former slave Bango; that while the boat was alongside, Bango having been enticed on deck to come and hear about some of his old friends on shore, he had been suddenly gagged and nearly tumbled over the side, when Pango, who, suspecting mischief, had drawn near, shouted out and called some of the watch to their assistance, who had seized the Arabs before they could make their escape.

Murray was much inclined to have the fellows who had attempted so daring an outrage triced up and thoroughly flogged; but, not wishing to create more ill-feeling among the Arab population of the island than already existed, he merely ordered them and the pilot to be trundled forthwith into the boat and dismissed, with a warning not again to attempt a similar undertaking. The pilot, to whom some pay was due, was mulcted of it—a punishment which he would consider pretty severe; besides which, he was warned that he would never again be employed on board one of Her Majesty’s ships.

It was some time before poor Bango could recover from his alarm, and the thoughts of the narrow escape he had had. “If him me get, he sure kill, after floggee,” he exclaimed; “oh! him poor black feel de whip even now,” and he wriggled and rubbed his shoulders about, as if undergoing the torture he believed his late master would have inflicted.

“Never fear, my man,” said Snatchblock, to whom he spoke; “we’ll take care the Arabs don’t get hold of you, and as long as you do your duty aboard here, and don’t get drunk, there’s no fear of the cat and your back becoming acquainted.”

The next morning Jack again examined his Arab prisoners, when one and all declared themselves to be the subjects of the Sultan of Zanzibar. As there was no proof to the contrary, Jack handed them over to the authorities to be tried and punished for the murder of the slaves. They, having numerous friends in the island, fully believed that through their influence they would escape. No one appeared to assist them, and the Sultan, wishing to prove his zealous desire to put down the slave-trade, ordered them to be taken out and shot; and as they had lost the means of bribing their guards to assist them in effecting their escape, they met the fate they so richly deserved.

Chapter Nine.

Tom Rogers spins a Yarn—Adventures in Burmah—Up the Irrawaddy—Capture of Martaban—Tom’s Whiskers—Capture of Prome—Expedition on Shore—General Bundoolah thinks Discretion the Better Part of Valour—Camping out in the Jungle—Attack on the Guerilla’s Fortress—Death of Captain Loch—Archie corrects Tom’s Latin—The Opal ordered to Seychelles—Disembarkation of the Slaves.

The corvette did not sail so soon as Murray had at first intended, it being necessary to allow the captured slaves a longer time in harbour to recruit their exhausted strength, glad as all hands would have been to get them out of the ship. Poor wretches! their unclean habits made them far from pleasant visitors. They were housed under awnings rigged over the deck, which it was necessary to wash down frequently with abundance of water; but even then the sickly odour which pervaded the ship was not only unpleasant, but calculated to produce sickness among the crew. Notwithstanding this, the officers made themselves as happy as circumstances would allow. The midshipmen of the corvette invited those of the brig to a dinner on board, and Tom Rogers, with several companions, arrived at the appointed hour.

“Satisfactory enough to capture slavers, but I don’t envy you fellows having to look after the poor slaves now you’ve got them,” observed Tom, as he glanced his eye over the long rows of negroes seated on the deck, the men on one side, the women and young children on the other, all looking pictures of stolid misery, and scarcely yet comprehending that they were free. All they could think of was that they had been torn from their homes and families, and were to be carried to a strange land, where they must of necessity toil hard to support themselves. They could not yet understand the real benefit they were to derive from the change, that from henceforth they would live in peace, able to enjoy the proceeds of their labour without any further expectation of attacks from foes, and having their dwellings plundered and burned, and themselves murdered; and, above all things, that they would be instructed in Christianity and civilisation.

Archie had been looking into the subject. “You see, Tom,” he observed, “until the slave-trade can be altogether abolished on shore, we do all we can to put a stop to it afloat. The atrocious Arabs are the cause of all the misery and suffering the slaves endure. It is impossible to return them to their homes; indeed, in most instances, those homes have been utterly destroyed; but if they were not, the poor creatures would run the risk of being again captured; so we do our best to place them in a far better position than they before enjoyed; and though I’m afraid that a large number are carried into perpetual slavery, and that many more perish miserably, still that’s not our fault.”

“You’re right,” answered Tom; “I only wish that we had twenty times as many cruisers out in these seas as we have at present, and that it was lawful to hang up every skipper, if not the whole of the crews, of all the dhows with slaves on board whom we could catch. If people in England knew all the horrors the poor Africans endure, which seem to me twice as bad as those of the West Coast traffic, I believe they would rise to a man, and insist on its being put down at whatever cost.”

The rest of the midshipmen responded to Tom’s generous sentiments, and the young ones, at all events, agreed that they should be ready to devote their lives to the service.

A wind-sail brought sufficient air down below to enable the midshipmen to sit with comparative comfort in their berth—comparative, for the thermometer stood at not less than 85 degrees; but they were by this time well accustomed to heat, and endured it with stoical indifference. Archie and Desmond were especially eager to hear an account of Tom’s adventures since they parted, and he, having no objection to spin a long yarn, was willing enough to recount them.

“I little thought, when Jack and I went out, that we should see so much service in a short time,” he began. “On our arrival in the Hooghly river, we found that an expedition had been despatched to teach the King of Ava better manners than he had lately been exhibiting towards the British. You will understand that a large river, the Irrawaddy, flows from north to south through the country. It has several mouths. On the shores of one of them is situated the town of Rangoon, a biggish place, with a good deal of trade. Higher up is Prome; while there is another place, Martaban, on the shore of the gulf of that name. Ava, the capital, where the king lives, is situated in the interior.

“The governor of Rangoon had been playing all sorts of tricks, imprisoning several merchant skippers, and insulting and fining others. They laid their complaints before the authorities at Calcutta, who resolved to make the governor of Rangoon apologise and recompense the sufferers. We were, therefore, immediately ordered off to the Irrawaddy, as soon as we could get in a supply of fresh provisions and stores. We found the squadron, with a considerable number of troops on board, anchored off Rangoon. It is a pretty strong place, fortified by stockades, with heavy batteries of guns. The commodore had sent on shore to demand an apology of the viceroy, and, as it was supposed he would at once give it, we had very little expectation of fighting. However, in the evening, instead of an apology, came a message, declaring that, if the British ships should attempt to pass the stockades erected along the banks of the river, they would be fired on. We had heard that a large number of troops, some said five thousand, were collected within the fortifications; and each of the boats which had been sent out reconnoitring brought word that, during the night and day, they had seen no end of war-boats, full of men, coming down the Pegu river, evidently to assist in the defence of the place. Instructions were at once sent to the merchant-vessels to get under way, and drop down out of the line of fire, while a steamer towed the commodore’s frigate within four hundred yards of the stockade. Here she anchored to protect the merchant-vessels as they dropped down.

“We had heard, meantime, of a large Burmese war-vessel, of which one of our steamers was sent in search, while the company’s steamers proceeded up the river to meet a fleet of war-boats, pouring in a tremendous fire on the stockades on their way. The war-boats, in spite of their gay flags, and the row their crews kicked up to frighten us barbarians, were speedily sunk or sent to the right-about; while the batteries on shore, having soon had enough of it, ceased firing. In a short time we saw our steamer, the Hermes, come puffing up, with the huge Burmese war-vessel, which she had captured, in tow. After this we did nothing for some time, except blockading the mouths of the river, completely putting a stop to the enemy’s trade. It was thought by this that the King of Ava would knock under, but he held out, till at length Admiral Austin arrived in the Rattler, and some days afterwards General Godwin, as commander-in-chief, with twelve of the company’s steamers, which had nearly six thousand troops on board.

“Our first work was to take Martaban. The steamers, running close into the city, discharged broadside after broadside, our fire being returned with considerable spirit; but the enemy’s guns being silenced, the troops were landed, and the Burmese, not liking the glitter of their bayonets, took to their heels in all directions, we having completely knocked to pieces all their defences. Leaving a garrison at Martaban, we proceeded to Rangoon, which had not given in. The fleet, therefore, took up a position before it, and began in earnest firing away shot and shell into the batteries for the best part of the day. We soon knocked the enemy’s outer stockades to pieces, and set them on fire; but to do the Burmese justice, they fought as obstinately as bull-dogs; so we sent the naval brigade on shore to help the troops. For three days the fighting continued; stockade after stockade was stormed and taken in gallant style. Still the enemy retained possession of the city and the great pagoda.

“On the third day a grand attack was made on it by all the troops and the naval brigade, and, after some pretty sharp fighting, it fell into our hands, though we lost several officers killed and wounded.

“We next attacked Basein, where the Burmese fought with a good deal of bravery, defending themselves in the great pagoda of the city. Again the naval brigade showed what they were made of. Having landed with a party of troops, they stormed the great pagoda, into which a large body of the enemy had thrown themselves; but the place was gallantly taken, though not without some loss on our side. Meantime, we heard that Martaban, which had been left with a very small garrison, had been attacked by the Burmese. We were hurrying back to the assistance of our friends, when we received intelligence that Major Hall, who had been left there in command, had driven off the enemy. We had made pretty sharp work of it already, but there were other and more important places up the river to be taken. Orders were, therefore, received to send a squadron of man-of-war’s boats to accompany the Phlegethon, carrying between two and three hundred soldiers and about a hundred bluejackets; and I had the luck to go with them.

“Leaving Rangoon, the Phlegethon steamed away with the boats in tow, like a comet with its tail out. We came near Pegu, when we found ourselves under a hot fire from the Burmese on the top of the high banks. As we were unable to fire in return from the boats, a strong party was landed under the command of Captain Tarleton. The Burmese were driven from point to point, till they took shelter within the walls of the city, when they began firing away pretty warmly with their jingalls and muskets. As the enemy’s shot were flying somewhat thickly about us, it would never have done to halt. Captain Tarleton, therefore, having found a native, who, for a bribe, undertook to show the way, pushed on along the causeway till the city ditch was reached. Here it was seen that, on one side of the gateway, part of the wall had tumbled down. Halting for an instant to gain breath, Captain Tarleton singing out, ‘On, my lads!’ away all hands dashed right up to the wall, and, scrambling over it like cats, jumped down inside, to the great astonishment of the enemy, who, not liking their looks, fled for shelter within their great pagoda; for these fellows always seemed to think that their temples were the safest places.

“The boats had, in the meantime, been attacked, but were bravely defended; and the troops, pushing on, soon made their way unexpectedly into the city. Before the Burmese were aware what we were about, we stormed the great pagoda, which we soon carried, and the city was ours, with the loss of one man killed and three wounded. After blowing up the fortifications, as we had not troops enough to hold the place, we returned to Rangoon.

“After this we had a good deal of boat-work, cruising along the banks of the rivers, and dislodging the enemy, who often appeared in some force, for the purpose of trying to stop the provision-boats which came down to supply the fleet with grub. Sometimes we landed and drove the fellows far away into the country. Although they were ready enough to fire at us from a distance, they never liked the look of our whiskers,” whereat there was a general laugh.

“Whose whiskers, Tom?” asked Archie.

“Well, those of the sogers and bluejackets, of course,” said Tom; “how could they tell that I hadn’t a pair too?”

“Well, go on, Rogers,” cried several voices; “what did you do next?”

“There was another large place,” he resumed, “called Prome, high up the river, which it was considered important to take, as it formed the chief defence of the capital. Captain Tarleton was, therefore, ordered to proceed up the Irrawaddy in the Medusa, with three other steamers, of one of which my brother Jack had the command. Away we steamed for some distance, without any of the enemy daring to show their faces. We had, as you will understand, already put them all to flight. At length, at a place with a precious hard name, Kononghee, about twenty-five miles below Prome, we came in sight of a large body of men collected on the banks. We threw a shell into their midst, as a hint to them to be off, instead of which they began firing away at us with musketry and several heavy guns. We returned the compliment pretty briskly, till they, getting the worst of it, as usual, showed their discretion by scampering off, and not stopping till they thought our shot would not reach them.

“As we were in a hurry to be at Prome, we didn’t stop till they came back, but steamed on till sunset, when we anchored off the town of Meaoung. We found that the river divided just ahead of us into two streams, the western and deepest being the only navigable channel for the greater part of the year. We had arrived, however, at a time when the eastern channel had plenty of water in it, as we learned from the pilots. This was a fortunate circumstance, as you shall hear. When we got near the western channel, we found an immensely strong fort at the end of a range of hills which completely overlooked the river, garrisoned by a force of not less than ten thousand men, under a certain General Bundoolah, the most celebrated warrior in the Burmese army, so the pilots told us. Though his troops were only armed with matchlocks, and might have been bad shots, they would have committed a good deal of mischief by peppering down on our decks; not to speak of what the heavy guns might have done, placed in a position to rake us as we steamed up. Had it been necessary, I have no doubt Captain Tarleton would have stood on; but as there was no object in running the risk if it could be avoided, just as we came close to the works, and the enemy had begun to pepper us, he put his helm to port, and, greatly to their disappointment, steered away up the eastern channel, where not one of their shot could reach us. We kept the lead going, every moment fearing that we might get aground, when we should have been somewhat in a mess. We never had less than two fathoms of water, and sometimes more, so that we got through without accident; and by steaming on all night, the next morning at daylight came off Prome.

“At the south end of the city we made out four heavy guns, but the troops, every man Jack of them, had gone off with General Bundoolah, and left not one behind to fight them. We therefore brought up abreast of the spot, and hove them off, spiking the iron guns, and carrying the brass ones on board, twenty-three in all. Higher up we found between twenty and thirty more.

“This done, we again got up steam, and paddled ten miles higher. We were now within four days’ steaming of Ava, with a broad, deep river, easy of navigation, before us. We all hoped that the commodore would push on and capture the capital. As far as we saw, there was nothing to prevent him, but the orders he had received were simply to survey the river as high as Prome, and then to return; so of course he had to obey them. Why he had not been given discretionary powers to proceed farther, I don’t know. A golden opportunity was lost of catching the King of Ava by the nose, for we had so nimbly doubled on old Bundoolah that the chances were we should not have met with the slightest opposition. You may fancy, therefore, our disappointment when the order was received to ‘’bout ship,’ and run down the stream again. But it couldn’t be helped—orders are orders—it wasn’t the fault of our gallant commodore.

“After holding Prome four-and-twenty hours, we evacuated the town, and soon got back into the shallow channel up which we had come. On getting into the main stream, we caught sight of General Bundoolah’s army, some of the troops on shore, some in boats crossing the river, evidently with the intention of following us along the banks. I don’t suppose they much liked our looks, for they evidently didn’t expect to see us so soon. Steaming on, we quickly got up to them, and opened with shot and shell, both on the boats and on the dark-skinned troops which, crowded together, covered the shore. You may fancy what fearful havoc and confusion our shells created among the masses of human beings. Many of the boats were sunk, and the people in the others, finding escape impossible, hauled down their flags, and made signs that they surrendered. It was calculated that we captured or sunk forty or fifty boats. Among them was the old general’s state barge and several large war canoes. On board them were found loot of all sorts, with two gold umbrellas and a standard. It was some consolation to have these trophies to exhibit; and as soon as we got back, the commander-in-chief, who, I daresay, was somewhat vexed at not having beforehand told our commodore that he was to do as he thought best, ordered us to go back again with a large body of troops and to take possession of Prome.

“As soon as we got ready, away we steamed, and, the river being still full, quickly reached our destination. There was not much fight in old General Bundoolah, after all; one reason was that we had carried off all his heavy guns. After battering the city, the troops were thrown on shore, and though the Burmese stood their ground for a short time, they quickly turned tail, and we entered the city in triumph, without a single man killed, and only four wounded. As we left Pegu without any defenders, though the inhabitants had taken a strong liking to us, while we were away a pretty large Burmese army marched into the place and began fortifying it. We had therefore to attack it again. Perhaps our chiefs thought that there wouldn’t otherwise be work enough, and so left the cities we took unguarded.

“We proceeded up the river, and during the night came off the place. At daybreak, during a thick fog, with as little noise as possible, a body of troops and another of bluejackets were landed, and we making a dash on the town, the Burmese, who had no notion we were at hand, were completely taken by surprise, and away they scampered as hard as their legs could carry them, as usual to the pagoda, just as rats do to their holes; whether from being a sort of sacred place they fancied that it was safer than any other spot, I don’t know; at all events, it was more easily defended. We, however, did not allow them to hold it long, though they fought desperately. Our troops, making a rush, dashed into the place and drove them out, not, however, without some considerable loss, half a dozen of our men being killed, and more than thirty wounded.

“We had now got hold of all their chief cities except Ava, and why that was not taken is more than I can say. We might certainly have captured it, with the king, his white elephant, and all his lords and ladies together, not to speak of his treasure, which would have given us something handsome in the way of prize-money. Perhaps it was thought best not to drive him to desperation, as we had already punished him, or rather, his unfortunate subjects, pretty severely.

“We had still no end of expeditions on shore; one especially turned out most disastrously. The Government of Burmah, fancying that we had now become pretty quiet, and that they could drive us into the sea, allowed a number of guerilla bands to be organised, which scoured the country in all directions, and mercilessly robbed the unfortunate people. Among the most noted of the leaders was a fellow called Mya Toon. After burning down a number of villages, and committing all sorts of mischief, he threw himself into a stronghold about twenty-five miles inland from Rangoon, or rather from a place called Donabew, on the river. A force of about six hundred men was ordered to get ready to attack the daring chieftain; about half were soldiers, the remainder seamen and marines, with their officers. Jack and I had the luck to be chosen, and we expected to see something of a new style of fighting, and to enjoy a tramp of twenty miles or more through the country. The expedition was placed under the command of Captain Loch, whom we all knew to be as good an officer as any in the service. We carried with us two three-pound field-guns, and on reaching Donabew landed, and began our march without encountering an enemy. We were fortunate enough to get hold of some natives who were willing to act as our guides; for you will understand that the natives everywhere were friendly to the English, and the troops only were our enemies.

“We started early on the 3rd of February, the natives drawing our guns along the pathway, which lay through a thick jungle of tall trees and brushwood. It was not the pleasantest style of country to traverse, seeing that a tiger might spring out and carry off a fellow, and that the enemy, if they had had the wits to do it, might have placed an ambush, and shot us down without our being able to see one of them. However, after marching about fifteen miles, we arrived at an open valley, where we bivouacked. We could hear the enemy all night long popping away ahead of us pretty smartly. I suppose it was under the idea they should frighten us barbarians, and prevent our advancing. However, in that they were mistaken. We lighted our fires and cooked our suppers, and pretty hungry we were. We then lay down to sleep, thinking of the work before us on the morrow, and we were of course all very jolly, expecting to get hold of Mr Mya Toon, and to carry him back with us in triumph. Little did many of the poor fellows who lay down that night suppose that it was to be their last on earth.

“The bugle sounded at daybreak, and, springing up, we breakfasted and recommenced our march, moving along the same sort of path as before, till it suddenly terminated on the side of a broad nullah, a sort of natural ditch. The bank on the opposite side was much higher than the ground we stood on, and we soon saw that it was strongly fortified, after the Burmese fashion, with sharp-pointed bamboos, over which it was as difficult to leap as it was to force our way through. The path, too, was here narrowed by an abattis of the same sharp-pointed bamboos, which made it impossible to deploy the whole strength of our column; indeed, our advance guard, consisting of seamen and marines, could only march two abreast, while our two guns, hauled along by the natives, were in the rear. Suddenly, as we were looking about us, and thinking what a nasty sort of place it was, we found ourselves exposed to a tremendous fire from a horde of banditti, who had hitherto been concealed behind a breastwork on the opposite bank.

“A gallant officer of the Fox, Lieutenant Candy, who commanded the advanced guard of the bluejackets, and Captain Price, of the Bengal infantry, led on their men in the most dashing style, intending to force their way across the nullah and to storm the breastworks. Before they had gone many paces they were both shot dead, as were many of their followers. Captain Loch now hurried to the front, and led another party to the attack. It got some way across, when so murderous was the fire that he was compelled to retreat, leaving a number of men behind who had been killed close to him. Still undaunted, he again made the attempt, and a second time was driven back.

“‘We must take the place!’ he shouted out; and a third time, rallying the seamen and marines, he rushed forward, sword in hand, determined to capture the fort. The Burmese must have had their marksmen, for one after the other our officers were struck. This time everybody thought he would succeed, when, as he was advancing, a fellow who had climbed up a tree overlooking the nullah fired at him, and wounded him desperately, driving his watch right into his body. Though he suspected that the wound was mortal, he had strength sufficient to fall back to the rear, when Commander Lambert, the son of the commodore, took his place. Though our men were falling thickly around, two more attempts were made to get across that horrible nullah. Commander Lambert, who had himself received four shots through his clothes, though he had escaped unhurt, seeing that success was impossible, as more than half our party had been killed and wounded, at length ordered us to fall back. I had not thought about myself, but I thought about my brother Jack a great deal, and I was thankful to see him get off clear without a wound.

“The enemy kept firing at us as we retreated, but their shot did not commit much damage, after we got to a little distance. One bad part of the business was that we were obliged to leave the dead on the field, for our rascally dhoolie bearers and guides had treacherously decamped, and we had scarcely men enough remaining to carry the wounded. The seamen undertook this duty, while the Bengal infantry, in a very gallant way, for which we were heartily obliged to them, covered our retreat. The only road that we could possibly take was the one we had come by. The jungle on each side was so thick that we could not force our way through it. Happily, for the same reason, I suppose, the enemy did not get round and meet us in front. They followed, but were afraid to advance near enough to molest us, the soldiers’ rifles reaching farther than their jingalls or Birmingham muskets.

“We all felt very downcast at the loss we had sustained, but more especially for that of our brave leader, Captain Loch. He was still alive, but the surgeon gave us no hopes that he would recover. The heat was tremendous, the sun burning down on our heads, while we hadn’t a drop of water, and the men had to carry our leader and the rest of the wounded for nearly twenty miles. Still, all hands did their best to keep up their courage and discipline, the strongest helping, as far as they could, the weakest; four or five of our officers, who were themselves wounded, setting the rest an example. Thankful enough were we when we caught sight of the river, after a march of twelve hours, and found ourselves at length seated in the boats, the troops being embarked on board the Phlegethon. Shoving off, we made our way back to Rangoon, and the next day we heard that Captain Loch had expired within two days after he had received his wound. We agreed that it was a very sad affair, and it would have been better had we tried to catch the robber and his band while they were out foraging.

“We buried Captain Loch on shore, near the great pagoda, at Rangoon, and I am sure I never joined in a sadder procession than we formed, as, shoving off, we followed the coffin of our late gallant chief on shore, and marched to the neighbourhood of the great pagoda. He was buried with all the honour we could show.

“The robber, Mya Toon, held out for some time longer, till a considerable force, under Sir John Cheape, was sent against his stronghold. Even then he showed much pluck, and was not dislodged till several officers and men on our side had fallen. This was just before the King of Ava knocked under and sued for peace, giving up the province of Pegu, which was accordingly attached to the British dominions. The soldiers had most of the fighting, but we had a good share of it, quorum pars magna fui, and so ends my yarn.”

“Bravo, Rogers! an excellent yarn, and capitally told,” said several voices.

“Ye dinna pit your light under a bushel, laddie,” remarked Archie.

“Why should I?” exclaimed Tom; “it was for your sakes more than for mine; you wouldn’t have been half as interested if I’d only told you what I’d heard, whereas I’ve enabled you, in imagination, to take part in all the scenes in which my brother Jack and I were engaged.”

“Then you should have said quorum pars magna fuit frater Jackus meus,” said Archie; “but I suspect that he was the principal actor.”

“Of course he was,” said Tom; “there’s not another fellow in the world like my brother Jack; I always said so before I came to sea, and now I have been with him so long, I can say it from my own observation. I might have said a great deal more about him, only my object was to be brief.” Others of the Romp’s youngsters who had been in the expedition corroborated all that had been said, and made Tom’s hearers wish to have the chance of sailing with Jack Rogers, who was sure, they agreed, wherever he might be, to cut out work of some sort or other.

More yarns were spun, and many a song sung, before Tom and his shipmates returned to the brig.

Next morning, as the corvette was weighing anchor, the frigate was seen coming in from the southward. The Opal accordingly again brought up, and waited for her arrival. As she came to an anchor, the flags run up to her masthead summoned Murray on board. The commodore, on hearing of the number of slaves he had taken, ordered him, instead of going on to Aden, to proceed to Seychelles, where arrangements had been made for the reception of liberated Africans, and, as soon as he had landed them and refreshed his ship’s company, to return to the coast, and prosecute his search for slavers.

“We must strike a blow at this abominable traffic, and put it down at all cost,” exclaimed the commodore; “we have done nothing effectual as yet—for one vessel captured, fifty have escaped.”

The commodore, having come on board the Opal to inspect the slaves, ordered Murray to get under way immediately. The corvette, running out round the north end of the island, hauled her wind, and stood eastward till she reached Seychelles. A look-out was still kept for slavers which, having hugged the Madagascar shore, might be steering for the Gulf of Persia. All hands, from the commander downwards, were eager to arrive at their destination, and to land their cargo of blacks. Everything possible was done to keep the poor creatures in health, but notwithstanding this, several died on the voyage every day. Part of the deck was cleared, and they were encouraged to dance and sing, and amuse themselves after their own fashion. At first, when they stood up, they appeared scarcely able to move, but in a short time, their spirits rising, they began to snap their fingers, bend their bodies, and shuffle round and round; then to clap their hands and shout and laugh as if all thoughts of the miseries they had suffered had vanished. To the intense satisfaction of all on board, the corvette at length, just as the sun was setting, came in sight across the purple ocean of the green, foliage-clad islands, in a setting of white sand, surrounded by coral reefs, amid which she had carefully to pick her way. At some distance rose the lofty mountains of the principal island of Mahd, while on either hand were tree-fringed islets, backed by others far-off, blue and indistinct.

The pilot, coming off, brought the ship to an anchorage a considerable distance from the town. Anxious as Murray was to get the slaves on shore, it was impossible to do so that night. Next morning the disembarkation commenced. Those who wished it were allowed to engage themselves either as domestic or agricultural servants to the inhabitants, while the rest were placed on a island where they might erect huts and cultivate the ground for their own advantage. Pango and Bango had their choice of landing or remaining on board, but they preferred continuing in the ship among the crew, whose goodwill they had secured by their good-humour and willingness to oblige.

All hands luxuriated in the endless variety of fruits brought off by the boats which were quickly alongside; oranges, plantains, bananas, alligator-pears, limes, pineapples, and numberless others, including the bread-fruit; and on going on shore, as some compensation for the horrible odours they had lately inhaled, they enjoyed the scent of the countless beautiful flowers which grew not only in every garden, but lined the roadside and covered the slopes of the hills.

Though the islands belong to England, nearly all the inhabitants appeared to be French, and French was everywhere spoken. Mr Mildmay, the only officer who professed to care much for society, was sadly disappointed on finding that there were no ladies in the place. He, therefore, in some stanzas which he wrote, described it as a “Paradise without an Eve.”

The great drawback to the place was the heat; for behind the town rises a precipice upwards of seven thousand feet in height, which effectually shuts out the breeze, except from one quarter. The summit, however, being covered by luxuriant vegetation, adds another beautiful feature to the scenery of the island.

Chapter Ten.

News from England—Jack Rogers appointed to the Gauntlet—Adair promoted, and succeeds him in command of the Romp—The Three Midshipmen transferred to the Gauntlet—A Trip on Shore—Sailors in the Slave-Market—The Sultan appears—Gauntlet on the Northern Station—Tom Kettle and Bill Saucepan, the Kroomen—A Trap for Slavers—Mr Large’s Expedition in search of Wildfowl—Finds more than he bargained for—Is the Island bewitched?

The corvette was within a hundred miles of the African coast, when a sail was sighted on the port-bow coming down before the wind. She was soon seen to be a large ship, and little doubt was entertained that she was the Radiant. That she was so was in a short time proved, when she got near enough to allow her number to be seen. The corvette accordingly hove-to, to await her coming. As she drew near, she shortened sail, and hoisted a signal to send a boat for mail-bag.

No summons could be more willingly attended to. The boat was soon alongside, when a large letter-bag was lowered into her, and Adair was summoned to give an account of the trip to Seychelles.

He of course inquired the news. There were some changes in the station.

“Commander Rogers has been confirmed in his rank,” said the commodore; “and I have appointed him to succeed poor Danvers, the late commander of the Gauntlet steamer, which arrived out on the station after you sailed. I hope that he’ll have gained some experience in the Romp, for I mean to do something in putting down the slave-trade. I am determined to strike a blow at the traffic before I return to the Cape, where the doctor tells me I ought to go for the sake of the health of the ship’s company and my own; and so I will, as soon as I hear that a few more captures have been made. By the bye, you’ve been pretty successful, and I’ll give you an acting order to command the Romp till someone is appointed from home. I expect you to show your zeal in the service, and I have no doubt that you will be able to give a satisfactory account of your proceedings.”

Adair, highly pleased, thanked the commodore, and hastened back with the letter-bag to the corvette. He longed to see its contents, for he felt sure that he should hear from Mrs Murray, if not from Lucy herself. The contents of the bag were quickly distributed, and every officer, and not a few of the men, were soon deeply immersed in perusing their various epistles. It was a wonder the corvette did not run away with them; fortunately Jos Green was the officer of the watch, and, shoving his letters into his pocket, he issued the order to brace round the foreyard, and the corvette once more stood close-hauled to the westward, while the commodore ran on for the island of Pemba.

Murray, of course, had a letter from his wife, containing a smaller missive, which he held in his hand while he read the contents of the former. Adair had just received a long official-looking epistle, at which his eyes sparkled with more than usual animation. “Good luck has come at last!” he exclaimed; “I’ve got my promotion, thanks to Admiral Triton and Lord Derrynane.”

“I congratulate you heartily,” said Murray; “and here’s a little billet which I hope may add to your satisfaction. I suppose Stella thinks it all right, or she wouldn’t have undertaken to forward it.” Adair took the note, and, eagerly opening it, ran his eyes rapidly over the delicately-formed characters.

“Hurrah, my boy, I’m the happiest fellow alive!” he said, with difficulty restraining an inclination to throw his cap into the air and give an Irish caper. “That capital fellow, Jack, has been taking my part; and Lucy says that Sir John and Lady Rogers are inclined to relent, and she’s certain would not withhold their consent provided I obtain what I’ve just got; and so I may conclude that it will all be settled, and that I may make my appearance at Halliburton as soon as I return to England.”

“I’m truly glad to hear it,” said Murray; “from what my wife says, I thought you would be satisfied with her friend’s letter. The only drawback, as far as I am concerned, is that I shall lose you as my first lieutenant. However, I mustn’t complain, and I might have a much worse one than Mildmay, who will, I am sure, turn to with a will when he finds himself once in the position, and I only hope I may get an efficient officer in his place.”

Adair was sorely tempted to go home by the first opportunity, instead of taking command of the Romp; but two motives prevented him—first, he had been appointed commander; and, secondly, hoped by capturing a number of dhows to be able to pick up some prize-money, which might assist him in setting up house when he got back to England.

“I say, Uncle Terence, am I to follow you on board the brig or to remain here?” asked Desmond, when he heard of Adair’s appointment and promotion.

“If the commander can spare you, I think, Desmond, I will take you with me,” answered Adair, “but it must depend upon him. He may be unwilling to lose the services of so valuable an officer.”

“Arrah now, Uncle Terence, you’re poking fun at me,” exclaimed Desmond; “but I’m after thinking how Archie Gordon will get on without me. We’ve been together ever since he came to sea, and it will seem strange to him and to me if we’re separated.”

“I’ve a notion that each of you will get along very well by yourselves, and neither of you will be able to lead the other into mischief,” said Adair.

“Mischief d’ye mane, Uncle Terence,” cried Desmond; “sure it’s what neither of us are capable of.”

“No, of course you are both of you wonderfully well-conducted young gentlemen,” replied Adair; “and, besides, you are getting rather too old for playing monkey tricks; but still I’d rather keep my eye upon you, and so I intend to ask Commander Murray to lend you to the Romp till she’s ordered home.”

The next day the corvette reached Zanzibar, where the first object which greeted the eyes of those on board was a fast-looking screw-steamer such as had never before appeared in those waters. The first person who stepped on board was Jack Rogers, looking as fresh and jolly as if he had just come from England, instead of having been roasting in the East for the last two years or more. Following him came Tom, who dived down into the midshipmen’s berth to have a talk with his old friends.

Jack expressed himself well pleased with the steamer, though he had never belonged to one before. “The only bother is that I don’t understand the engineer’s reports; and when he tells me that so much steam has been blown off, all I can reply is, ‘Make it so,’” he observed, laughing; “however, I suppose I shall know all about it by and by, as I go down as often as I can into the engine-room and inspect the machinery, with as knowing a look as I can assume. I’ve a notion that the engineer has found me out, but he is a discreet man, and doesn’t take advantage of my ignorance; so I expect to get on very well, and hope that we shall catch no end of dhows, which will be unprepared for our mode of making our way through the water.”

Adair at once went on board the Romp, accompanied by Desmond, who took Tom’s berth. Thus the three young commanders found themselves all together, each captain of his respective ship. Their great object was the suppression of the slave-trade; for this purpose they laid their heads together to concoct a scheme to carry it effectually out. Their plan was to proceed along the coast, each taking up a position a couple of hundred miles or so apart, and to send their respective boats’ crews north and south, thus keeping up the chain of communication, imparting information, and the one aiding the other.

Jack was glad to find his old friend Higson first lieutenant of the Gauntlet. He had become, if not a temperance man, at all events as sober as a judge, and devoted to the duties of his position. His old shipmates were glad to meet him. He dined with Murray and Adair the two days they remained at Zanzibar, “the only times,” he declared, “that he had been out of the ship since she left England.”

The three commanders had a consultation regarding the disposal of their three young relatives. They agreed that as they were all well up in seamanship, and knew nothing about steam, that it would be to their advantage to remain for some time on board the steamer. “There’s no doubt that steam is making great progress, and for the sort of work on which we are engaged, at all events, steamers will be universally employed,” observed Murray, with his usual forethought. “I should not be surprised if we were to have all our larger as well as the smaller vessels fitted with the auxiliary screw, and it is, of course, very important that an officer should be well acquainted with its management, as well as with the working of steam-engines in general.”

“Faith, I believe you are right,” answered Adair; “though I’m mighty afraid that if steamers come into vogue, they will do away with all the romance once upon a time supposed to belong to a naval life.”

“I shall not make myself very unhappy on that account,” said Murray, laughing; “it will be a great thing not to have to depend on the fickle wind for making a passage, and still more to know that we may pounce down upon those rascally fast-sailing dhows whenever we can sight them in a calm, and be sure of overtaking them.”

“I agree with you,” said Jack; “I only wish that I knew a little more about a steamer. However, I shall pick up some knowledge of the matter before long, and hope to make good use of it. My engineer appears to be a sensible man, and I shall be glad to have Gordon and Desmond on board, and to place them under his instruction. I will, of course, look after them as carefully as I do my young brother Tom.”

So it was arranged that Archie and Desmond should be lent to the Gauntlet, she having only one other midshipman and two old mates on board. They, of course, were highly delighted to hear the decision to which their elders had come, not so much perhaps on account of the advantage it was expected they would derive, as from the thoughts of the fun they would have together. As the ship was not to sail till the next day, they all three forthwith asked leave to go on shore for the purpose of getting a ride into the country, in company with the master of the Opal and some of the midshipmen of the other vessels. As Jos Green undertook to look after them, Jack gave them leave, charging them to be on board before dark. A party of the men from each ship had likewise obtained leave to go on shore to purchase curiosities for their sweethearts and wives.

The Sultan had lately made it known that his stud, consisting of a hundred horses and more, was at the disposal of the British naval officers who might wish to take a ride into the country; and the midshipmen were therefore directing their course to the palace, when Desmond proposed that they should take a stroll first through the town.

“It isn’t the sweetest of places, I’ll allow, but we may come upon something worth seeing, and have some fun or other,” he exclaimed. All hands agreed to the proposal, and two and two they made their way through the narrow streets, not exactly knowing where they were going. They agreed, however, that except the crowds of savage, dirty-looking Arabs, and still more hideous blacks, tumbledown houses, and bazaars full of trumpery goods, there was nothing to be seen in Zanzibar. Suddenly they found themselves in a square, which Desmond recognised as the slave-market. It was far more crowded than when Archie and he had been there before. As they looked round, they calculated that there were three or four hundred slaves of all degrees; some, mostly women, gaudily, if not gorgeously dressed, looking plump and well; and others, who had apparently lately been imported, in a most miserable state of starvation. The sight was sufficient to excite the feelings of the most callous observers. Many were little more than skeletons, with their skins, often covered with sores, drawn tight over their distorted bones; their eyeballs protruding hideously, evidently in consequence of the falling away of the flesh on their faces; their chests sunk, and their joints swelled and knotty, contrasted with their withered limbs.

Several such groups were seen in different parts of the square. In another part, seated under the shade of a projecting roof, were a group differing greatly from the last described. They were women-slaves, considered of high value. On their heads they wore dark veils, covered with glittering spangles, and various ornaments, though the way in which their faces were painted with black and yellow detracted from any natural beauty they might have possessed, according to the taste of the English officers. Another similar group of ten or a dozen negro girls were still further decorated with mantles of a blue muslin thrown over their shoulders, of which they appeared to be not a little proud, though, from the expression of their faces, it was impossible to say what feelings animated them. Although some few of the poor girls might have been considered attractive but for the daubs of paint on their faces, the greater number were fearfully scarified, not from cruelty, but in order to increase their beauty according to the taste of their countrymen.

There were numerous groups also of men and boys, such as have before been described. Each of the groups was in charge of an Arab auctioneer, who put them up to sale, much in the way that ordinary goods and chattels are disposed of at auction marts in England. A dozen or more auctioneers were busily at work together, trying to attract purchasers, pulling at the sleeve of one as he passed by, then at the skirt of another; somewhat after the fashion of old-clothes sellers in London. The Arab purchasers showed no eagerness, however, but turned away from the tempting offers, however much they might have desired to possess them. Business was going on in a tolerably quiet way, the appearance of the midshipmen in no way interrupting matters, till a large party of bluejackets arrived on the scene. Just then, some of the least interesting lots having been disposed of, an old Arab, with a long white beard, was putting up for sale one of the highly-adorned female lots, his example being followed by several of his rivals in trade. A stout female, with a face deeply scarred and hideously painted, and an arm strong enough to fell an ox, was speedily disposed of. As she seemed to take kindly to her new master, no sympathy was raised in her behalf. The case, however, was different with regard to a group of young girls, many of whom could not fail to excite interest. Two, especially, who were apparently sisters, were seated together, with their hands clasped, and their arms round each other’s necks, their countenances exhibiting a greater expression of shame and grief than did those of most of their companions.

Notwithstanding the horrors innumerable they might have gone through, they seemed to be aware that a still greater trial was in store for them. Several of the number had been knocked down, not literally, but to buyers, after a considerable amount of bidding, and all, it seemed, had gone off at high prices. The sailors had been looking on, making remarks, which it was as well neither auctioneers nor purchasers understood. Their feelings of sympathy, already excited by the sales they had witnessed of the other groups, were rapidly becoming less and less controllable. They eyed with no very friendly glances the ill-favoured Arabs who, grasping the poor girls by their arms, claimed them henceforth as their chattels. At length the turn of the two sisters came. Several bidders stood by, each offering an increase on the price last named by the auctioneer. Jerry Bird, who was among the seamen, could not make out whether they were to be sold together or singly. “It will be a shame if they’re parted; but the whole thing is a shame, and there’s nothing I’d like so much as to send the rascally buyers and sellers to the right-about, and to set the poor creatures free,” he exclaimed.

Just then a wizen-faced, one-eyed old Arab, his rich dress showing that he was a man of wealth and importance, came up and fixed his single blinker upon one of the negro girls. He quickly outbid all competitors. The auctioneer offered him the other sister, but he only wanted one, and nothing could induce him to offer for the other. At length, losing patience, he grasped the negro girl by the arm, and was about to drag her off by the wrist, when her sister, not yet sold, threw her arms about her neck, both uttering a wail of despair which might have gone to the hearts of the most obdurate. It had an electrical effect on the sensitive seamen. “Well, that’s more than I can stand,” cried Jerry. “Down with the brutal Arabs, and let’s set the whole lot of the poor creatures free!”

He gave but expression to the feelings which were animating the breasts of his companions. Dealing blows right and left, they simultaneously set upon the surrounding Arabs, the old fellow who had bought the girl being the first knocked over, and the auctioneer with the glib tongue the second, the others, who drew their daggers, having their weapons whirled from their hands; while the greater number, astonished by the suddenness of the attack, took to flight in all directions, pursued by the now infuriated seamen. The girls crowded together, more alarmed, probably, than delighted at the efforts made by the gallant tars in their favour.

Having succeeded, as they believed, in rescuing one of the party, the seamen, without an instant’s hesitation, set upon the other auctioneers in their immediate neighbourhood, whom they quickly put to flight; and sweeping on, flourishing their cudgels and shouting at the top of their voices, they in a short time cleared the square of every trafficker in human flesh. Jos Green and the midshipmen, who had been at the farther end of the square, did not understand what was happening till they saw the Arabs scampering off, turbans trailing behind them, daggers whirled through the air, slippers left on the ground, sword-blades shivered into fragments, while not a few long-robed rascals lay sprawling in the dust; the rest flying at sight of the enraged bluejackets at their heels. However much Jos and his party might have sympathised with the men, they at once saw that their proceedings might lead to serious consequences. In vain, however, he shouted out to them to hold fast; the sailors were too eager to be stopped, and continued the pursuit of the Arabs towards every avenue opening into the square. Whenever a party halted, they immediately, with loud shouts, made at them, compelling them again to take to their heels.

The midshipmen, indeed, who thought the matter very good fun, encouraged the men by their shouts and laughter, instead of abetting Green in his efforts to stop the fray. They were now undoubted masters of the field, but what to do with the liberated blacks was a question which had not entered their heads. Had they been allowed, they would have liked amazingly to have followed up their victory till they had driven the Sultan and all his subjects out of the city, or burned it down over their heads; but before they proceeded to extremities, His Highness himself, with a body of his troops, happening to be passing through the neighbourhood, encountered some of the flying populace, and, ascertaining the cause of the uproar, rode into the square.

Instead of charging the British and cutting them down, he wisely, by means of an interpreter who happened to be with him, shouted to them to keep together, and let him hear what they had to say for themselves. On this Green and the midshipmen hurried after those who were still pursuing the Arabs in different directions, and succeeded in calling them back. They quickly collected in a body, and, not dreaming that they had done anything especially out of the way, but rather had fought bravely and in a laudable cause, without hesitation, still grasping their cudgels, boldly faced the Sultan and his party.

“Tell His Royal Majesty that we found them rascally Arabs knocking down these here unfortunate blackies, just like so many hogs at Smithfield market,” answered Jerry to the interpreter’s interrogations.

The latter was sorely puzzled to explain the sailor’s reply to the Sultan. “Neither the auctioneers nor the others would do anything to knock down the slaves or do anything to hurt them,” he answered. “Inshallah! His Majesty allows no violence in his dominions.”

This was a broad assertion on the part of the interpreter, considerably remote from the truth. However, the Sultan, who was extremely anxious not to get embroiled with the English, at once accepted their excuses, and either believed, or pretended to believe, that the slave-dealers had been using violence towards the blacks. Catching sight of Green and the other officers, he sent to request their attendance, and desired them to collect their men and march them down to the water, undertaking to protect them from the violence of the inhabitants, who would have otherwise undoubtedly set upon them in overwhelming numbers, and cut them to pieces. He observed, however, that they must on no account again venture on shore, as it would be impossible to guard them from the violence of the Arabs, who would certainly attack them if they had the opportunity.

Green, thankful to get the men out of the scrape, ordered them to keep close together, and follow the Sultan’s advice.

“But what are we to do with the poor nigger gals, sir?” asked Jerry, who seemed in no way conscious that he and his companions had illegally transgressed the bounds of propriety.

“I’m afraid we must leave them to their fate,” answered Green; “if you’d carried them off, you wouldn’t have known how to dispose of them; and, when we get to sea, we must do our best to put a stop to the traffic by catching as many slave-dhows as possible.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” shouted the men. The affair, which, at first, appeared likely to be very serious, was thus terminated satisfactorily; and the scene they had witnessed certainly contributed to make both men and officers more eager than ever to catch the slavers, independent of any secret hopes they might have entertained of collecting a good quantity of prize-money.

Jos Green and his companions, though deprived of their ride, resolved not to bring the matter before their officers, who might look upon it in a different light to the seamen, unless complaints were made by the authorities. In that case they determined to defend them as far as they had the power. The consul, however, was likely to hear of the matter, and it would, they suspected, prevent any man-of-war’s men being allowed on shore at Zanzibar.

The three vessels sailed together for the northward, when the Gauntlet, with her screw lifted, was found to make as good way as her full-rigged consorts. She was destined to take the most northern station, the corvette to cruise next to her, and the brig to remain in the south, to watch Pemba and the adjacent coast. The brig was the first to haul her wind, the corvette next; and Jack then, parting from her, stood for his station in the north. Higson had been out on the coast before, as had the gunner and boatswain, and Jack was therefore glad to consult them. The boatswain, Mr Large, was very unlike his brother officer of the corvette, his appearance answering to his name. Although not unusually tall, he required an unusually wide cot in which to stow himself away. His countenance was stained red by hot suns and air, rather than by any excess in drinking, though he took his grog, as he used to observe, “like an honest man, whenever it came in his way, either afloat or ashore.” He was sufficiently active, and remarkably strong.

On her outward voyage the Gauntlet had touched at Sierra Leone, and shipped a gang of Kroomen, who proved as efficient as any part of the ship’s company. The head Krooman, a fine-looking fellow, rejoiced among his shipmates in the name of Tom Kettle while his mate was christened Bill Saucepan,—names to which they willingly answered,—while on the rest of the gang similar names were bestowed. The men of the tribe to which they belonged are infinitely superior to all others of the West Coast, and every man-of-war employed on the station has been for long accustomed to receive a party of them on board to perform the severer labours of the ship, under which English seamen, in that climate, would not fail to suffer. Their dress is that of ordinary seamen, and they are particularly clean and neat in their persons, while they receive the same rations as the other seamen; indeed, they are treated in all respects like the rest of the crew, except that they mess by themselves, and are under the immediate command of their head man and his mate. They are good-natured, merry fellows, as brave as lions, active and intelligent, and always ready to perform the most dangerous and fatiguing duties without grumbling. Tom Kettle and his men were therefore great favourites on board. Black Tom, as he was generally called by the midshipmen, soon became great friends with his namesake and his companions, who treated him with the respect which was his due, and consequently won his affections.

He had nothing of Captain Marryat’s Mesty about him. He did not pretend to be the son of a prince, or to have any wrongs to avenge; on the contrary, his boast was that his father and grandfather were seamen before him, who had ever proved true to their colours; and he was prouder of that than he would have been of being allied to the greatest potentate under the line.

Jack was on the alert himself, and kept everybody else on board on the alert, in the hopes, by some means or other, of inflicting a heavy blow on the abominable slave-trade, for he felt as much interest in the matter as did the old commodore himself. It reconciled him completely to being compelled to command a steamer, which formerly, with the feelings of the old school, he had looked upon as a somewhat derogatory employment. Night and day the brightest lookout was kept, and every suspicious dhow chased and boarded. For some time, however, only legal traders were fallen in with.

It was natural to suppose that as Jack was fresh on the station he would require the most efficient interpreter, and Hamed was therefore transferred to the Gauntlet, Murray taking another provided by the consul in his stead. Jack began to feel vexed at his want of success, but Hamed assured him that only the first part of the trade had begun to move northward, and that the slavers would soon be coming, fast and thick.

“I hope so,” said Jack, “for this is fearfully dull work.”

“Well, captain, I tinkee you gettee more prize if you hide ship under lee of some island, and den pounce out on de dhows like wasps,” said Hamed.

Jack, accordingly, examining the chart with Higson, looked out for the most suitable island for their purpose. The first on which they fixed, a short way to the northward, was low and sandy. It had some tall trees in the centre, of a height to hide a ship’s masts. The Gauntlet accordingly proceeded on to the northern end, off which she brought up, thus concealed from any dhows coming from the southward. A mile and a half or so to the north was another much smaller island, towards which numerous birds were seen wending their way; and it was evidently, from some peculiarity of the soil, a favourite resort of the feathered tribe.

The ship had been at anchor for several hours, and as no dhows had as yet been seen, and it was thought probable none would make their appearance for a day or two, the time hung heavily on the hands of all on board. Desmond and Tom, having been at work all the morning studying the steam-engine, took it into their heads that they merited some little relaxation, and set to work to persuade Mr Large to accompany them on a shooting expedition to the island. “You see, Mr Large,” observed Tom, “we’re certain to make a good bag, and you like roast goose as much as any man; though we shall have to do without apple sauce, I’m afraid. I’m certain that the birds I saw must have been geese, from their size; we can even now make them out, hovering over the island. We shall very likely get enough to dine the whole ship’s company.”

Mr Large’s mouth watered as Tom expatiated on the dainty dish he hoped to provide. “If we can’t get any of the boats, we can at all events have our canoe,” Gerald Desmond observed. It was the same canoe in which they had been picked up and saved by the Romp, and which Adair and Murray, who both claimed the ownership, had presented to Jack.

Mr Large, in an evil hour, yielded to the midshipmen’s representations, and consented to accompany them. They, without difficulty, obtained leave from the first lieutenant, promising to be back before dark with the canoe loaded with birds. Mr Large, who considered himself a first-rate shot, was the happy possessor of a fowling-piece, which he boasted was superior to the best owned by any officer in Her Majesty’s Service. The midshipmen contented themselves with two ship’s muskets, which, as they carried a large amount of shot, would, they conceived, kill no end of birds every time they were fired.

Having dined, they had no need of provisions; so, taking plenty of powder and shot, with their three weapons, they shoved off, Mr Large sitting in the after-end, while the two midshipmen paddled well forward, in order in some degree to counteract his weight, which, as it was, brought the canoe considerably down by the stern, and lifted the bows almost out of the water. Tom Kettle, who was unaware of their intention, did not see them till they had got some distance from the ship. “They had better take care,” he observed, “or sea come over de stern and swamp de canoe.”

The water, however, was smooth, and neither Mr Large nor his companions had any apprehensions on the subject. Away they went, intending to land on the nearest point. As they approached the point, they were not disappointed in their expectations of finding it crowded with sea-birds, many of large size, which Tom averred were the geese he had seen; while there were various species of ducks, which appeared to be living in harmony with the other inhabitants.

The wind had got up a little, and as they drew near they saw that there was some surf on the shore; but Mr Large declared that it was nothing to hurt the canoe, and that they might pass easily through it without shipping a thimbleful. He hesitated, however, as he drew nearer. “Don’t quite like the look of it,” he observed. “If we’d had the large boat we might have got on shore easy enough, but if a sea was to catch us we might be rolled over before we could tell where we were.”

“Arrah, but it won’t do to turn back,” cried Desmond; “those geese now will be after roasting us instead of our roasting them, not to speak of the laugh that there’d be on board when we got back without a feather to show, except the white feather which they’d be after talking about.”

Thus incited by Desmond’s wit, the boatswain determined to attempt landing. “Now, young gentlemen, paddle away with a right good will,” he shouted out, moving farther from the stern. The midshipmen pulling away with all their might, on flew the canoe, with every chance, apparently, of reaching the beach, when the boatswain, turning his head over his shoulder, saw a huge foam-topped sea come rolling up with unusual speed. He shouted to his companions to paddle on. In half a minute more the stern of the canoe would have touched the beach, but before it got there, down thundered the sea upon them, deluging the boatswain, washing the two midshipmen high up on the beach, and capsizing the canoe, which it rolled up with Mr Large under it close after them. Picking themselves up, without losing their presence of mind, they turned round to see what had become of their companion, and were happily in time to catch hold of him and drag him up before the following sea carried him off.

“Thank you, young gentlemen; you’ve saved my life, and I’ve saved my fowling-piece. But I’m afraid the muskets are lost, and, what’s as bad, so are the powder-horns and shot,” said Mr Large.

“No, there’s one of the muskets,” cried Tom, as he caught sight of the butt lifted above the surface amid the creamy water, and, rushing in, he seized it, though the next sea nearly carried him off his legs.

“And there’s the other,” exclaimed Desmond; and, notwithstanding Tom’s narrow escape, he plunged in and secured it. The canoe was thrown up on the beach, not much the worse, and the two paddles were saved. “I’m afraid there’s little chance of our finding our ammunition,” said Tom in a melancholy voice, not a bit minding the wetting, “and unless we can manage to knock down the birds with our firearms, we shall have to go back after all without any game to show.”

“But we must manage by hook or by crook to catch some of them,” exclaimed Desmond. “Sure we may catch them by the legs, if we lie quiet, as they come flying by. There seems to be no end of young ones; we may get hold of them, at all events.”

While Tom and Desmond were discussing the subject, Mr Large was watching the breakers, which came tumbling in every instant with increased violence. “I am sorry to say, young gentlemen, that we’ve no chance of getting off till the sea goes down,” he remarked, “unless we drag the canoe across the island, or a boat is sent from the ship to our assistance; and I’m afraid that that mayn’t be thought of till night comes on.”

“Well, perhaps we may find some eggs,” observed Desmond; “they will afford us a supper, and we can manage to get back in the morning.”

“They may chance to be over-savoury, considering that so many young ones have already been hatched,” said Tom. “However, if we get hungry we shan’t be particular.”

The boatswain continued looking with a dissatisfied glance at the tumbling waters. “I doubt, even should the boat be sent, whether she would be able to take us off,” he observed. “The commander won’t be very well pleased when he finds what’s happened. Instead of sleeping comfortably on board, we shall have to spend the night out on the bare sand.”

“No very great hardship in that, is there, Mr Large?” observed Tom, trying to console the boatswain. “If we light a fire and roast a goose, we may be pretty jolly after all.”

“We must catch the goose first, Mr Rogers; and then, as to lighting a fire without a match-box or gunpowder, how is that to be done?” asked the boatswain.

Tom had forgotten, and had to acknowledge that they might have to go without the fire. It was agreed, however, that they should search for eggs, which, although they might be somewhat high, might assist in keeping body and soul together.

“Roast goose would have been very pleasant, and a drop of grog to wash it down,” observed the boatswain, who could not forget the loss of his creature comforts.

Having hauled the canoe high up on the beach, the boatswain set off in one direction, and the two midshipmen in the other, in search of eggs. They discovered here and there a few broken egg-shells and a few young birds. At length Tom came upon two or three eggs, which he eagerly seized. “Here’s a supper for us,” he exclaimed, breaking open one of them; but he threw it down with intense disgust.

“Faith, a fellow must be hard up before he could eat that,” said Desmond; “try another.”

“No, thank you,” answered Tom; “one is enough to satisfy me. But we’ll keep them for Mr Large; he may not be so particular. Only we must take care not to break them in our pockets, or we shan’t be able to wear our jackets again.”

They went on some way farther, the birds shrieking and pecking at their legs as they passed, but showing no further sign of anger, as they had not time to seize the young ones. As they got farther round the island, they saw, from its peculiar conformation, that the sea swept round it, and broke almost with as much violence on the one side as on the other; though still it might be possible, could they get the canoe across, to launch her. However, they were very unwilling to return without having something to show, and agreed that it would be better to wait till the following morning.

They had got more than half-way round when loud cries reached them, and, looking ahead, they caught sight of the boatswain scampering away over the sand faster than he had run for many a year, with a vast flight of birds hovering about his head, and uttering loud shrieks and cries of anger; some darting down and attacking him from behind, and others wheeling round and flying at his face, which he had the greatest difficulty in defending. The midshipmen, seeing the predicament that he was in, hurried forward to his assistance; when the birds, undaunted by their appearance, commenced an assault on them, and they too had to beat a retreat, pursued by their persevering foes. In vain they struck about them with their muskets, which, being heavy, the birds easily evaded, only to return to the assault with greater vigour, caring neither for their aimless blows nor their loud cries.

The midshipmen could easily have outstripped the boatswain, who, already blown, rushed on puffing and panting like an asthmatic steam-engine; but they, like young heroes, refused to desert him, although Desmond, as he flourished his musket, very nearly brought the muzzle down on his companion’s nose. The faster they ran, the more determined the birds became, till matters were really growing serious; and the poor boatswain, unable any longer to continue his flight, suddenly came down with a run on his face in the sand.

The midshipmen now making a stand in order to defend him, the birds retreated, croaking and shrieking louder than ever. “We must lift Mr Large up, or he’ll be suffocated,” said Tom, and, aided by Desmond, they rolled him round till his face was out of the sand. He was breathing very heavily, and they became greatly alarmed. “I’m afraid he’s got a fit of apoplexy, or something dreadful,” cried Tom. “I say, Gerald, go and fetch a cap full of water,—there’s no other way of getting it—and we’ll try and bring him to.”

Gerald, as desired, ran off to the beach, and hurried back with his cap, from which the water was of course rapidly streaming out. They managed, however, to clear the boatswain’s nostrils and mouth of sand, and at length had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, his first impulse being to try and get up. He could not as yet speak, and gazed about him wondering what had happened. The shrieks of the birds still hovering near reminded him, and he soon came to.

“Thank you, young gentlemen; if it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know what would have happened,” he said, in a faint voice. He had reason, indeed, to thank the midshipmen; for had they not stayed by him, he would, to a certainty, have been suffocated. Some time had thus been spent. They had been longer making the passage than they had expected, and night was fast approaching. They were wet and hungry, and not very well satisfied with their performances; knowing also that, whether a boat was sent for them or not, they would all be severely reprimanded on their return on board.

After sitting for some time, the boatswain declared that he should catch his death of cold if he remained quiet much longer; so, getting up, they all three set off running to try and restore circulation. No sooner did the winged inhabitants of the island see them on the move than, perhaps supposing that they were again about to invade their nests, with loud shrieks they darted once more to the attack, flying round and round them, and every now and then threatening to pounce down and attack their faces. Even when they did stop, the enraged creatures hovered round them, giving them no rest, and keeping them constantly on the watch to ward off their threatening beaks. At last Tom thought of the paddles, which had been left in the canoe, and, making their way back to her, he and Desmond armed themselves each with one, which were likely to prove more serviceable weapons than the heavy muskets. The birds seemed to be of this opinion, for no sooner did the midshipmen boldly assault them than they flew off to their nests. The boatswain, between his fear of catching cold should he lie down in his wet clothes, and his weariness, was in a sad perplexity. At length, however, he threw himself on the sand, declaring that he could no longer move about, and must submit to his fate, whatever that might be. The midshipmen themselves were getting somewhat tired, but tried to amuse themselves by talking of old times, every now and then taking an anxious look in the direction of the ship, in the hopes of seeing a boat coming to their assistance.

No boat, however, was discernible; nor indeed could they see the ship. They began to grow somewhat uneasy. What could have become of her? Had she steamed away and left them to their fate? but that was not at all likely to be the case. The boatswain had been for some time quiet, and a loud snore showed them that he had fallen fast asleep. Desmond was the first to speak. “I say, Tom, what do you think of our trying to knock some of the birds on the head while they’re asleep on their nests; we might in a little time kill as many as we should have shot; and if we could return with a boatful, we should, at all events, not be laughed at, as we shall be if we go back empty handed.”

Tom was perfectly ready, and, armed with their paddles, they set off along the beach, creeping quietly forward, in the hopes of coming suddenly upon a colony of the birds. On and on they went, but no birds could they find, the fact being that the tide was low, and they had kept close down to the water instead of making their way over the dry sand. This they did not find out till they had got to a considerable distance. Turning off inland, they, however, quickly found themselves in the midst of hundreds of birds, when they began to lay about them right and left, knocking over vast numbers; those they missed only poking out their long necks, and quacking and screeching at them.

“I thought we should have good sport,” cried Desmond, highly delighted; “we shall surprise the old boatswain when he wakes by and by and finds a pile of birds close to him.”

On they went for some time, till they found themselves among a colony of a different species, who, instead of tamely submitting to be knocked on the head, flew up with loud screams, and attacked them with the greatest desperation. The midshipmen, of course, fought bravely, wielding their paddles with some effect, while they retreated to the beach. Their assailants then took to flight, and they set to work to collect the birds they had knocked over. Some had partially recovered, and showed fight with their beaks when they attempted to catch hold of them, so that they had to give a good many the coup de grâce before they could throw them over their backs. Having each collected as large a load as they could carry, they set out to return to the canoe along the line of hard sand. The road seemed much longer, as they were now heavily laden, and it was some time before they came near the canoe.

As they approached, the shouts of the boatswain and the shrieks of a multitude of birds reached their ears. Hurrying on, they saw dimly through the gloom numberless wings flapping in the air, circling in the darkness, now advancing, now rising, while the figure of the stout boatswain appeared in their midst whirling round his fowling-piece, with which he every now and then caught a bird more daring than its companions, and brought it to the ground or sent it shrieking away.

“Help, young gentlemen, help!” he shouted out, though almost breathless with his exertions, “or these imps of Satan will be too much for me.”

Tom and Desmond rushed to the rescue, and, laying about them, at length succeeded in again driving off the birds to a respectful distance. “Glad you came when you did, young gentlemen,” said the boatswain, after he had recovered his breath. “Thinking you were keeping watch by my side, I was enjoying my first sleep, when I was awoke by a sharp tweak of my nose, and such a shrieking in my ears as I hope never to hear again. It was a mercy I hadn’t both my eyes pecked out; I started up, thinking that a whole horde of niggers were upon me, or might be a party of these beastly slave-catching, murderous Arabs had landed, when I discovered that they were those savage birds again; and finding my fowling-piece in my hand, I began to lay about me, as you saw, with right goodwill, though I own they were almost too much for me. I can’t help thinking that the island is bewitched, for such birds as these I never met in my life before, and hope never to meet again. Maybe an empty stomach makes matters worse, for I feel all nohow—more like a sucking baby than the boatswain of Her Majesty’s steamer Gauntlet.”

“You’ll get all right in the morning, Mr Large,” said Tom; “I believe you’ve hit the right nail on the head; but we shan’t starve; see, we’ve brought plenty of food, and we left fifty times as many behind us, waiting till we go and get them.”

“If we had a fire it would be very well,” sighed the boatswain; “though I suspect they’re somewhat of a fishy flavour—not that we should be particular when sharp set.”

“Faith, I forgot, Mr Large,” said Desmond, “that we’ve found some eggs, and we’ve brought you a couple, knowing that your constitution requires nourishment.”

“It does, young gentlemen, it does,” said Mr Large, in a grateful tone; “I feel a gnawing in my inside which quite unmans me.”

“Here they are,” said Desmond, producing the eggs from his pocket; “they may perhaps have a strong flavour, but, as you say, one shouldn’t be particular.”

“If we’d but a fire we might make an omelette of them,” observed the boatswain, holding one of the eggs in his hand, and preparing to crack it, so that he might gulp off its contents. Scarcely, however, had he done so, than he threw it from him, exclaiming, “Faugh! it’s as bad as the essence of a slave-hold.”

“We thought it might be pretty strong, Mr Large,” said Desmond, stuffing his wet handkerchief into his mouth to prevent himself from laughing; “but try the other, perhaps that is sweeter.”

As Mr Large was not a man to be knocked down by an egg, he did as he was advised, but the odour which issued from the second was even worse than that of the first, and, throwing it to a distance, he declared that it would be long before he would try another duck’s egg.

Gerald asked Mr Large if he had any tobacco and a pipe. “I have the first, young gentlemen, and thank you for reminding me of it; but how is the pipe to be lighted without a match?” he replied; “but I’ll take a quid, though I’ve given up chawing since I became a warrant-officer; I used once to indulge in it. I wouldn’t advise you, though, to do so, for it’s very likely to turn your insides out.”

Mr Large had his reasons for giving this advice to the midshipmen, seeing that he had only tobacco sufficient to form a decent-sized quid for himself. It comforted his heart, and, advising his companions to follow his example, he once more lay down to sleep. They tried to do so, but they had not been quiet for many minutes before the birds found them out, and, with loud screeches came flying above them, quickly awakening the boatswain, who declared that he believed they were imps in the form of birds, and would to a certainty attack them again if they had the chance. Tom said he thought so too, and that he remembered reading at school about some harpies who lived on an island, and played all sorts of tricks—that was in the Mediterranean, but he saw no reason why the same sort of creatures should not be found in the Indian Ocean; perhaps they had flown to this very island, as they certainly were no longer to be found in their old locality.

This information did not much comfort poor Mr Large. At last a bright idea struck Gerald. “Let’s turn the canoe bottom upwards, and creep under her; the beasts can’t find us there, at all events,” he exclaimed.

“I wonder we didn’t think of that before,” said Tom, and they immediately carried out Gerald’s suggestion. Mr Large had some difficulty in creeping under it, and very nearly brought the canoe down upon himself, but by choosing the broadest part he found sufficient room to lie on his back; while Tom took one end and Gerald the other. Though the birds screamed as loudly as ever, the canoe-wrecked party knew that they were perfectly safe, and could afford to laugh at them. However, they soon went to sleep and forgot all about the matter. They might have slept on till the middle of the next day, as there was no one to call them, had not Tom been awakened by the pangs of hunger; when, starting up, forgetting where he was, he gave his head such a thundering knock against the bottom of the canoe that the noise awakened Desmond, who did precisely the same thing. When the boatswain, giving a heave with his body, turned over the canoe, they discovered that the sun had already risen several degrees above the horizon.

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish to fry, as my missus would say,” exclaimed Mr Large, as he sat up rubbing his eyes; “we ought to have been on board by daybreak, and here we are as if we were upon leave for a month.”

“I only wish we’d something for breakfast,” exclaimed Desmond, as he got on his legs; “we shall have to breakfast on the raw birds after all.”

“Look out there, young gentlemen, where we left the ship—what’s become of her?” cried Mr Large.

The midshipmen looked round with dismay; the ship was certainly not where she had been. “I can’t make it out,” he exclaimed; “if she’s gone I ought to have gone with her, and a pretty scrape I am in. It won’t matter so much for you young gentlemen, as, of course, it will all be laid to my door; and here we are now without a drop of rum, or a drop of water to mix with it, or anything more eatable than raw, fishy geese. We shouldn’t starve if we were left here for a week, but we should suffer pretty severely from want of water.”

“I hope that we shall not have to wait here for a week,” said Tom; “and as it seems to me that the surf has gone down, I think the sooner we load the canoe and go in search of the ship the better, since she doesn’t come in search of us.”

Tom’s proposal was at once agreed to, it being evident that the surf had considerably gone down. The only objection to shoving off was the want of the third paddle; greatly, however, to the boatswain’s satisfaction, they espied it washed on shore. The only difficulty now remaining was to know where to pull to. The boatswain suggested that they should make the best of their way to the other island, as the ship was certain to return to her former anchorage. They accordingly loaded the canoe with as many birds as she could carry, and while the two midshipmen ran her off, Mr Large sat aft ready to use his paddles directly they jumped on board. This they nimbly did, and seized their paddles. Mr Large would have certainly upset the canoe, had he made the attempt to get in after she was afloat. Desmond and Tom managed it, however, very cleverly; and away she dashed. They were soon amid the breakers; the canoe, however, rode buoyantly over them, and was quickly skimming across the placid water to the southward.

They had not gone far, when a wreath of smoke was seen rising above the island, and presently the Gauntlet herself appeared towing a dhow, which they had little doubt she must have captured.

“My luck!” cried the boatswain; “I’d have given a week’s pay rather than to have missed being on board while she was catching her first prize; however, it can’t be helped. There’s one good thing; as the ship must have gone away early in the night, for what the commander and everybody else knows, we may have been waiting out here for them ever since. Don’t talk about the way I was treated by the birds, young gentlemen, if you please; my brother officers, the gunner and carpenter, would never cease chaffing me about it.”

Of course Tom and Gerald promised to be discreet; and they were now only anxious to get over the interview with the commander, hoping that they would not be asked any questions difficult to answer. “At all events, it was not our fault that we were not on board earlier,” said Tom; “he can’t say that; and as we bring a good supply of birds, both he and everyone else ought to be thankful to us.”

The canoe was alongside directly the steamer came to an anchor. They took good care to hand up the birds first; and Jack, on hearing their story, took very little notice of their prolonged stay, only expressing his satisfaction that they had got off safe. Before the ship was under way, blue lights had been burned and guns fired to recall them; but it had been at the time when they were having their first skirmish with the birds, and the signals had not been observed. What those birds were none of them could ever discover; and the boatswain was fully persuaded that they were the harpies of whom Tom had told him.

Tom was tolerably discreet, but Gerald, before long, let out the whole story, greatly to the amusement of the other warrant-officers, who were continually reminding poor Mr Large of his night on “Harpy Island.”

“Harpy it might have been, but happy it was not,” he answered with a groan. “I only wish that you two had been there; you wouldn’t be so fond of talking about it as you seem to be now.”

As the boatswain had supposed, a dhow had been made out by the party which had landed on the larger island, and as soon as steam could be got up, the ship had gone in chase of her. She had managed, however, to run up a somewhat narrow creek, into which the boats had been sent to bring her out, and had succeeded in doing so; though all the slaves had been taken out of her, with the exception of two who had been found in her hold in an almost dying state. The Arab crew had escaped; the examination of the poor slaves the next morning left no doubt of her character. She was accordingly scuttled, and being then set on fire, went to the bottom.

Chapter Eleven.

The Look-out Party on the Island—A Slave Caravan—Unwelcome Visitors—Three Dhows chased—Wreck of the Dhows—Rescuing the Slaves—Dangerous Position of the Party on Shore—The Kroomen cross the Surf with Supplies—Tenderness of the Sailors to the Slaves—“Washing a Blackamoor white.”

As Jack was not perfectly satisfied with the anchorage near Harpy Island, he proceeded farther north, to a spot which answered all his requirements, off a lofty headland with a deep bay. On the northern side of it lay a rocky island of considerable height, with trees covering the larger portion. Here a line-of-battle ship might have remained concealed from any vessels coming from the southward, till they were within range of the ship’s guns; so that she might, if necessary, compel them to strike, without even getting under way. Farther north the island assumed the low and barren appearance of that part of the African coast, a region as inhospitable and unattractive as could well be conceived. Within the bay was a smooth beach; farther on, the coast was lined for some miles with threatening rocks, against which should any unfortunate vessel be driven, she must quickly be dashed to pieces.

The Gauntlet, carefully feeling her way, came to an anchorage in the bay. The second lieutenant was at once sent on shore, with a party of men, to climb to the summit of the peak; no very easy task, as it turned out. However, they got up at last, and the lieutenant on his return reported that from the summit of the headland he had enjoyed a view over fully thirty miles out to sea, and up and down the coast, so that in the daytime no vessel could pass within that distance without being sighted.

Several dhows had been chased and boarded, but the evidence for their condemnation had been insufficient, and with much reluctance Jack had to let them go. Both he and all under his command would have liked to be allowed to burn every dhow with a black man on board, but as such a proceeding would have been illegal, they were compelled to restrain their zeal. The Gauntlet had again come to an anchor; an hour before daybreak Tom and Desmond, with a party of men, had been despatched to make their way to the top of the headland, that they might obtain as extensive a view as possible over the ocean. As soon as the sun rose above the horizon a ruddy glow suffused the sky. On reaching the rocky height at which they were aiming, the rocks they saw around appeared as if ready to topple down into the plain on the one side. On the other were deep crevices, sufficient to contain a number of men; thus forming a natural fortress which might be held by a small party against greatly superior odds, while here and there shrubs jutted out from the hollows in which soil, in the course of ages, had been deposited.

As, however, it did not appear likely that any foe would take the trouble of climbing up to molest them, the midshipmen did not bother themselves about the advantages of their position. They valued the hollows rather as affording them at some period of the sun’s course a shelter from his rays, and enabling them to take a quiet snooze while off watch. The summit of the cliff, however, on which they had to make their signals to the ship, was perfectly exposed on all sides, and from it they could take a view, not only over the ocean, but across a considerable part of the country to the eastward.

“There’s a sail,” cried Tom, as he swept the wide expanse of water with his telescope; “and there’s another, and another. They’re coming up with a spanking breeze, and will try the old kettle’s powers to get up with them. Make the signal, Desmond; she must stir up her fires and get under way pretty smartly, or they will have slipped by before she can pounce down on them.”

The signal was made, and in a short time a column of black smoke was seen ascending from the funnel of the ship. Two of the boats were at the island, with armed crews ready to pull off towards any dhows which might come near enough to be overtaken. The boats had already seen the signal from the headland, and were pulling out from under the lee of the island. The dhows had not as yet, apparently, discovered that foes were at hand. Out glided the steamer, her black smoke clearly indicating what she was. Two of the inshore dhows quickly disappeared behind an intervening point, almost as high as that on which Tom and his party were posted. The boats, each selecting her prey, pulled away towards two dhows nearest the island, while the ship steered towards three others which were somewhat farther out and ahead of the rest.

The wind was strong; they were all carrying moderate sail, and as they made no apparent effort to escape, it was supposed that they were legal traders. Such for some time, apparently, was the commander’s opinion, as the ship’s head was seen to be turning more to the southward towards one of the other dhows. Just then a sail of one of the leading dhows was seen to come down.

“She’s carried something away,” exclaimed Tom; “and the ship can easily overhaul her.”

“No, she hasn’t,” exclaimed Desmond; “see, she’s only been shifting her canvas;” and presently, in spite of the fresh breeze, an enormous sail was spread in lieu of the smaller one. The other dhows followed her example, and the ship was quickly in chase of them, setting, as she went along, sail after sail; and as the broad sheets of white canvas were expanded to the breeze, her speed was evidently increased.

“She’s not got her full steam up yet,” observed Desmond; “when she has, she’ll be after them like a shot.”

“The shot must fly pretty fast then; see how they bowl along,” cried Tom; “look, two of them are edging in for the land, while the third holds her course. The ship seems doubtful which she will follow. They may be all rogues together; or the last may be honest, and only wishes to lead her a wild-goose chase for the sake of favouring the others. No; the commander has made up his mind that the last is no better than the rest. See, he’s determined to make her heave-to, at all events.”

As Tom spoke, a puff of white smoke was seen to fly out from the bow of the Gauntlet, and the faint sound of a gun reached their ears. Another and another followed, forming curves in the air; the ship was throwing shells over and around the nearest dhow to frighten her into submission. For some time she stood on, when she too altered her course to the westward; this was probably what Jack desired, because he might thus hope to capture two or three vessels instead of one. Two other guns were now discharging shot and shell from the port-bow.

“I wish I was on board,” cried Tom; “surely one or other of the rascals must be caught.” It was doubtful, however, whether this would be the case. One thing alone was clear, that all the three vessels had slaves on board, or, rather than run the risk of being struck, they would immediately have hauled down their sails. Tom now turned his attention to the boats, which were still at some distance from the southernmost dhows, and seemed likely to cut them both off. The other two had not reappeared, but had probably found anchorage in a bay to the southward, not supposing perhaps that they had been seen.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Desmond, who had been watching the ship; “she’s brought down the sail of one of the rascals, and is firing away sharply to prevent her rehoisting it.”

Some few more minutes passed. “She’s up to her,” he cried; “see, she’s shortening sail, which will help to give the other fellows a better chance of escaping; but she’ll not be long about it.”

Once more the sails were sheeted home, and the ship rushed forward after her prey, the boat she had lowered appearing like a small speck on the ocean, close to the dhow about to be boarded. The steamer was now in hot chase after the other two dhows, still considerably ahead of her, and making, apparently, for the shore, from which she was endeavouring to turn them by a rapid discharge of shot and shell. The boat’s crew she had left behind were quickly in possession of the dhow, the Arabs, as far as could be seen, having made no resistance.

“I thought the coast was rocky all the way to the north,” observed Tom; “if those dhows run on shore they will be knocked to pieces in no time, and every human being on board them drowned.”

“I heard the master say only yesterday that there were one or two sandy beaches of no great extent some miles on, and I suppose the dhows are making for them, though I shouldn’t have thought they had got so far,” answered Desmond; “I only hope the ship won’t be knocking her nose on the rocks in her eagerness to get hold of the fellows.”

“No fear of that,” said Tom; “my brother Jack is too careful to do so bungling a thing; though he’s ready enough to run every risk when necessary. He wouldn’t esteem your remark as a compliment.”

“I don’t doubt his judgment,” said Desmond; “though if you are not on board to give him the benefit of your advice, he may be after getting into a scrape. But, I say, what are the other two boats about? I had almost forgotten them.”

Tom turned his telescope to the south-east, in which direction the white bulging sails of the dhows could be seen shining brightly, as they floated above the blue ocean; while the boats lay ahead of them, like two crouching savage animals waiting for their prey. They were more than a mile apart, so that they could render no assistance to each other; but, apparently, they considered that would not be necessary, as the Arabs, even if they had slaves on board, were not likely to offer any resistance with a man-of-war in sight. There was no escape for either of the dhows, for the surf broke upon every part of the coast visible to the southward with a fury which must preclude all hope of escape to any human being on board; and thus, if they intended to fight, they must be prepared to conquer and run ahead of the ship while she was engaged with her companions nearer the shore. Still, there was sufficient probability of their doing so to make Desmond and Tom, with all the men on the rock, watch the proceedings with intense interest.

On flew the dhows, their bulging sails swelling in the breeze, and the white foam flying up under their low bows. Matson, the second lieutenant, commanded one of the boats, and the senior mate the other. The object of the dhows, since they could not avoid the boats, was to try and give them the stem, but the English officers were not to be caught so at a disadvantage. The second lieutenant’s boat was nearest in; as the dhow came dashing on, the lieutenant ran his boat alongside, and he and his men, like ants, could be seen scrambling up over the bulwarks. Some small tiny puffs showed that fighting was going on. Then came a pretty considerable number, though the reports which reached them sounded no louder than those of pop-guns. Tom declared that he could see the flash of steel as the cutlasses glittered in the sunshine. One thing was certain, that the British crew had gained the slaver’s deck—for that a slaver she was there could be no doubt.

Again puffs of smoke were seen, and the cutlasses flashed once more; and then all was quiet. The midshipmen would have given anything to have distinguished what was going forward on deck, but they could only make out that the boat was alongside, and they could have little doubt that their friends were victorious. Still the sail continued set, which was a suspicious circumstance, but the dhow was scarcely yet sufficiently to the northward to run in under the island. In the meantime the second dhow had got up to the mate’s boat; but she being still farther off, it was difficult to see what was taking place. She had a gun in her bows, which, as soon as the fighting began on board the first dhow, was fired into her antagonist; then there came puffs of smoke from the latter, and she was presently alongside; whether or not the English had got on board, it was impossible for some time to ascertain. Desmond thought that they were firing from the boat, while the Arabs were returning their fire from the dhow. Whether or not such was the case, it ceased on both sides.

“Our fellows have got on board, depend upon it,” cried Tom; “and they’re making short work of it; the Arabs can never stand our fellows’ cutlasses.”

The second dhow, like the first, continued her course; in about a minute, down came her huge sail, making it evident that she was captured, as the Arabs, if they had been successful, would have been in a hurry to get away. The first dhow had now got sufficiently to the northward to haul in for the anchorage, her helm was put down, and, heeling fearfully over, she made her way towards it.

“Good heavens!” cried Tom; “what’s happening to the other dhow?” He had turned his glass but for a minute to look at the first, when, on again glancing at the latter, her bows had disappeared, and her high stern was just sinking beneath the surface. The boat was there, but it was impossible to see who was on board. The party on the cliff were therefore left in a state of intense anxiety as to the fate of their shipmates. They could only picture to themselves numberless human beings struggling for their lives, those in the boat employed in endeavouring to pick them up. The lieutenant’s party had too much to do in keeping the Arabs under to go to their assistance; by the time they could have arrived, indeed, all who had not been picked up by the boat must have sunk for ever.

The first dhow was rapidly approaching the anchorage, and the boat, hoisting her sail, soon afterwards followed her. At all events, it was evident that their shipmates had been successful. The two midshipmen were eager to go down and meet them, to hear what had happened, but they had been ordered to remain on the cliff, and could not—without being guilty of disobedience—leave their post; they had, therefore, to sit quiet and curb their impatience, while they continued to keep a lookout over the ocean.

Tom and Desmond now turned their glasses towards the ship. The dhow she had captured lay with her sails lowered, waiting for her return, to be towed up to the anchorage, while she herself was still seen afar off, though at too remote a distance for her proceedings to be understood. Against the wind, however, the dhow could do nothing, and was drifting away to the northward. They were for the present, indeed, more interested with the dhows taken by the lieutenant and the other boat. Both appeared crowded with people, Arabs and blacks, besides the seamen of the Gauntlet. The boat which had carried Tom and Gerald’s party on shore had returned to the ship, so that even could they have ventured to leave their post, they would not have been able to get off to satisfy their curiosity. According to the directions given, they continued looking out to the southward for the approach of any other dhows, although there was but little chance of their being stopped; as it was very evident that neither of the boats were in a condition to put off in chase of them. In a short time they saw that the boats were employed in carrying the people from the dhow to the shore, but even before they landed they were hidden from sight by the intervening rocks and trees. From the frequent trips the boats had to make, they judged that the dhow had contained a large number of slaves.

By the time the blacks had been landed, three of the dhows they had at first seen had got almost up to the southern end of the island. “Why, I do believe they are coming to bring up at our anchorage,” observed Tom. He was right; the headmost dhow, hauling her wind, stood close round to the north of the point, as if well acquainted with the locality; and although the dhow at anchor must have been seen by those on board, she stood on past her without lowering her sail. She rounded to at some distance farther in; as near, indeed, to the shore as it was safe to go. The inside dhow followed her example, as did the third, and all three lay close together, as if no enemy existed near them.

“They seem pretty bold fellows,” observed Tom; “or else they confide in their numbers. Supposing each carries thirty men, and I think I can count as many on their decks, there must be ninety in all—rather heavy odds against our boats’ crews, who have, besides, their prisoners to look after. I say, Desmond, suppose they land? we should be feeling rather foolish.”

“I don’t think the lazy rascals would take the trouble to climb up here,” answered Desmond; “and if they do, we’ve got our revolvers, and the men have their muskets and cutlasses, and we shall easily be able to defend ourselves; but they probably are not unprovided with long guns; though they may be only matchlocks or old muskets, they may contrive to pick us off while they keep at a safe distance.”

The state of affairs had indeed become serious. The midshipmen and their party were completely cut off from receiving any assistance from their shipmates on the island, who might indeed also not be in a condition to afford it. In all probability, with the pretty severe fights both boats had had, some of the men had suffered; still, if one whole boat’s crew could be mustered, Lieutenant Matson would scarcely fail to try and capture the three dhows which had so audaciously entered the lion’s den. That he had not done so already made Tom and Desmond not a little anxious; although the Arabs on board the dhows might not have seen the boats or the people on shore when they first entered the bay, they could not fail to do so where they now lay; yet, instead of again weighing and standing on, which would have been their wisest course, they remained as quiet as if no enemy was near.

The midshipmen’s chief hope now was that the ship would quickly come back and catch the three dhows before they again stood out to sea. They expected every instant to catch sight of the boats pulling off to attack the dhows. Neither appeared, and they at length began to fear that either Lieutenant Matson or Collins the mate, or perhaps both of them, had been killed or wounded; and that so many of the men had been hurt that they were unable to make the attempt.

The day was drawing on. They had brought up a small keg of water and some provisions, or they would by this time have been almost starved, as under ordinary circumstances they would have been relieved at noon. However, as Desmond observed, they had to “grin and bear it.” Still, not forgetful of their duty, they were keeping a look-out over the ocean, when one of the men exclaimed, “We shall have more visitors than we bargained for; see, Mr Rogers, here come a whole tribe of the rascally Arabs; and if they find us out, we shall have a squeak for it.”

Tom turned his glass in the direction to which the man pointed. “There are Arabs, and not a few, but the greater number of the people are blacks,” he observed; “by the way they are walking, they must be slaves. That accounts for the dhows bringing up here; I’ve no doubt it is a caravan from the interior, and the poor wretches are being brought down to be embarked. Had the ship remained here, all three would have been set free as local traders. I fancy Mr Matson suspects something of the sort, and is just waiting till they get their slaves on board to capture them. Now I think of it, I heard him yesterday say that he had discovered a deep bight at that end of the island, into which the boats could be hauled and remain perfectly concealed. If that is the case, the dhows have not seen them, and fancy that the people on shore, whom they can’t have failed to discover, have no means of getting off.”

“Faith, I hope that’s the case,” observed Desmond; “for if those Arabs who are coming this way were to find us out, they’d be after shooting at us in a somewhat unpleasant manner.”

Tom and the rest of the party could not help feeling that Desmond was right. However, they determined to make the best of a bad case; and, as they were tolerably well posted, to defend themselves against all odds. In their exposed position there could be no doubt that they had already been seen, so that they could not hope to conceal themselves, which might have been their wisest course. Tom, therefore, ordered his men to fire off two muskets to attract the attention of the party on the island, trusting that they would, as soon as they saw the Arabs, push off to their assistance.

No answering signal, however, being made, the midshipmen began to have serious misgivings as to what had happened. “Well, my lads,” cried Tom, addressing the four seamen who had accompanied him and Desmond, “we’ll make the best of a bad case, and hold out as long as our ammunition lasts and we’ve got strength to hold our swords and cutlasses.”

“Ay, ay, sir—no fear about that,” was the answer; “the brown-skinned beggars won’t be in a hurry to climb up here; and if they do, we’ll tumble them back again faster than they came.”

That their men would prove staunch, the midshipmen had no fear; still it would be very provoking to see the Arabs embarking the slaves, and not be able to stop them. It would, however, be the height of madness to venture down from their post; for the slave-traders, being all well armed, would, to a certainty, overpower them with numbers, and, however they might have acted alone, were not likely to abandon their prey when on the point of receiving payment from the purchasers in the dhows. The Arabs, who had just approached cautiously, on discovering how small was their party, looked up at them, making threatening gestures, and uttering loud shouts and cries. The poor slaves, apparently, could not understand the matter, and marched on with their heads cast down, many of them pictures of wretchedness and despair. There were women, some with infants in their arms, others leading little children by the hand; a large number appeared to be girls of all ages, who walked together, with scanty garments, but unencumbered by the loads which were carried by most of the rest. Then came a gang of boys, many of whom limped sadly, as their drivers compelled them to move forward at the point of their spears.

Some few old men were among them, who were tottering under loads too heavy for their frail limbs to bear; and then came a numerous body of men, secured two and two by heavy poles, with their necks bolted into forks, one at either end of the pole. Some trod the earth boldly; others tottered at every step, trying to exert themselves to avoid prods from the points of the spears with which their drivers were constantly threatening them. Such had, too probably, been their mode of journeying for many weary miles of desert, since they had fallen into the hands of their persecutors.

“I wonder how many of those poor wretches have sunk down and died on the road?” observed Tom; “or been knocked on the head by those wretched Arabs?”

“Faith, it makes one’s blood boil!” cried Desmond; “in spite of all odds, I should like to pounce down upon them, and set the poor negroes free.” The men expressed themselves much in the same strain, and would very willingly have followed the midshipmen, had they acted according to their wishes; but both knew that they had no business to leave their post, even had there been any probability of success.

Boats now came off from the dhows, and the business of transporting the slaves on board commenced; while an armed party of Arabs was drawn up near the foot of the cape, to prevent any attempt which might be made by the British seamen to interfere with their proceedings. Nearly all the slaves had been got on board, when the Arabs, no longer being engaged in guarding them, began to show evident signs that their intentions were hostile. Presently a personage of more importance, probably the chief slave-dealer, arrived, with several additional armed attendants. The midshipmen saw the other Arabs pointing them out to him. A consultation which was then held resulted, apparently, in a resolution to attack them. Shouts and cries of hatred arose from the assembled Arabs, who, flourishing their weapons, advanced towards the hill, evidently with the intention of climbing it.

We must leave the midshipmen in their perilous predicament, and follow the Gauntlet, which, having captured one of the dhows, of which she was in chase as has been described, stood after the other two. They were both fleet vessels, and, with their enormous sails filled to bursting, seemed to glide over the surface like those winged creatures which may be seen in summer skimming across the surface of a pool. The boilers were heated to the utmost, and with sail and screw the ship dashed forward in chase.

The nearest dhow was the first to haul in for the shore, while the other continued her course, hoping to escape. “The first bird is already ours,” observed Jack to Higson; “she’ll not venture to run her stem on the rocks, and if we attempt further to interfere with her, we shall lose the second. If she ventures to run out to sea, we shall have time to settle with the one ahead, and catch her into the bargain.”

The dhow spoken of was continuing her course towards the shore, with the intention, it was supposed, of anchoring, and waiting till she could again make sail, and run out to sea before the ship had settled with her consort. The Gauntlet stood on as before, though she was gaining little, if anything, on the fast-sailing dhow; still, one of the shot or shell she was firing might carry away a mast or tear the sail in pieces; and Jack, trusting to that chance, hoped to capture her at last.

A stern chase is a long chase, under most circumstances, and the Arabs probably thought that they might possibly keep ahead till nightfall, and escape during the darkness. She was a large vessel, and she might have three or four hundred slaves on board, and was on every account, therefore, worth catching. On she went for several miles, the Gauntlet inch by inch at length gaining on her. Two shot had already passed through her sail, and a shell had burst so near that possibly some of her crew might have been hit. Gradually she was edging towards the shore, where a sandy beach could be discovered from the ship. It was of no great extent, as there were rocks at either end; but if the dhow could reach it, she might be run on shore, and the blacks landed before the boats could reach her to prevent them. To stop her from doing this was impossible, unless a happy shot should carry away her mast or yard.

Nearer and nearer she drew to the beach, on which a heavy surf was breaking. “The fellows will drown themselves if they attempt to land there,” said Jack.

“I’m not so certain of that,” answered Higson; “a certain percentage may be lost, but the Arabs will care nothing about that, provided they can get the greater number on shore; and as they themselves swim like fishes, they have no fear of losing their own lives.”

The dhow heeled over to the breeze, but still kept her large sail standing; there was no longer any doubt that the Arabs had resolved to beach her. “Give her a shot,” cried Jack, “right over her; it may show them that even if they do reach the shore, they have no chance of escaping from us.” A shot was fired; another and another followed, flying over the dhow’s sail and pitching into the beach, towards which she was rushing to her destruction. Should she strike it, could any of the human beings on board escape? The surf was rolling in heavily, and breaking with continued roar on the sand; rushing far up, and then receding with still greater rapidity. Notwithstanding this, the Arabs, maddened at the thoughts of capture, stood desperately on; they themselves might escape, and what mattered to them the lives of their wretched captives? should a few be rescued, it would be better than letting the whole fall into the hands of the hated white men. The miserable blacks had no choice between a speedy death or a lingering captivity. The foam-topped breakers were dancing up on either side of the devoted vessel; through them she rushed, and the next instant, by the fearful heave she gave, it was seen that she had struck.

Every glass was turned towards her as the ship stood on, keeping the lead going, till, the water shallowing, she must come to an anchor. A minute scarcely had elapsed after the dhow struck, when a black stream was seen issuing from beneath her, some moving figures on shore in coloured dresses showing that the Arabs had first escaped. But of what does that string consist? Of hundreds of human beings, men, women, and children, who had, when the vessel struck, been set free by their owners.

Now one breaker, now another, burst down upon them, and carried some of the dark string away. Their ranks were quickly filled up, and on the string went. It seemed never-ending, as the blacks in the hold, scrambling up on deck, threw themselves overboard to join those who had already reached the shore.

“They must be stopped, at all events,” cried Jack; “if they attempt to cross the desert they will be starved to death, or fall into the hands of the murderous Saumalis.”

Notwithstanding the heaviness of the surf, it was soon seen that a large number of blacks had reached the shore. At first they assembled in groups; but now, as they looked towards the ship, terrified by the tales their Arab captors had told them of the white men’s cannibal propensities, they began to fly, as fast as their cramped limbs would allow them, in parties towards the interior.

“They will escape to their certain destruction, if they are not frightened back,” said Jack; “keep the guns playing; fire another shot ahead of them, it will stop them from going off in the direction they are taking.”

Several shot were fired over the heads of the fugitives, each column being turned as the wretched beings saw the sand thrown up just before them, and believed that destruction would await them if they took that direction; it was, however, only to try and escape in another. In the meantime, the instant the steamer had stopped her way, three boats had been lowered, and, impelled by their hardy crews, regardless of the danger run, were making their way towards the dhow. Two boldly pushed through the surf, while the third brought up just outside the breakers, ready to receive any of the slaves who might be caught. Archie Gordon was in one, with the second master; the boatswain was in another, with Hamed, the interpreter; while Higson took command of the large boat.

Jack watched them with no little anxiety, for the expedition was a hazardous one. The guns continued firing away, now by their shot or shell checking the advance of the fugitives in one direction, now in another. Still, in spite of the shot, the Arabs kept urging on the slaves, and, making them scatter far and wide, induced them to continue their flight. The two boats, at some little distance apart, entered the breakers, and almost immediately were seen to have reached the shore, while Mr Large remained by the boats with three hands to look after them.

The rest of the party, led by Archie and Hamed, set off in pursuit of the fugitives. Strong and active, they quickly overtook a large party of the blacks; and Hamed, as was seen by his gestures, was addressing them, probably telling them of their folly in being alarmed, and advising them to return to the shore.

As the crews had landed, the boats had been hauled off by their crews from the beach. Presently Mr Large was seen hauling one of them up on the beach, and, having done so, he hastened away towards the second; but before he arrived, she was observed in the midst of the breakers, the next instant to be cast a shattered wreck on the beach. He and the two men with him twice rushed down into the surf, the second time with another man who had joined them; again and again they made the same desperate rush into the boiling waters—the life of a fellow-creature depended upon their success. The last rush they made they were successful, and a human form was soon dragged out of the water; but he did not rise to his feet. Carrying him up some little distance, they laid him on the sand, bending over him; then, rising and casting a lingering glance behind them, hurried on to meet a party of blacks who, escorted by some of their shipmates, were approaching the beach.

The Arabs and fugitive slaves had, in the meantime, disappeared over the sandhills, with the seamen still in hot pursuit, enjoying the chase, shouting to each other, and turning here and there as they caught sight of the larger party of blacks ahead, whom they were striving desperately to overtake. Sometimes one, in his his eagerness, would tumble over on his nose, but quickly picked himself up again. Now an unfortunate black was overtaken, and seized by the arm,—for collar he had none to catch hold of,—down he would fall on his knees, imploring his captor not to murder him, when the sailor would pat him on the head and try to make him understand that his intentions were friendly.

Hamed, with his robes girded round him, was as active as anyone, shouting to the blacks that no harm was meant them, and that the sailors only wished to prevent them from being carried off into the desert to perish miserably. His exhortations, and the seamen’s activity, resulted in the capture of fifty or sixty blacks, who were brought in from all directions; but still some of the seamen continued the pursuit, and Jack, fearing that they might be carried by their ardour too far, fired a gun and hoisted a signal for their return to the beach. Fortunately the signal was seen by Archie, and the stragglers returned, most of them leading one or more blacks, some with children in their arms, one or two trotting along with a child under each arm, generally squalling and crying like a couple of sucking pigs.

It took some time before the whole of the party were collected on the beach. It was then seen that they were making arrangements for coming off. Jack felt considerable anxiety about the matter; the surf had greatly increased since they went on shore, and even then one of the boats had been lost. Now all depended upon one boat, which must of necessity be heavily laden. He was not quite at his ease, however, with regard to the ship; she was much closer inshore than any sailing vessel would have ventured. Though he knew that the screw would enable him quickly to gain an offing, he had not as yet that thorough confidence in its powers which long experience could give. Nearly all his officers, and a large portion of his crew also, were away; indeed, he had never before been so short-handed. However, nothing could be gained by delay. He made a signal for the boat to come off as soon as possible, a line being carried from the first lieutenant’s boat outside the surf to the shore, and by its means the small boat was to be hauled through the breakers.

First a portion of the blacks were placed in her, when, the boatswain taking his seat in the stern, with four hands to pull, she, with her living freight, was shoved off. Now she rose to the top of a sea which rolled in, and now she sank into the hollow between that and the following sea, which so completely hid her from sight, that it appeared as if she had gone down. Jack heard one of the youngsters crying out, “She’s lost, she’s lost!”—but no; once more her bow emerged amidst the foaming waters, and on she came towards Higson’s boat, his crew hauling away manfully at the tow-line.

Jack breathed more freely when he saw her alongside, and the blacks being transferred to the large boat. The instant they were out of her, she made her way once more to the shore. A second cargo was now embarked, and the process was repeated, happily without any accident. “She must make two more trips before they are all off,” said Jack to the surgeon, who was standing near him.

The third was accomplished as safely as the other two. “The rest will have no difficulty in embarking, I hope,” observed the surgeon.

“The sea has been rapidly getting up,” replied Jack; “I wish that they were all safe on board.” The fourth and last trip was about to be made; even the ship was much less steady than at first. As he took a glance to the eastward, he observed that the foam-crested seas which rolled in had increased in height. Every man on shore had embarked, and Higson’s crew now began to haul in on the line. As they were doing so, a huge sea which came rushing on struck the boat, sending many a bucketful into her, and then, with a thundering roar, hissing as it went rolling on, caught the smaller boat, which had by that time performed half of her passage. Down it came upon her; the next instant the men at the warp were seen to come toppling down backwards—the rope had parted.

For an instant the boat had disappeared; the next, she was seen rolled over in the surf, while those who had been in her were struggling desperately to regain the shore. Jack felt more anxious than he had ever before been in his life; fortunately, four of the Kroomen had gone away in the boats. Numerous heads were seen amid the seething waters; now one emerged, and now another, as the beach was gained, while the gallant Kroomen, with the best swimmers of the party, went darting here and there to assist their shipmates or the drowning blacks.

All eyes in the ship were fixed on them. By degrees they emerged from the breakers, and Jack was in hopes that all had escaped, when he observed three of the Kroomen and two of the sailors plunge once more into the foaming waters. They returned dragging a body with them; then they went in and brought out another and another. One of these, by his dress, was seen to be a seamen, and the rest were blacks.

Then the party rushed down to save their boat, which was hurled on the beach; but their efforts to preserve her were in vain. Down she came with a thundering crash, those in the water narrowly escaping being crushed by her. Getting hold of her they dragged her up, and were seen standing round her. It was, however, very evident that her bow had been crushed in, so as to render her unfit again to be launched.

Higson, on coming on deck, expressed his fears that some of their shipmates had lost their lives in addition to the poor fellow who was first drowned. Fifty blacks had been rescued; as many more possibly had been drowned, with numerous children whose bodies had been seen floating about, while many had been dragged off, to undergo fearful sufferings, if not a cruel death, by the slaver’s crew.

How to rescue the party on shore was now the question; two boats having now been lost, and three others being away, only the dingy and a canoe remained for use. Their situation on shore seemed dangerous in the extreme; all the arms they had carried had been lost, and should the Arabs discover their defenceless condition, they would certainly not lose the opportunity of avenging themselves. Still, by no ordinary means could they be got off. Jack bethought him of consulting Tom Kettle, who, coming aft, touched his hat.

“Billy Saucepan and I, we do it, sir. We go on shore in the canoe, and carry whatever you wish to send,” answered Tom.

“I am sure you will,” said Jack; “we must send them some arms and ammunition, a keg of water and some provisions, though it will not do to overload the canoe.”

“We take four muskets and whatever you order to send, they not sink the canoe,” replied Tom Kettle.

Jack directed that the arms should be wrapped in oil-cloth, and that they, with the keg and a small cask containing a few eatables for the party, should be secured in the bottom of the canoe; so that, should she be capsized, they might not get washed out or be damaged. Going below, he also wrote a letter to Archie, directing him to fire off three muskets should the Kroomen reach the shore in safety.

“All ready, sir,” said the head Krooman; “we get there, never fear.” The canoe was lowered, and Tom and his companion shoved off. Away they dashed, energetically working their paddles. The canoe was seen to enter the surf. Jack was too anxious to speak.

“They’ll do it,” cried the doctor; but he was mistaken. The canoe dashed into the surf, and the next instant appeared bottom uppermost, rolling over and over. “The fine fellows are lost!” he exclaimed. A time of anxious suspense passed by; now the canoe could be seen in the surf, now she disappeared; but the gallant Kroomen could not be discovered, though many an eye was looking out for them.

Jack took a hurried turn on deck, considering what was next to be done. Higson proposed once more going in the large boat, and sending a line on shore, so as to tow the people singly off. “They would be drowned before they got half-way,” said Jack.

“I fear they would,” answered Higson; “and the dingy would never live in such a sea, even with only one man in her.”

Jack feared that he should have to remain till the next morning, but in the meantime he would certainly lose the other dhow which had been seen close inshore, while it was important to get hold of the first captured before dark, and to carry her to an anchorage. While he and Higson were discussing the subject, their ears were saluted by the report of three muskets, fired in rapid succession. “Tom and his mate are safe, at all events,” he exclaimed; “and the best thing the party can do is now to make their way overland to the bay. Having got arms, they will be able to beat off any Arabs who may venture to attack them.”

The proper signal was accordingly made to Archie, who showed that he understood it by waving a handkerchief; and the whole party were seen at once to put themselves into marching order, when they began moving to the southward along the shore. The anchor was then weighed, and the ship stood towards the spot where the dhow she had before chased was last seen. The slaver, which had some time before hoisted her sail, was seen standing to the eastward; but suddenly down came the sail.

“She’s given in, finding it useless to attempt escaping,” remarked the doctor.

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Higson. “See, up goes her canvas again; there, she’s standing for the shore on the other tack.”

All hopes of cutting her off were vain; the ship dashed on, head to wind, while the dhow bounded towards the rocky coast. “The madmen!” cried Jack; “she’ll be dashed to pieces in a few minutes. Throw a shell ahead of her, it may induce the Arabs to haul down their sail.”

The missile flew over the doomed vessel, but still she held on towards the coast. “Try and hit her,” he cried out; “it may be better to sink her where our boats can pick up some of the poor wretches, than allow them to be dashed to pieces on those cruel rocks—fire shot.” Gun after gun sent their shot at the dhow; but the range was a long one, and tossed as she was from sea to sea, while the ship herself was far from steady, they flew ahead of their mark. Jack had a hard matter not to stamp on the deck from rage at the conduct of the Arabs, and pity for the poor creatures they were thus carrying to destruction. Nothing he could do would make the ship steam faster, nor could he blame the gunners for not taking better aim.

“Cease firing,” he cried at last; “it is of no use now, as the dhow is within a cable’s length of the breakers.” The dhow flew on with her huge sail stretched to the utmost, and already heeling over fearfully. It seemed that the water must be rushing into her hold.

“There is a narrow opening between the rocks,” exclaimed Higson; “the dhow has been making for that.” Scarcely had he spoken when she was in the midst of the breakers. They roared around her, and the next moment she was hurled up towards the beach, her huge sail flying away to leeward, and flapping wildly in the wind. It seemed impossible that any human being could escape from amid that furious mass of foam, except the strongest of swimmers; but notwithstanding this, ere another minute had passed, a black line was seen here and there, like some enormous serpent, crawling over the yellow sand from the dark wreck, the Arabs being distinguished by their coloured dresses as they made their way on shore. Onward went the miserable blacks, the line becoming thinner and thinner; still the headmost were flying, when an enormous sea, dashing on the shore, enfolded the stranded dhow in its embrace. Even the escaping blacks halted to gaze at the spectacle, as the despairing shrieks of their wretched countrymen reached their ears; while the dhow, shattered to fragments, was carried off with all those remaining on board by the receding billows.

The blacks stopped but a few moments, and then, terrorstricken, fled on into the desert, there in all probability to perish miserably. “This is terrible work!” exclaimed Jack. “Had we allowed the dhow to pass, though those poor creatures might have been kept for ever as slaves, they might have retained their lives, it may be, and bettered their condition; but it was our duty to destroy the dhow at all events. Do you think it possible that any can have escaped, Higson?”

This question was put as the ship neared the scene of the catastrophe. “Not likely,” answered the first lieutenant; “but we can but look for them.” The ship’s way was stopped, and a boat being lowered pulled towards the shore. Here and there a few fragments of the wreck were seen, but not a human being could be distinguished. After examining the rocks on either side, of the spot where the dhow went on shore, Higson returned to the ship; the boat was hoisted up, and a course steered for the dhow which had at first been captured.

Jack had been looking out for the shore party; he saw them, as he believed, still farther to the northward, making their way over the sand. “A dreary march they’ll have of it,” he observed to Higson; “but with the firearms they possess they will be able, I hope, to keep the Arabs at bay, should any of the rascals take it into their heads to attack them.”

“It is fortunate that Hamed is with them, as he may be able to communicate with any natives they may fall in with, and obtain them as guides over the hills,” said Higson.

“I would rather they should not fall in with any natives, who are more likely to prove treacherous than to afford them assistance,” answered Jack. The attention of the officers was now, however, engaged in looking out for the dhow; evening was approaching, and it was important that they should pick her up before dark.

“There she is, right ahead,” cried the look-out from aloft. With her sail lowered she presented but a small object on the water.

The ship soon neared her; the officer in charge replied to Jack’s hail, “All’s right, sir; but I hope that the blacks may be received on board; for if you take us in tow, I doubt if the craft will hold together.”

“The sooner they are out of her the better,” answered Jack. The dhow was accordingly brought alongside, and now began the task of removing the unhappy beings to the ship. The men eagerly came forward to assist in carrying the weak and helpless creatures up from the hold of the slaver, the horrible odour from which was sufficient to overcome the most hardy. So weak and emaciated from their long confinement, and their still more dreadful overland journey, were most of the negroes, that the greater number could not walk without assistance, and were carried on deck in the strong arms of the seamen. With the greatest tenderness and care did those gallant fellows carry their helpless burdens, notwithstanding the mass of filth with which they were covered, in consequence of their long imprisonment in the pestilential hold.

There were nearly a dozen infants on board; the mothers of some of them being too weak to carry them, they were lifted up by the seamen, who tenderly bore them along the deck, chirruping and talking to them as they would have done to their own offspring. Though two or three were sickly, and one was found dead in its mother’s arms, yet they had suffered less than the somewhat older children, who had been unable to obtain their share in the scramble for food, which, from the mode the Arabs had of distributing it, must have taken place; the more helpless ones went without it, while the stronger got a double portion.

There were nearly a hundred and fifty children under ten years of age. Some were in the very last stage of suffering, and were mere skeletons. There were comparatively few middle-aged men, showing that they must have either fallen in battle, or escaped the raids made on their villages by the slave-procurers. Some, again, were old women, who would, it might be supposed, from their very worthlessness, have been allowed to remain behind by their barbarous captors.

“The poor old crones would not have fetched half a dollar apiece,” observed Higson; “had these rascals any bowels of compassion, they would have spared them all the sufferings they’ve had to endure; but for the sake of the few dollars they may pocket, they would not mind what amount of torture they inflict. I wish we had liberty to string up the whole lot of them at our yard-arms, they would only get their proper deserts.”

Some time was spent before the dhow was cleared. Her Arab skipper and crew were then placed on the poop, as they came, sulkily enough, on board. They were received by the ship’s corporal and corporal of marines with no very friendly looks, and were compelled pretty roughly to strip, in order that they might be searched for arms and money. While they took charge of the former articles, the latter commodity was handed to the paymaster. On their clothes being returned, they were sent on to the poop under charge of a sentry, to await their fate, whatever that might be.

“Are all out of the dhow?” asked Higson of the carpenter and his crew, who had been sent on board her.

“I’ll take one look more round,” was the answer; and a lantern being handed to him, he descended with some of his men into the hold. They presently returned carrying three human beings, but what they were it was difficult to say, till they were handed up on board. One proved to be an old woman, who could scarcely open her eyes; the other two were lads, who had been found almost buried in the sand which served as ballast for the vessel. They were placed among the other worst cases, of whom the doctor expressed his belief that several were past recovery. The younger and best-looking young women, as being the most profitable part of the cargo, had been better cared for than any of the rest, while the men and boys had been almost starved, the object of the Arabs being to expend as little on food for them as possible.

“The dhow is clear, sir,” reported the carpenter.

“Scuttle her,” said Jack, “and set her on fire. The Arabs shall see that we don’t take them for the sake of their craft; it may serve as a slight punishment for them to see her burning.”

With infinite satisfaction the carpenter and his crew distributed some bundles of oakum and shavings in different parts of the vessel, and, setting them on fire, quickly climbed out of her, when Jack shouted, “Turn ahead!” and the Gauntlet steamed on, leaving the dhow enveloped in flames. The whole operation was so speedily performed that the Arabs opened their eyes with astonishment. Most of them took it, however, quietly enough; but the negoda, to whom the vessel belonged, plucked his beard with rage as he saw his property destroyed.

“Serve him right,” was the remark made by not a few of those on board, though the greater number were too actively employed to notice what had occurred. Their first business was to clear the unfortunate creatures from the filth with which they were literally covered from head to foot. Warm water and sponges and towels were brought from below to perform the operation on those who were too weak to bear any more severe process; while the larger number were placed under the steam hose, which was set to work pumping water over them, the seamen turning them round, and exposing those parts of their bodies to which the dirt clung the thickest.

“Well, if we can’t make a blackamoor white, we can wash him clean, at all events,” remarked Nat Bolus, the wag of the crew; “though I don’t think as how we could have done it without the help of this here steam.”

Even the stronger ones were handled kindly, but the poor weak creatures, who could scarcely lift their arms, were treated with such gentleness by the rough seamen as any trained hospital nurses could have used. Their dirty rags, on being removed, were immediately thrown overboard as utterly unfit for further use. In the meantime, the cook had been busy in the galley boiling beans and rice, some of which had been found in the dhow, though the ship had a quantity for such emergencies. The next operation was to clothe the poor blacks, for which purpose both officers and men ransacked their wardrobes. Sheets, tablecloths, towels, bed-curtains, shirts, and flannels, were willingly brought forth and put over their naked bodies as they came out from under the hose.

By the time they were all washed, the cook announced that the food was ready, and they were made to sit down in circles of twenty on the deck, when the men told off for the purpose carried round the bowls, which were placed in the centre of each ring. The degraded state to which they had been reduced was now more fully exhibited, for, instead of gratefully receiving the food, they rushed at it much as a pack of hungry dogs would have done, scratching, crying, and striking at each other, for fear that their neighbours might get a larger share than themselves. It was humiliating to the lookers-on to see beings with immortal souls thus acting the part of wild beasts; and yet these very beings were capable of receiving the truths of the gospel, and it might be hoped that even now many might have the opportunity of being raised to a state much superior to that from which they had fallen.

In spite of the exhortations of the seamen to the poor creatures to be quiet, they continued their shrieks and cries, each thrusting his or her hand into the dish to seize as large a portion as it would hold, and then to cram it into the mouth much after the fashion of a monkey. Indeed, as Nat Bolus remarked, “they looked for all the world like an assemblage of huge baboons.”

The smaller children, who were too weak to feed themselves, were committed to the care of the seamen; and a dozen or more hardy tars were to be seen with basins and spoons in their hands, and little children on their knees, ladling the food down their throats, till the doctor had to interfere to save the infants from being killed from repletion. The worst cases had been removed to the sick-bay, where every care was bestowed on them both by the surgeon and officers, who produced preserved milk, wine and spirits, and various delicacies which might assist in restoring almost exhausted nature. Many were too far gone to exhibit any feeling, their only desire apparently being to be allowed to die in peace; but others endeavoured to express their gratitude by all the means in their power, though, as Hamed was on shore, they had no means of doing so in words.

The great difficulty was to stow away so large a number of persons on the deck of the ship. Of course they could not be allowed to go below, where the crew were already somewhat closely packed for that hot climate. The poor creatures were made to lie down side by side, and sails being got up were spread over them, while screens were rigged to keep off the wind, and an awning stretched over all. Here, at all events, they had fresh air, and were tolerably protected from the weather. Even now many, it appeared, did not understand that all was being done for their benefit; while a large number, their limbs aching with pain, gave utterance to the most lamentable groans and shrieks, which were heard all night long throughout the ship, as she made her way to her former anchorage.

This was only one of many similar scenes which Jack witnessed while engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade.

Chapter Twelve.

The Look-out Party attacked—Repulse and Flight of the Arabs—Securing the Prisoners—A Night on the Beach—Rejoin the Ship—Burning of the Dhow—Arabs attempt to escape to the Mainland, but fall Victims to Sharks—Encounter with another Slave Caravan—Return to the Ship.

Tom Rogers and Gerald had watched the approach of the Arab slave-dealers to the foot of the hill.

“You may howl as you like, my boys,” cried Gerald, “but if you attempt to climb up here, you will be sent tumbling down again faster than you came up.” Tom, meantime, was keeping an eye on the movements of the Arabs, and the moment he saw them lift their matchlocks, he shouted to his men to jump down into one of the hollows, he himself setting the example; so that the bullets either flew over their heads, or struck the rocks behind which they were concealed.

“The rascals think they’ve blown us off the face of the earth,” said Tom, who had found a spot with a bush through which he could thrust his telescope and yet remain perfectly sheltered behind the rock; “they’re looking about them, wondering where we’ve gone to. If we had but a few more muskets, we could pick off every one of them.”

Still the Arabs showed no inclination to climb the face of the hill. Had the midshipmen and their party remained concealed, possibly the slave-dealers might have taken their departure inland; but Gerald, forgetting the danger they were in, could not resist jumping up on the top of the rock, and shouting out in a tone of derision at their foes. Tom, seeing the Arabs about to take aim at him, pulled him down just at the moment that a whole volley of shot came whizzing through the air.

“You may fire away as much as you like,” cried Desmond, “but you won’t hurt us.”

Though it would have given the Arabs infinite satisfaction to cut the throats of the whole of the party, they still hesitated to run the risk of being shot themselves at close quarters, probably supposing that the English were better armed than was the case. Tom watched all their movements through his glass. At length the chief of the slave-dealers, who had gone off to the dhows, returned on shore with several companions. Tom saw the others apparently telling him what had occurred. He appeared to be addressing them and working them up to mount the hill, then, waving his crooked sword, he led them on towards the only path by which they could ascend, they following, shouting and shrieking out vows of defiance.

“They’re coming,” cried Gerald; “there’s no mistake about it this time.”

“Well, then, you take one pistol and I’ll take another,” said Tom, “and as they get near enough we must pick off the leaders. Tim Nolan and the other fellows must manage the rest, after they have fired their muskets, with their cutlasses; and I’ve no fear but we shall give a very good account of the whole party.” Tom directed the men where to post themselves, so that they could remain concealed behind the rocks till it was time to spring out and meet the enemy hand to hand.

“That chief, or whatever he calls himself, seems a bold fellow,” observed Tom, “for he keeps ahead and seems to be encouraging his followers, who wouldn’t, without him, have had any stomach for the fight. We must do our best to try and pick him off, and if we can manage to give him his quietus, the rest will very quickly run away.”

The path made by the signal party was so narrow that there was not room for two people abreast; some little way down, however, there was a sort of platform, on which a considerable number could collect together. “If we could stop them before they get up there,” observed Tom, “we should have only one at a time to handle, whereas if they manage to assemble at that place, they might pepper us in an unpleasant manner.”

“I’m ready,” cried Desmond; “if you’ll give the word, we’ll all spring out together and stop them before they reach it.” Desmond told the men what Rogers proposed doing; they, of course, were ready to obey him, though it might have been safer to remain where they were. Still it was important that they should conceal themselves till the last moment. The leading Arab, with his sword in his teeth, was only about a couple of yards or so below the platform.

“Let fly at the fellows,” cried Tom. The men fired their muskets. “Now, lads, we’ll be at them,” shouted their young leader, and, springing up, he bounded over the rock, followed by Desmond and the four men, just in time to catch the leading Arab as his hand was on the edge of the platform. With a down-handed cut of his sword, Tom sent the Arab falling headlong down the cliff. The next met with the same fate, but the chief, who had allowed the other two to precede him, shouted to his followers to fire at the Englishmen. The order was obeyed, and a shower of bullets came whizzing by them. Tom, in return, fired at their leader, and, without stopping to see the effect of his shot, shouted to his men to fall back under cover before a second volley could reach them. Scarcely had they got under shelter when the Arabs again fired. He saw that his former manoeuvre would not be again executed with the same success.

The death of two of their companions appeared to have damped the ardour of the Arabs, who remained perched about the rocks, waiting for an opportunity to pick off any of the defenders of the height who might venture to show themselves. This, however, neither Tom nor his companions intended doing. Tom had recovered his glass, which he had left behind, and had taken a glance over the ocean to the northward in the hopes of seeing the ship, believing that her appearance would very quickly induce the Arabs to hurry off. She was nowhere to be seen, though he caught sight of several dhows running to the northward.

While thus engaged, the voice of the old chief was again heard, and though they could not understand his language, yet they judged from his tones that he was endeavouring to induce his countrymen to renew the attack. “It can’t be helped,” observed Tom calmly; “if they attempt to storm our position we must drive them back. Our wisest plan will be to keep under shelter as long as we can, and then to spring out on them as soon as they get their noses near enough.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the men in cheerful tones; “we’ll soon give them a taste of our cutlasses, and they’ll not wish to have a second bite.”

Tom’s suspicions were confirmed, when in another minute a hot fire was again opened, the bullets just clearing the edge of the platform; and directly afterwards the chief and several of his followers sprang up upon it. Once having gained possession of the ground, it was easy enough for the rest. Matters were now becoming far more serious than before. From another opening in the rock, Tom, although still concealed from the Arabs, was able to look down upon the anchorage. “Hurrah!” he exclaimed; “Mr Matson has not been asleep; there comes the boat from the island, and if the slavers are not sharp about getting under way, she’ll have the whole of them; but one or two are pretty sure to be caught.”

As he spoke, the report of a gun was heard, and it was seen that the boat, as she pulled towards the slavers, was firing at them from her bow. The Arabs on the hillside, startled by the sound, looked round; those who were in a position to see what was happening below, shouted to their companions, who speedily began to leap down the rocks; most of those on the platform, in their hurry and fright, springing down a distance by which they ran an imminent risk of breaking their necks; others bounded down the pathway in a mode terror alone could have prompted them to venture on.

“Now’s our time!” exclaimed Desmond, seizing several large stones which lay in the hollow; “if our bullets can’t reach them, these will;” and he and Tom, leaping from under cover on to the platform, while their men kept up a brisk fire, began to pelt the retreating Arabs, three of whom were knocked over, several others having broken their legs or necks in their flight, till the hillside presented the appearance of a battlefield. All this time the midshipmen and sailors were shouting and hallooing at their flying foes. The larger number of the Arabs, however, reached the bottom of the hill unhurt, and were seen hurrying down to the shore, apparently with the intention of shoving off to the dhows to assist their countrymen. They were all collected together, engaged in launching a boat, when a shell plunged right in among them, killing and wounding several. The rest, fearing the visit of another missile, took to flight. The desire, however, of preventing the slaves being captured, either by bringing them on shore or beating off the English, induced them to go back and make a second attempt; but scarcely had they collected when another shell pitched right into the boat, shattering her to pieces, and laying low two more of their number.

This was more than their greed of gain could stand; again they took to flight, following their chief, who made towards the only shady spot in the neighbourhood, where a horse was left tethered. Mounting, he galloped off, followed by the rest of his gang on foot.

The party on the hill were at first doubtful whether they ought to follow the fugitives, as Desmond had suggested. Tom, however, thought that they decidedly ought to prevent any slaves who might be landed from escaping. One of the dhows was seen hoisting her sail. Having cut her cable, she stood out to sea, while the other two, in order to give her a better chance of escaping, commenced firing at the boat, expecting that she would at once attack them. The lieutenant, however, had made up his mind to have all three, and, disregarding their shots, he pulled away after the first, at the same time firing his bow-gun at her rigging. She was a fast vessel, and was leading the boat out of harbour. The other two dhows, seeing this, began to hoist their sails for the purpose of slipping out astern of her. As he might possibly lose all three, the lieutenant now put back, and managed to run on board one of the dhows.

The Arabs fought desperately, and it seemed doubtful who would gain the victory. “I wish we were on board to help them!” exclaimed Desmond; “if I thought we could swim as far, I should propose going off to her.”

“Better stay where we are,” said Tom; “we shall have work enough to do. See, the other dhow is coming round with the intention of running on shore; probably those on board don’t see their friends scampering off, and they hope to re-land their slaves. It is fortunate we are here to prevent them escaping; perhaps they have been so busily engaged that they may not have seen us, and I propose that we hide ourselves behind those rocks out there, and, if the slaves land, we can rush out and surprise them.” The plan suggested by Tom was instantly put into execution. Notwithstanding the opposition of the crew, the dhow attacked by the lieutenant was quickly captured, and again brought to an anchor; when, leaving some of his people on board, he made sail after the first dhow, which there was still a possibility he might overtake. The midshipmen could hear his gun rapidly fired, showing that he was trying to bring down her sail.

The last of the three dhows had now stranded, and the cries and shrieks which arose showed that the Arabs were throwing the unfortunate blacks into the water, and compelling them to make their way on shore. Tom and Desmond agreed that it would be no easy matter to stop the blacks and to fight the Arabs at the same time, as they would be certain to try and make off with as many of the negroes as they could. Looking out from their hiding-place, they saw the beach covered with blacks, who had swum and waded on shore; but the Arabs themselves were waiting on board till all were out of the vessel, intending to come on shore in their boat. Probably they expected that their friends would hurry down and assist them in securing their captives.

Just as the boat left the side of the dhow, the midshipmen, uttering loud shouts, rushed out of their hiding-place; while the blacks, seeing them, ran on either side like a flock of scared sheep. The sailors in vain tried to reassure them; as they had not much time to do it, it was necessary to attack the boat before the Arabs reached the shore. The latter were evidently taken by surprise, and, cramped in the boat, which was tossing about, were unable to use their firearms to any effect. A few shots were fired wildly, and the next instant, as she was thrown on the beach, the midshipmen and their followers, rushing into the water, attacked the crew so vigorously with their cutlasses that half their number were killed or wounded before they could defend themselves; while the rest, as they were dragged out, were made prisoners. The wounded were allowed to lie on the shore, while the rest were secured by ropes, which had been brought on shore to bind any refractory slaves.

No victory could have been more complete. The next business was to stop the blacks, who were hurrying away in different directions. In vain the sailors shouted to them, some persisted in running off into the wilderness; but a considerable number were at length turned back to the seashore, where they all stood crowded together, too much alarmed to know what to do, and gazing at their late masters with astonishment. Still, should they attempt to break loose, it would be no easy task to stop them. Every now and then Tom kept looking out for Mr Matson’s boat, and was not sorry to see her returning, though one of the dhows had escaped.

“There is a chance still that the ship will pick her up,” observed Tom. “We want his help to take care of the poor blacks, and to look after these Arabs. How to feed them all will be a puzzle.”

“I suppose there’s food on board the dhow?” observed Desmond.

“Yes, but how are we to get it? If we pull off to her, the blacks will run away, or the wounded Arabs will get up and release their companions,” said Tom.

“Faith, then, the best way will be to take them on board with us,” said Desmond; “it’s somewhat like the story of the fox and the goose and the peas.”

The day was wearing on, and the lieutenant’s boat had been led a long way out to sea, so that it would be almost dark before she could reach the shore. The midshipmen themselves were becoming very hungry and thirsty, for they had left their provisions on the top of the cliff, and could not venture back to procure them. They had not a moment’s rest; every now and then they were compelled to start off, now in one direction, now in another, to turn back the negroes, who were constantly making attempts to run off.

While Tom was watching the boat, two shots were heard in rapid succession from the island, towards which he at once saw her alter her course.

“She’ll not be coming here, after all!” he exclaimed; “something has happened on the island, and that was a signal to her to put in.”

“We must make the best of a bad case, then,” said Desmond. “I propose that we compel all the blacks to sit down in a ring; they will be better off than they were in the hold of the dhow, and will have no reason to complain. We must make them understand that if any of them attempt to get up they will be shot. As for the wounded Arabs, we must place a sentry over them, and tell them the same; while we must see that the prisoners’ arms and legs are securely lashed. If the other fellows don’t come back, I see no reason why, provided we keep our eyes open, we shouldn’t get on very well. It won’t be very pleasant to walk about all night, but it will be better than allowing the Arabs to cut our throats, or letting the blacks escape, for their sakes and our own.”

“A very good proposal, Desmond,” said Tom; “I couldn’t have thought of a better myself, and we will at once carry out your plan.” Tom explained to the men what they wished to have done, who, choosing a spot just above high-water mark, made the blacks understand that they were to go and sit down there. They put the women and children in the centre, then the weaker-looking people and lads, and the stronger men outside of all. They could thus better keep an eye on those most likely to try to escape; and they managed to impress on their minds pretty clearly what they intended doing, should they make the attempt. These arrangements being made, they hoped to get through the night without losing any of their prisoners, even should Mr Matson not arrive to their assistance. They were, however, suffering considerably from hunger and thirst, and at last Tim Nolan, touching his hat, offered to go off to the dhow and bring on shore something to eat.

As there was still some daylight, Tom thought that he could manage to keep the blacks in order, and agreed that Desmond should go, accompanied by Tim, while he and the other two men kept a strict watch over their charges. As the tide had already run out, the boat had but a short distance to traverse. In a short time Desmond came to the bow of the dhow, and shouted out that he had found plenty of food, and would bring some kettles on shore to cook it.

“By all means,” answered Tom. After a little time the boat returned with several casks and bags, two large cooking-pots, and a quantity of wood. These things were indeed welcome. Being carried up to a spot somewhat inland, where the blacks sat, a fire was kindled, the pots put on to boil; and a cask of water having been brought from the vessel, with some bamboo cups, it was served round to the prisoners, after they themselves had first drunk. It was difficult, however, to help them, as the first who seized the mug would not pass it on, in spite of all the seamen could do, until he had drained it to the bottom. The seamen would not allow those who had already drunk to have any more till the whole of the party had been supplied.

By the time the water had been served out, the contents of the pots were sufficiently boiled. Now came the most difficult task—to divide the food fairly among so many people. They would gladly have fed the children and women first, but, placed as they were, that was impossible. However, they were afraid to let them shift their positions; the moment a basin was handed to one of the men, he would not give it up until he had emptied it. Even when the men had been fed, they would scarcely allow their weaker companions to receive their portion, but tried to snatch it from the hands of the seamen.

Night found them thus employed. The fire they had kindled was now of the greatest assistance in enabling them to continue serving out the food, and, at the same time, to watch their prisoners. Though some figs and other delicacies were found on board, the midshipmen would not give them to the Arabs, but properly allowed them only such food as they had laid in for their captives. The fellows grumbled, but hunger made them accept it. At last, by using kind tones and by gentle treatment, the seamen quieted the fears of the blacks, who now seemed perfectly resigned to their lot, and showed no inclination to run away. Still the midshipmen did not relax in their vigilance; so busily employed were they that the night passed away more rapidly than they had expected.

Their chief anxiety was regarding the events which had happened on the island, and which had induced Mr Matson to land there instead of coming to their assistance. They feared that the Arabs taken in the dhows had given more trouble than those they had captured; possibly the lieutenant, confiding in the strength of his party, had not thought it necessary to bind them, and they had consequently attempted to regain their liberty. However, this was only conjecture, and they were compelled to wait patiently to ascertain the truth, hoping that nothing very serious had happened.

Notwithstanding the general quiet observed by the prisoners, now and then a black got up and looked about him as if contemplating a start, but was detected almost immediately by Tom and Desmond, or one of the seamen, and compelled to sit down again in a good-humoured manner. “You mustn’t be after giving leg-bail to us, old fellow!” exclaimed Tim Nolan, patting the black on his back; “you’ll have plenty of grub tomorrow, and we’ll be taking you to a pleasanter country than this. Ah, there’s another of them!” and away he would start farther round the circle.

There was evidently no combination among the blacks, or by a number rising together they might have made their escape. They had all, probably, been brought from different districts, and scarcely understood each other’s language, many of them having come from the neighbourhood of Lake Nyassa, and others purchased from the Portuguese much farther south. A still stricter watch was kept over the Arabs, who growled and cursed at their captors, but were unable to cast off the well-secured lashings by which they were bound. Thus the night passed on; tired as all hands were, no one sat down even for a moment, and six people, armed only with pistols and cutlasses and a couple of muskets, were able to keep three hundred in subjection.

“I’d give a good deal to be able to turn into my hammock!” exclaimed Desmond.

“We may have the chance before long, then,” said Tom. “See, there are the first streaks of dawn; and, hurrah! there comes the ship. I thought I saw her a minute ago, and now! I am certain of it,” he added, looking through his telescope. “She’ll be here in less than an hour.”

As daylight increased, some of the blacks caught sight of the ship, which, steaming on, head to wind, seemed to create no little astonishment, and still more alarm, in their minds. The seamen did their best to quiet them, going round and round the circle, and talking in cheerful tones, which had their due effect, although the words they spoke were not understood. Desmond proposed getting some more wood and provisions from the dhow. They were quickly brought on shore, when the fires, which had almost burned out, were again made up and another supply of food cooked. The same scene took place as before. The poor negroes scrambled and screamed over it, though the seamen did their best to serve it out impartially. Then the Arabs had their share of food, and the wounded men were looked to. One of them had died during the night, it having been impossible to attend to him—indeed, they were not aware how badly he had been hurt.

With infinite satisfaction the two midshipmen at length saw their ship come to an anchor. A couple of musket-shots attracted the attention of those on the look-out on board, and a boat was seen to put off from her. In a short time Higson, with a party of men well armed, stepped on shore. “I can heartily compliment you both,” he said, after he had heard the account Tom and Gerald gave of their proceedings. “Now, the sooner we get these poor fellows on board the better. We have a good number already, and there must be as many more, from what I saw on the island; but they stow pretty closely, and we must make the best of our way to the Seychelles or some other place to dispose of them. The Arabs deserve to be left behind, but, as they would certainly die in this inhospitable region, we must in charity carry them off and leave them to be disposed of by the Sultan of Zanzibar as he may think fit.”

Although the women and children under some circumstances would have been the first to be removed, as the men would be likely to give most trouble if left on shore, fifty of them were embarked and carried on board the ship, the boat then returning for another cargo. Thus, in the course of time, all were transferred on board. Tom and Gerald, who had gone in the second trip, received their due praise for their conduct. The prisoners from the second dhow, captured by Mr Matson, at length arrived, with a large number of slaves and the Arab crews. He had a sad account to give, but Tom and Gerald, though they had been eager to hear it, were by that time fast asleep in the berth, thoroughly done up with their exertions.

Both the dhows were set on fire, that they might not fall into the hands of the Arabs. On the sinking of the dhow by the senior mate, in his attempt to save some of the women and children, he himself had lost his life; but the Arab crew, from swimming well, had been picked up. Two seamen had been killed, and only forty blacks had been rescued; and the boat herself had been so damaged that it was with difficulty she reached the island, when the Arabs, who had not been secured, leaping on shore, made off among the rocks. The dhow captured by Mr Matson was in so leaky a state that he had been compelled to land all the blacks, as well as the Arabs, who entreated not to be left on board. Trusting to their gratitude, he allowed them, when landed, to remain at liberty, without having examined them to ascertain whether they had concealed any arms about their persons. His boat also had suffered considerably; he was thus prevented from attacking the three dhows when they first came to an anchor. He had, indeed, enough to do to look after the numerous liberated blacks; while several of his crew, who had been badly-wounded, required to be attended to.

So occupied had he been that not till the dhows appeared did he think of sending the carpenter’s mate and two men to repair the boat. In the meantime, several of the Arabs had stolen off and joined their countrymen who had before made their escape. Leaving a small party only to guard the blacks and protect the wounded, as soon as the boat was repaired he set off, as has been described, to attack the three dhows. After his unsuccessful chase of the one which escaped, he was returning to help Tom and Gerald when he was summoned to the island by a prearranged signal. On landing, he found that the Arabs had rushed down on the camp, liberated the remainder of the prisoners, and, having attacked the party left in charge, were inciting the blacks to escape. His speedy return compelled the Arabs to fly, but not till they had induced thirty of the blacks to run off with them.

As they could not get over to the mainland, Jack sent a large party on shore to sweep the island from one end to the other, and to capture every Arab and black who could be found. Tom and Gerald, who, after their snooze, awoke, as they declared, perfectly fresh, begged leave to join it, as they were as eager as any to rescue the poor blacks who had so quickly again been brought into slavery by the Arabs, while they wished to recapture the latter, and to stop their slave-dealing for the future.

The party had proceeded half-way along the island, Tom and Gerald being on the right or the western side, when he caught sight of a black object in the water moving away from the shore. Directly afterwards he saw several others in the same direction. “Those must be Arabs attempting to swim to the mainland,” he shouted; “on, lads, and stop them! Pass the word along the line.”

He and the men accompanying him hurried on, and were soon joined by Gerald and his party, when they caught sight of a dozen Arabs in the water, while many more were on the beach, endeavouring to induce the blacks to accompany them. Tom shouted to those in the water to return. The nearest obeyed on seeing the seamen present their muskets, but the others still held on their course.

“Stop the fellows!” cried Tom; when the seamen fired several shots. One of the nearest was hit, but the rest continued striking out. Another volley had the effect of making two more turn back. Six or seven still held desperately on. Shot after shot was fired at them; but the wretches had other foes besides the British seamen. Soon after the leading swimmer had got out of gunshot he was seen to throw up his arms, a piercing shriek was heard, and the next instant he disappeared beneath the surface. The rest still held on, as it was as hazardous to turn back as to go forward. Another shortly afterwards shared the fate of the first. What horror must have filled their minds as they made their way through the water, knowing that at any instant a ravenous shark might seize their legs and drag them under!

Two or three, however, reached the shore. Tom, who was watching them through his glass, saw them throw themselves, utterly exhausted, on the beach. “Without food or water, their fate will be as terrible as that of those who have just lost their lives. They deserve it richly, however; there will be so many slave-traders less in the world,” he observed coolly. He, like many others acquainted with the atrocities committed by the Arabs, could no longer feel the slightest compassion for any sufferings to which they were subjected.

The whole of the blacks were secured, as were the surviving Arabs, and marched back to be carried on board the ship. Jack, meantime, had been very anxious about the party who had to proceed overland; and he determined to send some men, well armed, with provisions and water, to meet them. Tom and Gerald begged leave to go, in company with the doctor, who carried restoratives and medicines. The day was far advanced when they landed. They at once struck off to the north, keeping a bright look-out for the Arabs on one side and their friends on the other.

It was near evening when they saw some figures wending their way over a rocky hill to the northward. They were at first doubtful whether or not they were Arabs; if such was the case, they were fully prepared for them. “No, they are our fellows!” exclaimed Tom. Just as he spoke, another much larger party were seen on the left, making their way towards the first. Tom’s glass was at his eye in a moment. “Those are Arabs; no doubt about it,” he said. “They have muskets, too, and it’s very evident that they are intending to cut off our friends. We shall disappoint them, though, I hope.”

The officer in command of the party, having ascertained that Tom was right, gave the order to push forward as rapidly as possible. The Arabs had apparently not yet discovered them, and were still advancing, with their gaze fixed only on those whom they hoped to make their prey. Besides the Arabs, there were numerous blacks, secured together, in the ordinary barbarous fashion, with forked sticks. There could be little doubt that they were slaves who had escaped from the wrecked dhow, and were being taken back to the coast, to be embarked on board another slaver.

The seamen, descending into the valley, soon lost sight of both parties. In spite of the burning sun, which made the air in the valley like that of a hothouse, they pushed rapidly on. Presently they heard some shots fired, which seemed to come from the heights above them. Those heights must be scaled before they could reach their friends. The firing became more and more rapid as they climbed up; they at last caught sight of Archie and his party, who, posted on some rocks, were defending themselves against overwhelming numbers of Arabs. Tom and Gerald uttered a loud cheer, which was taken up by the men, and then, without waiting an instant to gain breath, first firing a volley, they rushed with their cutlasses at the Arabs, who, turning and throwing down their arms, scampered off with the activity of cats, leaving five or six of their number dead or wounded behind them.

The seamen pursued them along the ridge of the hill, cutting down all they overtook; but the larger number saved themselves by the fleetness of their feet. A party of them kept together, however, and made their way towards the group of slaves, in the hope, as it seemed, of carrying them off. The seamen were, however, at their heels before they could accomplish their object; and they were glad to make their escape into the desert, leaving their captives in the hands of the victors.

Hamed, who had followed them, was soon able to calm the fears of the blacks, whose bonds were speedily loosed, and their necks relieved from the forked sticks. A spot which could be easily defended, should the Arabs venture to attack them, was selected for their night encampment. The ground being too uneven to allow them to travel in the dark, it was necessary to remain till the next morning to return to the ship. They had brought an ample supply of provisions, and the Arabs had compelled the slaves to carry food for themselves. The low shrubs growing on the hillside afforded an abundance of fuel; camp-fires were soon lighted, and pots set boiling. Altogether, the midshipmen made themselves perfectly happy. The other officers sat round the fire, recounting their various adventures; Archie’s party had met two or three wild beasts, and been threatened on their road by the Arabs who had escaped from the wrecked dhow, but they kept them at a distance with their firearms; and the fellows had not dared to attack them till, joined by other parties proceeding to the coast, they gained confidence from superior numbers.

“They must be remarkably bad shots,” observed Archie; “for though they had thirty muskets among them, at the least, not one of us has been hit.”

In the morning they returned to the ship, having seen nothing more of the Arabs, who thought it prudent to keep at a distance from the hated Feringhees.

Chapter Thirteen.

Six Months pass away—The Gauntlet goes in Search of the Romp—Jack stands by her—“Breakers Ahead”—Anxious Suspense—Probable Fate of the Romp—Jack proceeds to Zanzibar—Search for Adair—Desmond and Hamed captured by Arabs—Adair and his Companions rescued—Opal and Gauntlet at the Cape—A Ball on Shore—Jack meets an old Friend—Falls in Love—Return to England—Prospect of War with Russia—Massacre of Sinope—The Three Commanders appointed to Ships.

Six months had passed away, and Jack Rogers had disposed of the liberated blacks, and had since been the means of setting many others free, though unhappily also the innocent cause of sending not a few to destruction, who might have otherwise drawn out a weary existence in abject slavery. Often had he to console himself with the reflection that their death truly lay at the door of the accursed slave-dealing Arabs. “It is the only way of putting down slavery that I can see, though a rough one,” said Jack to himself, “till English missionaries and English merchants take possession of the country, and we can drive the Arabs and Portuguese out of it, and induce the natives themselves to rise and aid us in the glorious work; however, I shall not see those days, I fear; and in the meantime we must do what we can to catch the villains at sea.”

The Gauntlet was slowly proceeding southward when she fell in with the commodore. Jack, going on board to receive orders, was directed to look out for the Opal and Romp, which were to proceed to Zanzibar, and thence to the Cape of Good Hope. “That means that they are to be sent home, I suspect,” observed Jack to Higson, when he returned on board; “the commodore ought to be going there too—he looks very ill; and the ship’s company have suffered much from sickness.”

“I hope that we shall soon follow,” observed Higson; “this slave-hunting is all very well in its way, but it’s a style of work one might get easily tired of.” Jack agreed with him; but as the ship had not yet been her full time on the station, there was every probability of her having to remain some months longer.

She had proceeded some way down the coast, when she fell in with one of the Opal’s boats, of which Jos Green had the command. He had captured one full slaver, but said that the ship had taken none. “Nor will she,” he added; “steamers or boats are the only craft suited for this sort of work.” He was very thankful to have his boat hoisted on board; and the next day the Opal was fallen in with. The news that there was a prospect of her returning to England was received on board the Opal with immense satisfaction, by no one more than by her commander.

Jack paid Murray a short visit, but, having a cargo of liberated slaves on board, he had to continue his voyage to Zanzibar. The Opal, meantime, sailed in search of her missing boats. Two days afterwards, as Jack was running down the coast, a bright look-out being kept for the Romp, the weather, which had been threatening for some days, became rapidly worse; the wind shifted to the south-east, then to the eastward, blowing furiously on the coast. A headland had just been doubled, forming the northern side of a deep bay, and Jack was about to put the ship’s head to the eastward to gain a safe offing, when a sail was sighted on the quarter, some way up the bay. He turned his glass towards her; “What do you make of her?” he asked of Higson.

“I have little doubt that she is the Romp, and, if so, I wish that she were well out of her present position,” he answered. “See, she has just gone about, she’s carrying on in the hopes of beating out of the bay, but it’s as much, I fear, as she will do; and, as far as I know, there isn’t a place in which she can anchor—while the shore all round the bay is as wild and rocky as can be.”

“We must stand in and help her!” exclaimed Jack.

“We should only run the risk of losing the ship if we attempt it,” said Higson, “for it will be as much as we can do to hold our own in the teeth of this gale; and as to towing her off, that will be impossible.”

Jack took a turn on deck. “I cannot bear the thoughts of leaving you, Terence, to your fate,” he said to himself. He knew, as well as Higson, the danger that would be run, for even a steamer embayed in such a place, with the full force of the gale blowing into it, would have hard work to get out. He took another turn on deck. “We must try it, notwithstanding!” he exclaimed; “should the wind moderate ever so little, we may carry her out; and if we are compelled to cast her off, she may still have a chance of escaping by bringing up and riding out the gale.”

Higson was not convinced, though almost as anxious as his commander to assist the brig, which was heeling over to the blast, rushing at headlong speed towards the southern side of the bay. She appeared already close upon the rocks, when about she came, and, her sails flattened in, she began racing back through a mass of foam towards the point from which she had come. Again she went about; but the slightest change of wind at the moment, or any want of seamanship, might allow her in a few seconds to be sent, by the furious seas rolling in, on to the black rocks under her lee.

“She’s gaining nothing, I fear,” observed Jack, as he watched her.

“She’s rather losing ground, I suspect,” answered Higson. Presently the brig fired a gun; another and another gun followed, at the interval of a minute. “It is as I feared,” observed Higson, “she’s driving farther and farther up the bay, and Commander Adair knows that there is no holding-ground which can be trusted to.”

“We must go in and help her, at all risks!” cried Jack; and the helm being put up, the steamer, under her head-sails, went rushing forward towards her small consort. In the meantime, the engineers were also ordered to get up as much steam as possible. Again the guns were heard. “Adair would not make those signals unless he were in great distress,” observed Jack; “tow her out we must; though I fear that unless we’re very brisk about it, we shall lose much ground in doing so.”

Two stout hawsers had been ranged aft and well secured, ready to carry on board the brig. Her movements were eagerly watched by all eyes on board. Desmond felt more anxious than he had ever before been in his life, for he loved his uncle heartily, and clearly saw the danger he was in. All round the shores of the bay appeared a broad line of snowy foam, contrasting with the dark shore. Not a break was there to be seen, not a spot where the brig could be beached with any prospect of affording escape to her crew. As she stood across the bay, she appeared to be not more than a couple of miles from the deepest part—and in how few minutes would she be driven that distance!

She had again reached the northern shore; once more her head-sails shivered in the gale, and the hearts of the bravest on board the Gauntlet trembled, lest, missing stays, her fate might be sealed. “She’s about all right!” shouted several voices; and like a gallant steed galloping across the course to the winning-post, she came plunging on through the troubled waters. Though Adair saw his friend coming to his assistance, he must not for a moment, he knew, relax his own efforts. By this time the Gauntlet had reached the centre of the bay, and her head being put to the wind, she waited at a spot which the brig must pass on her next tack to cross the bay.

The Romp was nearing the southern shore; again she came about. Adair gave proof that he was a good seaman, and his crew in prime order, or it could never have been done. He was seen standing aft conning the brig; the topmen were in the rigging, ready to swarm aloft to shorten sail; a party of the hands stood on the forecastle with the second lieutenant and boatswain, ready to secure the hawsers. The rest of the hands were at their stations on deck. The work, to be done successfully, must be done smartly; everyone knew that. Rapidly the brig approached. Two of the strongest and most active seamen were on the poop ready to heave the lines on board. Adair’s voice was heard above the gale, shouting, “Down with the helm—shorten sail!” In an instant the topmen were on the yards, the staysails were hauled down, and, the brig luffing up, the Gauntlet moved slowly ahead, while the hawsers were rapidly hauled on board.

Some flags were run up to the foremast and head of the brig. “He thanks you, sir,” said Desmond, who had the signal-book in his hand; and Adair was seen pointing significantly at the fierce breakers dashing over the rocks astern.

Short as had been the time occupied in the operation, the vessels had drifted farther into the bay. Now came the tug of war. The hawsers being secured, the Gauntlet, with all her boilers at full pressure, steamed ahead. Jack kept his eye on the shore, anxiously watching what way was made; both hawsers were at full stretch; though the screw was exerting all its power, yet the vessels scarcely seemed to move onwards. Higson, who was looking out at the other side, was unusually grave; anxious as he was to assist Adair, he thought that Jack had no business to venture into his present position.

“If anything goes, we are done for,” he muttered to himself; “she doesn’t move an inch ahead.” Jack thought the same; he sent for the chief engineer to ascertain if more pressure could be put on the engines.

“They will not stand it—they are doing their utmost, sir,” was the answer. Still, Jack was determined not to abandon Adair. On board the brig the hands were still aloft sending down topgallant-masts. Jack hoped against hope that the gale would decrease, and that he should then be able to tow Adair out of the bay; if he once weathered the headland, the brig might stand away on a bowline and gain the offing—but within the bay she lost, each time she tacked, more ground than she had gained.

Clouds were gathering thickly in the sky; down came a deluge of rain, such as is only known in the tropics, like a thick veil of mist obscuring the brig astern. The water lay deep on the decks before it had time to run off; all sight of the shore was completely shut out. As the steamer plunged into the sea, tugging away at the tow-ropes, Jack could not help believing that she must be going ahead; on and on she went—the rain showed no sign of ceasing.

“It must come to an end, at last!” exclaimed Jack, trying to peer through it at the shore, the dim outline alone of which he could distinguish.

The lead was of course kept going, but as it reached the bottom, it scarcely ran out of the lead-man’s hands. “She’s going more astern than ahead!” he shouted at length.

“Provided she doesn’t go much astern, we must keep at it in the hopes of a lull,” observed Jack to Higson.

Another ten minutes passed. Various were the expressions of opinion on board; the midshipmen were sanguine that they would succeed. “My brother Jack has determined to do it, and he will do it,” said Tom.

“Suppose the hawsers were to carry away?” said Archie.

“There are two of them; if one doesn’t hold, the other may,” answered Desmond.

Jack paced the deck; at length the rain passed by. The marks on shore showed that they had not changed their position; still the destruction of the brig had been delayed, for by this time she would have been on the rocks. Thus far something was gained; still the appearance of the sky indicated no improvement in the weather. “Hoist the signal—‘Prepare to anchor and strike topmasts,’” cried Jack at length. The brig made the answering signal. Preparations had already been going forward on board her, the topmasts were at length struck; still no effect was produced. Nobly the steamer tugged and tugged away. Higson did not offer any advice, but he was ready to give it as soon as his commander should ask for it. “There’s a lull!” cried Jack; “thank heaven, we may do it!”

Now the vessels moved ahead; had the water been smoother, by a steady pull the work might have been done; but, as it was, having to plunge into the heavy seas, the Gauntlet was in the trough of one while the brig was on the summit, or sometimes on the other side, of the one which had just passed astern of the leading vessel. “Here comes a lull—Heaven be praised! Surely she’s going ahead, Higson?” said Jack.

“It may be, though slowly,” was the answer. The occasion was a trying one to the young commander. “She’s doing it now, sir!” exclaimed Higson, with more hope in his tone than he had yet shown. There could be no doubt about it—the vessels were drawing out from the bay, but still the headlands appeared over the bows on either side.

“If the weather continues to be moderate, all may be right!” cried Jack, taking a turn with more elastic step. All on board were looking forward to saving the brig, when suddenly down came the tempest with renewed force, and a report like thunder was heard; one of the stout hawsers had parted. Still the other held, and might possibly hold. It was watched as anxiously by Jack and those in the ship as by all on board the brig, whose lives, in all probability, depended upon it. To replace it was impossible, as no line had been retained for the purpose; should the ship’s speed be slackened, and thus take off the strain, both vessels must drift back, and perhaps share a common fate. All now depended upon the single hawser. Hope was not abandoned; the day was drawing on; for more than three hours the steamer had been tugging away at the brig, and if the hawser would hold, Jack determined to tug on till the storm should abate. In that he was following the instincts of his nature—every British officer worth his salt would have done the same. He was impelled also by his faithful friendship for Adair, and he would have been ready to risk his own life to save that of his old shipmate.

Again there was a lull, and the hopes of all revived; but it was only for a time. A squall, heavier than any of its predecessors, struck the vessels, accompanied by a tremendous downfall of rain. Every fibre of the hawser was stretched to its utmost; a fearful sea came rolling in, deluging the deck; two poor fellows on the forecastle were washed off, but no help could be given them. Not a sound was heard as they were borne into their ocean graves. Shrieks and cries arose from the unhappy blacks on the maindeck, who believed that their last moments had come. Just then another loud report was heard, the hawser flying like a huge snake in the air; and many a voice exclaimed, “She’s parted! she’s parted!”

As they looked astern, the brig was seen broadside to the sea, driving helplessly before the gale; while the ship, relieved from her task, seemed to bound forward. With a heavy heart Jack ordered her to be kept on her course; stern duty demanded that he should abandon his friend; nothing that he could do could save the brig. Painful as it was to watch her, he could not help looking out aft to try and ascertain her fate. She might have been about two miles from the shore when she broke adrift, driving before the furious gale, but a few brief minutes must elapse ere she would be hurled on the iron-bound coast. On and on she drove, growing dimmer and dimmer to view, shrouded by the spray which filled the air.

“She’s scarcely a mile now from the shore,” observed Higson; “she’s making head-sail; they must be looking out for the least dangerous spot on which to run her.” Just as he spoke there came another furious downpour, forming a thick veil round the ship, which shut out every distant object, so that scarcely the outline of either lofty cliff could be seen.

“She may bring up and cut away her masts,” said Jack, with a deep sigh; “it is her only chance.”

“The holding-ground may be better than we suppose,” observed Higson, wishing to console him; “or there may be some opening up the bay which we could not discern; he has probably surveyed it.”

“I hope so,” said Jack. “Who are the men who are lost overboard?” he asked, turning his mind to his own ship’s company. The crew was mustered, and on the names of John Jackson and William Davis being called, no reply was made. The paymaster struck them off the ship’s books, and the next day their effects were sold, and the proceeds placed to the credit of their heirs, and all matters concerning them were brought to a conclusion, though now and then their shipmates might mention them with an expression of regret at their untimely fate.

The gale continued blowing as fiercely as ever, while the ship was still forcing her way ahead, and Jack could not help confessing that the steamer was a finer craft to command than he had ever supposed. His own ship in safety, his thoughts again recurred to Adair. He was acquainted with Lucy’s feelings for him, and, should he have lost his life, he thought of all the sorrow it would cost his sister. Desmond was very unhappy, though Tom and Archie did their best to console him. The general opinion on board was that the brig would go on shore, and that few or none on board her would escape with their lives.

Not only provisions for the blacks, but coals were running short, and it was therefore important that the ship should get to Zanzibar as soon as possible, when Jack intended to return and ascertain what had become of the Romp and her crew. If she had gone on shore, and the crew had escaped, they would be exposed to many dangers, either from want of food or from attacks by the natives.

On the arrival of the Gauntlet at Zanzibar, the slaves were handed over, by the directions of the consul, to another vessel, which was to take them to their future home. The Gauntlet, having then, with all possible despatch, obtained a supply of coals, steamed away northward to ascertain the fate of the Romp and to rescue any of her crew who might have escaped on shore.

Nothing had been seen of the Opal, and Jack began to fear that she might have suffered in the gale, which had blown with unusual violence all along the coast. The Gauntlet had got nearly up to the bay she was to visit, when, much to Jack’s satisfaction, the Opal was sighted, steering for Zanzibar. Jack immediately signalised that he wished to speak her. In a short time the two vessels hove-to, and lay within a few cables’ lengths of each other, when Jack immediately went on board. Murray heard, with great concern, of the too probable fate of their old shipmate, and, having no liberated slaves on board, willingly agreed to assist in the search, as his boats’ crews would be of service should an armed force be required to obtain the liberation of any of her crew who might have been made prisoners.

The wind being favourable, he followed Jack into the bay, where he brought up at a respectful distance from the shore; while Jack steamed farther in to look out for the wreck. All eyes were turned towards the shore, where, instead of the belt of surf, there now appeared a broad fringe of rocks, some rising to a considerable height out; of the water.

“A cruel place that for the ship to go on shore,” observed Jack, with a sigh, “there would not have been much left of her by the morning.”

“There she is! there she is!” cried several voices from forward; in another minute or so the wreck of a vessel, with her masts gone, could clearly be discerned jammed in between two rocks.

“She has held together better than I could have supposed,” said Higson.

“Put the ship’s head off-shore; we will bring up,” said Jack.

As soon as the ship came to an anchor, two of the boats were lowered, Jack himself going in one, with Hamed and Tom and Desmond, Jack knowing that the latter was eager to gain the first tidings of his uncle. They pulled in with some faint hopes of finding the people still on board, or encamped on the shore; but no signal was seen, and their hopes grew less and less.

Jack now looked out for a place suitable for landing, and as he approached, he saw several small sandy beaches, where a boat could land without danger. He chose one nearest the wreck, and both boats steered in for it; still not a sign of human beings could be seen. He at once landed, with Matson, who was in the second boat, and accompanied by him and the two midshipmen, and a party of his crew, well armed, proceeded at once to the wreck. It being now low water, they could almost reach her by clambering along the rocks. On getting close to her, it was seen that she had suffered more severely than had been supposed; her whole stem frame was knocked in, and the sea must have made a clean breach through her, so that no one could have remained on board. Her masts and guns were gone, and the whole of her stores had either been washed out of her, or had since been carried away. There were signs, indeed, that she had been plundered by a large party, as the marks of numerous feet were discerned on the sand above high-water mark.

While Jack and most of the party had been examining the rock, Hamed, with Desmond and Tim Nolan, had gone on towards a height some distance from the shore, under the expectation of being able to obtain from its summit an extensive view inland. After leaving the rock, Jack sent the party, two or three together, to examine the rocks, to ascertain if the bodies of any of the crew had been washed up upon them. Jack still had hopes that the crew had been able to hold on to the wreck, till the falling tide should have allowed them to reach the shore. Still he could discover nothing to settle the point; it was only evident that the guns must have been thrown overboard, and the masts cut away, before she reached the shore. Perhaps Adair might afterwards have set off overland to try and reach one of the Arab towns belonging to the Sultan of Zanzibar, where he could obtain provisions, and from whence he could send notice to the consul where he was, so that a ship of war might be despatched to render him assistance.

Jack was looking out for Hamed, when he caught sight of a figure running along at full speed from the direction of the hill, and every now and then casting a look behind him indicative of alarm. Jack immediately summoned the men from the rocks, and, as he hurried forward, he recognised Tim Nolan.

“Yer honour, it’s bad news I bring!” he exclaimed, panting for breath, though he did not forget to touch his hat to his commander; “the spalpeens of Arabs have been and taken Mr Desmond, and our ’terpreter Hamed, and they’ll be after cutting their throats if we don’t look sharp and carry them help. As they were hurrying them down the hill, and looking thunder and lightning at them, Hamed cried out to me, ‘Run for your life and tell the captain!’ and shure, run I did, for they’d have been after cutting my throat if I hadn’t.”

On receiving this intelligence, Jack immediately despatched Mr Matson’s boat to the ship with directions to signalise Murray to send his boats, well armed, on shore, desiring his own lieutenant to return with two more from the ship. He immediately, with his boat’s crew, pushed on in the direction Tim believed Desmond and Hamed had been carried. Instead, however, of going over the hill, he led his men round it at a turn, hoping by this to cut off the Arabs as they descended into the plain. Tim, one of the most active of the party, kept well ahead. He had just rounded the rocky point, when he caught sight of a party of Arabs, twenty or more in number, with Desmond and Hamed in their midst. Hamed, by the gesticulations he was employing, was apparently expostulating with his captors; while Desmond was using strenuous means to show them that he was disinclined to move forward.

The Arabs were so engaged with their prisoners, that they did not observe the approach of the English till they were close upon them. Jack and his companions redoubled their speed.

“Hurrah!” shouted Tim. “Knock the blackamoors down right and left, and we’ll be up soon.”

Desmond was perfectly ready to follow this advice, and two or three well-directed blows enabled him to spring out from among the astonished Arabs and join his friends. Hamed made a similar attempt, but, being tripped up, was caught by the Arabs, two of whom held their daggers at his breast.

“They stickee into me, they stickee into me!” shouted poor Hamed, “if you not doee what they ask.”

“What is it?” inquired Jack, who continued advancing towards the Arabs.

“Dey let goee if not shootee,” answered Hamed.

“Tell them that, though they deserve to be punished for daring to capture Her Majesty’s officers, I will not injure them if they will inform me in what direction our friends have gone,” said Jack.

Hamed on this appeared greatly relieved, and a long parley ensued between him and the Arabs. Their chief, a ragged old fellow, with somewhat tattered, though once rich, garments, stepped forward, and, making a profound salaam, uttered a long address, which Hamed briefly interpreted. “He say you pay him a hundred dollars, he takee where English stop, and fightee black fellows.” The Arab himself and his followers were as black as negroes, by the bye, having probably more African than Asiatic blood in their veins.

“The rascals!” exclaimed Jack; “why, we are sparing their lives, and they have the impudence to name their own terms. Tell them we’ll shoot every one of them if they refuse to guide us to our friends.”

Hamed had another talk with the chief. “He say very well, you shootee his people, and be no wiser than at first.”

“The old fellow’s got sense in his brains,” observed Jack, “and as we can’t pay him the dollars till we get back to the ship, the bribe may prevent him from acting treacherously and leading us into an ambush. Tell him that if through his means we recover our friends, I promise him the hundred dollars, though he must come on board my ship to receive them.”

The old slave-dealer again salaamed, and, through Hamed, expressed his perfect satisfaction with the arrangements. Jack would gladly have set off at once, for he suspected, from what Hamed had learned from the chief, that Adair and his crew must be very hard pressed, and destitute both of provisions and water. The Arabs looked greatly astonished at the strong force which landed, and became very humble and submissive. Perhaps Jack might have saved the hundred dollars, which were certain to be employed in the slave-trade, had he waited the arrival of the other boats. He had, however, promised them, and there was no help for it; he could only hope that the old fellow and his crew might be caught with a full cargo of slaves on board their dhow.

To Jack’s surprise, instead of proceeding south, their guides led the way to the northward. Hamed explained that so large a force had appeared in the south, that the shipwrecked crew had been compelled to retire northward; and Jack concluded that they had done so in the hopes of being able to communicate with the corvette, which Adair knew to be in that direction, or perhaps with some of the Romp’s boats which might be cruising in the same quarter.

Sailors are always in high spirits when tramping overland, in the hopes either of having a fight, or succouring those in distress. If the chief was to be believed, there was a fair probability of both these events occurring. Murray, as senior officer, of course took command of the expedition. He and Jack marched on together. Not entirely trusting their guides, they sent out scouts on either hand to feel the way, while the men were ordered to keep well together, and to be in readiness at any moment, in case of a surprise.

“Arrah, now,” exclaimed Desmond, who with Tom and Archie were in the rear, “I hope we may get a scrimmage with these blackamoors; the spalpeens, to be attacking my uncle and his shipwrecked crew instead of lending them a hand, as any decent people would, when we want to help them and to put a stop to slavery.”

“That’s the very thing they don’t want to have stopped,” observed Archie; “as long as they can make more money by selling their fellow-creatures, though no blacker than themselves, they’ll do it.”

“If we had a fleet of merchantmen on the coast,” said Desmond, “ready to give good prices for their ivory and ostrich feathers, and anything else their country produces, while all and every slave-trader knew that if caught he was to be hung up, I fancy that the slave-trade would soon be knocked on the head.”

“A very good idea of yours, Desmond, but it may be a difficult matter to induce merchants to send their vessels out. It will be done in time if they find out that it is to their advantage,” said Archie.

“If I had the management of affairs, I’d make them do it!” cried Desmond. “When a thing ought to be done, the sooner it is done the better; and if, as you say, it is the only way to stop this abominable slave-trade, and the misery and death of tens of thousands of Africans, we Englishmen shouldn’t stop haggling about the cost, but do it at once.”

“That’s my notion,” said Tom; “and when my eldest brother gets into Parliament, I’ll give him no rest till he gets the thing done, somehow or other.”

The other midshipmen were all of accord on the matter, but their conversation was interrupted by one of the scouts coming in with the information that he had seen a large party of men at the foot of a rocky height in the distance ahead, very busy about something or other, but what it was he could not make out. Hamed, after questioning the old chief, informed Murray and Jack that the people seen were undoubtedly those who had followed Adair and his crew, who were in all probability not far off.

The force therefore pushed on, and, passing over some very rough ground, reached a spot whence they could make out three or four hundred people on the low ground, and a small party on a rocky height. Two or three tiny jets of smoke, sent forth every now and then by the latter, showed that they had firearms, though very few; and, from the intervals which elapsed between each shot, it was evident that they were husbanding their ammunition, and only firing when necessity compelled them to keep their assailants in check.

On observing this, Murray ordered his party at once to fire a volley, which would inspirit their friends, and intimidate the enemy. “Forward!” cried their commanders; and they pushed on at a rate which quickly brought them close to the scene of action. As they advanced, leaping over rocks and all impediments, towards the mongrel army, the leaders of the latter were seen to be moving about in evident alarm. At the instant a shower of bullets was sent rattling among them, they, to a man, faced about, and scampered off as fast as their legs could carry them. The relieving force quickly surmounted the height, where they found Adair with six or seven of his officers, and little more than half his crew. Jack and Murray were soon shaking him warmly by the hand; his and his companions’ appearance showed, before a word had been spoken, that succour had come most opportunely. Their emaciated looks and hollow eyes told too plainly how they had suffered from hunger; not a particle of food remained in the camp, or a drop of water; and not more than three rounds of ammunition for the six muskets which had been saved from the wreck.

“If you hadn’t come, my dear fellows, it would have been all up with us, I fear,” said Adair; “we’d made up our minds to rush down on the enemy and try to put them to flight; but without food, and no chance of getting any, we should only have gained the advantage of being allowed to die in peace, unless one of our boats had appeared, for which we came here to look out. It is the saddest thing which has ever happened to me; twenty poor fellows drowned, besides the loss of the brig; and as we have seen nothing of our boats, I am afraid some harm must have happened to them.”

Jack and Murray did their best to comfort him, while all hands were employed in serving out the provisions and water which had so thoughtfully been brought. As the Romp’s crew were too weak to march, the party bivouacked on the hill, with plenty of camp-fires, for which the blacks collected abundance of fuel.

Just as they were about to start at daylight, two boats were seen rounding a point, and Adair had the satisfaction of finding that they were those which had been despatched from the brig some weeks before, and which had since been cruising in search of her. The more sickly men were at once placed on board them, and they were sent round to join the Gauntlet; while the rest of the party set off overland, accompanied by their Arab guide, who kept close to them for fear of losing his dollars.

On getting on board, Jack paid him punctually, with a warning, imparted through Hamed, that if they were employed in the slave-trade he would lose them again, and get himself into further trouble. Whether or not the old fellow followed the advice he received, Jack had no means of ascertaining.

On their return to Zanzibar, the Opal and Gauntlet received orders to proceed to the Cape. Loud cheers rose from the decks of both ships as the news was announced on board; and even poor Adair, though he had the unpleasant anticipation of a court-martial for the loss of the brig, felt his spirits rise considerably. Jack comforted him with the assurance that the evidence his officers had to give must acquit him of all blame, and that he himself had done everything possible to save the brig.

“But I had no business to have been caught in the bay,” sighed Adair. “My prospects in the service are ruined, and I shall never get another ship.”

“Never fear,” answered Jack; “we shall have perhaps a war before long, and, depend upon it, you will not be overlooked when ships are fitting out. Officers of dash and determination will be wanted, and you possess the required qualities.”

The packet from England had come in the day before they arrived at the Cape, and Jack found a letter from Admiral Triton. “We shall have some of the old work again before long, my boy, depend upon that,” he wrote. “I have it from the best authority that the Russians have made up their minds to quarrel with the Turks, and take possession of Constantinople. They have been for some time past badgering them about the Holy Places, and insisting that their co-religionists are ill-treated by the Moslems,—not that they really care about the matter,—and that is sufficient to convince anyone who has got his weather-eye open that they only want a pretext for war, decent or indecent. The news has just arrived, though it has not yet been made public, that we should be suspicious of the designs of Louis Napoleon, who has so wonderfully been transmogrified into an emperor—though for my part, I believe that no ruler of France has ever been more friendly disposed towards us, and the Russians will find that they are mistaken in wishing to set us by the ears. That Prince Menzikoff, their ambassador to the Porte, has presented the ultimatum of the Russian Government, which means war, for the Turks are certain not to knock under; and we and the French would not let them, if they thought of doing so. The Russians intend to invade Turkey with all possible despatch; indeed, they have an army all ready to throw across the frontier. Menzikoff will be away from Constantinople in the course of a day or two, and then the business will begin. Our Government intends to send a fleet through the Dardanelles without delay, and as the Russians have no small number of ships in the Black Sea, we may hope to have a brush with them. I wish you were here, Jack, to take a part in whatever goes on; and I am glad to find that your ship is ordered home, so that there is a chance of your being in time; you will not let the grass grow under your feet; and as you can steam through the calm latitudes, we may hope to see you here before long. I never liked steamers, but they have their advantages, there’s no doubt about that. In the meantime, I’ll use all the influence I possess to get you a craft you’ll like; and as I fancy that more work is to be done in a steam-vessel than in a sailing-ship, I’ll try and get one for you.”

The admiral’s letter contained a good deal more in his usual style of chit-chat; Mrs Murray had gone to stay with her friend Lucy at Halliburton Hall, though he expected both of them back again, and hoped that they would be with him when Jack arrived. Jack showed the letter to Terence, who sighed when he read it.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack.

“I’m only thinking that an unlucky dog like myself, who has lost his ship, has very little chance of getting another,” said Adair; “and that the bright hopes I entertained of soon getting my post-rank must be abandoned for ever.”

Jack, of course, did his best to console him. “Come along,” he said; “there’s a grand ball to-night at the governor’s, and we’re asked; we’ll take the youngsters—it is a good thing to let them enjoy a little society, and will help to polish them up before they return home.”

Adair was unwilling to appear in public, but he yielded to Jack’s wishes. The three midshipmen were of course delighted, and busily employed themselves, with the aid of their marines, in burnishing up their long unused uniforms; so that when they entered the ballroom they presented a very respectable appearance following in the wake of their commanders.

Adair soon recovered his spirits, and Jack laughed as he watched him whirling round and round in the valse, or prancing away in the galop with true Hibernian vehemence. The midshipmen had entered into a compact to introduce each other to their partners. They did not fail to admire the blue eyes, light hair, and fair complexions of the Dutch damsels.

“Never saw so many pretty girls under one roof in my life!” exclaimed Tom; “I’m over head and ears in love with every one of them.”

“‘There’s luck in odd numbers, cried Rory O’More,’” answered Desmond; “to my fancy, the girl I last danced with is handsomer than any of them. She was asking me all sorts of questions about our ship and the commander and my uncle, and seemed very sorry about the loss of the brig, of which she had evidently heard. I’ll introduce you, Tom,—she was engaged for the next dance, but said that she should be happy if I would bring you up for the following one,—so come along. She’s only been here for a short time on her way home from India, so I gathered from what she said; but I daresay she’ll tell you if you ask her, for there’s evidently no nonsense about her.”

“That’s just the sort of girl I like,” said Tom, as Desmond led him across the room to a young lady who was seated far back in an alcove, from whence she could watch the crowd without being observed. Tom, as he made his bow, and was received with a sweet smile, thought that she fully came up to Desmond’s description, though she was certainly older than most of his previous partners. He willingly, in answer to her inquiries, told her all about the ship, his brother Jack, and Adair. She then got him to talk about Halliburton, and he was surprised to find that she was well acquainted with the country. At last she said, “I wonder you do not remember me, Tom;” on which, looking into her face, he exclaimed, “Why, you are Julia Giffard!”

She acknowledged that such was the case, and that she had gone out to India with her father, Colonel Giffard, who had been compelled, on account of ill-health, to visit the Cape, and had been advised to return home without going back.

“Jack will be delighted to see you,” said Tom; “I’ll go and find him and bring him to you, if you will allow me.”

Julia replied that she should be very happy to talk about old times with Captain Rogers, and Tom, after the dance was over, leaving her in her former seat, hurried off to find his brother.

“I thought it must be her,” said Jack; “but yet, as I fancied she was at home, I concluded that she was only remarkably like herself. She doesn’t look a day older than when I last saw her.”

Miss Giffard held out her hand as Jack approached, and they were soon engaged in an interesting conversation. Jack did not dance with anyone else during the evening. He promised to call the next morning on Colonel Giffard, who had not been well enough to come to the ball. The result of the visit was that Jack offered to convey him and his daughter to England. As the Gauntlet was to sail immediately, and might hope to make a quick passage, and the colonel being anxious to arrive at home as soon as possible, he gladly availed himself of Jack’s offer. Julia seemed very well pleased at the arrangement, and the midshipmen were delighted when they heard that they were to have a lady on board.

The Gauntlet and Opal sailed the same day. It was to be a race between steam and wind; at first the trim corvette, with a fair breeze, distanced her consort, and Archie, who, though still on board the steamer, retained a natural feeling of pride in his own ship, declared that she would win.

“Stay a bit, till the wind falls, and we get our fires alight,” answered Tom; “the old kettle will then show how she can go along.”

Miss Giffard had not been on board long before the commander’s attentions to her were remarked, and in the midshipmen’s berth it was decided that it was a gone case. Miss Giffard had heard of Jack’s engagement to the beautiful Irish girl, and of his bereavement; and the sympathy she exhibited quickly melted any ice which might have existed round his heart. His sisters would have been highly pleased could they have known the turn affairs were taking. Long before the ship reached Spithead, Jack was engaged to Julia Giffard, with the colonel’s full consent.

The Gauntlet received orders immediately to go into harbour, and scarcely had she picked up her moorings, than a note from Admiral Triton came on board, begging Jack to come to Southsea as soon as possible, as his sister and Mrs Murray were anxious to see him. Jack and Adair escorted Colonel Giffard and his daughter to The George, where leaving them, they hurried on to the admiral’s house. Stella was anxious to receive news of her husband, while Lucy’s happiness at seeing Jack and Adair was somewhat marred at being told of the loss of the brig. When, however, the admiral heard all the particulars, he assured Adair that he would be honourably acquitted, and that it would not stand in the way of his getting another ship.

“I’ve good news for you, whatever others may think of it,” he added; “the Russians have already invaded the Principalities, and, at the Sultan’s request, the British and French fleets have passed through the Dardanelles, and taken up an anchorage before Constantinople. They were there when news arrived—which reached me only this morning—that the Turks had a squadron of eight frigates and a few smaller vessels lying at anchor in the harbour of Sinope, according to Turkish custom, totally unprepared for battle. Instead of remaining where they were, they would have acted more wisely had they got out of the Black Sea and run for safety to the British fleet. As it was, there they lay, not dreaming of danger, when, during a thick log, the Russian admiral, Natchimoff, sailed out of Sevastopol with six line-of-battle ships, two frigates, and several small vessels, and suddenly appeared off the port, when the Turks, not liking his appearance, fired a few shots at him. Unfortunately for themselves, he immediately, without giving them the chance of striking their flags, opened upon them a tremendous fire from the broadsides of his line-of-battle ships. Though they could not have had the slightest hope of victory, they fought on with the utmost desperation, either refusing to strike their colours, or, if they were hauled down, the Russian admiral was too blind to see it. With barbarous resolution, he continued blazing away, till frigate after frigate sunk or was blown up; and four thousand of the brave fellows who had manned them were killed. One steamer only managed to get away and carry the news to Constantinople. Scarcely four hundred Turks, all of those more or less wounded, escaped on shore. The town was also dreadfully knocked about, and many people were killed. Natchimoff, having waited till the next day, returned to the harbour of Sebastopol. I only hope the next time he sails out of it, whether or not he has the whole of the Russian fleet to back him, that he will fall in with a British squadron. Depend upon it, England will not allow this outrage to go unavenged. The allied fleets are by this time in the Black Sea, looking out for the enemy. I wish you were there, but we shall be reinforcing the fleet in the Black Sea, as well as sending another up the Baltic to attack the Russians on their northern shores.”

This was not a time that Adair could press his suit with Sir John, though Colonel Giffard promised to use his influence as soon as he returned home. Meantime the colonel and Julia accepted the admiral’s and Mrs Deborah’s invitation to remain at Southsea till Jack had paid off the Gauntlet. She was to be immediately recommissioned as soon as she had undergone the necessary repairs.

The court-martial to try Adair for the loss of the Romp immediately took place; when not only was he honourably acquitted, but next day he was appointed to the command of the Gauntlet, ordered to proceed with the squadron under Sir Charles Napier to the Baltic. Jack, taking it into his head that he was to be placed on the shelf, proposed to marry at once; but the very next day he was appointed to a new steamer ordered to be brought forward with all despatch for the Mediterranean squadron. He had time, therefore, only to run home for a few days, and to return immediately to Portsmouth.

The Opal meantime had arrived, and, being paid off, her crew were turned over to Jack’s new ship, the Tornado. Murray, once more with his dear Stella, very naturally had no wish to leave her, and they were on the point of setting off for Scotland, when he received a flattering note from Captain Hemming, which completely altered his plans. “I have been appointed to the Briton, seventy-four, and, having to select my commander, I beg that you will allow me to name you, as I am very sure that you will get her well manned and quickly fit for sea, and that you will ably second me in any work we have to perform. I consider you, my dear Murray, as efficient an officer as any with whom I am acquainted. I do not know yet whether we are to be sent to the Baltic or the Mediterranean, but we are certain to go to one or the other.”

Alick placed the matter before Stella, who looked very pale, but answered heroically, “You must do what you conceive to be your duty. I have before advised you not to give up the service, and I must therefore say, accept Captain Hemming’s flattering offer.”

“I knew that you would decide rightly,” answered Murray.

“I heartily congratulate you!” exclaimed the admiral. “Deb and I will take good care of your wife while you’re away; it won’t be for a long period, I hope; and it won’t be Hemming’s fault if you have not some opportunity of distinguishing yourself and gaining your post-rank. I should like to see you all three captains before I slip my cable, which I must expect to do before many years are over; and it will give me more pleasure than I can well express to see you all whom I knew as youngsters gain your well-earned promotion. You’ve always done your duty, and will, I am sure, prove ornaments to our profession as long as you remain afloat.”

Chapter Fourteen.

Review at Spithead—Admiral Triton’s Opinion of Steam-vessels—The Allied Fleets in Cavarna Bay—Jack visits Murray on board the Briton—Bombardment of Odessa—Loss of the Tiger—Jack in Command of the Tornado runs into the Harbour of Sebastopol—A Visit to the Guards’ Camp.

“A magnificent sight! What would Nelson have done with such a fleet?” exclaimed the admiral, as, with his eye at a telescope turned towards Spithead, at an early hour on the morning of the 11th of March 1854, he gazed at the fleet collected there under Sir Charles Napier. “We must have a nearer look at them, ladies; the Gauntlet goes out of harbour, and Adair has sent his coxswain to say that his gig is waiting at the pier. Come, Deborah; come, Mrs Murray; get on your wraps. Lucy, my dear, you mustn’t mind appearances; though the sun is bright, the wind is still keen, and you will find it cold enough coming on shore again.”

The ladies, who had already finished breakfast, were soon equipped; and the admiral, helped by Miss Rogers and his sister, had got into his pea-jacket, and, Lucy having tucked the ends of the comforter which surrounded his throat well into it, he was ready, stick in hand, to tramp across the common. Lucy’s well-fitting yachting-dress, with an overcoat calculated to withstand all weathers, became her well. The gig was soon alongside the Gauntlet, at whose gangway Adair stood ready to receive his guests. It was the first time Lucy had come on board, and with no little pride and happiness he helped her up the accommodation ladder.

The next instant, casting off from her moorings, the Gauntlet steamed out of the harbour towards Spithead. “Well, after all, there is something to be said in favour of steam,” observed the admiral; “and though I did once think it would never come to much, I must confess I was wrong; though, had it never been invented, we should not have felt the want of it.”

“At all events, admiral, it enables us to get out to Spithead, which we otherwise should have found it a difficult job to do,” answered Adair, laughing. “Look at the magnificent Duke of Wellington, with her 131 guns; see the Royal George, and Saint Jean d’Acre, with what ease they can now manoeuvre, by the aid of their screws. I suspect Nelson would have been willing to exchange the whole of his fleet for three such ships at Trafalgar, and not only would have gained the victory, but would not have allowed one of the enemy to escape.”

“It might have been so,” said the admiral; “but I suspect, had the chance been given him, he would have preferred having his tough little Victory and the other stout ships of his fleet, to all the new-fangled contrivances.” The admiral, it was evident, had still a hankering for the good old days when he first went to sea.

The Gauntlet was able to steam through a considerable portion of the fleet before she took up her destined station; thus passing in succession the Duke of Wellington, Sir Charles Napier’s flagship, the Neptune, Saint George, and Royal George, 120-gun ships, the Saint Jean d’Acre, 101 guns; fourteen other ships carrying from 60 to 91 guns, most of them fitted with screws; five frigates, each able to compete with an old line-of-battle ship; and eighteen paddle-wheel and screw-steamers, anyone of which would speedily have sunk the largest ship of ancient days.

In a short time the Queen appeared in the Fairy yacht, passing through this superb fleet, when, the yards being manned, the crews greeted her with hearty cheers, and such a salute broke forth from their guns as had never before been heard.

“Well, admiral, I hope when we come back we shall be able to give a good account of our proceedings, if the Czar ventures to go to war,” observed Adair; “we may at least expect to take Sweaborg, Helsingfors, and Cronstadt, and perhaps lay Saint Petersburg itself under contribution.”

“If Sir Charles is at all like what he was a few years ago, I hope you may,” answered the admiral; “but though Charley is some years my junior, I should have declined ten years ago accepting such a command. He may be tough enough, but the sort of work he has to do wants nerve, and that, as a man advances in life, is apt to slacken.”

Still, notwithstanding Admiral Triton, the prognostications of Adair were shared in by all in the fleet, as well as by the nation at large, and grand results were expected. The admiral had engaged one of the steamers plying between Ryde and Portsmouth to come alongside and take his party on shore. Poor Lucy, it was very trying to her, though Mrs Murray from experience could give her heartfelt sympathy. Alick had already sailed for the Black Sea, and Jack some weeks previously had proceeded in the same direction.

We will make our way on board the Tornado. She had a quick passage under sail and steam to Malta, where she lay taking in a fresh supply of coals, and thence proceeded on through the Aegean Sea up the Bosphorus. Jack recognised with no small amount of pleasure many of the islands he had visited as a youngster; he had then thought them very beautiful, and he acknowledged that they were so still, though the proportions of the scenery appeared lessened in his eyes after the grander features of the West Indies and South America.

Tom and Desmond were inclined to turn up their noses at them, not having any great respect for the surrounding classical associations. “Very pretty hills to adorn the surface of a moderate-sized lake,” observed Tom, “but Trinidad and Jamaica completely take the shine out of them.” Higson, whom Jack had obtained as his first lieutenant, was much of the same opinion. Mildmay, who had been appointed by the Admiralty, not having seen the West Indies, was in raptures, and, with notebook in hand, stood dotting down the lines inspired by his muse. Jos Green, the master, suggested that he would be better employed in making outlines of the headlands and other prominent features of the land.

“Very well for you, master, who have to navigate the ship, but we are above such grovelling notions,” answered Mildmay; “you have nothing Byronic in your composition.”

“Just take care when it’s your watch that you don’t run the ship ashore in a fit of poetical abstraction,” said Green, laughing; “your Byronic enthusiasm would not be received as a valid excuse at a court-martial.”

Besides the officers named, Jack had several of his own and Murray’s old shipmates—Dick Needham as gunner, Ben Snatchblock as boatswain, with the two midshipmen, Dicky Duff and Billy Blueblazes; Jerry Bird; the Irishman, Tim Nolan; and several others, all good men and true.

With patriotic pride Jack saw the magnificent fleet under Admiral Dundas lying at anchor in Cavarna Bay as the Tornado steamed into that roadstead. It lies on the western side of the Black Sea, a little to the north of Varna. There lay the Britannia and Trafalgar, of 120 guns, the admiral’s flag flying at the masthead of the first; the Queen, of 116 guns; the Agamemnon, a name renowned in naval story, of 101 guns, carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons; the Albion, of 91 guns; the Rodney and London, of 90; the Vengeance, Bellerophon, and Sanspareil, of 84, 80, and 70 guns respectively; the Arethusa, of 50 guns, twice the size of her predecessor, known in song as the “gallant Arethusa;” and numerous other frigates and steamers, the smallest equal in power to any frigate of the olden times. There too lay the French fleet, fifty sail of the line and twenty-one frigates and smaller vessels, with the flag of Admiral Hamelin flying on board the Ville-de-Paris, of 120 guns, and that of the second in command, Admiral Bruat, on board the Montebello, of the same force. What might not these fleets accomplish if only the Russians would dare to sail out from amid their stone walls and fight? There was the rub.

Jack, having paid his respects to the admiral, made his way on board the Briton, accompanied by Archie, whom he knew Murray would be glad to see. Jack, of course, brought despatches from Stella. “Now, Alick,” he said, after the first greetings were over, “you read those quietly, while Gordon and I look up some of our old shipmates whom you have on board.”

Jack was not disappointed, for though he could not boast of having as many friends as Jos Green, he seldom went anywhere without finding some former shipmates. All were in high spirits at the thoughts of active service, though as yet nothing of importance had been done. A very gallant act, however, had been performed, of which Jack now heard. It was very important to gain exact information as to the present state of the harbour of Sebastopol and the forts protecting it, for there was every reason to believe considerable alterations had of late been made. As soon as the news of the massacre of Sinope had reached England, the Government sent out orders to the admirals to enter the Black Sea, to stop every Russian ship they met, and to prevent by force, if necessary, any fresh aggression on the Turkish flag, that no repetition of such atrocity might occur. As war had not yet been formally declared, it was necessary to inform the Cabinet of Saint Petersburg and the Governor of Sebastopol of this resolution. Captain Drummond, commanding the Retribution, a steamer of twenty-eight guns, was accordingly ordered to proceed to Sebastopol, and to deliver the despatches to the governor. In order to make the necessary survey, he was to remain there as long as he possibly could without allowing his design to be suspected by the Russians. It was the middle of winter; the weather, as is generally the case at that time of the year, was very thick. This was favourable to the design. As he had a good chart of the coast, he stood boldly on, keeping the lead going, till he made his way between the two outermost forts into the mouth of the harbour, when he came to an anchor before he was discovered by the Russians. Great must have been their astonishment at seeing an English frigate thus boldly bearding them.

The fires were kept banked up, so that she might, if necessary, make her way out again, should the Russians venture to fire at her, of which there was a very great probability; indeed, it was said that the guns in the forts were actually loaded, ready at a moment to sink the audacious intruder. The instant the anchor was dropped, the boats were sent out to take the necessary soundings, while an accurate survey was commenced of both shores of the harbour and the forts, with the number of their guns which guarded the entrance. The fortifications were indeed of a most formidable character. On two sides of the harbour eleven forts and batteries were counted; one, which appeared to be the key to the entire works of the place, had its guns concealed from view, but in the other ten no fewer than 722 guns, mostly thirty-two pounders, were counted, half of which pointed seaward, and commanded the approach to the harbour; and the other half commanded the harbour, in which lay the Russian fleet itself. In every direction men could be seen strengthening the works and erecting new ones. The town was surrounded by a wall fifteen feet in height, and loopholed for musketry, with a ditch in front. So narrow was the entrance that two line-of-battle ships could barely sail in abreast.

Having delayed as long as he could, Captain Drummond sent a boat with an officer to convey the despatches to the governor, who at first expressed himself very much astonished at the appearance of an English ship at such a juncture. Being assured, however, that the frigate had come to perform an act of courtesy, he was satisfied, and, salutes having been exchanged, the Retribution lifted her anchor and steamed again out of the harbour, with the important knowledge which had been obtained, and which was quickly conveyed to Admiral Dundas. Captain Drummond was of opinion that the place was entirely unassailable by ships alone, but that it might easily be blockaded and harassed by shells thrown into it at night, though he was convinced that should a ship enter the harbour in order to destroy the Russian fleet lying there, it must be annihilated before it could get out again. He advised, therefore, that Sebastopol should be attacked by a combined naval and military force; and, as far as could be learned, the authorities had determined on this mode of proceeding.

Jack, having left Murray time to read his despatches, rejoined him, and heard more of what had taken place. “The army have suffered dreadfully,” said Murray, as Jack was seated in his cabin; “not from the enemy, but from cholera and fever. It has also appeared on board the fleet, and nearly every ship has lost a good many men. Upwards of fifty have died on board the flagship, and we have had thirty or forty on the sick list at a time, many of whom have succumbed to the disease. The steamers have, I hope, a better chance of escaping, but it has not left them entirely alone.”

“Well, I trust we shall keep free,” said Jack. “The best thing we can hope for is that the commander-in-chief will give us something to do before long.”

After describing the halt of the British forces at Scutari, and various incidents which had occurred, Murray went on with an account of what had since taken place: “After remaining for some time at Scutari, the greater part of the English force was moved on to the neighbourhood of Varna, where they have been distributed on the heights south of Varna Bay, and at various other points,” he continued. “The first division, consisting of the Guards and Highlanders, with two field-batteries, are encamped at Gevreckler, a dreary common covered with a short, wiry grass, one of the most desolate-looking plains I ever visited.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Jack, “for my brother Sidney is out there. I must try if I can get the chance of paying him a visit. Poor fellow! he was very anxious to come out, but he will find campaigning very different sort of work from a review in Hyde Park.”

“The chances are you are sent there on duty,” observed Murray; “if you go, remember me to Mackenzie, Gordon, and Douglas, of the — Highlanders. Heaven knows whether we shall meet again, for the cholera, I am sorry to say, has got among them, and it is expected that the allied army before long will have some hot work with the Russians, who are now besieging Silistria. The place is holding out nobly, the Turks being aided by those two gallant fellows, Captain Butler and Lieutenant Nasmyth. The Russians have already lost several thousand men before the place, but everybody believes that it must fall ere long, and that the Russians will then march on Constantinople. We shall do our best to stop them; and though we, of course, shall win, it will not be without heavy loss.”

“The fortune of war,” said Jack. “I only hope that the Russian fleet will soon sail out of Sebastopol and give us something to do. I have no fear but that we shall lick them.”

“Of course we shall,” answered Murray; “and if Charley Napier can meet their fleet in the Baltic and give them a drubbing too, they will have had enough of it, and we shall shake hands and be friends.”

Little did the young commanders, who thus easily settled the campaign, dream of the prolonged and sanguinary struggle which was about to take place. Jack and Archie remained on board to dine. The latter went back to the Tornado full of the news he had picked up, which he was as ready to impart to Tom and his shipmates as they were anxious to hear it.

“Look here,” said Archie, as he sat on one side of the berth, with Tom opposite to him, and most of the midshipmen surrounding the table, “I’ve been studying the chart, and I think I’ve a pretty correct notion of the position of the different places. Here’s the Black Sea, which we’ll call an irregular oval running east and west, and at the north side is the Crimea, something like a shoulder of mutton in shape, hanging on by the Isthmus of Perekop to the mainland. Sebastopol, the fortress we hear so much of, is at the southern end of a broad bay on its western side. Going back to the mainland, we find on the southern side of the Danube, which as it approaches the sea runs north, and then again to the east, at a considerable distance from the sea, the fortress of Silistria, where the Turks are bravely holding out against a numerous Russian army. South of Silistria are Varna and Schumla, between which places our troops are encamped, to be ready to intercept the Russians whenever they have captured Silistria, and thus to prevent them from getting to Constantinople. Some way north of the Danube, on the seashore, is Odessa, not far from the mouth of the Dnieper. To the north-east of the Crimea, with a narrow passage between it and the mainland, is the Sea of Azov. Near the entrance to that sea is the mouth of the river Kouban, where the gallant Circassians have long held out against the Russians. Here we have the Bosphorus at the south-west corner of the Black Sea, with Constantinople on the one side, and Scutari on the other; and rather more than half-way along the southern coast is Sinope, where the Russians so barbarously massacred the unfortunate Turks. Thus Russia possesses the northern shore of the sea, Turkey the western and southern, and Circassia the eastern. Still, with a tremendously strong place like Sebastopol almost in its centre, Russia may be said to command the whole of its waters; and that’s the reason, I suppose, that we shall try to destroy Sebastopol and the fleet, which at present lies snugly under the batteries.”

All hands agreed that they understood Archie’s account. He forgot to mention that several fortresses had been erected by the Russians on the Circassian coast. Their garrisons were, however, seldom able to venture far beyond their walls, the brave mountaineers being continually on the watch to attack them. Among other pieces of news that Archie had heard, was that the Furious, Captain Loring, had been sent to Odessa with a flag of truce, to bring off the British consul and any British residents who might be in the town. The day after Jack had joined the fleet, the Furious was seen coming in from the northward, and, soon after she anchored, it was reported that, notwithstanding her flag of truce, the Russians had fired at her, and also at the people she was bringing off.

This, of course, made the admirals very indignant, and several steamers were sent to the north to blockade the port; and, on the 17th of April, the combined fleets weighed and proceeded in the same direction, arriving off Odessa on the 28th.

“I thought it wouldn’t be long before we had something to do,” said Archie, as he and Tom stood on the deck, watching the coast along which the Tornado was steaming.

The city stands on the southern shore of a bay, with the houses built on the slopes, with moderately high hills rising up from it. In the centre of the bay was a citadel armed with heavy guns, overlooking the whole of the bay, with strong batteries placed at different points, so as to sweep it with a crossfire; while the ends of three piers were heavily armed with batteries.

As soon as the ships came off the place, the admiral sent in a summons to the governor, demanding, as an atonement for the insult offered to the flag of truce, that all English and French ships should be sent out, and the Russian ships surrendered; and threatening, should this demand not be complied with, that the combined squadron would open fire on the place. The officers and men on board the ships waited eagerly for the governor’s answer, whether he would yield to their demands and send out the vessels, or would try the chances of war. All hands hoped that he would prove obstinate, and give them the chance of trying their shot and shell against his stone batteries.

By the evening of the 21st no answer had been given, and Jack, with the other captains and commanders, having been summoned on board the flagship, returned in high spirits with the announcement that the place was to be attacked.

The next morning, Ben Snatchblock’s shrill pipe sounding along the decks roused up the watch below, who sprang on deck with even more than their usual alacrity. The midshipmen, turning out of their hammocks, quickly dressed. Everybody by this time knew that work was to be done. The grey light of morning was just breaking in the eastern horizon, beyond the combined fleets of England and France, which lay outside of the steamers. On the west was the city of Odessa, rising to a considerable height above the calm surface of the water, green fields and woods on either side, while in front could be seen the citadel and its numerous forts armed with heavy guns, ready to pour showers of shot and shell on the ships which might dare to oppose them.

The English and French admirals threw out the signal for the steam-squadron to weigh. It was answered with alacrity—the vessels, urged rapidly through the water by their paddles, stood in towards the shore. As they approached, the silence of the morning was broken by the loud roar of the Russian guns from the citadel and lower forts, responded to by those of the allies fired from the decks of the steamers; which, having delivered their broadsides with excellent aim, stood off again to give place to their successors in the line. Having made a semicircle and reloaded, they again came into action; this manoeuvre being repeated without cessation, so that not a moment of breathing-time was allowed to the Russians in the batteries. Most ably were the guns of the latter served, many of them firing red-hot shot as well as round-shot. At length, several of the former striking one of the French steam frigates, flames were seen to burst out from her, and she was compelled to stand out of action while her crew, not without difficulty, extinguished the fire.

A breeze springing up, the gallant Arethusa was seen standing in under sail, and as she closed with the batteries, she opened her fire with tremendous effect; then, putting down her helm, she came about and stood off once more, amid showers of shot and shell which came sweeping over and about her; though, close as she was, not a shot touched her. Greatly to the disappointment of her gallant captain, he saw the signal made from the flagship for his return. Thinking that he might shut one eye, as Nelson did at Copenhagen, he however once more stood in, delivering a fire from his eight-inch-shell guns, standing in even closer than before. This manoeuvre he repeated several times; but again the admiral, fearing that he would receive more damage than would be compensated for by the injury inflicted on the enemy, finally recalled him, and, sending for him on board the flagship, complimented him upon his gallantry and the skilful way in which he had manoeuvred his ship.

The attacking squadron was now strengthened by several other steamers and gunboats. The Tornado had been playing her part. “We shall make our fire tell before long,” observed Jack to Higson, who stood by his side, just as the ship had delivered her broadside and was standing out of action. “See, flames are bursting out from the fort at the end of the mole,—that won’t trouble us again,—look there on the other side, there must be numerous works and storehouses on fire. If we keep on in this fashion the Russians will have the whole place burnt about their ears.”

The men were at their quarters, with shirt-sleeves tucked up, their heads bound by handkerchiefs, and belts round their waists. Another circle was made, when, just as the Tornado had delivered her fire, a terrific sound was heard; the fort in front of her seemed to rise in the air, the flames shot upwards, and huge blocks of stone came hurtling down on either side. Loud cheers burst from the British crew. “Hurrah!” cried Tom, “I hope that won’t be the only fort blown up before long.” As he spoke, it was seen that several other forts were in flames. Soon after the squadron was brought closer in to attack the shipping within the mole. The shot and shell poured upon them rapidly did its work. Some of the vessels were sunk; others, with the rest of the storehouses, were set on fire. No efforts made by the Russians could quench the flames, which continued burning all night.

The work was most complete; all the Government vessels, barracks, storehouses full of ammunition and military stores, were completely destroyed. Next day the Russians were, however, seen attempting to rebuild their earthworks; but a few shells from the Arethusa dispersed them. Several Russian vessels having been captured at sea, the admiral sent in to propose to exchange their crews for those on board the vessels which had been detained in the harbour. The governor, however, replied that he had no authority to make an exchange of prisoners, which personally he much regretted. Admiral Dundas, on hearing this, sent his prisoners, who were all merchant seamen, on shore, observing that he was at war only with the Government of the country, and did not wish to inflict annoyance on the peaceable inhabitants. Some time after the return of the fleet to Baljik, the English merchant seamen who had been detained at Odessa made their appearance, having been released by order of the Czar, who would not be outdone in generosity by the English.

Several vessels had been left in the north to cruise up and down the coast. Among them were the Tornado, Tiger, and two others. Several prizes had been made when the Tiger parted company in a thick fog. Jack had been for some time looking out for her, when the sound of heavy guns was heard inshore. The Tornado, in company with another steamer, stood on in the direction from whence the sounds proceeded; in a short time a rapid firing of musketry was heard.

“One of our cruisers is being engaged with the enemy,” observed Higson.

“I suspect so,” said Jack; “but I very much fear that she must be on shore. At all events, we must stand in and drive away the enemy, while we try to get her off.”

Jack hailed his consort, and, putting on all steam, the two vessels stood towards the land. Just then the firing ceased, and directly afterwards, the fog lifting, Cape Fortan, a headland about four miles to the south of Odessa, appeared in sight. Every glass on board was turned in the direction of the land.

“There is a vessel on shore close to the cape,” observed Higson.

“She must, I fear, be the Tiger” said Jack; “we may still be in time to help her. Perhaps she has driven off the Russians.”

“I am afraid not,” said Higson, “for I can make out several boats surrounding her. I fear that Captain Giffard has been compelled to strike his flag, and that the Russians are removing the prisoners.”

“He would not have done that as long as he had the slightest hope of saving his ship,” said Jack; “still we may be in time to prevent her from falling into the enemy’s hands.”

While all on board were watching the ship on shore, flames were seen to burst out from her fore and aft.

“She’s done for; and all her crew, I fear, will be made prisoners,” said Jack.

Deep sympathy was felt on board for the unfortunate ship’s company, and vexation that so fine a vessel should be lost. Little hope remained of their being able to extinguish the flames. Still Jack determined to try what could be done. In a few minutes, however, the matter was set at rest—the fire increased, the masts and spars of the doomed ship were enveloped in flames; and then there came a thundering report, her deck lifted, the masts shot upwards, and an instant afterwards, as they came down hissing into the water, a few blackened timbers alone remained of the stout ship which had lately floated buoyantly on the ocean with her gallant crew.

Jack and his consort opened their fire on the Russian troops, who still remained in sight; but they, knowing that their field-pieces could produce no effect upon the ships, quickly retired out of harm’s way, and the steamers again stood off the shore.

It was not till some time afterwards, on the release of the crew, that Jack heard of the circumstances connected with the loss of the Tiger. She had gone on shore during a fog, when her situation was perceived by a body of Russian troops, who at once brought a battery of field-guns to bear upon her, assailing her incessantly also with a fire of musketry. Her captain was suffering from a severe fever at the time, but, immediately going on deck, was giving directions for hauling her off when he fell mortally wounded, both his thighs broken by a round-shot. Several of his men were struck down at the same time; and at length the first lieutenant, finding it impossible to get the ship off, hauled down his flag. Directly the Russians ceased firing, boats came off, and the officers and crew, with their wounded captain, were carried on shore. Instead, however, of receiving the rough usage they expected, all the prisoners, especially the wounded, were treated by the Russians with the most considerate humanity; and they acknowledged that, had they been wrecked on their own coast, they could not have received greater attention and kindness than was bestowed on them by their enemies. Nothing, however, could save the life of Captain Giffard, who quickly sank from the effects of his terrible wound.

Jack, as well as several of his brother commanders, had long been wishing to take a look at Sebastopol, knowing that the information they might gain would be acceptable to the admirals. The Russian fleet, supposed to be numerous and powerful, had not yet shown itself outside the harbour since its cowardly attack on the Turks at Sinope. Jack talked the subject over with Mildmay; the latter was ready for anything. He especially wished to take a sketch of the renowned fortress, and purposed making some lines on the subject. Jos Green was delighted with the idea; but how was it to be accomplished? They might run in at night, but then, as he observed, as they should see nothing, they would not be much the wiser. They were discussing the matter, when the look-out shouted, “A sail on the weather-bow.”

The vessel’s head was turned in the direction of the stranger, and, the wind being light, she had no more chance of escaping than a mouse has from a cat in open ground. She proved to be a brig under Russian colours, though the master and several of the crew were Austrians. They took their fate very quietly, and were ready to give all the information they possessed. The master had frequently been at Sebastopol in former days; he stated that an Austrian steam-packet, about the size of the Tornado, occasionally called off the port. Jack got a full description of the vessel from his informant, and he and his lieutenants agreed that they could give the Tornado much the same appearance.

“I have often read in the old war of the way vessels were disguised to deceive the enemy. It is quite a lawful proceeding,” Jack observed.

Sail-makers and painters were fully employed in shaping and painting old sails to conceal the heavy guns and figure-head, and to alter the general appearance of the ship. When all was done, Jack, with his first lieutenant and Needham, pulled off to a distance to have a look at her, and were fully satisfied that the keenest of eyes on shore would not discover her real character. The crew were also ordered to rig in their working-day clothes, and it was arranged that one watch should go below, while only a few officers in undress uniform were to appear on deck.

Highly delighted, Jack steered towards the lion’s den. The Austrian skipper was in a state of great trepidation. “If discovered, the ship will be inevitably sunk!” he exclaimed.

“No fear,” said Jack; “we’ll see what’s to be seen, and then steam out again at a rate which will give the Russian gunners no little trouble to hit us.”

The midshipmen were of course in high glee; Tom was only sorry that Desmond was not with them. “How he would have enjoyed the fun!” he exclaimed; “only perhaps he’s finding some still better in the Baltic.”

That night, few slept out the morning watch, all being so eager to have an early look at the fortress, as Jack had determined to enter the harbour soon after daybreak, when, as might be supposed, the garrison would not have got the sleep out of their eyes. As morning broke, the high cliffs on either side Sebastopol appeared in sight. The Austrian colours were hoisted, the greater portion of the crew were sent below, the remainder being ordered to lounge about in merchantman fashion; while Jack and Jos Green and the two lieutenants, with the Austrian skipper, walked the deck with the perfect composure of men who were well acquainted with the place. Keen eyes were, however, looking out from many a port at the rocky shores ahead, as the Tornado drew in to the land. Two brigs-of-war were discovered at anchor on either side of the harbour’s mouth, and as of course they would be on the alert, there was a great probability of their discovering the character of the stranger. A few shot might, however, quickly send them to the bottom, in case they should attempt to stop her. The crew were ordered to be in readiness to spring on deck at a moment’s notice, and every man below hoped that that notice would be given. On stood the Tornado, no sign being given on board the brigs that her character was suspected. Jack and his officers, as the steamer ran in, had time to count the guns which frowned down upon them from the four forts on either side of the harbour, each with three tiers of batteries; and, what was of more importance still, to make out the number of ships in the harbour.

“I can see three three-deckers and several two-deckers,” said Jack.

“There are at least four frigates,” added Higson, “and fully half a dozen smaller craft; and see, over the point, those mastheads; there are four of them, and evidently ships of the line. That makes not much fewer than our fleet; if they’ve any pluck in them, they’ll come out and fight us; and our admirals are the men to give them every chance of doing so.”

The Tornado had now got as far up the harbour as Jack considered prudent, and she was gradually brought round as if about to come to an anchor, with her head turned towards the harbour’s mouth. It had required no small amount of resolution to bring her into that position; at any moment twelve hundred pieces of artillery in those frowning forts above their heads might open their fire, and send their shot, which, plunging down upon the ship’s deck, would turn her into a sieve in a few seconds. Jack and his officers were equal to the occasion. He and Higson calmly lighted their cigars, and, as they walked backwards and forwards on deck, puffed away with might and main; both of them, however, keeping an eye on the forts, waiting for the moment when they might open fire. The ship, having been brought round, glided slowly on for some distance; then Jack gave the order to turn ahead at full speed, and out she shot between the two brigs, their crews even then wondering what had induced her so suddenly to take her departure. Not till she was well outside them did they begin to suspect the character of the stranger which had paid them a visit that morning, when their signal-flags were seen run up to the mastheads, answered by two or three of the outermost frigates.

Just then a schooner was seen entering under Russian colours. “We must take her,” cried Jack; “the impudence of the act will have a good effect, and show the Russians what Englishmen can dare and do. Haul down those colours—hoist our ensign,” he added. The change was rapidly effected; the signalising between the brigs and frigates went on still more vehemently, while the former sent a few ineffectual shot at their audacious visitor.

“Keep her for the schooner,” cried Jack. The skipper of the Russian merchantman was evidently much astonished at perceiving the Austrian steamer suddenly turned into an English man-of-war. Finding that he could by no possibility escape, he hauled down not only his colours, but his sails, when the steamer, running alongside his vessel, took her in tow, having first removed him and his crew to her deck. He proved, like the first, to be an Austrian; the two skippers mutually condoled each other on their misfortunes.

Away the Tornado steamed out to sea, but a sharp eye was kept on the proceedings of the Russian fleet. The two brigs were seen getting under way; presently afterwards three of the outside frigates slipped from their moorings, and stood out under all the canvas they could spread in chase of the daring intruder. The officers and crew had now mustered on deck, and, the painted canvas being got rid of, the ship was quickly made ready for action.

“Only let two of them come on at a time, and we shall have them in tow before long,” observed Dick Needham, a sentiment which was heartily responded to. The breeze, however, increased, and the frigates came dashing on, keeping pretty close together, at a rate which made it more than possible that they would overtake him. Jack heartily wished that he could have carried off the schooner as a prize, but it was not worth while to risk the loss of his ship in making the attempt. He could not hope to capture even one of the enemy, unless he could separate them, and this, as they were favoured by the wind, he saw that he should be unable to do. Prudence, therefore, compelled him very unwillingly to cast off the prize, upon which the Russians speedily pounced, but only to find her empty.

The crew cheered heartily, while many a laugh resounded through the ship, as they witnessed the Russians’ disappointment, and saw the squadron sail back again into port, jack communicated the information he had received to the admiral. Soon afterwards the fleet of the allies appeared before Sebastopol, two or three of their ships having been sent out of sight in order to make their forces equal, and to induce the Russians to come out and fight them. The latter, however, knew too well what would be the result to make the attempt. Admiral Lyons sailed away with a small squadron to reconnoitre the shores of Georgia and Circassia. During the trip, he endeavoured to persuade Schamyl, the far-famed Circassian chief, to co-operate with him in taking the fortresses of Soujak and Anapa, two of the only three fortresses still held by the Russians; but the old warrior was not in a condition to undertake the enterprise. Redoubt Kaleh was however attacked, and the garrison, after setting fire to it, retreated. The number of prizes captured by the squadron, which sailed throughout the Black Sea, sweeping it of every vessel except those of the allies, was very great. Jack was elsewhere, he having been employed in running several times to Constantinople, and back to Cavarna.

He at length obtained the wished-for opportunity of visiting his brother at Gevreckler. Taking Tom with him, they landed at the nearest village on the shore, where they obtained horses. The scenery was picturesque, and sometimes exceedingly beautiful. They passed through a Turkish village at the base of some low hills. The village consisted of mud-walled and thatched houses built on either side of green lanes bordered by trees, with farmyards attached, and enormous whitewashed, dome-shaped clay ovens. The streets all led to a common centre, like a village green in England; here and there were wells, from which girls in Oriental costume were drawing water. They were perfectly ready to chat with the strangers had they understood each other’s language, but, as that was not the case, they laughed and smiled in friendly fashion. On the level ground vast cornfields appeared spread out, already yellow with ripeness, and here and there patches of tall guinea-grass of deepest green, the fields being intersected by low copses, and occasionally rows of trees of greater height, while to the west appeared numerous hills of graceful form covered by waving woods. Far in the south could be seen the blue outline of the Balkan range.

At length, mounting the last height, Jack and his companions reached the plateau of Gevreckler, when the white tents of the Guards and Highlanders appeared, extending far and wide before them. Here lay encamped the flower of England’s warriors; but, alas! Jack, as he rode through the camp, was struck by the pallid countenances and feeble gait of many of those he met, while from the canvas walls of a large tent came the cries of strong men in mortal agony. He inquired of a soldier near the cause of the cries.

“Some more fellows down with the cholera,” was the answer; “they’ve got the cramps, and they are precious hard to bear, I know; had them myself last night, but they passed off.” As the man spoke, his countenance was overspread by a deadly pallor; he sank on the ground, shrieking out. His cries attracted several of his comrades, who, lifting him up, carried him into the nearest hospital tent. A little farther on Jack came upon an open space, where groups were collected round a person acting as an auctioneer, who was disposing of uniforms, clothes, camp equipage, and even horses and various other articles which had belonged to officers and men just carried off by cholera. It could not fail to have a depressing effect; he almost dreaded to ask about his brother Sidney. Regaining his composure, he inquired the direction of his tent, and was relieved to hear that he had been seen a short time before alive and well.

In a few minutes he found him, seated in front of his tent, in a washing-tub, which served as an arm-chair, with a book on his knee, and a cigar in his mouth. “What! Jack! Tom!” he exclaimed in a more animated tone than was his wont in England; “I am very glad to see you, for I little expected that you would be able to make your way out here. I can’t give you a very hospitable reception; but here’s a camp-stool for you, Jack; and bring yourself to an anchor on the top of my hat-box, Tom. Things don’t look as bright as we should wish, but we can keep up our spirits with the hopes of a change for the better. The Turks are tremendously hard pressed in Silistria, and we are expecting every hour to hear of the fall of the place; when we shall have the Russians down upon us. I turn out every morning in the belief that before the day is over we shall be ordered to march and meet the enemy; when the wind’s from the north we can hear their guns and those of the fortress thundering away at each other; and any day we can hear the sounds of mines exploding, and other music of glorious war,” and he smiled faintly; “I painted the pleasures of fighting in a very different light, and cannot say that the reality comes up to them. However, you must have some luncheon, and then we’ll ride towards the Schumla, where we can hear, though we can’t see, what is going forward.”

As soon as luncheon was over, Sidney ordered his horse, a sorry steed, not quite suitable for Rotten Row. He, with his two brothers, set out for the position of the second division. They had got but a short distance from the camp, when they passed a party of men carrying stretchers, on each of which was laid a human form, the rigid outline of the features and feet showing through the blanket shroud. The chaplain followed to read the funeral service; but few, except those required officially to attend, followed their comrades to their last resting-place. Farther on were two groups of men, six or eight in each, shovelling out the earth from some oblong holes. Silently they laboured; no smiles were on their countenances, no jokes passed between them; they themselves might soon be the occupants of similar resting-places. Tom shuddered. “I have been too much accustomed to scenes like these to take notice of them,” said Sidney; “we seldom pass a day without the loss of two or three men, and sometimes many more.”

They at length reached the height towards which they were riding, and, on dismounting from their steeds, they could hear the rolling thunder which came from far-off Silistria, one continued roar, as the garrison poured the fire of their guns on the persevering hosts of Russia.

“It seems to me as if every man in the Russian army must be blown to pieces by this time,” observed Tom.

“So they would if they were above ground,” answered Jack, “but they are in their trenches, and only occasionally do those iron missiles carry death in their track, except when an assault is being made, and then they sweep them down by hundreds.”

The despatches Jack had to convey not being ready, he was compelled to remain on shore till the following morning. All night long the low thunder of the siege was heard even more continuously than before. He awoke just at dawn, and listened; the wind came from the same quarter, but no longer was the booming sound of the cannon heard. “It is all over with the brave garrison of Silistria, I am afraid,” he observed to Sidney, who had joined him outside the tent.

“If it is, we shall soon have a brush with the Russians,” was the answer; “I heartily hope so, for active service will help to stop the fearful ravages of the cholera. Half a dozen of our poor fellows have died during the night, and the army will be decimated unless something is done to arrest the disease.” Just then the reveille sounded, and the camp was quickly astir. The news spread that Silistria had fallen. The hope that the time of inaction was over was expressed by everyone in the camp. The event detained Jack on shore much longer than he had expected. At length a Turkish horseman was seen spurring towards the camp of the allies. Officers and men hurried out to meet him, fully expecting to hear that the enemy were advancing. He pointed to the north, however, and an interpreter explained what had happened. He brought glorious news, of which his countrymen might well be proud. Prince Paskiewich, with his shattered hordes, had raised the siege, and was in full retreat from before the brave city he had in vain assailed for so many long weeks; but one of its gallant defenders, Butler, after exhibiting the most heroic bravery and skill, had fallen.

Soon afterwards another important victory was gained over the Russians by the Turks, led by General Cannon and several other English officers, in which also Lieutenant Glynn and Prince Leiningen, of the Britannia, commanding some gunboats, took an active part. This compelled the enemy to abandon the Principalities. Jack after this had to return to Constantinople, where Sir Edmund Lyons and Sir George Brown were busy in preparing rafts and chartering steamers for the embarkation of the artillery and cavalry.

On Jack’s return he again paid a visit to Murray on board the Briton. The cholera had been making sad ravages among her crew, as well as on board other ships of the fleet, but, strange to say, not an officer had been attacked. Hearing that Murray was below in the sick-bay, he sought him there, and found him, with two lieutenants, assisting the surgeons in attending to the sufferers, of whom there were at least thirty in various stages of the disease. Murray was standing by the hammock, and holding the hands of a poor fellow—a stout, thick-bearded man, whose countenance was of a livid hue.

“It’s hard to bear, sir, it’s hard to bear!” cried the sufferer, writhing in agony. “Shall I get over it, do you think, sir?” looking up in the commander’s face with an inquiring glance, such as a child might cast at its mother.

“I hope you may,” answered Alick; “but cheer up—many have been as bad as you are, and have recovered; hold on bravely.” The man seemed to grow calmer; again, however, there came over him a fearful paroxysm of pain. “Don’t leave me, sir, don’t leave me!” he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak. Alick, who was about to go on to another man, again held his hands, pouring some cordial down his mouth, which the doctor handed him. He was soon quiet, but it was the quiet of death; and the commander passed on to others who required his aid.

Thus he and the other officers went from hammock to hammock, endeavouring to soothe the pain of those to whom their services could be of any avail. The dead man was lifted out and quickly sewn up in his blanket, with a shot at his feet, to be launched overboard. Three were committed to the deep at the same time.

Such were the scenes going forward on board most of the ships in the squadron; the Britannia alone was destined to lose upwards of a hundred men. On board other ships the officers devoted themselves in the same way, and in many cases succeeded, where the medical men might have failed, in arresting the malady. It was now known that a descent on the Crimea was to be made; as, however, in the suffering state of the ships’ crews, it would be impossible to embark the troops, the admirals put to sea, in the hopes of arresting the progress of the cholera. It appeared not to have the desired effect, and many more lost the number of their mess; and fears began to be entertained that the enterprise must be abandoned, when suddenly the disease stopped; not a man more was attacked.

The ships sailed back into Cavarna Bay, and soon the operation of embarking the army commenced. The duty was under the charge of Sir Edmund Lyons. By the aid of the rafts he had constructed, which consisted of two boats lashed together with a platform on the top, he got on board the ships destined to carry them sixty pieces of field artillery and the complement of horses belonging to every gun. He then commenced embarking the cavalry, to the number of a thousand horses, and twenty-two thousand infantry, on board the numerous large transports waiting for their conveyance.

The officers of the fleet were engaged under him in superintending the operation. During some days a heavy swell set in, which put a stop to the business of embarking the cavalry. The weather again changing, however, the whole of the force was got on board without the loss of a man. Never before had so large a fleet anchored in those waters. There were hundreds of sailing transports, steamers innumerable, both men-of-war and merchantmen, while above all towered the tall masts of the line-of-battle ships. The French, having only their own infantry to embark, most of whom were taken on board their men-of-war, got through the process more rapidly than the English.

Men-of-war’s boats were pulling backwards and forwards, some carrying messages, others towing-off the rafts; while smaller craft of all sorts were moving about in every direction, bringing stores and provisions. It was hard work for all hands, but it was cheerfully and willingly performed.

Jack, having to pass near the French fleet, observed a boatful of Zouaves pulling off to a transport; the French steamer was approaching her; the crew of the Zouaves’ boat attempted to pass her bows, while those on board her were keeping a bad lookout. The consequences was that the steamer ran right into the Zouaves’ boat. The poor fellows, encumbered with their knapsacks and greatcoats, being utterly unable to swim, the larger number, uttering shrieks of despair, sank like shots before help, so near at hand, could be afforded them.

Unhappily the cholera lingered among the troops on board the transports, and every day several were launched into their ocean graves, as it was impossible to carry them on shore for burial. Under such circumstances it is usual to secure shot to the foot of the corpse in order to sink it rapidly to the bottom. In some instances shot of insufficient weight were used; for though the body at first sank, yet when decomposition set in and gases were generated, it again rose to the surface; and those on board the ships, as they looked over the side, were horrified at seeing the bodies of their late comrades floating about, bowing to them as if in mockery, moved by the undulations of the water.

One evening Billy Blueblazes was on duty at the gangway, with orders to report any boats coming alongside; as he was looking out in the dusk, he saw, as he thought, a man swimming and approaching the ship. He hailed, but there was no answer; still the figure came nearer and nearer, and presently touched the foot of the accommodation ladder. “What is it you want?” asked Billy; no answer was returned. As in duty bound, he went up to report the circumstance to the first lieutenant.

“There’s a Turk, or some fellow of that sort, has swum off to the ship, sir; but he won’t give his name, or say what he wants.”

Higson ordered Tim Nolan, who was acting as quartermaster, to go down and ascertain who the man was.

“Arrah, sir, it’s not a living being at all!” shouted Tim; “he’s one of the poor fellows who slipped his cable in the cholera on board the transports, and the sooner he’s made to go back where he come from the better, seeing he isn’t altogether pleasant company to living men.”

Higson was of Tim’s opinion, and, ordering a shot to be securely slung, he directed Tim to make it fast round the neck of the corpse; this was quickly done, and the unwelcome visitor disappeared beneath the surface.

Many other similar occurrences took place, to the great annoyance of the seamen, as well as of the soldiers, and made them all the more anxious to get away from the spot beneath which lay so many of their unhappy countrymen. The English fleet having an ample supply of transports, no troops were taken on board the men-of-war, which were thus left free for action; but the French having secured only small vessels, their men-of-war were so encumbered with troops that they were ill prepared to go into action should the Russian fleet come out to attack them. The information was received with unmitigated satisfaction on board the British men-of-war, and all hoped that the Russians, gaining courage, would venture from beneath their fortifications, as on the English fleet would devolve the honour of engaging them.

To every English sailing-ship-of-war a steamer was attached. The English army was under the command of Lord Raglan; Admiral Dundas had his flag flying on board the Britannia; while Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, in the Agamemnon, had charge of the transports. To each vessel was assigned her particular place, so that there might be no confusion. It was generally believed that the Russian fleet would sail out of Sebastopol and intercept the flotilla, and that they would have to bear the brunt of the fight. The masters of the transports were accordingly called on board the Emperor, the largest of their squadron, where the admiral’s instructions were read to them, and they were asked whether they would willingly take a part in the naval engagement, should one be brought on. Having satisfied themselves that their widows would receive compensation should they fall, they replied to the question with three hearty British cheers. Thus were the preparations made for the contemplated descent on the unknown shores of the Crimea.

Chapter Fifteen.

Descent on the Crimea—Landing Troops—Towing Rafts—Battle of the Alma—Tom and Archie on the Battlefield—The Horrors of War—Bringing off the Wounded—Bombardment of Sebastopol—Jack and Murray in Action.

“Just gone seven bells, sir,” said Billy Blueblazes, as he entered Jack’s cabin, sent according to orders by Mr Mildmay, who had the morning watch on the 7th of September 1854. Jack was speedily on deck, for there was plenty of work to be done that day. A gentle breeze blew off the shore; not a cloud dimmed the sky, from which the moon cast her beams over the calm surface of the ocean. By her pale light the sailing-ships in all directions could be seen loosing their canvas, while from numberless funnels wreaths of smoke were ascending, showing that the steamers were preparing to move. All the officers were quickly assembled on deck; many an eye was cast eastward to watch for the first signs of coming day. The men were ordered to their stations. At length a ruddy glow above the eastern horizon announced the approach of day; shortly afterwards the loud roar of a gun from the lofty side of the Britannia gave the signal to weigh. The sails hanging from the yards were let fall and sheeted home, the steamers sent forth denser columns of smoke, which, rising in thick wreaths, floated in all directions round the ships’ funnels, obscuring the view.

The order had been given to rendezvous forty miles due west of Cape Tarkand. Instantly the outer ships began to move; Sir Edmund Lyons’ ship, the Agamemnon, with signals flying at her masthead, proudly gliding through their midst. The English transports, in five columns of thirty each, obeying his orders, moved slowly eastward; then came the ships of war, the guardians of the fleet, in single column. The French, more numerous, but with much smaller vessels, sailed out in less compact order, with their warships crowded with troops; the Turkish fleet, similarly encumbered, followed. Among the English perfect order was maintained, for every captain could thoroughly trust, and well knew that he must obey, his gallant leader.

The French soon became scattered; their general, with some of their line-of-battle ships, had sailed several days before, and what had become of them was not known.

By the morning of the ninth the whole English fleet was anchored at the appointed rendezvous, but as yet the point at which the troops were to land had not been selected. Next morning Lord Raglan accompanied Sir Edmund Lyons, with several English and French engineer officers, on board the Caradoc, which, after passing the mouth of Sebastopol harbour, steered round Cape Chersonesus and looked into Balaclava, surveying those heights ere long to become the scene of many a bloody conflict. Returning northward, she steered close into the shore, the generals looking eagerly out for a fitting spot on which their legions might land. A low, sandy beach was at length perceived near Kalametra, with two lakes beyond it. It was exactly the spot Lord Raglan desired. Late in the evening the Caradoc returned.

During the two following days the French and Turkish vessels, which could be seen scattered in the far distance, came slowly in; and now it became known that the long looked-for enterprise was at once to be commenced.

Early on the 13th the fleet came off Eupatoria. A small party, with an interpreter, were sent on shore to summon the town to yield at discretion. The Tornado, with other steamers, being close inshore, Jack sent Jos Green, with Tom and Archie, to obtain some fresh provisions. They found the old governor a strict disciplinarian, protesting against the strangers landing without having performed quarantine, and he insisted on fumigating the missive sent him before reading it. They might capture the town, to that he had nothing to say—he was not there in a military capacity, but what he had to do he intended to do in strict accordance with his orders. As all the military authorities had run away, and only a few invalid soldiers remained, no resistance was made, and Eupatoria became the first place occupied by the British troops in the Crimea.

Jack, having obtained some Russian coin at Constantinople, was able to purchase provisions. The Tartar inhabitants, finding that they could bring their produce to a good market, were perfectly ready to part with whatever provisions they possessed.

The fleet, now proceeding southward, came to an anchor in a line parallel with the shore, the English to the north, the French and Turks to the south, about five or six miles to the north of the Balaclava River. During the night of the 13th it was arranged that a buoy should be placed, to divide the English and the French fleets, in the centre of the bay. When morning dawned it was found to be afloat almost at the northern end of the bay, having been placed in that position, either from ignorance or treachery, by the French. There was no time for expostulation, the French were found already to have occupied the whole ground. To avoid the risk of a dispute, Sir Edmund Lyons, like a wise man, knowing that a similar landing-place existed a little farther to the north, also with a lake inside it, at once ordered the transports to proceed there and take up their proper places.

The day was fine and the water smooth, and early in the morning the landing commenced. So admirably were the arrangements made that the troops landed in the order they were to take on the march, while the line-of-battle ships remained outside, thus keeping up the communication with a steamer stationed off the mouth of Sebastopol harbour, so that, should the Russian fleet sail out, they might at once proceed to meet it, and prevent it from interfering with the transports. Jack’s ship, and other disengaged steamers, were in the meantime sent to cruise up and down the coast and annoy the enemy. Jack ran down to the south, and communicated with the vessel off the mouth of the harbour. Greatly to his disappointment, no signs were to be perceived among the Russian fleet that they were likely to come out and give battle. Now was their opportunity, if they intended to do so, for their scouts on shore must have informed them that the French and Turkish men-of-war were employed in landing their troops, and for what they could tell the English were similarly occupied.

“You may depend on it,” observed Jack, “by some means or other they know that our ships are ready to meet them, and they feel pretty sure that they would get the worst of it.”

The Tornado, keeping clear of the formidable batteries which frowned defiance from the northern side of the harbour, now stood close inshore. Above her rose a series of cliffs, with a broad plateau on the summit, extending as far as the mouth of the Alma River. A group of tents were near the edge of the cliff.

“Where there are tents there are men,” observed Higson; “are we to fire at them?”

“It is our business to do so,” answered Jack, “though it is not much to my fancy to fire at men who cannot return the compliment. Elevate the guns so as to clear the top of the cliff.” The engines being stopped, the Tornado opened her fire. Presently one tent went down, then another and another, showing that she had got the exact range. The figures of men could be discerned scampering off, leaving their tents to their fate. The engines being put in motion, the ship steamed on till a body of horsemen were discerned, who had apparently come down to ascertain the cause of the firing. Several shot were sent flying close to them, making them wheel about; but before they had got out of sight two other guns were fired, and a horseman was seen to drop from his saddle. The rapid movement of the rest showed that they were wisely anxious to avoid a similar fate.

Near the mouth of the Alma a considerable body of infantry were observed; not being aware of the long range of the stranger’s guns, they stood watching her approach. Suddenly stopping her engines, she opened on them with her whole broadside; two or three were seen to fall, but still they stood their ground.

“They are waiting for orders to march,” observed Higson; “they would be wiser if they took ours.” With considerable reluctance, Jack gave the order to fire another broadside; he did not like shooting down men in cold blood, but yet he must obey his superiors. Scarcely had the smoke of the guns cleared away than the Russians were seen beating a rapid retreat, though they still kept together. Three more shot had the effect of making them increase their speed, and they disappeared behind some rocky ground which afforded them shelter. Here and there some tents were seen, as well as cavalry and infantry, who, however, moved off as the warship approached, well aware, small as she looked, of the mischief she could do them.

Returning to the fleet, where the landing was taking place, Jack found that the greater part of the English infantry were already on shore. From what he had seen, he made his report that the enemy was not likely to make any immediate attack on the invading forces. Still a considerable portion of the cavalry had to be landed; the weather changed for the worse, and rain came down heavily, wetting the troops on shore, who had no tents or protection of any sort, to the skin. Jack received orders to send two of his boats to assist in towing one of the rafts now alongside the transport to the shore. Green had charge of one of them, and Tom and Archie the other. They found two heavy guns already on the raft, with several horses. The detachment of artillerymen belonging to the guns now came down the ship’s side and took their places on board, forming altogether a pretty heavy cargo.

The raft was one of those built at Constantinople, and consisted of two clumsy boats lashed together side by side and boarded over; very well suited for smooth water, but extremely dangerous with a heavy sea running. However, as it was important to get the guns on shore, Green determined to make the attempt. Two of the artillery officers were invited into the men-of-war’s boats, and all being ready, they shoved off, taking the huge raft in tow. By this time it was perfectly dark, and the sea increasing made the operation of towing the raft very heavy work.

“Give way, my lads,” cried Green; “we haven’t far to go; and see, we shall have a warm welcome when we get there.”

He pointed to the beach, which was lit up along its whole length by fires which had been kindled with the planks of several disabled boats and rafts.

The heavy swell tossed the raft about not a little, but the crews pulled away lustily as British seamen always do, and the raft at length approached the shore. The roar on the beach as the surf broke on it was not encouraging; still, orders were to be obeyed. Just then a snorting noise was heard, and a magnificent horse came swimming by, as he splashed the water with his forefeet, surrounding himself with a blaze of phosphorescent light. To catch him was impossible.

“He has probably escaped from a raft which has been capsized,” observed Green; “his chances of being drowned are considerable, though he may have sense to swim back to the ship which brought him here.”

“I hope that won’t be the fate of our own raft,” observed the artillery officer.

“I can’t warrant its safety,” said Green; “had I been asked, I should have advised waiting till the morning; however, we’ll do our best, and it will be a much harder matter to pull back than it has been to reach the shore.”

Just then the light of the fires falling on the raft, showed her to those on the beach, from whence a loud authoritative voice came ordering her to return to the ship.

“More easily said than done,” observed Green.

However, he gave the order to Tom and the officer in command of the other boat to pull round and do their best. Every instant the swell was increasing; the boats’ crews, though pretty well tired, pulled as before. The raft tossed fearfully about, threatening to heave her whole freight of guns, horses, and artillerymen overboard. The latter, with their arms in their hands, shouted out that the boat was about to sink; and sad would be the fate, Green saw, of most of them if it did so; while in the darkness, amid the struggling horses, it would be scarcely possible to pick them all up. The only thing to be done was to pull away with might and main; sometimes, in spite of all their efforts, the raft seemed drifting back to the shore; at others the waves sent it rushing forward, threatening to stave in the sterns of the boats.

“Here’s a pretty piece of work!” observed Tom; “I only hope we shall be able to get hold of one of the transports before long.”

“There’s one ahead of us, if we can but reach her,” said Archie; “there’s nothing like trying.”

Try they did, cheering on the men; and by dint of hard pulling they got within hail of the transport, and asked for help. “We cannot give it you,” was the answer; “we have a boat-load of horses alongside.” A second transport was neared, and then another and another, but all declared their inability to render assistance. Green was almost in despair; the artillerymen were shouting out more lustily than before, asserting that the raft was fast filling. At length the boats managed to tow her up alongside a transport, the master of which responded to their appeal, and assisted them in securing her. Fortunately the artillerymen she had brought out had not yet been landed, and, the officers turning them out of their berths, they assisted the crew in hoisting the horses and guns on board. The gun-carriages, however, being too heavy, were left on board the raft, and she was let drop astern. As, however, their loss made the guns useless, Tom and Archie were sent to the nearest ship to obtain assistance. As they got alongside, they found that she was the Briton, and, Archie having explained matters to his uncle, who was on deck, Commander Murray sent a boat with a fresh crew, by whose means the gun-carriages were at length hoisted on board.

Soon afterwards the sorely-battered raft went to pieces. Tom and Archie were still alongside, when they caught sight of the noble horse which they had seen coming off from the shore still struggling in the waves. Instinct had directed it to the very vessel from which it had been disembarked. Shouting to the crew on deck, they called for slings, which were sent down, and being secured—not without difficulty—round the body of the horse, the animal was lifted safely on board, to all appearance not much the worse for its swim of upwards of two hours.

The weary crews at length got back to their ship. The next day, the wind going down, more of the artillery and horses were landed, and by the evening of the 18th the whole army was on shore without a man being lost; the disembarkation having been superintended by Captain Dacres of the Sanspareil.

The French were posted on the right, close to the sea, the Turks somewhat in their rear, and the English on the left of the line; the duty of protecting the left flank of the army being confided to the British cavalry. The Turks, accustomed to this sort of work, were at once at home, with their tents well pitched, and surrounded by such luxuries as they deemed necessary; while the young troops of England and France, few of whom had seen active warfare, were sitting wet and comfortless round their camp-fires.

The natives, with their black lambskin caps and long pelisses, came to the camp in considerable numbers, bringing provisions, and, what was of more consequence, camels, and carts drawn by oxen for the conveyance of stores.

On the morning of the 19th of September the bugles sounding through the camp aroused all sleepers, and in a short time the army began its march to the southward. The transports, having performed their duty, sailed away for the Bosphorus, while the ships-of-war moved slowly on abreast of the army down the coast, coming to an anchor when it halted, and again weighing when it recommenced its march; the larger ones, for want of water, being obliged to keep at some distance out, while the steamers stood in with the lead going as close as possible, somewhat in advance of the army, throwing in their shot and shells whenever they caught sight of any troops at which to fire.

Towards evening the armies reached the first river in their march, the Bulganak, on the banks of which they bivouacked for the night, in order of battle, as it was thought possible that at dawn they would be attacked by the Russians. The night closed in with rain—bad preparation for the work which all knew would take place on the morrow. The morning dawned more brightly; it was to be the last day many of those brave men in the allied hosts were to see, but few expected to be among the slain. A glorious victory was to be gained by their prowess, they believed, though victory was not to be won without hard fighting. As the sun glanced over the hilltops the steamers got up their steam, and the line-of-battle ships loosed their sails.

Tom and Archie climbed to the masthead, where they determined to remain with telescopes in hand till called down to attend to their duty on deck. In front of them was a line of cliffs extending to the mouth of the Alma, bordering a wide extent of undulating ground. Beyond the Alma rose broken cliffs with a broad plateau on their summit, on which the enormous army of Russia was posted, their lines extending from the coast far away out of sight. In front of the steep hillsides were numerous heavy batteries, capable of sweeping the invading force back into the stream of the Alma, till its waters should run dark with blood. More to the left the French forces could be seen forming in order of battle, with the Turks in the rear, while only for a short distance could the red-coated soldiers of England be distinguished. Now and then a party of horsemen could be made out. When the sun rose, its rays glittered for a moment on the helmets and breastplates of the heavy cavalry as they moved off to protect the left flank of the invading forces.

The hours went slowly by; they were of intense interest to the spectators, and much more so must they have been to those who had to take an active part in the coming strife. Not, however, till eleven o’clock were the armies seen to be advancing. The ships near the cliffs began the action by throwing shot and shell among the Russians posted on the heights. The light infantry regiments could be seen moving in advance, throwing out skirmishers; then came the heavy infantry battalions, with firm tread pressing the ground. At length the blue coats of the French, who had crossed the Alma at its mouth, were observed climbing the rugged heights, the summit of which being gained, they rapidly formed, greatly to the astonishment, apparently, of the Russians, who had not perceived their approach. Now there burst forth from the whole hillside the roar of artillery and the rattle of musketry, so rapidly as to blend into one continuous sound, telling of death to many a brave heart.

“The British are advancing!” cried Tom; “see, they are pushing across the river, but they don’t appear on the hill yet. The Russian skirmishers are disputing the ground with them. What a rattling fire they are keeping up!”

Some time passed by: the redcoats were hotly engaged with the enemy near a large village, that of Bourliouk. In a short time the village burst out into flames, completely hiding the troops on its farther side; then the British were again caught sight of, after they had crossed the river beyond the village, fighting their way up the slope, encountering the fearful fire of the Russians, and small red spots could be discerned on the ground over which they had passed.

Here and there the British redcoats could be distinguished fighting their way up the hillside; but the broken nature of the ground hid the larger number from sight, and it was impossible to discover how the battle was going. Only at length it was seen that the banners of France occupied the ground where the Russians had before stood; still some time passed before they advanced. The Turks remained below, which was a good sign, as it showed that their aid was not required. Now, far away, the redcoats could be discerned scattered over the hillside. Could it be that they were defeated? No; just then a long thin line, like a scarlet thread, was seen amid the smoke, far, far away, moving up the slope, in one spot having a parti-coloured hue.

“Those must be the Guards and Highlanders,” exclaimed Tom. “My brother Sidney will be in for it; I hope he’ll escape, poor fellow. I wish I could be there to help him, if he gets wounded.”

Onward advanced that thin unbroken line up the hill; the brow was reached, when there appeared in front of it a grey mass, which seemed like a square patch of withered grass on the greener herbage. Many such patches were seen sending forth wreaths of smoke from their midst. The midshipmen guessed rightly that it was a column of Russian infantry. From the red column issued a sheet of flame and smoke; not for one moment did it cease. Minutes went by; now that parti-coloured portion of the line reached the summit of the hill and moved on, smoke issuing from it as it moved. The dark mass of the enormous Russian column began to recede before it, at length breaking and scattering in all directions.

The French, meantime, had disappeared, sweeping the enemy before them over the hill, till they were lost to sight. The batteries, which had been pouring their shot down on their assailants, had ceased their fire, for those assailants had already stormed and captured them. The English attack in front had been successful, and more troops, which had been kept in reserve, went streaming up the hill. The whole British and French armies had not only gained the heights, but, as it seemed, were sweeping the Russians before them. The rattle of musketry was now only occasionally heard; then came a few salvoes of artillery, and the fierce uproar which had raged for the last two hours almost ceased.

The slopes which partly faced the sea were the most visible, and on these could be seen numerous red spots—some strewn thickly together, others scattered more apart, marking the places where the Russian fire had carried death and wounds into the British ranks. Still at that distance nothing clearly could be seen.

“It must be the case,” cried Tom at length. “Hurrah! we’ve won, and the Russians are running away; you’ll see that I’m right. Now, my brother will be as anxious as I am to learn how it has fared with Sidney; I hope he’s all right, poor fellow; but I am terribly afraid, with all that firing which has been going on so long, an immense number must have been killed.”

The midshipmen, who had been allowed to retain their seats, were at length called down. There was considerable excitement on board, everybody anxious to hear news from the shore, though no one doubted that a splendid victory had been gained. They had not long to wait; the signal staff set up on shore was soon at work. A complete victory had been gained, and it was requested that boats might be sent immediately on shore with hammocks on which to carry the wounded on board ship. The appeal was quickly responded to. Jack immediately ordered two of his boats to be got ready under the command of Higson, with whom he sent Tom and Archie, giving the two midshipmen permission to make their way on till they could find the Guards, to ascertain the fate of his brother.

Tom was delighted with the duty.

“Stay,” said Jack; “you may find many poor fellows wounded, who will be the better for some brandy, and some may want water. Take as much as you can carry; you’ll not have more than is wanted, I fear.”

Search was made for flasks, and each midshipman carried three, and two bottles of water. Archie, with due forethought, also tore up two of his shirts, which he stuffed into his pockets. Higson followed their example in carrying a supply of spirits and water.

Away the two boats pulled for the beach near the mouth of the Alma, where numerous others were already assembled. For the first half-mile or so, after landing, there were few signs of the conflict, but in a short time they met parties of English and French soldiers carrying wounded men, most of them looking more dead than alive from loss of blood; while, as they advanced, they found numerous tents set up, in which the surgeons were already at work amputating arms and legs, and dressing the more severe wounds. Where the conflict had raged the hottest, the surgeons, who had followed closely the advancing forces, were employed with tourniquets doing their utmost to stop the life-blood flowing from the veins of the wounded. Although the two midshipmen had seen a good deal of fighting, they both turned sick as they gazed at the fearful wounds inflicted by the round-shot.

The road they took leading them some way to the north of the Alma, it was only after they had proceeded a considerable distance that they came to the part of the ground where the English had chiefly fought. On the eastern side was the burned village of Bourliouk; the hillside was covered with the corpses of the men of the infantry regiments, intermingled with the bodies of the grey-coated, helmeted Russians. The cries of the wounded soon attracted those who came to succour them, and the seamen under Higson were speedily laden with wounded men. After the wounded had been inspected by a surgeon, and pronounced fit to be removed, the party set off to return to the boats, while Tom and Archie made their way up the hill in the track the Guards had taken, Tom looking out anxiously on every side in search of his brother, whom he dreaded to find among the killed.

They met numerous parties of soldiers, with a few sailors, who had already landed, some carrying wounded men towards the village on the banks of the Alma, the houses of which had been turned into hospitals; others going in search of fresh burdens. The work of burying the dead, who thickly strewed the ground in those parts where the fight had raged the hottest, had not yet commenced; the living men had first to be cared for. Here and there surgeons of the army, as well as many of the navy, who had landed even before the battle was over, were attending to the more desperate cases requiring immediate aid. The Russians received the same attention as the English, and were at once carried off to the hospitals. Some poor fellows lay under the walls and other shelter, where they had crawled after being wounded; the larger number were found where they fell.

Tom was in a hurry to push on, while he looked about on every side for the uniform of the Guards. From all quarters came groans and cries, and the midshipmen could not resist stopping to afford some relief to the sufferers. Several Russians lay with their heads placed on the corpses of their brother soldiers; some had their arms, others their legs, blown away by round-shot. One poor fellow was still alive, though both his thighs had been thus broken. He had strength to point to his lips, and Tom, kneeling by his side, poured some water down his throat. The dying man cast a grateful look at the young officer, but before they left him he expired. Several had their heads blown off; others, who had their faces carried away, presented the most dreadful spectacle.

At length Tom exclaimed, “There are some Guardsmen!” Several high bearskin caps marked the spot to which he pointed; the first men they came to were dead, but higher up the hill they saw more. One of them was alive, with a bad wound in his side, and a shot through his arm; he was apparently bleeding to death. Archie produced his bandages, while Tom poured some brandy down his throat. It contributed to revive him; Tom inquired eagerly if he had seen Captain Rogers.

“Yes, sir,” was the answer; “he was marching on with the regiment when I fell.”

Having done their best to stop the blood flowing from the man’s wound, Tom and Archie hurried forward. Farther to the right the ground was still more thickly covered with corpses. On examining them, Tom observed that though many were Guardsmen, they did not belong to his brother’s regiment. Several officers lay dead, numerous Russians mingled with the British. The greater number appeared to have been shot by bullets, but several had been killed by the bayonet or sword, and exhibited ghastly wounds. Apparently, the wounded officers had been removed, for none were seen alive. Numerous helmets, knapsacks, and other accoutrements thrown away by the Russians, together with the greater number of their dead, showed that they had been put to flight by the victorious advance of the British.

“This is terrible,” cried Tom; “I had often pictured a battlefield, but I had not fancied it anything like so horrible as this is.”

“It must be worse to the poor fellows who lie scattered about us, suffering fearful tortures from their wounds,” answered Archie, “with the prospect of dying from them; or even if they recover, being maimed for life.”

“I hope poor Sidney is not among them,” exclaimed Tom, for the twentieth time; “I can’t help thinking more of him than of anyone else.”

Making inquiry of some soldiers whom they at length met with stretchers carrying the wounded men they had picked up, Tom asked if they could tell him over what ground the—

Guards had passed.

“You must keep farther to the left,” was the answer; “you will come upon some dead Highlanders, and they are just beyond them.”

The bonnets of the Highlanders were soon discovered, and not far off the tall bearskins showed where the Guards had fought. The midshipmen, however, made but slow progress, for they could not help stopping to relieve those who required their aid, both friends and foes, till Archie had used up all his bandages, and their spirits and water were nearly expended. As Tom had not found Sidney, his spirits rose with the hope that, at all events, he might have escaped being killed. The enormous number of Russian dead, who were now seen covering the plain, showed the part of the ground where the last desperate conflict had taken place. Whole ranks of the enemy had fallen under the withering fire of the Guards and Highlanders. In one spot they came upon an entire line of Russians, every man of whom had been shot down apparently at the same moment; indeed, far as the eye could reach on either side, the plain was thickly strewn with the dead.

At length a long line of upright figures was seen arrayed on the left, with numerous banners waving above their heads, and horsemen moving to and fro; the red hue on the left showing where the victorious soldiers of England stood, halted on the battlefield, while on the right appeared the masses of the French army, with the Turkish troops who had marched forward to their support. They occupied the ground on which they were to bivouac before advancing again in pursuit of the flying foe.

The midshipmen made their way towards the troops on the left, and were able, by looking at the lofty bearskins of the Guards, to find out the regiment to which Sidney Rogers belonged. Almost breathless with eagerness, Tom inquired for his brother.

“He is there,” said a sergeant, pointing to a spot where a group of officers stood together, eagerly discussing the events of the day.

Tom, unable to restrain his feelings, gave a shout of joy, in which Archie joined him. As they hurried forward, Sidney advanced to meet them, and they were soon shaking him heartily by the hand, and congratulating him on his escape and the victory he had contributed to win.

“I am thankful to have come out of it unhurt,” said Sidney, “especially when I hear of the number of officers who have been killed; between twenty and thirty, at all events; and not far short of a hundred wounded.”

Tom then gave Jack’s message, and delivered a case containing a few luxuries brought from the ship. The midshipmen could not, however, remain long, as they had received orders to return at night, and the day was now rapidly closing. They were brave youngsters, but they had no wish to be compelled to make their way over the battlefield in the darkness, amid the dying and the dead. Wishing Sidney good-bye, they rapidly retraced their steps; as they once more descended the hill, their ears were assailed with cries and groans, but as they had no longer any means of assisting the unhappy sufferers, they hurried on. At the foot of the hill they reached the road which ran along the bank of the river, having to pass in their way close to the smouldering ruins of the village which had been set on fire at the commencement of the battle. Here it was supposed that several English as well as Russian riflemen had perished, while engaged with each other, the flames having spread round them before they had time to make their escape.

It was already dark when one of the Tornado’s boats came to take them off. Neither of them were very much inclined to talk of what they had seen; and even Jack, when they got on board, had some difficulty in gaining more information from them than the fact that they had found Sidney safe and well. After a glass or two of wine, however, Jack drew forth an account of the scenes they had witnessed on the battlefield. Tom often shuddered as he described the fearful condition of the wounded, and the numbers of dead they had seen.

Next morning they were all to rights, and were ready to go in charge of a fresh party of seamen, who were sent on shore to bring off more of the wounded. All day long the seamen were engaged in collecting the wounded men and carrying them to the hospitals, or bringing them off to the ships; while parties, told off from the different regiments, were employed in burying the dead, generally in large pits, into which friends and foes were tumbled without much ceremony. All the time bodies of cavalry were kept patrolling on the left to guard the people employed in the service from the attacks of the Cossacks, who were seen hovering in the distance, ready to pounce down upon any unwary stragglers.

As soon as Jack had received on board as many wounded officers and men as he could accommodate, he proceeded to Constantinople to place them in the hospitals which had been got ready for their reception. Several died on the voyage, some of their wounds and some of cholera, which killed many officers and men after the battle. Jack was eager to get back again to see what was going forward. Hopes had been entertained that the allies would at once enter Sebastopol; but the news had reached Constantinople that, instead of doing so, they had marched round the city and had posted themselves on its southern side, the English having occupied the harbour of Balaclava, while their army had taken up a position on the ground above it, extending towards the fortifications of Sebastopol.

The Tornado was still steaming at full speed across the Bosphorus, when, soon after dawn, though still out of sight of land, a loud booming of guns came from the northward over the calm water. “There is another furious battle going forward,” said the first lieutenant to the commander, who had just come on deck; “I wish we were there—can the fleet be engaged?”

“I very much doubt that the Russians will have ventured out of their harbour,” answered Jack; “I suspect rather that the allies have commenced the bombardment of the city. The last account stated that they were busy preparing for it, and I think it probable that the admirals will take the fleet in to engage the sea-batteries.”

“They will not do much against those stone walls, unless they are complete shams,” observed Higson; “however, we shall be there before long, and if there is an honest battle at sea going on, I hope we shall be in time to take part in it.”

Of course there was great excitement on board, everyone looking out eagerly for the land. Surmises of all sorts were made as to what was going forward. The engineers did their best to urge the steamer along, but the wind was so light that the sails were wholly useless. Billy Blueblazes and Dicky Duff, who were somewhat jealous of Tom and Archie having been on shore, were eager to be there to see the “fun,” as they called it.

“I can tell you fellows that it is no fun at all,” said Tom, who had become unusually grave since he had visited the battlefield of the Alma; “I have got a brother there, and in all probability he is in the midst of the fight.”

“And if the fleets are engaged, I have got a cousin who is as dear to me as a brother,” observed Archie, “and I don’t want any harm to happen to him. You youngsters talk glibly of fighting; but let me hear what you have to say about it when you have seen the thing in reality. It is a necessary evil, but an evil notwithstanding.”

The younger midshipmen laughed, and declared that it was just what they had come to sea for. “So did we too,” said Tom; “but only because it’s our duty to fight to protect our country—not that I can see that we forward that object by coming out here to attack the Russians.”

Soon afterwards, “Land! land!” was heard from the masthead, adding to the excitement of all on board. At length the high cliffs of the Chersonese appeared in sight; the thunder of the guns, as the ship advanced, increasing in loudness. Now the fleet could be seen coming forward from the roads off the Katcha River to the north; no sails were set, as the ships had either their own steam-power, or were moved by steamers lashed alongside.

“The French fleet are leading,” observed Jack to Higson; “it is evident then that their destined position is the southern end of the line, and that our ships are to attack Fort Constantine and the other forts on the north side of the harbour.” Slowly the proud ships glided onwards, but not a shot was fired from them; they were still out of range of the forts. It was already near one o’clock in the afternoon. In the French division thirteen ships could be counted, two of them carrying the Turkish flag. Onward they glided in admirable order, still preserving perfect silence.

“To my mind,” observed Higson, “they would be likely to do much more good if they were farther in, and my belief is that so they would be if they had English captains to fight them.”

“Probably the French admiral is afraid of getting his ships on shore were he to stand in closer,” observed Jack, who held the French in more respect than did his first lieutenant. At length, as the French ships came within range, the Russian forts opened their fire, but still no reply was made. The whole French squadron had now one by one anchored at exact distances from each other, extending more than half-way across the harbour; then the signal was given, and the roar of six hundred guns broke the silence which had hitherto prevailed, the dense clouds of smoke which arose almost concealing them from sight. At the same moment the English flagship was seen to throw out a signal, when three of the English steam-frigates, which had been standing inshore, commenced firing away at the northern forts. Another signal presently went up, and the Agamemnon was seen gliding on at more rapid speed than heretofore towards the shore, some little distance to the north of Fort Constantine, the nearest point which a shoal running off from the land would allow her to reach. A gallant little steamer, the Circassian, was observed leading the way, fearless of the shot which the guns of the fort threw at her. As the Agamemnon passed the Sanspareil, which had been ahead of her, hearty cheers resounded from their crews, and then both commenced firing, clouds of smoke quickly enveloping them and assisting to baffle the gunners of the two batteries on the high ground above them. Meantime the Britannia, Trafalgar, Vengeance, Queen, Rodney, and Bellerophon, were proceeding southward in order to complete the line across the harbour, while the Sanspareil, London, Arethusa, and Albion took up positions to the northward of the Agamemnon.

Not till afterwards, of course, did Jack hear of the gallant conduct of Mr Ball, in command of the little steam-tender Circassia, which was seen ahead of the Agamemnon, taking soundings for her, and leading her close up to the shoal. Sir Edmund told him that his ship would probably be sunk, and undertook to have his boats in readiness to pick up him and his crew should such an event occur. As the tender moved ahead of the great ship, the lead-line was struck out of the leadsman’s hands; but another line was immediately found, and the little vessel continued her course. Though she received nine shots in her hull, the leadsman was the only man wounded on board. Having performed her duty, she steamed off out of harm’s way. The Agamemnon was, however, so well placed to the north-west, that the rear guns only of the fort could be brought to bear on her, and as she was much nearer in than the enemy expected, most of their shot struck her masts and rigging.

So close was the Sanspareil to her stern that that ship’s foremost guns could not at first be fired. This made it necessary for her to haul off, but it was only to return to render her able support to the Agamemnon. The greater number of the ships were now hotly engaged, well-nigh twelve hundred guns firing rapidly away at the various forts, and crumbling the upper works of the nearest to pieces; but still all the time the iron shower sent by the Russians came crashing on board the ships of the allies, sending many a brave seaman to his account, and wounding a far greater number.

“The admiral is signalising us,” exclaimed Higson; “we are to run alongside the Briton, and carry her into action.”

No sooner had he uttered the words, than a loud cheer arose from the crew; in a short time, having obeyed the order she had received, they were where they had longed to be—in the line of battle, under the enemy’s fire, the Briton having, as was the case with many of the other ships, landed a considerable number of her people to join the naval brigade on shore. A portion of the Tornado’s crew were called on board to assist in working her guns; happy did those consider themselves who were thus employed. Among the officers were Mr Mildmay and Tom and Archie. As they were stationed on the upper deck, they could occasionally see, when the dense wreaths which encircled the combatants blew by, what was going forward. Mr Mildmay stood as cool as usual, every now and then pulling out his notebook and making notes in it.

“I really believe,” said Tom to Archie, laughing, “that he’s writing a poetical description of the battle. Perhaps it’s a song, to be called ‘The Battle of Sebastopol’—‘There we lay, all that day, At stone walls a-blazing away!’”

“I wonder when the Russians intend to give in—it doesn’t seem much like it at present,” observed Archie; “I expected that we should sail up the harbour and sink their ships.”

“They’ve done that already themselves, right across the mouth. I heard the first lieutenant tell the master so,” said Tom.

“I only wish that they were afloat, and that we were fighting them instead of these forts,” observed Archie. “When we have knocked them to pieces, I don’t see what good they will do us.”

“Why, of course, to help the soldiers on shore to get into the place,” answered Tom.

These remarks, which were made at intervals between the firing of their guns, were cut short by a shot killing two of the crew of one of the guns under Tom’s command. He had to summon others to take their places; after this he felt very little inclination to talk, nor, indeed, had he much opportunity of doing so. The position of those who remained on board the steamer was very trying; they had nothing to do, but were tolerably secure from damage, while the enemy’s shot went flying over their heads. Hour after hour the battle continued to rage, the troops on shore being hotly engaged with the batteries turned towards them, the thundering roar of their guns answering to those of the ships. Never, perhaps, in the same space of time had so many round-shot and shells been flying through the air.

Little more could be seen of the ships in line across the harbour’s mouth. The French remained stationary, but some of the English frequently moved their positions to the support of Sir Edmund Lyons and the inshore squadron, which were enduring the brunt of the battle, exposed as they were to the tremendous fire from Fort Constantine and other batteries. Now flames were seen to burst forth from the Queen, when, a steamer taking her in tow, she stood off to extinguish them. Some time afterwards the Albion was seen to be on fire, fearfully mauled and unable to fire a shot, with the risk of drifting on shore. She also stood off, helped by the steamer attending her.

The Rodney was now seen standing in to support the Agamemnon when she took the ground, and though exposed to a tremendous fire, she continued fighting her guns. It seemed almost impossible that she should escape destruction, but she still kept firing away till, two steamers going to her assistance, she at length got clear. Not till darkness came on did the battle cease, when the ships returned to their anchorage. Jack was thankful to find that Murray and the midshipmen had escaped, though five of his own crew and many more of the Briton’s had been killed. The next morning the “butcher’s bill,” as Jos Green called it, was made out, when it was found out that forty-four British seamen had lost their lives, and that two hundred and sixty-six had been wounded, while the Albion and Arethusa had been so knocked about in their hulls and rigging that the admiral sent them off to Malta to be repaired.

The French ships presented a still more disabled appearance, and had lost altogether in killed and wounded under two hundred men. Then came the question, what had been done? and the opinion generally was that, although a good many of the Russians might have been killed, no essential damage had been done to the forts, and that it would be wiser in future for the ships to let them alone.

“I suppose the work of the fleet is pretty well over,” said Murray to Jack, who had gone on board the Briton, “unless we have to attack other places along the coast. You will probably be sent on that service, and I confess I envy you.”

“I hope we shall,” was the answer; “though I am afraid that at present we shall be employed as a despatch-boat. I should like to see what is going forward on shore, and shall be glad if I can take a turn of duty with the naval brigade, but I have very little hopes of that.”

Chapter Sixteen.

The Tornado at Balaclava—The Allied Camps—Russian Cavalry and Highlanders—The Flying Turks and the Highland Wife—Charge of the Heavy Brigade—“Into the Valley of Death rode the Six Hundred!”—Death of Captain Nolan—After the Battle—Tom and Archie propose to leave the Navy for the Army, but think better of it—Their Visit to the Guards’ Camp—The Stern Realities of War—Attacked by the Russians—The Midshipmen in the thick of the Fight.

The Tornado had been ordered to proceed to Balaclava. She entered that landlocked harbour, on the southern end of the Crimea, on the evening of the 24th of October. As she was to remain there the whole of the next day, Jack resolved to take the opportunity of paying a visit to his brother Sidney, and seeing what was going forward before Sebastopol. There was no time to set off that evening; he, however, landed with his second lieutenant and some of his younger officers, including Tom and Archie, to have a look at the country, and to engage horses for the next day.

Steep hills rose on either side of the harbour, on the right of which the little town was situated, with steep, narrow streets leading down to the water’s edge. Above it was a line of defences, garrisoned by the bluejackets forming the naval brigade, and the marines of the fleet. To the left, across the Chersonese, ran the road to Sebastopol; while directly in front, connected by a gorge with the harbour, was a broad valley, called the South Valley. Beyond this rose a ridge known as the Causeway Heights, on which were situated six redoubts, garrisoned by the Turks, to whom had been committed what formed the outward defences of Balaclava; along this causeway ran the Woronzoff Road. At the eastern extremity of the valley there was a knoll between five and six hundred feet in height, joining the Kamara Hills to the right by a neck of high ground, the knoll jutting out over the valley, as a promontory does over the sea. This knoll, on which Number 1 redoubt had been thrown up, was called by the allies Canrobert’s Hill. On the western extremity of the valley was the Col, or gap through which the road passed to Sebastopol. Eastward of Canrobert’s Hill were the village and heights of Kamara; completely overlooking it. On the farther side of the Causeway Heights was what was called the North Valley, with a range of heights rising out of it on the opposite side, denominated the Fedoukine Hills.

Jack and his party, having ascended from Balaclava to the height of Saint Elias, could look down into the South Valley, at the left end of which they saw the tents of the heavy and light cavalry, with their horses picketed about them, while just below them were encamped Sir Colin Campbell’s Highlanders. Horses, mules, carts, and vehicles of all sorts were making their way from the harbour along the well-beaten road to the allied camps. Not a foe was in sight; some of the officers in command of the marines and bluejackets, who garrisoned the lines extending from Saint Elias to the sea, whom Jack met, told him, however, that there were rumours of the Russians not being far-off, and that they should not be surprised if before long they were attacked.

“You’ll lick them, of course,” said Tom; “but I should think they had enough of fighting on the Alma.”

“I am not so certain of that,” was the answer; “the Russians are brave fellows, and they would like to drive us into the sea if they could.”

After spending some time with his friends, Jack returned on board, having arranged to start at daybreak the next morning. Tom and Archie again accompanied their commander. They turned out before daylight, and Jack, who was anxious to see as much as he could of the operations before Sebastopol, was ready to go on shore directly day broke. Their horses were sorry steeds, but would save them fatigue, and enable them to get over the ground faster than they could on foot. Remembering how acceptable were the provisions they had before taken to Sidney, Tom and Archie each carried a couple of baskets full of different articles of provender, from which they might also supply themselves when they got hungry.

Jack had promised to call upon another officer who had been sleeping on shore in the marines’ quarters, and who had undertaken to act as their guide. As they were mounting the hill, the loud thunder of guns broke on their ears. “I suppose those are the siege guns,” observed Tom; “they begin work pretty early.”

“No; they came from the direction of Canrobert’s Hill, to the eastward,” answered Jack; “away on our right. They must be the Turkish guns in the redoubts.”

They hurried up the height, whence they could look down on the South Valley and across the line of redoubts held by the Turks. They were quickly joined by Jack’s friend, who, riding up, exclaimed, “We shall have some warm work before the day is over. Look, look! there come the Russians in great force over those distant heights. They evidently intend to attack the redoubts. Yes, I was sure of it; see, their leading division has already commenced the assault on Canrobert’s Hill.”

One of the first objects which had caught the eyes of the naval officer was the English cavalry already mounted and drawn up in front of their camps. A general officer, accompanied by other horsemen, probably his staff, went galloping by from the direction of the harbour.

“There goes Lord Cardigan to join the cavalry,” observed their friend; “he has been sleeping as usual on board his yacht; a pleasant way of campaigning, eh, Rogers? However, he is no carpet knight, and if the Russians come into the valley, we shall see what he and his cavalry can do.”

As far as the eye could reach Jack saw masses of Russians, some advancing southward, others apparently turning off to the right along the North Valley, when they were hidden from sight by the intervening ridge. Besides the Turks, the only troops to oppose them were the cavalry at the west end of the valley, the 93rd Highlanders, under Sir Colin Campbell, and the marines and naval brigade on the heights above Balaclava, with a battery of field-guns. Some little way from the foot of the hills, and almost directly in front of the gorge leading to the harbour, in which stood the little village of Kadikoi, was a long, low hillock running east and west, and inside it—that is to say, to the south of it—was the Highland camp. On this hillock the gallant 93rd was drawn up.

An officer had been observed galloping at full speed towards Sebastopol, evidently to inform the commander-in-chief of the appearance of the foe. Jack at once abandoned all idea of visiting Sidney, as he was sure that the chief part of the fighting, if there was to be a battle, would not be far-off. The Russians, who had for some minutes been assaulting the first Turkish battery, now pushed forward in overwhelming numbers. In vain the Turks fought to defend the post committed to them; the enemy swarmed over their entrenchments, while at the same time another equally large body assailed the second redoubt. For some time the fight raged fiercely, the Turks were defending themselves with their accustomed bravery—a few hundred men against the seemingly countless hordes led to the attack.

“If they can but hold out till the arrival of the succour Lord Raglan will certainly send them, it will be a great thing, but the odds are fearfully against them,” observed Jack.

Scarcely had he made the remark when one or two figures were seen leaping over the trenches and descending the hill; more followed, “as fast,” Tom declared, “as sand runs out through the hole in the bottom of a bag;” and then came others, till all the survivors of those who had garrisoned the fort were in full flight. In a few minutes the Turks in Number 2 battery, also taking to flight, came scampering down the side of the hill, making their way across the valley. Jack could only hope that the remainder of the batteries might be held till relief could reach them. As it proved, he was disappointed; presently the Turks in all the other batteries, seeing the fate of their countrymen, broke away from their posts, and, rushing at headlong speed down the hillside, were seen crossing the valley to Balaclava, those who were escaping from the two first batteries being followed by Cossack cavalry spearing all they overtook. Had not the English light cavalry made a demonstration as if about to charge, many more would have been killed. Meanwhile the Russian artillery poured down upon them the fire of their guns. As they approached, a naval officer who had hurried to the ground did his best to rally them, but though he succeeded with some, nothing could stop the rest till they reached the neighbourhood of the harbour.

Jack and his party hurried down to assist the officer, who, with cheery voice and gestures, was endeavouring to rally the Turks and induce them to form up on the right of the Highlanders. Having done all they could, the party rode up to higher ground, whence they could better witness what was going forward. In the far distance, to the north of the Col, Jack could distinguish through his glass a group of officers whom he guessed must be Lord Raglan and his staff, who had hastened up to direct the coming battle, while the heads of French and English columns were observed marching from the direction of Sebastopol. Soon after this, Jack and his companions, who were watching the English cavalry, expecting to see some of them sent in pursuit of the Cossacks, greatly to their surprise observed the whole of them moving away to the northward over the ridge till they were lost to sight, summoned, apparently, by one of Lord Raglan’s aides-de-camp, thus leaving Balaclava without any other defence than the Highlanders and the battery of field-guns.

At this juncture a large body of Russian cavalry appeared in the direction of the third and fourth redoubts, having come thus far up the North Valley. Just then the English batteries on the edge of the Chersonese opened on them; this turned them, and they came moving over the causeway, as if about to descend into the South Valley, while the Russian artillery, which had advanced over the ridge, opened fire on the Highlanders and Turks, who were posted at the foot of Balaclava heights. Sir Colin, therefore, ordered them to move back to the foot of a hillock which they had before crowned, and to lie down under shelter. Directly afterwards four squadrons of the Russian cavalry, detached from the larger mass, came shaping their way across the southern valley towards the gorge which led to the harbour, the defence of which had been confided to the Highlanders, who were now supported by a hundred invalid soldiers, marched up from Balaclava. Directly the Russian cavalry were seen, the greater number of the Turks, thoroughly disorganised by their previous defeat, again took to flight, and rushed off towards the harbour, shrieking out, “Ship! ship! ship!” as if their only hope of escaping was to get on board the vessels in the harbour. The Highlanders, who were still lying down, watched them with contemptuous looks, and not a little merriment, as they observed the frightened expression of their countenances. Within sight, behind them, was the Highlanders’ camp. As the terror-stricken Osmanlis were scampering away past it, some even attempting to find shelter within, there issued forth a tall figure with a thick stick in hand, who, by her dress, was seen to be a female of Amazonian proportions.

Shouting loudly in Gaelic, she ordered the fugitive Turks to return to their ranks, but her voice being unheeded, she placed herself before them and attempted to drive them back with her cudgel. Her efforts being still of no avail, after striking at several on either side, she rushed at a big, burly-looking Turk who was coming headlong towards her, and, seizing him by his jacket, began belabouring his back and head with a fury which was likely to prove as effective as the shot of the enemy, from whom he was trying to escape, in sending him to enjoy the bliss of Paradise.

Shouts of laughter burst from her friends in the distance as they witnessed her exploit. The Osmanli on whom she had seized roared out for mercy, till at length she let him go, giving him a shove towards the position he had deserted, while she kept flourishing her club behind him till he returned to his post. Whether or not she added materially to the strength of Sir Colin’s force may be doubted, but the incident had a good effect upon her Highland countrymen; reminding them that they had not only their own lives to defend, but hers and others in the camp in their rear. In spite of the serious state of affairs, Jack and those around him could not help bursting into fits of laughter, though they themselves were not free from danger, for occasionally a round-shot came flying towards them from the Russian guns, but with not sufficient frequency to make them shift the advantageous ground they occupied for witnessing what was going forward.

Sir Colin was now left, exclusive of a small body of Turks who still kept their ground, with scarcely six hundred men to defend the approach to Balaclava.

The veteran general felt the gravity of the occasion; but his stout heart did not quail, for he knew well that the brave men under him would stand firm. Riding down the line, he exclaimed to them, “Remember, there is no retreat from here, men; you must die where you stand.”

“Ay, ay, Sir Colin, we’ll do that,” cried the Highlanders. The four squadrons of Russian cavalry, amounting to not less than six hundred men, now approached over the northern side of the valley, making direct for the gorge; apparently ignorant that a body of English troops were ready to bar their way, and evidently hoping to seize one of the batteries on the side of the passage. Sir Colin allowed them to come within long-musket range of the hillock, when he gave the word to his Highlanders, who, springing up, in an instant afterwards crowned the whole length of the ridge, forming a line only two deep; Sir Colin, confiding in their muscular power and the nature of the ground they occupied, not deeming it necessary to throw them into square. When they saw their enemy before them, they exhibited the greatest desire to rush down into the plain and charge the cavalry with their bayonets.

“Ninety-third! Ninety-third!” cried the old general fiercely; “none of that eagerness.” Sir Colin’s stern voice checked the men, who now opened their fire. The Russians, evidently taken by surprise, wheeled to the left and swept round, apparently intending to attack the Highlanders on the right flank. Immediately the Grenadier company of the 93rd brought its left shoulder forward to show a front to the north-east, and, pouring in a rattling fire, compelled the Russian squadron again to wheel to the left, and retreat much faster than they had come. On this the English battery opened fire, considerably scattering the horsemen, as they galloped back across the valley to the north to join the main body, which was seen coming over the ridge, increasing every moment in size. It looked, indeed, more as if the whole surface of the earth was moving, so compact was the dusky mass of the several thousand units which composed it.

Onward it advanced, as if about to descend into the South Valley. Now was the Russian general’s opportunity. As far as he could then see, he had only a weak battery and six hundred infantry opposed to his enormous band of horsemen. By making a sudden dash across the valley he might annihilate the 93rd before the still distant infantry of the allies could come to Sir Colin’s relief.

“Matters look serious,” observed Jack. “We can scarcely dare to hope that the Highlanders will be able to withstand the charge of that prodigious body of cavalry; and if they give way, the Russians will quickly be into Balaclava. We ought to be on board to fight the ship or to get her out of the harbour, though I don’t like to leave the ground while there is the chance of a turn in the state of affairs.”

“They’ll not venture on it,” answered his friend. “See! see!”

As he spoke, the cavalry halted on the side of the hill to the east of Number 5 redoubt. The Russian commander had indeed some reason to hesitate, for, besides the English battery posted in his front on the side of Kadikoi, which would play upon him as he advanced, he might have seen the leading files of a French column appearing through the Col, and which might, before he could overthrow the little band of Highlanders, attack him on the flank.

Just then also Jack distinguished, coming round from the north end of the ridge, several squadrons of English dragoons, their burnished helmets and breastplates glittering brightly in the rays of the sun. These were the Scots Greys, the Inniskillings, and two regiments of Dragoon Guards. They moved along at some distance from each other, riding carelessly, as if not aware of the near vicinity of the enemy. The rough nature of the ground had hitherto hidden the Russians from their view, and prevented the latter from seeing them. Scarcely, however, had their leaders caught sight of the foe than their decision was made. While one party came between the two cavalry camps, the larger body formed up to the north of the light cavalry camp, directly in front of the head of the Russian squadron.

“I do believe our cavalry are going to attack the Russians!” exclaimed Jack.

“No doubt about it,” answered his friend. “That is General Scarlett at their head, with his aide-de-camp—and see, that must be Lord Lucan who has ridden up to him.”

What was to be done could only be judged by the movements of the squadrons. About three hundred British horsemen, composed of Inniskillings and Scots Greys, were forming in line with as much care as if they were on parade. Another body of cavalry, the Dragoon Guards, were moving to the right; while two others farther off, also Dragoon Guards and Royals, formed more to the north. The arrangements were speedily made. Lord Lucan came galloping back towards the Inniskillings; and General Scarlett, accompanied by three other persons on horseback, was seen to place himself at the head of the Scots Greys and a squadron of the Inniskillings. The enemy’s cavalry had now halted on the slope of the hill. General Scarlett giving the order to advance, his sword glittering in the rays of the sun, he, with his three companions, dashed forward, followed by the gallant troop of cavalry, their horses’ hoofs shaking the ground as they rushed towards the enormous body of Russians.

“They must be swallowed up and annihilated,” exclaimed one of Jack’s companions.

“They have no intention of letting the Russians do that to them,” answered Jack; “though I fear the general and his comrades will be cut to pieces before the rest of the men overtake them.”

There was but little time, however, for making many remarks. Onward at full gallop went that gallant band of horsemen, their leaders still fifty yards in advance, while a shower of bullets poured from the Russian ranks. Every moment it was expected that the Russians would charge, but still motionless they stood awaiting their foe. Now, like a thunderbolt, Scarlett and his three hundred horsemen hurled themselves on the Russian cavalry, he and his companions still keeping the lead, and appearing like a sharp point of the mighty wedge of red which was clearing its onward way amid the dark-grey mass of Russians, the swords of the British troopers flashing as they whirled them right and left, or pointed them at the foe; the clash of steel and the muttered roar of the combatants being heard far away across the valley. On and on went those daring horsemen, till the greater number seemed engulfed, though not overwhelmed; for still the red coats and those flashing blades could be seen ever surging onward amid the surrounding mass of grey.

The Russians had thrown out a wing on their left flank; and notwithstanding the prowess of the British horsemen in their midst, there were no signs of their giving way. The spectators on the heights watched the combatants with a burning anxiety, expressed by the broken ejaculations they now and anon uttered. Still the tall horsemen, towering above their dark-coated antagonists, moved here and there, cutting their way as best they could amid the mass, who yielded as they advanced, only to close again. Anxiety for the fate of those who had thus hurled themselves amid numberless foes continued to increase, when the regiment of Inniskilling Dragoons on the English right went thundering down on the Russian left flank, while the Dragoon Guards dashed forward to attack their front. The Royals next advanced at the gallop towards the squadron sent out on the Russian right flank, and another regiment of dragoons which had just appeared on the ground, keeping close under the hill, assailed the enemy on the same flank; while numerous other horsemen, among whom was a butcher in his shirt-sleeves, and several without helmets or breastplates, were seen galloping up from the camp to join in the fight.

Scarcely had the last-arrived squadron of Inniskillings cast itself at headlong speed on the Russians than their deep-serried ranks began to relax. Many an eye was watching the gallant leader of the charge, who, fighting his way round to the right, with a portion of his troopers, at length emerged on the left flank of the Russians, shortly afterwards followed by the colonel of one of the regiments; who immediately ordered the trumpeter to sound the rally, the other officers also quickly re-forming their men.

The whole mass of Russians had by this time begun to heave upwards against the slope of the hill; the horsemen on the outside were first seen breaking away, and the next instant the whole of the vast body began to disperse, retreating, and endeavouring to save themselves by flight, followed by some of the victorious troopers; who were, however, as speedily as possible recalled, to save them from being exposed to the fire of the Russian artillery, which would have opened on them from the opposite heights. As the enemy were seen in flight, the 93rd, which had been among the most eager of the spectators, greeted them from afar by a loud cheer; while Sir Colin Campbell, his countenance beaming with delight, was seen to gallop forward, and, taking off his hat, to compliment the Greys on their gallantry. Long as the time had appeared during which this strange combat had taken place, Jack, on pulling out his watch, discovered that but eight minutes had passed from the time when General Scarlett at the head of his three hundred threw himself at his foes till they were in full flight up the hill.

Jack and his naval companions, who freely criticised all that occurred, had been watching with astonishment the Light Brigade, to the number of nearly seven hundred, who all this time, drawn up on the side of the hill, had been spectators of the fight without attempting to take the least part in it. “I suppose we shall hear all about it,” said Jack, “but to me it seems one of the most surprising things; and I suspect that the fellows themselves must have chafed not a little at being thus kept back, when they would have done such good service by following the enemy, and rendering their overthrow even more complete than it has been.”

As there appeared to be no more chance of seeing any fighting where they then were, the party of naval officers directed their course towards the high ground on the Chersonese, whence they could look up the North Valley, at the eastern end of which it was evident the greater part of the Russian army was posted. As they rode along, they passed two French brigades, which had hitherto been watching the South Valley. The French officers greeted them in a friendly way, one and all expressing their admiration at the gallant exploit just performed by the Heavy Brigade. They caught sight directly afterwards of an English brigade, which they learned was General Cathcart’s, coming down from the Chersonese. Trotting on, they themselves were about to climb up the heights on their left, where Lord Raglan and his staff were stationed, when some of the party proposed that they should turn to the right along the Woronzoff Road, in the direction of the redoubts now occupied by the Russians.

“We shall be able to beat a timely retreat, if necessary,” said Jack; “and we shall, from one of the higher points, have a view of what is going forward in the North Valley as well as in the South.”

Without further discussion as to the wisdom of their proceeding, they trotted on eastward along the Woronzoff Road, keeping a bright look-out ahead, in order that they might avoid getting under the fire of the Russian riflemen who might be advancing along the causeway. Before leaving the hills of Balaclava, they had observed that the Russians had not got farther west along the causeway than Number 3 redoubt, known as the Aratabia redoubt. On they went, till they reached a height a little to the west of Number 4 redoubt, whence they had an excellent view up and down the North Valley, as well as across it to the Fedoukine Hills, where they saw that the Russians were strongly posted.

The Light Brigade had by this time moved from its former position down into the western end of the North Valley, where also the heavy cavalry regiments were drawn up, as well as the magnificent body of French cavalry, under General Maurice. Far-off, at the distance of a mile and a half, they could see a large battery of Russian guns, supported by enormous masses of cavalry. Jack and his companions continued their comments on all they saw.

“To my mind,” observed Jack, “the first thing to be done would be to retake the redoubts and prevent the Russians from carrying off the guns they captured from the Turks. I suppose that is what General Cathcart will do when he reaches the causeway, though he is a long time coming; and if I were Lord Raglan, I should be in a considerable rage with him. I only wish we had a few hundred of our bluejackets; we should very soon, I suspect, be masters of one or more of the redoubts the Russians have got hold of.”

“See, see!” cried Tom; “here comes an aide-de-camp from Lord Raglan; for my part, I believe that the cavalry will do the work if General Cathcart does not come up in time.”

Just as this remark was made, the English infantry were seen descending along the Woronzoff Road. As they marched on they left some troops in the two western redoubts deserted by the Turks; and the naval officers had to move down the hill a little way to allow them to pass on to Number 4 redoubt, close to which General Cathcart halted his troops. As he did so, a cloud of skirmishers were seen advancing along the causeway towards the Russians in front of the Aratabia. Here the general appeared to have made up his mind to remain, instead of advancing and driving the Russians before him, as Jack thought he would do. Having got clear of the English infantry, the naval officers again took up their post on the top of the hill, whence they could look directly down on the Heavy and Light Cavalry Brigades, near which they distinguished Lord Lucan, the general commanding them.

“I wonder nothing is being done,” exclaimed Jack at length; “if they don’t look sharp about it, those Russians will carry off the Turkish guns in spite of them.”

“Here comes an officer, at all events, from Lord Raglan, in hot haste; he must be a first-rate horseman,” exclaimed one of the naval officers, “or he would break his neck coming down that steep hill.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the side of the Chersonese, down which an aide-de-camp was seen galloping at a speed on which few horsemen over such ground would have ventured. Though every moment it seemed that his horse must come down and crush him as it fell, he continued his course in safety, and then came galloping up to Lord Lucan.

“He’s saying something pretty strong, if we are to judge by his gestures,” observed Jack; “see, he is pointing with his sword up the valley. No, it must be at the Russians on the causeway. He’s ordering the cavalry to do just what those infantry fellows ought to have done long ago; and so they would have done it if they had had their will.”

“I know that aide-de-camp,” remarked one of the party; “he is Captain Nolan, he belongs to General Airey’s staff.”

Directly afterwards Lord Lucan was seen addressing Lord Cardigan, who immediately galloped forward towards where the light cavalry were drawn up.

“See, the regiments of light cavalry are forming line; they are going to attack the Russians near the redoubts, after all,” exclaimed Jack. “The heavy cavalry is preparing to support them; they will drive away the Russians as chaff before the wind.”

After this, few remarks were made by any of the group, so deeply interested were they in watching what was going forward. Lord Cardigan was seen to place himself at the head of the light cavalry, while Lord Lucan came closer to them. All eyes, however, were riveted on Lord Cardigan and the light cavalry; he could easily be distinguished by his commanding yet slight figure, as he sat upon his tall charger at a distance of some five horses’ lengths in front of the line, which now began to advance. The spectators expected to see the light cavalry wheel with their left shoulders forward towards the Russians on their right front, whom it was supposed they were about to attack. Instead of doing so, Lord Cardigan, sitting in his saddle, with his face down the valley, galloped on straight before him. Scarcely had he gone a hundred paces, when a figure, recognised at once as that of Captain Nolan, was seen to dash out from the left of the line and to gallop diagonally across the front. The aide-de-camp was waving his sword, pointing eagerly towards the Russians on the right, who were engaged in endeavouring to carry off the guns captured from the Turks.

He had just passed Lord Cardigan when a shell burst close to him, and his horse, wheeling suddenly, dashed back towards the advancing ranks. At the same moment, his sword falling from his hand, while his arm remained extended, a fearful shriek, unlike anything human, burst from him, and his horse passing between the 13th Light Dragoons, he at length fell to the ground a lifeless corpse. If, as it seems certain, his object had been to point out the direction the cavalry were to charge, Lord Cardigan took no notice of it, but continued on right down the valley towards the Russian guns and masses of Russian horsemen at its eastern end.

“Good heavens! they will be annihilated!” exclaimed Jack. “Where are they going?”

Well might he have said that, for in a short time from the heights on either side the Russians began to pour down showers of shot and shell and rifle balls upon the devoted band. Many were seen to drop; riderless horses came galloping back, some falling in their course, others uttering cries of agony from the wounds they had received. Here and there human forms could be distinguished, some lying in the quiet of death, others writhing on the ground or endeavouring to drag themselves back up the valley.

Now the guns in front sent forth their deadly missiles, filling the air with dense clouds of smoke, into which the cavalry charged with headlong speed.

While the Light Brigade was thus rushing on apparently to utter destruction, the heavy cavalry was advancing, following Lord Lucan.

“Can he be going to lead them to the destruction to which he has consigned the light cavalry?” exclaimed one of the naval officers.

“Thank Heaven, no,” observed Jack; “they have had a taste already of what they would have to go through. See, they’ve halted; though why he does not lead them up to attack the Russians on his right I cannot make out.”

The heavy cavalry had already lost several men under the withering fire to which they had been exposed during the few minutes their advance had lasted, and they were now compelled to remain inactive while the action was going forward, as their brethren of the light cavalry had been in the morning. It was pretty evident that Lord Lucan could not be aware of the enemy on his right, or he would at once have found ample work for his heavy horsemen. At this juncture a portion of the French cavalry, the famous regiment D’Allonville, was observed to be moving forward, sweeping round the western base of the Fedoukine Hills, up which they charged, rushing forward as fast as the uneven nature of the ground would allow them at the Russian infantry and artillery which had so long been posted there. As they approached, the artillery limbered up and galloped off to the eastward, while the infantry quickly retreated, though not till many of the gallant Frenchmen’s saddles had been emptied.

Several minutes of awful suspense had passed away since the last of the red line of light cavalry had been seen rushing into the cloud of smoke. The guns which had dealt death into their ranks had ceased to roar; but what had become of them or of the brave horsemen it was impossible to say. At length here and there a single horseman was seen moving slowly back, he or his charger sorely wounded. Now more and more appeared, several, alas! being seen to drop as they retired; the whole centre of the valley, as far as the eye could reach, being strewed with the bodies of men and horses. As the cloud of smoke cleared off, a dark mass only could be discerned in the distance, the glitter of sword-blades and the confused murmur of voices which came up the valley alone indicating that the fight was still raging, sounds ever and anon of musketry being added to it.

At length the numbers of those who were coming up the valley increased; among them appeared the tall form of their leader, he and his horse uninjured. Then came larger parties, followed again by single horsemen and men on foot, still exposed to the fire from the causeway. Presently a number of Cossacks came galloping after the fugitives, spearing some and taking others prisoners; but just then the Russian guns on the Causeway Ridge again opened, and the Cossacks were compelled to abandon the pursuit, many of those whom they had surrounded making their escape. The naval officers now rode back to the slope at the foot of the Chersonese, on which considerable groups had assembled, and towards which the gallant men who had come out from amid that valley of death were now collecting. The officers were speaking eagerly together; surgeons who had hurried down were attending to the wounded; several parties were on their way into the valley to endeavour to bring in those who were on the ground still, unable to move.

Among the last to come in was an officer on a weary horse, which could scarcely drag itself up the valley; numerous persons went forward to meet him. “That is Lord George Paget,” said one of the naval officers. He had, with Colonel Douglas, led out the remnant of the 4th Light Dragoons and a portion of the 11th Hussars; not only had the brigade, though separated into several bands, broken through the guns, but, driving the Russian horsemen before them, and finally breaking through all opposition, had made their way again up the valley, passing directly in front of a large body of Russian Lancers, and once more, under a fire of shot and shell, they returned to the foot of the Chersonese. The naval officers could not, naturally, tear themselves from the scene. For some time stragglers and riderless chargers were coming in, and then there was the numbering of horses, and afterwards the melancholy roll-call. Of the gallant brigade, which half an hour before had numbered nearly 700 horsemen, not 200 now remained fit for duty. A hundred and thirteen men had been killed, 134 wounded; while close upon 500 horses were killed or rendered unfit for service.

Now came the sad work of searching for the slain who could be reached and brought in for burial; but numbers still lay where the fire of the Russian batteries commanded the ground, as they could not be interred till a cessation of arms was agreed on for the purpose. Many a gallant trooper hurried forward notwithstanding to search for his wounded officers or comrades, and several were thus saved from perishing on the battlefield.

Another scene took place, trying to many a trooper who had managed to bring his wounded steed out of the fight. The farriers went round to examine those which had been rendered unserviceable by their hurts. Some of the men pleaded hard for those that were condemned, in the hopes that they might recover, but the farriers knew well that they would never again be fit to carry their riders in the fight.

“Shure, it’s myself would rather have been wounded than the poor baste,” exclaimed an Irish trooper, throwing his arm round his horse’s neck; “you wouldn’t have shot me, at all events. Just be after letting him live for a few days, at laste, and I’ll see what I can do to doctor him.”

“I’m obeying orders, Pat; I tell you, if he gets stiff he’ll never carry you fifty yards, much less the mile and a half you galloped over this afternoon,” was the answer.

Poor Pat, whose hacked blade showed the deadly work he had been doing, burst into tears, as the farrier led off his well-beloved horse to the spot appointed for its execution, where, with upwards of forty others, it was shot.

As it was too late by this time to go on to the Guards’ camp, Jack considering it his duty to sleep on board, and having had the satisfaction to hear that Sidney was well, and of sending him a message, he and his party returned to Balaclava. Tom and Archie were full of the exploits they had witnessed, and so excited did they become in describing them to their messmates, that they declared they would give up the service, and try and get their friends to obtain them commissions in the cavalry.

“Which means that your friends are to buy you commissions, which will cost them some thousands to begin with, besides finding you five or six hundred a year to enable you to live like the rest of your brother officers,” observed the assistant-surgeon. “I should just like to have the fortune which is lost to his family by each of the poor fellows who bit the dust this afternoon in yonder valley of death. I’d quit the service, you may depend on that, and buy a good practice on shore, with enough to set up my carriage at once.” The next morning Tom and Archie had changed their minds, and had resolved to continue serving their Queen and country afloat.

Jack, finding that he could not sail till the evening, went on shore, taking the two midshipmen with him, to make another attempt to visit Sidney. Having obtained the steeds they had ridden the previous day, they took the way to the Col, halting on the first high ground they reached. They saw that the Russians still retained in considerable force the redoubts they had won from the Turks.

“They seem unpleasantly close to our lines,” observed Tom to Archie; “our fellows must keep pretty wide awake, or they will be taking us by surprise some fine morning.”

“Trust Sir Colin Campbell for that,” answered Archie; “we Highlanders are not men to be found napping in the face of an enemy.”

They had not gone far when they met Lord Raglan and some of his staff, and presently afterwards Sir Colin Campbell came up, when an earnest conversation took place between the two generals. Jack was moving on with his two midshipmen, when an aide-de-camp overtook him, from whom he heard that it was in contemplation to abandon Balaclava, that the ships’ guns and stores not in use were to be embarked, and that all the vessels not required were to go out of the harbour, or to be moved lower down towards its mouth. Disappointed again, Jack had to return on board to carry out his orders. He, however, gave the midshipmen leave to go as far as the Guards’ camp, with directions to return immediately they had communicated with Sidney.

In high glee they rode on, determined, if possible, not to be again stopped. Having passed through the Col, they skirted the edge of the Chersonese to the right, when a windmill, for which they were told to steer their course, appeared in sight. After going about two miles they reached the Guards’ camp, on some level ground at the top of the plateau. Sidney was seated in his tent, unwashed and unshaven, wrapped in his greatcoat, looking very unlike the trim Guardsman Tom had hitherto seen him. He had just come in from the trenches. Having thanked the two midshipmen for the welcome provisions they brought him, he made them sit down, one on a portmanteau turned sideways, the other on his only spare camp-stool.

“So you have come to witness the glories of war, Tom,” said Sidney, with a faint smile; “for my part, I confess I wish we could have another stand-up fight, and get over the work in the trenches. I can tell you it is not very pleasant to stand out in the cold for hours together, with the chance of being shot at any moment.”

“Archie and I couldn’t help wishing that we were dragoons, with the chance of charging the enemy in the magnificent way we saw General Scarlett and his heavy cavalry do yesterday,” said Tom.

“Such a chance doesn’t come more than once in a campaign, and you wouldn’t exactly wish to perform the feat the unfortunate light cavalry had to go through yesterday, from what I hear,” answered Sidney. “Stick to the navy, lads; you have the best of it.”

Luncheon was scarcely over, when a rattling fire was heard, followed by the sound of heavy guns. “There’s something going forward,” cried Sidney, going out of the tent. In an instant the whole camp was astir. The bugles sounded, and the brigade of Guards fell in, orders having been received to march northward along the heights, in the direction of Inkerman. The midshipmen, forgetting the caution they had received to return immediately to Balaclava, hurried forward, taking their way somewhat to the left of the line on which the Guards had marched, who were thus on their right.

“Push along!” cried Tom; “we haven’t much time to lose, and we must see some of the fun at all events.”

The direction they had taken led them along a high spur of the hill, past a small body of soldiers, some of whom called to them; but, not hearing what they said, they went on; when, coming to the extreme end of the spur, they saw a deep glen before them. Plunging into it, they quickly climbed up on the other side, when they again found themselves on high ground. Just as they reached it, the loud rattle of musketry saluted their ears, and they caught sight of a large body of Russians making their way over another hill on their right, their advance opposed by some English light troops who were skirmishing in their front. On looking back, somewhat to their right, they caught sight of a brigade of English troops drawn up, and apparently standing at their ease, spectators of the fight. They could make out, however, in front of them, two or three batteries of guns. On came the Russians; every moment it seemed as if a general battle would begin.

“I wish we had rifles,” cried Tom, “we’d go and join those brave fellows, and help to keep the Russians back.”

“No, no,” answered Archie, “that isn’t our duty; the soldiers can do very well without us.”

“Well, then, let’s go to our left, where I see some bluejackets,” said Tom, who had been looking through his telescope; “to my mind we ought then to be about-ship, and find our way to where we left our horses, or we shall be getting into a scrape.”

To reach the spot at which Tom pointed they had again to descend into another valley, and to climb up some steep height; but this was a feat they easily performed. Scarcely, however, had they got there than they caught sight of a body of redcoats farther down the glen, firing rapidly as they retired before a dense mass of Russians. The English soldiers they made out in a short time to be Guardsmen, who, though retreating, were doing so with a definite object, and were certainly not running away. The midshipmen soon saw, a little in the rear of where they were standing, a trench towards which apparently the Guards were making their way. Archie suggested that they also should get behind the trench, and there do their best to help the Guards in resisting the enemy. Tom agreed that it was the wisest thing they could do. Scarcely had they got behind it than the English soldiers, numbering no more than sixty men, who had hitherto been retreating, came to a halt; and, getting behind the trench, stood shoulder to shoulder, as if determined to bar the farther progress of the Russian column. In vain the Russian officers endeavoured to get their men to advance; whenever they did so, they were met by a rattling fire, and a bristling line of bayonets. Thousands might have been in their rear, but they could make no impression on the gallant little band.

Scarcely had the Guards come to a halt than from the very midst of the Russian column two persons sprang out, and were received in their midst with a shout of joy. They proved to be one of their captains and a sergeant, whom they supposed had been taken prisoners or killed by the Russians. The officer advised the midshipmen to go, as they could do no good where they were.

“But before we wish you good-bye, sir, may we ask how you managed to get out alive from among so many Russians?” inquired Tom.

“In a very unexpected manner,” answered the officer. “I had gone on with the sergeant to some distance ahead of the men, when, on turning an angle, we found ourselves confronted by a whole mass of Russians hurrying up at a great rate, apparently intending to effect a surprise. The first men we saw fired at us, and, after we had retreated up the hill, several followed, intending to make us prisoners, but we knocked them over with the butts of our rifles. We then found ourselves hurried along by the advancing masses of the enemy. As we had on our greatcoats, the fresh men did not recognise us, and, by taking care not to keep near the same persons longer than we could help, we were carried on till we caught sight of our own men directly in front of us; and the Russians thinking we were going to lead them against their foes, we were able, without a blow aimed at us, to leap into the midst of our friends.”

“It was indeed a wonderful escape,” said Tom; “but I wish you would let us stop and help you; we could use our rifles as well as your men.”

To this the officer would not consent, again urging them to make good their retreat while they could do so without risk. After going a little way up the valley, they began to ascend the steep side of the hill to a place where they were protected from the shot which flew high over the heads of the gallant band below. On reaching the summit, they saw before them a battery manned by English sailors. They made their way into it, and as it was upon high ground, they could see, on their right, vast masses of Russians, who, having driven back the English skirmishers, now crowned the top of a high hill. The enemy soon afterwards, bringing up several field-pieces, began to fire at the English brigade in their front. Scarcely had they begun to do so than the English guns rapidly replied, their shot taking fearful effect upon the closely-pressed body of Russians, which seemed rent and torn in every direction by the iron showers hurled into their midst. For some time the Russians stood their ground bravely, and, more masses coming on, they threatened not only to cut off the gallant little band in the valley below, but to surround the battery in which the midshipmen were posted, and towards which several of the enemy’s guns were now directed. The shot came flying into and around it; the bluejackets who manned the guns returned the fire with interest. But first one was struck, then another and another, and there appeared every probability that the battery would be overwhelmed.

Dangerous as was the position into which the midshipmen had got, they were ashamed to retreat. Several more men had been killed, when a sergeant hurried into the battery, ordering the naval officer in command to spike his guns and retreat. “When my captain directs me to do so, I will obey,” was the answer. “In the meantime, this gun will be of service.” As he spoke, the Russians, who had been driven from the hill on the right, were seen climbing up the sides of the valley, threatening to take the battery in reverse. Not a moment was to be lost; by immense exertion part of the parapet was thrown down. “Lend a hand, all of you,” cried the naval officer. His appeal was responded to. The gun being slued round by the sailors and a few soldiers, the midshipmen exerting themselves with hearty goodwill, it was fired directly down upon the enemy with such effect that they immediately abandoned their intention of making their way in that direction, and retreated with the rest of the attacking force towards Sebastopol.

“Hurrah! we’ve done for them,” cried Tom, unable to restrain his feelings of satisfaction, while the gun continued to hurl its missiles into the midst of the enemy as long as they were in sight.

The midshipmen, on their way back, fell in with the officer whose acquaintance they had just before made, and found that he and his gallant little band, with the aid of another small party, had not only defeated their host of foes, but had succeeded in making several of them prisoners. They now hurried back, under the guidance of a brother officer of Sidney’s, to the Guards’ camp. Sidney himself soon after arrived; and after rowing the midshipmen for having unnecessarily thrust their noses into danger, and giving Tom a message for Jack, bade them hasten back to Balaclava as fast as their steeds would carry them. They got a slight glimpse of the field of Inkerman, on which, before many days were over, a desperate battle was to be fought. From the high ground on which they stood near the Guards’ camp, they could look down into a deep valley covered with brushwood, with a line of lofty hills on the farther side.

By urging on their steeds they got back to the harbour before dark. On reaching the ship, they heard that Lord Raglan had given up his intention of abandoning Balaclava. Next morning the Tornado sailed for Constantinople with a number of sick and wounded men. Several poor fellows died on the voyage, and the rest were carried to the hospital at Scutari.

Chapter Seventeen.

Storm in the Black Sea—Jack aids Vessels in Distress—Rescues Murray—The Tornado renders Assistance—Shipwrecked Crew on Shore attacked by Cossacks—The Latter are driven off.

The Tornado, exerting her steam-powers to the utmost, was on her way back to Balaclava. On the 13th of November the glass fell; the weather, which had hitherto been calm and sunny, began to change, and there was every indication of a heavy gale. The commander knew that his safest course would be to run back to Constantinople, but his orders were to proceed to Balaclava without loss of time. Soon after sunset a heavy squall struck the ship, followed by fitful gusts, gradually increasing in strength, while the hitherto calm sea was covered with foaming waves, through which the Tornado forced her way. Most of the officers were on deck, for few felt inclined to turn in; the lieutenants stood near the commander, ready to carry out his orders, while the midshipmen were collected in a group on the quarter-deck.

“This seems likely to prove a pretty heavy squall,” observed Tom.

“You may call it a hurricane, lad, and you won’t be far out,” observed Jos Green, who overheard him. “May Heaven have mercy on the unfortunate vessels caught by it outside the harbour! the holding-ground is none of the best.”

During the remainder of the night the Tornado stood on, a bright look-out being kept for any vessels which might, rather than trust to their anchors, be endeavouring to haul off the land; though none but the most powerful steamers, or very well-handled vessels, could hope to do so successfully with the fierce gale now blowing. As morning broke, the high cliffs of the Crimean coast could be seen ahead, while the masts of numerous vessels were distinguishable rolling from side to side, or tossed wildly up and down amid the sheets of spray which flew off the troubled waters. Jack could trust to his engines, and Jos Green, who was thoroughly acquainted with the entrance to Balaclava harbour, undertook, if necessary, to carry in the ship, though there was a risk of running foul of some of the numberless vessels brought up before it.

“Our orders are to go in, and the despatches we carry may be of importance,” observed Jack. The Tornado accordingly stood on; as she approached, the fearful danger to which the ships at anchor were exposed, became more and more evident. Over many of the smaller vessels the sea was making a clean breach, sweeping their decks fore and aft; several of the larger ones were dragging their anchors; and three or four vessels had already broken away from them, and were driving rapidly towards the threatening rocks which frowned under their lee. Steamers were endeavouring to get up their steam; but too many had been caught unawares, and before they could get their engines to work, might be driving helplessly towards the cliffs.

Such was the spectacle which presented itself when the Tornado was still at some distance off. As she drew near, it was seen that matters were even worse than had been anticipated. “There are three vessels on shore already,” cried Higson, who had been looking through his glass; “their masts are gone, but I can make out their hulls, with the sea breaking over them and flying high up the cliffs—and there goes another large craft, a screw from her appearance. Had she got up her steam in time, she might have worked off the shore, but as it is, no power can save her.”

As he spoke, the vessel at which he pointed was seen, by those who had their glasses at their eyes, to strike an outer reef; the next instant her hull was scarcely visible from the mass of foaming breakers which dashed furiously over her, and ere another minute had passed, she looked as if utterly torn to pieces, her vast hull rapidly melting away, till scarcely a single dark spot remained to show where her stout timbers had lately been. “Can any of the poor fellows have escaped?” asked Tom. “Not one,” answered Green; “and from the size of the ship her crew must have numbered upwards of a hundred. It is only to be hoped that her passengers had landed; she was, I suspect, a large screw we saw pass through the straits a few days ago with troops and stores. There must be a fearful loss of life.”

Jack was consulting with Higson as to the best means of rendering assistance to the vessels most in peril. Several had signals of distress flying; he was steering towards one of the nearest, over which the sea was breaking with extreme violence; it would be impossible to run alongside her, but ropes might be hove on board as the Tornado passed within a comparatively safe distance. Jack stood on, intent on his mission of mercy, but when his ship was scarcely three cables’ length from the hapless vessel, a heavy sea with a prodigious crest went hissing towards her, just as a previous one of less height passing on had lifted her stern. The mass of water rolled onwards; for an instant her masts could be seen inclining forward, but her bows never again rose, and the foaming waves leaped wildly over the spot where she had been. Not a human being could be discovered to whom a rope or lifebuoy might have been thrown; the latter, indeed, would have been useless; for even had a struggling swimmer clung to it, he must ultimately have been driven towards the cruel rocks on which the sea was fiercely beating.

But another sight still more fearful was to be witnessed. A Turkish line-of-battle ship lay some way out, pitching heavily into the seas. Suddenly her cables parted, her vast bulk availed her not, the savage seas caught her on the broadside. An attempt might have been made to cut away her masts, but long before the task could be accomplished, she heeled over, till the water rushed in through her lee-ports.

“She’s gone! she’s gone! no power can save her,” exclaimed Higson. She never again rose on an even keel; for a few minutes her dark hull could be seen, the waves dashing over it. It sank lower and lower; again her masts rose suddenly, but already the foaming waters were above her bulwarks, and ere another minute had passed, her mastheads had disappeared beneath the surface. Many a stout heart on board the Tornado uttered a cry of grief as they saw the catastrophe. Long before they could reach the spot, the strongest swimmers of her crew must have perished. Not a human being could be discovered amid the tumbling seas.

Jack was unwilling to run into port while he could hope to render assistance to any of his fellow-creatures. Several vessels had signals of distress flying, and others could be seen in the distance, either driving towards the shore, or pitching so heavily into the seas that it was evident they were in the greatest possible danger of going down. Jack had been looking at one some way off along the coast, when his attention was directed to another vessel to the northward. When he next turned his head, the first had disappeared suddenly. In those few short moments she must have gone down with all on board. They had now to decide whether they would run into the harbour or keep the sea. Green urged that they should not venture nearer the coast; for should anything go wrong in the machinery, the Tornado must inevitably be driven on shore. The difficulty of entering the harbour was increased in consequence of several vessels, some of which had brought up off it, others having been drifted in that direction. The Tornado’s head was accordingly brought round during a lull, and with topgallant-masts on deck and yards pointed to the wind she stood off-shore.

“We came round not a minute too soon,” observed Green, as he watched the progress the ship was making; “we are going ahead scarcely half a knot an hour.”

Another vessel still lay a considerable way out on the port-bow. “She’ll not keep afloat many minutes longer,” observed Higson, who had been watching her, “unless she parts from her anchors, and then it will only be to get out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

“We might reach her, and should she appear likely to go down, we might get the crew out of her,” observed Jack.

“It will be no easy matter, but it may be done,” answered Higson.

“We’ll try it,” cried Jack, giving directions to Green, who was standing by the men at the helm, to edge the ship off towards the transport. As they approached her, they saw that they were arriving not a moment too soon. Already the seas were sweeping over her deck, and it seemed that each plunge she made would be her last. Jack determined to steer up on her starboard side; picked hands were stationed in the rigging, and in every spot whence ropes could be hove on board to assist the crew in escaping. They could scarcely hope to save all, but some by activity might avail themselves of the assistance offered them; the chief danger in the undertaking was that the sides of the vessels might strike each other, or that the rigging might get foul. To guard against this as much as possible, the lower and topsail braces were “manned” ready to “brace round” smartly in the event of her yards fouling those of the other vessel, and men were stationed with axes and tomahawks to cut the ropes.

The Tornado stood on till she was nearly astern of the vessel she was about to assist. The faces of the crew could be seen, as they turned their eyes towards the coming succour, while they clung on to the rigging and bulwarks of their ship, ready to seize the ropes hove to them. The danger to the Tornado was very great; for should the cable of the vessel ahead give way at that critical moment, she might be hurled against her bows, when, in all probability, both vessels would go down together. The Tornado’s progress in the teeth of the gale was very slow, and the fear was that the vessel ahead would go down before she could reach her. On the other hand, when once she got alongside, more time would be allowed to the crew to leap on board. At length the Tornado’s bows were up to the transport’s quarter, but not till she was completely alongside, and both vessels should rise and fall on the same seas, could any attempt be made to rescue the crew.

“Don’t heave a rope till I order you; and take care that the men are secure before you haul in,” cried Jack. More than another minute passed; Green, who with two hands to assist him was at the helm, skilfully brought her alongside. “Now heave,” cried Jack, and twenty ropes or more were hove with a good will on board the sinking vessel. Most of them were eagerly seized by the almost despairing crew; some fastened them round their waists, others, grasping them tightly, attempted to leap on the Tornado’s bulwarks. Some succeeded, and were seized by the hands of those on board; others missed their footing, and, with shrieks of despair, letting go their hold, dropped into the intervening space. Many still remained on board; more ropes were hove to them; of these several were officers. Warned by the fate of those who had failed to leap on board the Tornado, each of them, as he caught a rope, secured it round his waist; some springing into the main, others into the mizzen-rigging, thus attaining a greater height. Among them Jack observed one who wore a naval uniform, though he had as yet been unable to distinguish his features.

The risk the Tornado was running of falling on board the vessel was very great, and Jack was about reluctantly to give the order to sheer off from her, when he saw the remainder of those on deck prepare to make the desperate leap which would either terminate in their destruction or place them in comparative safety. Just at that moment, as his eye was fixed on the naval officer, he recognised Murray.

“I must save him, at all events,” was the thought which passed through his mind. Murray had grasped the rope, which he was fastening round his waist; he sprang into the main rigging of the ship, and stood waiting for a favourable opportunity to take the desperate leap. Jack pointed him out to Higson, who, securing himself in the same manner, sprang up on to the hammock nettings, and, stretching out his hands, stood ready to grasp him. In another instant the two vessels must either be separated or be hurled against each other. Murray stood calmly holding on to the rigging by one hand, while with keen eye he watched the movements of the Tornado. Now her side rolled away from him, now it again approached, and seemed to be sinking far lower down than the level on which he stood. It was the moment for which he had waited; letting go his hold, he sprang with outstretched arms towards the Tornado. The crew held the rope; hauling it in, Higson grasped his hand at the same moment that his feet touched the hammock nettings of the Tornado, which the next was separated several feet from the vessel he had quitted.

Those who had hitherto hesitated to leap now sprang overboard, and were dragged up the side of the Tornado by her crew. The master and one of his mates were thus saved, but nearly half a dozen people still remained on board. Jack had barely time to shake Alick by the hand, but not a moment to inquire how he happened to be on board. Jack’s wish was, if possible, to save the poor fellows still clinging to the sinking vessel.

“We may do it,” said Higson; “but we’ve run a fearful risk already of losing the ship.”

“We will try it,” cried Jack.

“She’s sinking! she’s sinking!” shouted several voices.

Such indeed was the case; a heavy sea came rolling up, which even the Tornado with difficulty breasted, while it ran clear over the other vessel lying at anchor. For some moments it seemed doubtful whether she would rise, but another sea came hissing on into which her bows plunged, not again to appear. Those on deck must have been washed far away, for no human power could have withstood the furious sea which assailed them. Ere another minute had passed, the masts of the ill-fated vessel had disappeared beneath the foaming ocean.

The Tornado’s best chance of safety was now to stand out to sea, and to battle bravely with the storm while it should last; still, while there was a possibility of rendering assistance to others in distress, Jack was unwilling to go to a distance. Some way off was another vessel with signals of distress flying; he ordered Green to keep away for her, intending to try and get the people off if there was a risk of her foundering, as he had done from the first vessel. The sound of a gun came from her, as if to show her urgent necessity for help; another and another followed.

“We are doing our best,” muttered Higson; “though it’s little good, I fear, we can do you.”

The sound of the last gun had just reached their ears when the vessel from which it came was seen to be moving; her cable had parted. Away she drove before the fierce gale; her crew were seen attempting to range another cable. The sea caught her starboard bow, and she drove bodily onwards towards the rocky shore on which the fierce breakers were raging savagely. To attempt getting nearer would have been worse than useless, for Jack saw that should he try to do so, he might involve his ship in her fate.

Though many others had signals of distress flying, Jack knew well that he could render them no effectual assistance, and therefore once more put the Tornado’s head off-shore. He now for the first time had leisure to inquire from Murray how he happened to be on board the vessel which had gone down. Murray briefly told him that he had been sent by the admiral, who had steamed on to the Katcha, with despatches on board the Turkish flagship, with directions afterwards to visit several other vessels, and then to run in to Balaclava. He had been detained on board the Turkish ship longer than he expected, and his boat being nearly swamped before he had finished his mission, he had gone alongside the nearest vessel, intending to remain on board till the morning. His boat had been lost before she could be hoisted up, and the gale having so rapidly increased, he had been prevented leaving in one of her boats. Three of his people had unhappily been lost, but the remainder succeeded in reaching the Tornado.

“I am indeed thankful that we came to you in time,” said Jack; “though I little expected when I determined to run down to the assistance of that vessel, that I should be the means of saving your life.”

“Not the first time that we have helped each other, and I am very sure that it will not be the last if we either of us require help and have the opportunity of rendering it,” answered Murray. “I expect soon to be appointed to the command of a ship, as the admiral has offered me the first vacancy, which Hemming advises me to accept, as the smaller craft will in future have more to do than the line-of-battle ships.”

As may be supposed, there was but little time for conversation. Jack still wished, if possible, to try and render assistance to some of the many other vessels at anchor off the coast, but both Higson and Green strongly expressed their opinion that the attempt to do so would endanger the ship; and Murray concurring with them, he was compelled to abandon his intention. The Tornado proved herself a first-rate seaboat; indeed, had she not been so, she would have shared the fate of so many other vessels during that fearful gale. By keeping her head to the southward, she was able in a short time gradually to draw off-shore. For the greater part of the night the gale blew with unabated fury. Towards morning, however, the wind began to abate. Soon after daylight the ship’s head was brought round, and she stood back towards Balaclava. A melancholy spectacle was presented to those on board, as she neared the harbour; the whole coast, as far as the eye could reach, was strewn with masses of wreck, while the entrance was nearly blocked up with shattered spars and pieces of timber; while numerous dead bodies floated about, or had been thrown by the foaming surges on the rocks on either hand. The Tornado, having not without difficulty made her way in, brought up; and Jack immediately sent his despatches on shore. The vessels in the harbour had not escaped. Brought up close together, they had been driven in one mass towards the head of the harbour, directly down upon the line-of-battle ship at anchor, carrying her upwards of a hundred yards, when she grounded by the stern; while few had escaped without more or less damage.

The gale considerably abated towards noon, when Jack received orders to run down the coast, to try and bring off any of the crews which might have escaped from the wrecked ships. Accordingly, he immediately got up steam and put to sea. A number of boats were already engaged in the humane object; but few of the people belonging to the vessels which had been wrecked in the immediate neighbourhood of Balaclava had escaped. Farther down the coast, however, two or three ships were seen on shore, from which it was possible the crews might have landed in safety. Jack kept in as close as he could venture, steering for the first wreck he saw. She lay with her masts gone broadside to the sea, which was sweeping fiercely over her. Not a human being was seen near the wreck.

“Not a man, I fear, could have escaped,” said Jack, as he surveyed the coast with his glass; “and yet, from the position of the vessel, I cannot help thinking that they might have made their way to the shore—see, near yonder wreck farther south, a good number of people appear to be collected.”

The Tornado was accordingly steered in the direction Jack pointed. Higson had been watching the group through his telescope.

“They appear to be expecting an attack,” he observed; “there are fifty or more of them, and they are standing to their arms. Their ship is evidently a large transport, and from her position I should judge that they managed to land without much difficulty, and would carry their muskets and ammunition with them.”

Directly afterwards a forest of lances were seen above the hill, and a band of Cossacks came galloping towards the wreck. Jack immediately ordered the port gun to be brought to bear on the advancing horsemen, who seemed not to be aware that they could be reached from that distance, and went on, making sure of being able to capture the whole shipwrecked crew. On seeing that the latter were armed, they levelled their lances, and were bearing down upon them, when Jack gave the word to fire. The first shot struck the horse of their leader, which came down, rolling over him; it seemed as if both rider and steed were killed. The next shot pitched into the midst of their ranks, emptying at least a couple of saddles. The third shot did still more damage; when the cossacks, not knowing how many more might be coming, wheeled quickly round and galloped off into the interior; the crew of the transport, meantime, firing a volley which, though at a considerable distance, brought two or three to the ground.

As soon as he came abreast of the wreck, Jack sent three of his boats on shore to bring off the crew; Murray volunteered to take command of them. As he neared the beach, he saw the Cossacks still hovering in the distance, out of the reach of the guns, but threatening to pounce down again, probably still in the hopes of making some prisoners. The Tornado accordingly stood in as close as she could venture, to cover the boats, which soon reached the beach. The transport’s crew stood ready to receive them; scarcely, however, had they begun to embark, than the Cossacks once more came galloping up. Murray immediately ordered those still remaining on shore to face about; while, just as the Cossacks reached the high ground above the beach, a couple of shells thrown from the Tornado’s guns burst amid their ranks; when, once more wheeling about, they galloped off at a rapid rate, leaving the rest of the crew to embark without molestation.

Having carried them on board, Murray returned for the purpose of destroying the transport, that her stores might not fall into the hands of the enemy. He had for this purpose to pull round inshore. It was not without some difficulty that he, Higson, and Needham made their way on board. Such combustible materials as could be found were soon collected, and lighted in the hold of the transport; the boat then at once pulled away for the Tornado. She had got to some little distance from the ship, when the Cossacks were again seen coming down towards the shore, this time accompanied by a couple of field-pieces, which quickly opened fire. The first shot, however, fell short, and the party were soon safe on board the Tornado.

As the Tornado steamed off, the Cossacks were seen again coming forward, in the hopes possibly of still being able to plunder the wreck. Just then, however, the flames burst furiously forth from every part of the wreck, and in another minute a loud roar was heard, and a portion of her deck rose high in the air, while her sides, rent and shattered, flew out in every direction; and as the smoke from the explosion cleared away, a few burnt timbers of the wreck alone remained, while the Cossacks, disappointed of their booty, were seen galloping off in the distance.

The scanty remnant of another shipwrecked crew having been saved by the Tornado, she steamed back to Balaclava. During that fearful storm no less than forty vessels, with upwards of four hundred men, had been lost; one Turkish line-of-battle ship, and several transports, had gone down with all hands. The French lost one of their finest line-of-battle ships and a corvette, with nearly twenty smaller craft. The most severe loss was that of the Prince, with a crew of a hundred and fifty men; she had arrived two days before with troops, who had providentially landed—but the army was doomed to suffer terribly from the loss of her cargo, consisting of warm clothing, ammunition, medicine, and supplies of all kinds.

A few ships being left to watch Sebastopol, the remainder of the fleet and all the transports were sent back to the Bosphorus; and soon afterwards, Admiral Dundas having struck his flag, Sir Edmund Lyons became commander-in-chief.

Chapter Eighteen.

State of Affairs in the beginning of 1855—Murray in Command of the Giaour—Shelling Sebastopol by Night—Tom finds matter for serious Thought—The Tornado chases a Russian Steamer—Attack on a Fort—Another Steamer sighted—Friend or Foe?—Proves to be the Giaour—The Flash appears—The Fort stormed.

The fearful Christmas of 1854 was over, and of the troops, which in gallant array had left England, more than one-half had died or been disabled by the shot of the enemy or the still more deadly pestilence. Sufferings, such as an English army had never before been called upon to endure, had been borne with fortitude. The siege, notwithstanding, had been carried on, and now reinforcements, and clothing, and stores, and provisions were arriving in the camp of the allies. Affairs looked brighter than they had done for many a day; the fleet, notwithstanding the battering some of the ships had received at the opening of the bombardment, was in as efficient a state as ever. It had rendered good service at Eupatoria in assisting the Turks to defend the place against a powerful force of Russians, which had been driven back with great loss. The naval brigade had been doing good service on shore, not only in the batteries, but by laying down a railway from Balaclava to the Chersonese, by which the transport of heavy guns, ammunition, and stores was greatly facilitated.

The Tornado had not been idle, though, in consequence of the straining her engines had received during the storm, she had been compelled to remain some time at Constantinople, to have them set to rights. Once more she was steaming across the waters of the Black Sea, with another vessel of similar size in company.

“The Giaour will beat us if we can’t get up more steam,” observed Jack to his first lieutenant, who was walking the deck with him.

“We have on our full power, and are doing our utmost,” answered Higson; “the Giaour’s engines are new, and we must make up our minds, I suspect, to let Commander Murray get ahead of us.”

“I am always happy to follow wherever he leads,” said Jack; “if there is work to be done, he’ll find out the way to do it.”

The Giaour was coming up slowly on the Tornado’s quarter, gaining foot after foot but never losing an inch, so that at length she was abreast of her; both vessels were steering for Sebastopol. The land was soon afterwards made, and, as they approached, the admiral’s flag was seen flying at the masthead of the Royal Albert, a magnificent three-decker of a hundred and thirty guns, to which Sir Edmund Lyons had shifted it from the Agamemnon. She, and several other English and French line-of-battle ships, lay across the entrance of the harbour, effectually preventing any of the enemy’s ships from getting out.

“The admiral is speaking to us and the Giaour” said Tom, who was acting as signal-midshipman.

“Let’s see what he is saying,” said Jack, looking at the signal-book; “it’s ‘Keep under weigh’ and ‘Commanders to repair on board the admiral’s ship.’ We are to be sent somewhere together, I hope.”

The two steamers closed rapidly with the fleet, beyond which could be seen the frowning batteries on the other side of the harbour of Sebastopol; while on the right appeared thin curls of smoke, marking the course of the shells thrown from the lines of the allies into the city and those sent by the batteries in return: while the thunder of the artillery was heard with fearful distinctness. On reaching the flagship, Jack and Murray went on board, when they received directions to take a part in the work which had been going on nightly. Some time before, the boats of the fleet had set up signals on shore within reach of the French camp, and men were sent down soon after dark to light them. By their means every night an English and French steamer had stood in and shelled the town, greatly to the astonishment of the Russians, who were utterly unprepared for such a mode of attack. They of course fired in return; but as they could scarcely see their foes, the ships were but seldom struck; while not only did they commit a good deal of harm, but thus harassed the garrison by night as well as by day.

Jack was to take the lead that night, in company with a French ship. All hands were well pleased at the work cut out for them, and eagerly looked forward to the hours of darkness when they might begin shelling the enemy, little troubled by the thoughts of the shot which might be sent on board them from the Russian guns in return. Tom and Archie were especially in high glee at the thoughts of what they were to do.

“Who knows but one of our shells may burst in one of the enemy’s chief magazines, or knock down some of their defences, and allow the allies to take the place?” said Tom.

“We shall not be much the wiser if we do do it,” observed Archie; “and, depend upon it, they will insist that it was their own guns did the work.”

Soon after dark the Tornado and her French consort steamed in towards the harbour, steering by the lights which had been placed on shore. The screws made but little noise, and perfect silence was maintained on board, so that the enemy could not discover their whereabouts till they opened fire. The lights were so placed as to enable them to know with terrible accuracy the position of the forts into which they were to fire. As they glided onwards through the darkness for some minutes together, not a sound was heard in the direction of the beleaguered city, which to all appearance lay in profound slumber. Then came from the far distance the reports of a few dropping shot, showing that the riflemen of both parties were awake. They again ceased, and the same silence as before reigned over the scene.

The Tornado’s heavy guns were loaded, and elevated to throw their shot into the city, and their crews stood ready to fire at the word of command. Jack waited till his ship had reached the point he was directed to gain. “Fire!” he shouted. The next instant the loud roar of his guns echoed through the harbour, arousing many a weary sleeper in the Russian fortifications. The French ship immediately fired her guns in rapid succession, and then both vessels steamed round away from the spot they had previously occupied, towards which numberless Russian guns immediately directed their fire, though not a shot touched either of them. The Tornado’s guns were reloaded, and, standing back, she rapidly discharged them, the French ship following her example. Again the shot from the forts came rushing through the air, falling around the ships, but without striking them. In this way they continued circling round, now firing from one point, now from another, and each time after firing taking different directions.

At length every gun which could be brought to bear on the harbour began to play upon them, but, by keeping ever on the move, for a considerable time not a shot took effect. At length, as Tom and Archie were standing close together, a shot from one of the heights whistled by close to their heads, and struck the bulwarks behind them.

“I say, Tom, if that shot had been a few inches on one side, where should you and I have been by this time?” said Archie.

“Not a pleasant subject for contemplation,” answered Tom; “however, a miss is as good as a mile.”

“I have been thinking seriously of the matter,” observed Archie; “not that I am afraid, but I am very sure that we ought to be prepared to go out of the world, seeing that at any moment either of us may lose our lives.”

“It doesn’t do to think of that sort of thing,” said Tom, not liking Archie’s tone.

“Now there you’re wrong. I believe that it is much wiser to think about it than to be taken unprepared,” replied Archie. “My Cousin Alick thinks very seriously, and no one can say that he is not as brave an officer as any man in the fleet. I tell you honestly that I have been saying my prayers, and asking God to help me to take Him at His word, and to trust to His plan of salvation—that is what I want you to do, Tom, also. I should be very miserable if I saw you killed and could not feel sure that you had gone to heaven. I should be unhappy in either case; but it would be ten times worse if I thought that I should not meet you again.”

“Do you really, Archie, think that I am so wicked that if I was to be killed I should not go to heaven?” said Tom.

“I only know what the Bible says about it, and I believe that,” answered Archie firmly. “Just obey God, and you’ll be all right, and it won’t make you a bit less brave than you are now.”

“I will,” said Tom; “still I hope that neither you nor I will be hit to-night, though the shot are falling pretty thickly about us.”

The moment after he had spoken, a loud cry was heard from one of the crew of the nearest gun, and the sound of a person falling heavily. They sprang to the spot, and found a seaman stretched on the deck. They tried to lift him up, but, inexperienced though they were, they both felt convinced that he was dead. Others, coming up, confirmed their opinion; the shot had struck his chest, and killed him in a moment.

Notwithstanding the heavy fire to which his ship was exposed, Jack continued at his post, firing away till the hour arrived at which he was directed to leave the harbour; and he and his French consort steamed away to rejoin the fleet. Tom was unusually serious during the following day.

“I say, Rogers, what’s the matter with you?” asked Billy Blueblazes.

“He didn’t quite like the fun we had last night,” observed Dicky Duff.

“I’ll tell you what, youngster,” said Tom, “you wouldn’t have thought it any fun if either of you had one of those Russian round-shot walking into you, as poor Norris had.”

On which Tom spoke to them as Archie had been speaking to him, much to the latter’s satisfaction, for it showed him that his words had not been thrown away. Tom, indeed, afterwards came to him, and begged that he would get out his Bible, and more fully explain what he had been talking about on the previous night. Archie gladly did so. It was the beginning of many Bible readings they had together. Others joined them, and they then to their surprise found that several of the men had long been in the practice of meeting together to pray and study God’s Word. They heard also that such was done on board many of the ships in the fleet, and that the men who thus occupied themselves were looked upon as the best and steadiest of their respective crews.

The next night Murray was directed to stand in and engage the forts, also accompanied by a French ship. Thus, night after night, the fleet harassed the unfortunate garrison, while the guns of the besieging army played on them in the daytime, giving them no rest during the four-and-twenty hours.

A short time after this a considerable squadron, composed of English, French, and Turkish ships, with some thousand troops on board, proceeded to the eastward, for the purpose of attacking Kertch, at the entrance of the Sea of Azov. Well might the garrison of Sebastopol have felt alarm when they saw the fleet sailing past the mouth of their harbour, for on the shores of that inland sea were placed the chief granaries from which they drew their supplies of provisions.

The Tornado and Giaour, with numerous other steam-vessels, accompanied the fleet. Passing along the rocky and picturesque southern shore of the Crimea, the expedition soon came off Cape Saint Paul, in a small bay near which the troops were landed without a casualty; the steam-vessels scattering a body of Cossacks, the only hostile force that appeared to dispute the disembarkation. The line-of-battle ships continued their course along the coast, which at every available spot was strongly fortified. The ships were standing in to attack the batteries when a thundering roar was heard, the concussion from which shook even the vessels at sea. Another and another followed.

“The Russians are performing our work for us, and saving Her Majesty a considerable expenditure of gunpowder,” observed Higson to his commander. “I am afraid if they play that trick, of which they seem so fond, they will leave us nothing to do.”

“Never fear, we shall be too quick for them,” answered Jack; “and, from what I hear, there are numerous magazines all round the coast.”

“The inhabitants of Kertch must be glad to save their town from a bombardment, for really it is a much handsomer place than I expected to find in this part of the world, and those lofty stone houses give it a very imposing appearance,” observed Higson.

“At all events, we shall not have injured them,” observed Jack; “we are especially directed to do as little harm as possible to private property, and to let the Russians understand that we are not warring with them, but with the Emperor and his Government.”

The fleet having thus gained a bloodless victory, the line-of-battle ships came to an anchor; the larger number of the steamers proceeded into the Sea of Azov, while the remainder were sent along the coast to look out for any vessels which might have been concealed in any of the inlets or deep bays with which it is everywhere indented. The Tornado was ordered on this service, greatly to the disappointment of her crew, who expected to have more stirring work within the Straits.

She had just lost sight of the fleet, when standing in as close as she could venture, Jos Green, who was forward, observed a light cloud of smoke ascending above a rocky point, the summit of which was feathered with a grove of lofty trees. It was a question, however, whether the smoke proceeded from a fire on shore or from the funnel of a steamer. Green inclined to the latter opinion. It had moved some distance since he first sighted it, he declared, so that it must come from a steamer on her way out to sea. The Tornado stood on, keeping as close inshore as possible, so that her presence might not be discovered till the other vessel had got well clear of the point; after that, Jack hoped to get up to her before she could run in anywhere else for shelter.

A suppressed cheer from those on deck showed that Green was right, and the Tornado stood away after the stranger. The latter was no laggard, and it was soon evident that the Tornado must do her best if she was to come up with her. The chase, though a vessel of some size, showed no inclination to come to close quarters with her pursuer.

“If we can but keep her in sight, we shall catch her at last,” said Jack; “and if she runs into any harbour, we must follow her, or send the boats in after her.”

“We haven’t had anything so exciting for a long time,” said Tom; “I hope that we may have to cut her out with the boats.”

“Her crew will blow her up sooner than let us do that,” observed Archie; “the Russians seem to be fonder of that sort of thing than fighting.”

The chase, however, kept well ahead, and there seemed a good prospect, should night come on, of her escaping altogether. Still the Tornado was really going faster than the Russian vessel, though so slight was the difference of speed, that at first it was scarcely discernible. At length, however, Jack considered that he had got the Russian vessel within range of his long guns, and was on the point of issuing the order to fire, when a shot from her came flying across the intervening space, but fell some twenty fathoms or so short of its mark.

“And now, let’s see what we can do,” cried Jack; “starboard the helm—steady—now, fire!” The Tornado’s shot struck the Russian’s counter, apparently committing a considerable amount of damage. This first specimen of the power of his pursuer’s guns seemed to satisfy him that he had better not engage at close quarters. The dense volumes of smoke which issued from his funnel proved that he was endeavouring to get more steam, in the hopes of still keeping ahead. As the Tornado could not be made to move faster than she was then going, Jack had to content himself with the prospect of the chase’s getting on shore, running short of coal, or of some accident happening to her machinery. Another shot was tried, but it fell short, showing that she had again drawn ahead. Some miles more had been run, when Green brought the chart on deck, and pointed out a fort situated on the shores of a bay a short distance off.

“The chase has evidently been making for that, and thinks that she will be secure under its guns,” he observed.

“We’ll stand on, and attack both ship and fort together,” said Jack; “we’ll sink the ship first, and then knock the fort to pieces.”

In about ten minutes more the chase rounded a point, when a bay opened out, on the farther side of which appeared a strong-looking fort, guarding the mouth of a river which ran into the bay.

“She may escape us after all if she runs up that river,” observed Higson, “unless we can first silence the guns of the fort, and then follow her.”

“We must just do that same then; and if we can’t knock the fort to pieces with our guns, we must land and storm it,” said Jack.

His remark was received with universal satisfaction, as no one thought of the superior number of the garrison likely to oppose them. The chase was now more eagerly watched than ever, it being fully expected that she would run up the river to escape them; instead, however, of doing so, as she drew near the fort she let off her steam, and came to an anchor close under its guns.

“Now we’ve got her,” cried Jack exultingly.

The Tornado stood on to within half a mile of the fort, when she opened fire on it, and now on the ship, which fired with some spirit in return; but as the Tornado kept moving about, their shot invariably missed her. She had been thus engaged for a quarter of an hour or more, her guns having told with considerable effect on the Russian vessel, when a column of smoke was seen ascending at some little distance behind the fort, apparently from the river.

“That must proceed from another steamer coming down to assist our friend,” observed Higson; “and see, there is another rising just beyond it—we shall have no lack of enemies to fight.”

“We must settle with the first, then, as soon as possible,” cried Jack, in a cheery tone; “we’ll then take the others in detail.”

The crew cheered as they heard his remark, and worked away at the guns with redoubled zeal. Several shot had struck the vessel under the fort; first one of her guns ceased firing, then another and another; still she kept her colours flying, and in another minute the bows of a steamer were seen emerging from the mouth of the river. A shot was instantly fired at her; it struck her bulwarks, and evidently caused some damage. Instead, however, of running under the guns of the fort, she stood away up the bay, evidently not wishing to come to close quarters with the audacious stranger. A few minutes afterwards another vessel appeared, which, receiving one of the Tornado’s shot, followed the example of the first. After getting nearly two miles away, they brought their broadsides round, and opened a brisk fire. The Tornado, however, moving rapidly about as before, escaped every one of their shot; while she fired her guns as they came to bear on her antagonists, and seldom failed to hull one or other of them. Still, their guns were of heavier calibre than hers, and their shot frequently went far beyond her, and she had to stand towards them to make hers tell with effect.

At length a shot came crashing on board just abaft the funnel, wounding one man severely, and another, Tim Nolan, slightly.

“Arrah, now, it’s but a fleabite,” he exclaimed, getting a shipmate to bind a handkerchief round his shoulder; “we’ve given them more than that already, and it’s better than having the funnel shot away.”

Still Jack had no intention of abandoning the attack, and, wishing to settle the first vessel before he attended to the other two, he directed his guns at her and at the fort, although the shot from the former continually hulled him. One, at length, went through the ship’s side between wind and water, and the sea came rushing in like a mill-sluice. The midshipmen, who up to this time were enjoying the fighting, thought that things were beginning to look serious.

Dicky Duff, especially, expressed his apprehensions to his chum Billy. “If another shot comes in like that, we shall certainly go to the bottom; and I am not quite sure what will happen even now, for the commander has not told us to knock off firing. I wonder if he knows what has happened? He is such a plucky fellow, however, that I suppose he will go on fighting till the ship sinks below our feet.”

The youngsters were somewhat relieved by seeing the carpenter and his crew going below with the means for stopping the shot-hole; while Ben Snatchblock, with a rope round his waist, allowed himself to be slung overboard to reach the injury still more rapidly from the outside. He had just performed his task, when another shot went right through the forepart of the ship; happily, without hitting anyone, and the damage it had caused was as quickly repaired as the other had been. Jack had carried on the unequal contest for half an hour or more, when a third steamer was seen gliding out of the river, and as she opened her fire, it was soon discovered that her guns were heavier than those of either of her consorts. The first shot she fired came crashing through the Tornado’s side.

“I suppose we shall have to run for it now,” cried Dicky.

“Not a bit of it,” exclaimed Tom, who overheard him; “the commander wouldn’t be turned from his purpose, even if a dozen Russian steamers came out on us, and we shall soon settle with our old friend—she has not fired a shot for the last minute.” As he was speaking, a thick smoke rose from the afterpart of their antagonist, followed quickly by bright flames, which darted upwards through the hatchway. Directly afterwards a fire burst out in the forepart of the ship, and raged with a fury which it was clear the crew were incapable of overcoming. Her boats were lowered, and her people were seen dropping down into them with a rapidity which showed that they had abandoned all hope of saving their ship. As they could no longer offer any resistance, Jack humanely ordered his crew to refrain from firing on them. He directed, however, all his guns at the fort, for the purpose of silencing them before the other vessels should come up to take a closer part in the action, which he fully expected that they would do.

Though the damage he had received was considerable, there was nothing as yet, he conceived, sufficiently serious to make him haul off. Still he could not help wishing to see the flag of the fort come down, comparatively slight as was the damage he had received from its guns. Having destroyed the vessel he had chased, he might without any discredit haul off, considering the immense superiority of the force opposed to him; but Jack Rogers was not a man to haul down his flag, or get out of a fight, as long as he had a stick standing; and his spirit animating his officers and crew, the Tornado kept blazing away, throwing shells into the fort, and firing shot, as he could bring his guns to bear at the three steamers. They had now, however, drawn considerably nearer than they had hitherto ventured to approach, and there seemed considerable likelihood of Dicky Duffs apprehensions being fulfilled.

Jack now looked at the three vessels, now at the fort. “It might be done,” he said, turning to Higson, “if the fort were stormed, and its guns turned against the steamers.”

“I would undertake it,” said Higson; “but with its own garrison and the crew of the vessel which has just been burnt, it would be a hard job.”

“I would ask no one to lead it but myself,” said Jack; “I will leave you to fight the vessel in the meantime; should I be killed, I give you orders to retire, for with a diminished crew you would have little prospect of doing more than has already been accomplished.”

“I do not advise you to command the expedition,” said Higson; “you know me, and that I am not likely to be stopped by any ordinary hazard.”

Jack, without answering, still kept eyeing the shore, looking out for a place where his boats might land.

“There’s a steamer in the offing, sir, standing in for the bay,” said Archie, coming up to him.

“Another enemy,” exclaimed Higson; “we shall have enough of them.”

“We’ll tackle them, notwithstanding,” answered Jack; “they show no inclination, however, to come to close quarters.”

Another shot from the enemy struck the Tornado.

“The commander is just a little o’er brave,” observed Dicky Duff to Billy Blueblazes; “we’ve got terrible odds against us.”

“He knows what he is about, and he’ll manage to lick them all, one after another, depend on that,” said Billy.

“I don’t exactly see how he’s going to do that,” said Dicky. “If we could but tackle one at a time it would be fairer, and we should have a better chance of licking them.”

“That’s just what they don’t want to give us,” said Billy.

“Another steamer coming in from the southward, sir,” said Archie, who had been looking out.

“Friend or foe?” observed Jack to Higson; “if the latter, we must stand out and meet her, and leave the three vessels in the bay till we can come back and settle with them.”

Still Jack showed no inclination to quit the neighbourhood of the fort, into which shell after shell was thrown, till most of its guns had been silenced. Many an eye, however, was turned towards the approaching strangers, till at length the first showed English colours. A cheer rose from those of the crew not engaged at the guns, the only sign they gave of their desire for assistance. In another minute the number of the approaching steamer was made out, “She’s the Giaour” exclaimed Archie.

If Jack ever felt any inclination to be jealous of Murray it was now, as he was his superior officer; but the feeling which arose in his breast was speedily quelled. The Giaour came rapidly on; Murray signalised to Jack, “Remain where you are, and I will attack the vessels in the bay.” Jack ordered the signal to be made, “They will attempt to escape up the river.”

“Stand on and stop them,” was the answer from the Giaour.

The Tornado accordingly steamed on towards her three antagonists, which now began to turn their heads, as Jack had expected they would, towards the mouth of the river. They were thus unable any longer to fire at him, while he was still able to reach them with two of his guns, one firing shot and the other shell. The Giaour now signalised, “Steamer to the south, English.”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Tom; “we are now on equal terms, and can bag the whole of them.”

The three Russian vessels were still half a mile away from the mouth of the river when Jack got off it, and by this time the Giaour was near enough to take a part in the engagement, her shot beginning to tell with considerable effect on the nearest of the enemy. The Russian vessels now swept round, apparently with the intention of running across the bay, firing their broadsides at the Tornado, but with little effect; and she, in return, as they exposed their sterns in flight, kept up a brisk fire at them with shot and shell. One of them now burst into flames, and in half a minute blew up, destroying the greater number of her unhappy crew.

The other two, however, still continued on their course, hoping, apparently, to get out of the bay ahead of the Giaour, not being aware, it was evident, that another English ship was near at hand to cut them off. Jack, knowing that they must both be intercepted, made a signal asking leave of Murray to pick up any of the Russians still floating on the wreck of the steamer. This request was at once granted; and, lowering two of his boats, of one of which Tom took the command, and of the other Ben Snatchblock, he again stood on in pursuit of the two steamers. They, however, had not got far when they made out a third vessel coming to attack them, and finding that all hope of escape was cut off, they both hauled down their colours.

Murray, who was nearest to them, at once sent a couple of boats to take possession of the two prizes; while Jack stood back to pick up his boats. Of the whole of the Russian crew they had saved but six men, two of whom were much burnt, and one died directly after he had been taken on board the Tornado. One of the survivors, a Finn, who, having served on board English merchantmen, spoke English perfectly, informed Jack that a considerable quantity of corn and other provisions were stored in warehouses on the banks of the river, some way from its mouth.

“It is our duty to destroy them,” said Jack to Higson.

“I will undertake to do it,” was the answer. An expedition was at once planned, the command of which Jack, with Murray’s approval, gave to Higson; Archie was to accompany him, while Green and Tom were to go in another boat. The fort, however, still held out, and several of its guns had again opened fire on the English vessels. Murray determined to take it by assault as soon as the approaching steamer had come into the bay. She now made her number; the bunting flying from her masthead showed her to be the Flash.

“She can only lately have arrived in the Black Sea, and is probably on her way to join the fleet, for she was only building when we left home,” observed Jack. “I wonder who commands her.”

By the time the preparations for attacking the fort had been made the Flash had come close up to the Giaour. A gig from the former was seen to pull to the latter vessel; Murray now made a signal to Jack to come on board; he was soon alongside the Giaour. Stepping on deck, who should he see with his hand extended to greet him but Terence Adair; standing a little way behind him was Gerald Desmond. Archie, who had accompanied his commander, and Desmond were soon in eager conversation; while Jack, at Murray’s invitation, went below with Adair. There was only just time for Jack to hear that Terence’s former ship, having received some damage, had been sent home to be repaired, and that he in the meantime had been appointed to the command of the Flash destined for the Black Sea.

“I was glad to get her,” he observed; “for, judging from our first year’s experience in the Baltic, I suspected that we were not likely to have much to do in that part of the world; first, because the Russians showed no inclination to come out and fight us; and, secondly, because Charley Napier—”

“Never mind the second reason,” interrupted Murray; “here you are, and very glad we are to see you; and now let me hear what you say to our proposed attack on this fort.”

“That I am perfectly ready to go in for it,” answered Adair. “How many boats’ crews do you require, or shall I send the whole of my ship’s company?”

“Two boats’ crews will be sufficient, and the sooner you send them off the better,” replied Murray.

“In other words, you direct me to trundle on board as fast as I can,” said Adair. “I should like to lead the expedition myself, and as we pull in I can take a sufficient survey of the fort for the purpose. As I have had no share in the glories of the campaign, you will not refuse me?”

Murray willingly agreed to Adair’s request, and two of the Flash’s boats being quickly manned, the three steamers stood towards the fort. As they approached, they were received by a pretty hot fire, which they returned, while still standing on, with shells from their guns; and, running close in, they brought their broadsides to bear on the fort, into which they forthwith poured a shower of shot and shell. The boats then cast off, and, led by Adair, pulled for a landing-place on one side, from which a road led up apparently into the interior. The ships meantime kept up a furious bombardment on the fort; and though one gun from it was brought to bear on the boats, none of them were hit. Adair, rapidly pulling for the shore, quickly landed, and without a moment’s loss of time led the way up the hill. Every instant he expected to see the enemy, but none appeared. Turning to the right, and keeping under cover of some rocks and trees, he made his way towards the fort. Ben Snatchblock had been provided with a red flag, which he exhibited at the last point whence it could be seen from the ships; and it was calculated that in three minutes more after this the party would reach the rear of the fort. Directly that time had elapsed, the ships were to cease firing.

Adair and Higson led, followed closely by Ben, the two midshipmen being ordered to bring up the rear. Ben having showed his flag, the party rushed on, and directly afterwards a shower of bullets whistled over the spot where they had been; but by that time Tom and Archie were a dozen yards ahead. In less than three minutes they had reached the ditch in the rear of the fort. Not a Russian helmet was to be seen on that side; Adair and Higson had to restrain the ardour of their followers, who were eager to climb over the defences. They waited till the last shot fired from the ships came crashing into the fort; three or four seconds passed, and no others came. Adair began to count—“One, two, three, four, five, six—now, my lads, you may come on!” he exclaimed; and he and his party, springing forward, began, with the agility of cats, to climb over the defences.

Not a Russian soldier could be seen except those who were labouring at the guns, the rest of the garrison having wisely betaken themselves to their bomb-proof chambers. In consequence of the hot fire kept up by the ships, they had not expected that the party they had seen landing were about to attack them, and Terence and his men had actually jumped down into the fort before the garrison had mustered in sufficient force to resist them. They were, of course, quickly seen; the bugle sounded, and the troops rushed out of their bomb-proof chambers. A considerable body, headed by their commandant, at length drew up across the fort for the purpose of impeding the progress of their daring assailants.

“On, lads, on!” cried Adair, seeing that their best chance of victory was to attack the garrison before they had time to form into a compact body. They had indeed been completely taken by surprise, many having hurried out without bayonets fixed, others with unloaded muskets, some only with pikes or swords in their hands. Ben Snatchblock had brought an English ensign under his arm; keeping his eye on the flagstaff, he directed his course, with a few companions, towards it. As Adair and Higson led on the main body, the garrison gave way, some hurrying off to conceal themselves in the chambers from which they had just before emerged, while others made for a gate in the rear of the fort leading to the drawbridge, which was, however, up. Before they could lower it, Adair, with most of his men, was upon them, when, with a loud voice, he ordered them not to touch the chains unless they wished to be cut to pieces.

Meantime Ben and his companions were fighting their way towards the flagstaff; a few men who were collected were quickly put to flight.

“Now, up goes the British ensign and the fort is ours,” cried Ben; and, suiting the action to the word, the Russian flag being hauled down, that of England was hoisted in its stead. The commandant, finding that the fort had really been captured by the English, came forward with a low bow, and presented the hilt of his sword to Adair, who took it in the most gracious manner he could assume, observing as he did so, “You have gallantly defended your fort, and deserve every consideration at our hands; but at the same time I must warn you that I cannot allow any of your garrison to escape from the fort. After they have laid down their arms, I will settle how they are to be treated.”

The bugle on this sounded, and the garrison from all directions came out and piled arms in the centre of the fort. A few minutes afterwards, as Terence stood on the ramparts, he observed Murray with a couple of boats pulling to the shore. Adair, thinking it prudent not to lower the drawbridge, for fear any of the garrison might escape, called to Murray and his party to make their way over the walls into the fortress. Murray, having brought on shore some strong tackles, at once set to work to dismount the guns for the purpose of carrying them off, while the greater number of muskets, which were of no value, after being broken, were hurled into the sea below the fort. Murray highly approved of Adair’s proceedings; and the commandant was politely informed that he and his garrison must be for the present content to remain prisoners within their own fort. He and his officers shrugged their shoulders, and observed that it was the fortune of war; while the garrison seemed very indifferent to the matter, probably very glad to have nothing to do, and to run no risk of being shot by their enemies.

Murray, however, took the precaution of shutting them all up in the bomb-proof chambers, to prevent them from running away, while at night a bright look-out was kept from the ramparts on all sides, and all hands ordered to be ready to turn out at a moment’s notice, lest an attempt might be made by any Russian force in the neighbourhood to recapture the fort. The commandant was allowed to occupy his own quarters, to which he invited the English officers, who found a very welcome repast prepared for them. A remarkably pleasant evening was spent, and the commandant, expressing a hope that the war would soon be over, invited them, as soon as that happy event should occur, to his country-house, which he told them was only a few miles off up the river. They all promised gladly to avail themselves of the invitation, should circumstances allow them to do so.

Chapter Nineteen.

An Expedition up the River—Attack on the Magazines—Burning Storehouses and Vessels—Higson and Archie have to run for it—Pull down the River—Higson and Tom have to recruit the inner Man—Russian Nightingales—Hospitable Reception—Higson succumbs to Beauty—The Old Tutor—Proves to be one of Green’s Friends—Unpleasant Interruption by Cossacks.

At early dawn the two boats, as had previously been arranged, shoved off from the side of the Tornado, on the proposed expedition up the river, for the purpose of destroying any Government stores or munitions of war which could be discovered.

“It is lucky we didn’t attempt to come in till we had silenced the guns,” observed Higson, pointing to the strong walls which frowned above them, from which the guns had been removed.

The country on one side was level; on the other, hills, some of considerable elevation, rose from the bank of the river, which twisted and turned, forming several short reaches, and prevented those going up from seeing to any considerable distance ahead.

“We must be prepared for anything that may happen,” shouted Higson to Green; “for what we know we may meet another steamer coming down to look after her friends, or we may fall in with a troop of Cossacks or other soldiers, who may give us a somewhat warm reception, if they suspect what we are about.”

“I suppose we shall board the steamer if she appears,” said Green.

“Depend on that—and take her too,” answered Higson; at which the men laughed, as if they thought there was no doubt about the matter. The boats pulled on, passing some pretty-looking country-houses, surrounded by gardens, and backed by orchards or vineyards planted on the hillside.

“A good style of country this to live in,” observed Higson to Archie; “I always have my eye on pleasant spots, and amuse myself with the idea that I shall some day come and settle down there, when I have had enough of a sea-life. After knocking about for the best part of his days, a fellow longs to find himself quietly settled on shore.”

“But surely, Mr Higson, you wish to become post-captain, or an admiral?” observed Archie.

“That is more than I ever shall be, youngster, unless I’m a yellow admiral; indeed, I shall consider myself fortunate if I get made a commander, and after serving a year or two am allowed to retire from the service,” said Higson. “Now, that is a place to which I should have no objection,” he continued, as, having opened a fresh reach, he pointed to a house of greater pretensions than those they had before seen. “After we have performed the work we have been sent on, when we come down we’ll look in there and request the inhabitants to provide us some dinner, for I am very sharp set, as I daresay you are.”

Of course Higson shouted to Green, telling him what he intended to do, and, of course, the master and Tom very willingly agreed to his proposal. “We have, however, first our work to do,” observed Higson; “to burn a few granaries and stacks of wheat, and as many vessels as we can fall in with; that won’t take us long, however, if we meet with no opposition, and if we do we must fight, and get the matter over as soon as possible. We must finish it, as Shakespeare says we should a beefsteak.”

“I don’t think it’s Shakespeare says that,” observed Archie; “however, there’s no doubt that unless we can do it quickly, we may miss doing it altogether, as those Cossack fellows who are in the neighbourhood will be coming down and trying to cut us off.”

“Well, as they can’t charge into the river, they’ll have a hard job to do that,” said Higson; “and when we land we must take care not to get far from the boats. It is to be hoped that Commander Adair will keep the garrison shut up in their fort, and so the people up the country, not knowing what has happened, will be unprepared for us.”

As they pulled along the officers in the two boats kept a bright look-out on either bank, and, not having seen any horsemen, were in hopes that they might come suddenly upon the place they wished to reach, if no peasantry saw them; or, if they saw them, as they had no flag flying, the peasantry might easily mistake them for Russians, as they would scarcely suppose that two English boats would have ventured up so far from the protection of their ships.

The river rather narrowed as they proceeded, and they observed that the banks were fringed with wide belts of rushes, so that, should they have to run the gauntlet between foes on either bank, by keeping in the centre they should be a good distance from both of them. This was satisfactory; for the bravest of men do not find it pleasant to be shot at without the chance of getting at their enemies. Still Higson hoped that they should be able to accomplish their object, and make their escape again without loss. At length, having rounded a point over which the masts of several vessels were visible, they saw before them several long, high buildings, with a line of stacks in front of them, and a collection of, apparently, private houses and cottages beyond, while in front were between twenty and thirty vessels moored to the shore, and lying so closely together that by setting fire to two or three the rest must inevitably be burnt.

Without stopping the two boats pulled on, keeping close together, so that Higson could give his directions to Green. He ordered him to pull up alongside the farthermost vessels, and to board and set them on fire as quickly as possible; which beneficent work being accomplished, he was to come back and join him on the shore in front of the storehouses and stacks. It could scarcely be supposed that so much property would be left without protection; still no soldiers had been seen, and Higson hoped that they might accomplish their object before any could come down to oppose them.

“The truth is, I suspect,” he observed to Archie, “the Russians have depended on their fort at the mouth of the river, and it did not occur to them that an enemy could force his way past it. The steamers may have been lying much nearer the entrance than this, and had not time to communicate with the village before they came down to attack us; the chances are that the people on the banks, who saw them go down, fancy that they sent us long ago to the bottom, and have no idea that we have taken their fort.”

“They must have heard, however, the sound of the vessel blowing up,” observed Archie.

“If they did, they may have thought it was one of ours,” answered Higson, who had made up his mind that all was to go smoothly. The boats soon got up to the place, when Green pulled away to perform his part of the undertaking; while Higson steered for the shore. As he did so, a rattling fire of musketry was opened on him from behind a small fort, or earthwork, which he had hitherto not perceived. Probably the Russians had only just then discovered that the approaching boats belonged to their enemies. Not a man, however, was hit, though several bullets struck the boat; and the next instant she was alongside the wharf. Higson, springing on shore, followed by Archie and most of his crew, two only remaining to take care of the boat, made a dash at the earthwork; from which the defenders, if so they could be called, rushed out as their assailants leaped in.

“Don’t follow them, lads,” cried Higson; “small-arm men, just pepper them and prevent them coming back. And now we’ll fire the storehouses.”

The men had been provided with matches and torches, and more quickly than it can be described they threw their burning brands into the open windows of the storehouses, which the instant after were in a blaze from one end to the other. They then with equal rapidity lighting the huge stacks close to the water’s edge, they also were soon blazing away, with a fury which would have defied all the attempts of the Russians, had any appeared, to save them. As the wind blew on the shore, the dense volumes of smoke which were driven in the faces of those on the other side completely concealed the perpetrators of the deed from their sight.

Green and Tom had, in the meantime, not been idle. A slight opposition only was made by the crew of the first vessel they boarded; finding it useless to defend her, they made their escape across the intervening craft to the shore. The English then set fire in succession to all those on the outside, the flames from which quickly caught the masts and rigging of the rest; and before the master’s boat rejoined Higson’s, every vessel was blazing away with a fury which secured the destruction of the whole. Higson, believing that the work was done, ordered Green to follow him down the river; he, however, had only just got clear of the line of burning stacks, when he perceived that another storehouse standing a little farther back than the others had not as yet been set on fire.

“We must not leave the work unfinished,” he exclaimed. “Come, Archie, you and I and Tim Nolan will soon do the job;” and, springing on shore with a torch which he had just lighted, followed by Archie and Tim, each with a musket as well as a torch, he made his way towards the storehouse. As the party ran on they caught sight of several people in the distance, and Archie thought he saw some horsemen with long lances; but they believed that they could reach the building, and get back to the boat, long before the latter could be down upon them. As they arrived at the storehouse, they found that the door was closed, and that the windows were too high to enable them to throw in their torches. A piece of timber lay near at hand.

“We must make a battering-ram of this,” cried Higson; “here, Gordon, you and Tim lay hold of it on one side, and I’ll take the other, and we’ll soon knock in the door.”

The first blow failed in its intended effect. “Now, lads, heave with a will,” cried Higson, and the door gave way.

Picking up their torches, as well as their muskets, which they had put down to handle the battering-ram, they sprang in; and Higson, running to the farther end, ignited some woodwork and a pile of sacks; while Tim, leaping up a ladder, left his torch burning on the upper floor. In a few seconds Higson came back, and, throwing Archie’s torch as far as he could into the building, they all rushed out again. As they were making their way as fast as their legs could carry them to the boat, Archie, turning his head over his right shoulder, saw the horsemen he had before observed galloping at full speed towards them.

“Here come the Cossacks, Mr Higson,” he shouted out. “Run, Mr Higson, run, while Tim and I keep them at bay.”

Higson, having grown somewhat stout, was not as active as formerly; and Archie knew that he and Tim could soon overtake him. Higson, aware of this, did as he was advised, while he shouted out to the rest of the people in the boat to cover the two who remained behind.

“Oh, Mr Green, Archie and the man with him will be cut off if we don’t pull in and help them,” cried Tom, who, just as the boat got clear of the smoke, caught sight of the Cossacks.

Green on this pulled to the shore, and part of the two boats’ crews landing, just as the Cossacks got within twenty yards of Archie and Tim, they opened fire, which emptied two of their saddles, and made the rest of the troop wheel quickly round; while Archie and Tim, having also fired their muskets, took to their heels and soon joined their shipmates.

“Give way, my lads,” cried Higson, as he once more took his seat; “we’ve done the work effectually, and there’s no use stopping to get fired at as we pull down the river.”

The dense volume of smoke which rose up from the bank of the river completely concealed the Cossacks, and of course prevented them from seeing the boats, which they possibly might have supposed were still lying off the place, ready to commit other mischief. Higson had received orders, however, on no account to injure private property, and he could only hope that the flames had not reached the buildings he had seen beyond the storehouses. Just as they got a little way beyond the point there came the thundering sound of an explosion.

“That must be a magazine blown up,” observed Tom.

“Perhaps one of the vessels has powder on board,” said Green; “I think I caught sight of some spars through the smoke, but they may have been fragments of timber.”

Just then there came another explosion as loud as the first, and scarcely had its echoes died away among the hills on the left when a third occurred.

“No doubt about it now,” said Green; “some of the vessels we set on fire must have been laden with powder.”

“I hope no unfortunate people were on board them. A pretty considerable amount of mischief we have done this morning,” said Tom; “but I suppose it was our duty, so we mustn’t think too much about it.”

“Of course it was,” answered Green; “if people will go to war, they must take the consequences.”

“But perhaps the people didn’t want to go to war,” said Tom; “it was all their Emperor’s doing.”

“Then they ought not to live under such an Emperor,” said Green.

“How can they help themselves?” asked Tom; “I daresay, if they had been asked they would have preferred remaining at peace.”

“I confess that I don’t feel any animosity against them; I would much rather be fighting the French; but they, by a sort of hocus-pocus, are our allies,” remarked Green. “In reality we are not making war on the Russian people; we are expressly ordered not to injure any of their property; our business is only to destroy Government stores.”

“Well, that’s some comfort,” said Tom, “though it may not always be easy to distinguish one from the other.”

This conversation took place as the boats were pulling away, as hard as the men could lay their backs to the oars, down the river. As yet they had seen no Cossacks or foot-soldiers on either bank; possibly they might have remained to try to put out the fire, or the nature of the ground on the left bank, on which the stores were situated, prevented them from making rapid progress over it. As the boats had come up, Green had observed an extensive marsh with a wide stream, which, unless there was a bridge over it, would have alone proved an effectual barrier to the progress of cavalry. To the right, on which the houses had been seen, were high and picturesque hills, some rising almost directly out of the water, with fertile valleys, groves, orchards, and vineyards. Had any number of armed men been in the neighbourhood, they might greatly have annoyed the boats as they went down. The tide, however, was with them, and they made rapid progress.

They could still see a cloud of smoke collected over the stores and vessels they had set on fire, which convinced them that any attempt which might have been made by the soldiers to extinguish the flames must have proved unsuccessful. They were pulling along, as has been said, at a rapid rate, when, in order to take the shortest course, they kept close round a wooded point on the right bank, the current, which was very strong, helping them along. Scarcely had they rounded the point when both boats struck with great force on a rocky ledge, the existence of which had not been perceived.

“We have made a pretty big hole in our boat, sir,” observed Archie.

“Why, the water’s running in like a mill-stream! Back all!” cried Higson; “now pull round the port oars.”

The men gave way with all their might. Higson steered the boat to the shore. The water was almost up to their thwarts before they reached it; they all leaped out on the bank, or she would have sunk with them. Green’s boat had also received considerable damage, and he, not without difficulty, followed them.

“We are in a pretty plight,” exclaimed Tom; “what are we to do now?”

“Repair the damages as fast as we can, and continue our course,” said Higson.

To do this, however, it was necessary to haul the boats up; as they were full of water, this was a very difficult matter; they had to tow them along for some distance to a convenient spot, where the bank, shelving gently down, enabled them by degrees to get them up and bale the water out. Should the enemy find them while thus employed they would all be taken prisoners; Higson felt considerable anxiety on this score, his only consolation being that they might be exchanged for the commandant and garrison of the fort. By all working together they first hauled one boat up and then the other. Though the men got pretty wet in the operation, Higson and Green and the midshipmen kept tolerably dry.

“I say, Archie, are you not very hungry?” said Tom.

“Yes,” answered Archie; “Mr Higson said he would go up to one of the houses on our way down, and try and get some food; I vote we ask him.”

“He has probably forgotten all about it; I’ll remind him,” said Tom; “I know what will make him as eager as we are for something to eat Mr Higson,” he said, going up to him, “don’t you think, sir, it would be pleasant if we had a dish of Irish stew, with a few bottles of porter to discuss, while the boats are being put to rights?”

“What made you think of that, youngster?” asked Higson; licking his lips, however, at the bare thoughts of his favourite dish.

“You told Gordon, sir, when you came up, that you thought of putting in to try and get something to eat,” answered Tom; “he and I are almost starved; and I should think you and Mr Green and the men must be pretty sharp set also. Now would be a good opportunity, and Gordon says that the cottage we saw a quarter of a mile or so off is the one which you thought so pretty, and where you said you would like to spend the remainder of your days.”

“What business has he to be telling you what I said?” exclaimed Higson; “I don’t approve of you youngsters chattering about me.”

“Of course not, sir,” said Tom; “but it was the thought of the Irish stew, or some other nice dish, which the good people of the house might be inclined to set before us, made us propose asking you to let us go up and try what we could get.”

“Well, I have no objection to make an excursion to the house,” said Higson, “provided we can ascertain that the coast is clear, and I will take one of you with me. As you can talk French, I shall take you and leave Gordon to assist the master.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tom; “I am pretty sure that there are no Russians in the neighbourhood, or they would have been down on us some time ago.”

Before starting, however, Higson, accompanied by Tom, took the precaution of climbing to the top of a hill, from whence they could look up and across the river, and over a considerable part of the right bank. Not a human being was visible moving anywhere, nor was a boat of any description to be seen floating on the surface of the stream. Had it not been for the houses and the cultivated ground, they might have supposed that they were in some wild country; the fact being, probably, that the male part of the population had been drawn off either to garrison the forts or to serve in the army, while the women were attending to their household duties within doors.

Higson, directing Green to launch the boats as soon as they were repaired, and to fire a musket should any enemy appear, and promising to bring the party some food if he could obtain it, set off with Tom in the direction of the country-house he had thought so attractive. The first part of their way was over wild ground, without any beaten track; but as it was tolerably open, they were able to get along without difficulty. At length they came upon a path which led apparently from the house to a landing-place, near which a small, gaily-painted boat was hauled up, and a boathouse, which they concluded contained a larger craft.

“Now, this looks as if the people in the house yonder are well to do,” observed Higson, “and are likely to have a good store of provisions.”

“That is of the chief consequence to us just now,” said Tom; “shall we go up to the front entrance and tell them our errand, or find out the back door, and get a servant to go in and say what we want?”

“Go in at once and explain what we require,” answered Higson.

While speaking they were making their way along the path they had discovered. In a short time they reached a small gate, and seeing the roof of the house over the shrubbery, they concluded that by going through the gate they could make a shorter cut through it. As time was of consequence, they accordingly proceeded on by the pathway which led through the shrubbery, when, just as they were about to emerge from it, they heard the sound of a female voice singing in an accomplished and very sweet manner. Higson put his hand on Tom’s arm, and signed to him to stop.

Those who have for many months been accustomed to the roar of guns, the howling of the tempest, and the gruff voice of the boatswain, may conceive what effect such dulcet notes were likely to produce on the lieutenant and midshipman. They stopped for some time listening with delight.

“I would not for the world run the risk of frightening her, whoever she is,” said Higson, when at length the lady ceased singing; “if we go on, we shall come directly in front of the room in which she is sitting; the window is open, or we should not hear the sound so plainly. We must try and find some other way of approaching the house.”

“If you will let me, sir, I’ll creep forward and try to get a look through the trees without being seen,” said Tom, who was highly delighted with the adventure, which promised, as he hoped, to be of a romantic character. He was more of an age to enjoy the sort of thing than his lieutenant. Higson, however, preferred looking for himself, as he was, in reality, quite as much interested as Tom. They could just see that the path opened out on a gravel walk, which ran along the well-kept, smooth lawn, with flower-beds dotted about on it. Just at this juncture they heard a childish laugh, and caught sight of a little boy with a hat in his hand, running across the lawn in chase of a butterfly, presently pursued by a young lady in a white muslin dress, who, overtaking him, lifted him up in her arms, and was returning with him to the window, from which she had apparently issued, when her eyes fell on the two strangers. She stopped and looked at them, without exhibiting any particular sign of alarm, apparently wondering who they could be and what had brought them there.

The little boy, however, uttered a loud cry, which produced a question from another person who was yet invisible. As they were now discovered, they did the best thing that, under the circumstances, they could do. Taking off their caps, they advanced with low bows, when they saw another young lady who had just come through the Venetian window which opened on to the lawn, under a broad verandah running along the side of the house.

“Pray do not be frightened, young ladies,” said Higson, bowing first to one and then to the other; “we had no intention of intruding on you so suddenly, and I beg you ten thousand pardons.”

As neither of the ladies replied, Tom thought that they probably did not understand English, and began repeating in French, as far as his knowledge of the language enabled him, what his lieutenant had said. The young lady who had just appeared at the window, and who was evidently the elder of the two, smiled as she listened to Tom’s bad French. “You have not alarmed us, I assure you,” she answered at length, in very good English. “Gentlemen, I know, would not act uncourteously. I am surprised, however, at seeing you, as our two nations are unhappily at war; but may I inquire whence you have come, and what it is you want?”

Higson, of course, did not think it necessary to say that they had been up the river burning the Russian granaries and vessels, and he merely therefore explained that they had landed from some men-of-war’s boats, and, having come away without provisions, would be very much obliged if they could be informed where they could obtain food for themselves and their men.

“This seems very strange,” said the young lady; “I thought that none of the enemy’s boats could come up the river past the fort at its entrance, of which our papa is the commandant. We heard a great deal of firing yesterday evening, and were very anxious to know what it was about; but were assured by Herr Groben, our brothers’ tutor, that some English vessels, which were attacking it, had been beaten off, and that no harm could have happened to the defenders; indeed, three of our war-steamers went out from the river, and we of course supposed assisted to put the English to flight. You have, I hope, therefore, come up with a flag of truce? Surely Herr Groben could not have been mistaken. Can you give us any tidings of our papa?”

“I am very glad to be able to assure you, young lady, that when I had the pleasure of seeing him he was perfectly well, though somewhat vexed at the loss of his fort, which we were under the painful necessity of capturing, as also the man-of-war steamers which came out of the harbour to assist him,” answered Higson.

The young ladies spoke to each other for several minutes in Russian, so that Higson and Tom could not understand what they said.

“Though we have no enmity against the English, you bring news which is painful to us, as we know that our papa will grieve for the misfortune which has happened to him,” said the elder of the young ladies. “We are, however, obliged to you for informing us of his safety, and should be glad to do our best to supply your wants.”

Higson and Tom had been all this time standing with their caps in their hands, in front of the window. While the lieutenant was addressing the eldest of the two ladies, Tom was turning an admiring glance at the youngest, who still held the little boy in her arms, while he had thrown his round her neck, and was every now and then taking an alarmed look at the strangers.

“I am afraid that he is frightened at us,” said Tom. “I must really apologise for our intrusion; I can assure you that it was not intentional, and we should have retired at once had we not stopped to listen to some delightful singing. Was it you or your sister we heard?”

“It was my sister; but we both sing,” answered the young lady, “and we shall be very happy to sing to you by and by if you wish it.”

Of course Tom thanked her very much, and felt quite at home in a minute. The elder sister then invited them to come in and sit down, while she ordered some supper to be prepared for them and their men. While she was absent, and the younger lady was sitting with the little boy in her lap, doing her best to entertain them, the door opened, and an old gentleman, in a sky-blue suit, with a periwig on his head, entered the room, making a profound bow as he did so. The young lady introduced him as Herr Groben. He probably had heard about the English officers from the elder sister, for he looked in no way surprised, and, at once coming forward, welcomed them with apparent sincerity. He made no remark about the capture of the fort or vessels; perhaps he thought it better to let the subject alone. On hearing that the party at the boats were in want of provisions, he at once volunteered to carry down a supply as soon as it could be got ready. Higson, who thought him a very agreeable person, at once accepted his offer; for he himself had been so much struck by the appearance of the elder of the young ladies, and by her sweet singing, that he was in no hurry to go away.

Herr Groben said he must apologise for the absence of the lady of the house, Madame Paskiewich being unable to make her appearance, as she was confined to her room by a slight indisposition; but she sent her compliments, expressing a hope that they would be satisfied with the treatment they might receive during the time they might think fit to remain. Higson, not to be outdone in politeness, begged to assure Madame Paskiewich that he was grateful for the kind reception he had met with, and should be happy to be the bearer of any message or more weighty articles which she might wish to send to her husband. On the return of Mademoiselle Paskiewich, who had gone to order supper and to superintend the packing of some baskets of provisions, Herr Groben made his bow, and was shortly afterwards seen crossing the lawn, followed by two long-shirted servants carrying a couple of hampers slung on a pole borne on their shoulders.

Tom had asked the young lady her name, which she told him was Feodorowna. “My eldest sister’s,” she added, “is Ivanowna. And have you any sisters?” she asked. Upon which Tom told her all about his family, and that he had several brothers, one of whom commanded the ship to which he belonged, and that another was in the Guards; all of which pieces of information considerably raised him in the young lady’s estimation. He wisely thought it better to say nothing about Higson, except that he was the first lieutenant of his brother’s ship. While supper was being prepared, Ivanowna, observing that the English officers were good enough to be pleased with her singing, went to the piano and sang several songs, with which Higson expressed himself highly delighted. Every moment his admiration of the young lady evidently increased. She was not, it must be acknowledged, possessed of what could be called classical beauty; she was fair, certainly, with blue eyes, but they were rather small; while her figure was too short and round to be graceful, and her nose differed considerably from that of the Venus de Medicis; but then she had smiling lips, and a good-natured expression altogether.

Her younger sister, Feodorowna, who was scarcely fifteen, was certainly very much prettier; indeed, Tom was inclined to pronounce her perfectly beautiful, and he was still more delighted with her when she sang, though her voice was not equal to that of her sister.

Supper being announced, they went into the dining-room without waiting for the return of Herr Groben. His two pupils, boys younger than Feodorowna, however, made their appearance. They reported that they had gone down to the boats, and had seen Herr Groben shaking hands with the officer in command, having apparently found an old friend.

“That is not surprising,” observed Higson; “our master, Jos Green, finds old friends everywhere, and I believe that if he were to go to the North Pole he would fall in with an acquaintance.”

Higson and Tom had been now nearly two hours at the house, and it was high time that they should be off; but neither of them felt any inclination to quit such agreeable society. Still, Higson was too good an officer to forget his duty, and he at length told Tom that it was time to go; and they were on the point of wishing their fair hostesses good-bye, Higson promising with perfect sincerity that, if able, when the war was over, he would come back; and Tom, with equal honesty, saying much the same thing, when they saw Herr Groben hurrying across the lawn towards the drawing-room window, and panting for breath.

“I am sorry to say, gentlemen, that I bring you unsatisfactory intelligence,” exclaimed Herr Groben. “As I was sitting on the point, enjoying my meerschaum with my old friend Green, I caught sight of a number of foot-soldiers and a troop of Cossacks, who had come over the hills farther down the river, and who, it was very evident from their gestures, had caught sight of the boats hauled up on the bank, and the English seamen around them. I advised Green to launch the boats, and to come round to the landing-place near the house to receive you on board. There is not a moment to be lost, for they outnumber your people as five to one, and can find plenty of shelter; and were they to discover you on shore, they would make you prisoners.”

Higson and Tom smiled. “They are not likely to do that,” answered Higson; “though we are very much obliged to you for your warning, and most unwillingly we must wish our kind hostesses good-bye.”

“Oh, do go! do go!” cried both the young ladies in a breath; “we should deeply regret if you were to be made prisoners, and grieved still more were you compelled to fight the Cossacks.”

“We must first thank you for your kindness, which, believe me, we shall never forget,” said Higson, who, supposing that the Cossacks were still at a distance, did not feel that there was any necessity to be in a hurry. Tom was thanking Feodorowna in still more sentimental language, when the old tutor seized their arms.

“Come down, come!” he exclaimed; “even now I am afraid that you are too late. I hear the hoofs of the Cossacks’ horses clattering along the road, and they will catch sight of you before you can reach the landing-place.”

As he spoke, he went round to the front of the house, and quickly came back again.

“It is as I feared,” he exclaimed; “your retreat is cut off, and if the boats come in to take you on board, they will to a certainty be fired on. I must go and warn them, and leave you to the care of the ladies.”

“But if you can go, so can we,” said Higson, preparing to accompany Herr Groben.

“Oh no, no! they will recognise you at once from your uniforms; but they will not suspect my object. Besides, you will have to show yourself,” said Herr Groben, “as you try to get on board; but I can remain concealed, while I warn your friends to keep off the shore.”

Higson and Tom still persevered in their intention of making their way down to the landing-place, and were on the point of hurrying off, when the young ladies seized their hands and entreated them, with tears in their eyes, to remain.

“You will both of you be shot, for you will have to pass within a dozen yards of the spot the Cossacks have reached, and it would be so dreadful to have you killed. Do stay, and we can easily conceal you till they have gone away, for they dare not search this house; indeed, they will not suspect that English officers are within it.”

As the young ladies spoke, they led Higson and Tom to a side window, from whence they could see a troop of Cossacks, followed by a considerable number of foot-soldiers, passing along the road a short distance off beyond the garden. There could thus be no doubt that their retreat was cut off.

“You are perfectly safe here,” said Ivanowna; “though, as a protection, we will shut the windows leading into the garden. I have great hopes that Herr Groben will reach the boat in time to warn your friends, so as to prevent bloodshed, which is our great object; there has been too much spilt already in a bad cause. We could not sympathise with those who are guilty of the massacre of Sinope, and we believe that this cruel war was unnecessary. It may seem strange to you that I should thus express myself,” she continued, observing Higson’s look of surprise; “but our mother is half an Englishwoman, and we have been taught to regard the English with affection.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Higson, a strange feeling taking possession of his heart; indeed, he was much inclined to ask whether she could regard an Englishman with affection, but he wisely forbore to put the question. He, indeed, just then had his thoughts occupied about the boats. “Could you allow us to go to a window from whence we could watch what is going forward on the river?” he asked. “I am afraid that my friends may be tempted to remain, in the hopes of receiving us on board, till the Cossacks are down upon them.”

“Not if Herr Groben succeeds in carrying out his intention,” she answered. “But come with us to a room in the second storey, and from thence you will have a view of the river, and be able to watch the progress of the boats. It is our boudoir, but under the circumstances we will venture to admit you.”

Higson and Tom assured the young ladies that they very much appreciated the confidence placed in them, and forthwith accompanied them upstairs. Just as they entered the room, which they had time to see was prettily ornamented with pictures on the walls, an easel, ladies’ embroidery frames, and numerous other elegant articles, the loud rattle of musketry reached their ears. The young ladies uttered a cry of alarm.

“Pray do not be over-anxious about the matter,” said Higson; “musket-balls do not always reach the object they are aimed at, and it does not follow that any harm is done.”

As he and Tom and the young ladies looked out of the window, cautiously keeping concealed behind the curtains, they saw a party of Cossacks on the landing-place, and some foot-soldiers under shelter of a wall. The two boats, a hundred yards off or more, were pulling away out towards the middle of the river.

“Herr Groben has had time to warn them,” said Higson; “and as far as I can judge, by the way the men are rowing, no one has been hit. We are deeply indebted to him, ladies, and to you also; and I have no doubt that when Green supposes that the Cossacks have retired, he will come back and relieve you of our company.”

“Oh, do not say that,” observed Ivanowna, “we shall be sorry to lose you; and I am sure we shall have done what our papa would wish by treating you with hospitality.”

Higson and Tom watched the progress of the boats with interest; they somewhat expected that Green would lie on his oars and wait till the Cossacks had gone away. Perhaps he might have thought that they were already made prisoners and that there would be no use in doing this; at all events, he continued his course down the river, till the boats were lost to sight in the distance. The Cossacks, disappointed in their hope of surprising the English, turned their horses’ heads round, followed by the foot-soldiers, and marched back the way they had come, without even visiting the house.

The young ladies seemed highly pleased. “We are perfectly safe now,” observed Ivanowna; “but to prevent surprise, we will send our young brothers to keep watch, and bring us notice should any of the officers take it into their heads to pay us a visit. They can be thoroughly trusted.”

Soon afterwards they heard Herr Groben’s cheery voice in the passage. “All right,” he exclaimed; “I had time to warn Green, though I was nearly caught, I must confess; but the horsemen did not get as fast over the rough ground as I did. I fear, however, that Green did not understand that you were in safe keeping, and may possibly conceive that you have been made prisoners; though he will know that you are not likely to be ill-treated.”

“I am sure that he must have thought that, or he would not have pulled away,” said Higson. “However, we have no cause to complain; my only fear is that we shall be trespassing on the hospitality of this kind family.”

“On that point I can answer with confidence that you are welcome,” said Herr Groben; “they are all, as I am, devoted admirers of the English; I have great cause to be so, and especially have I reason to be grateful to my dear friend Green. You will be curious to know how I became acquainted with him; it happened in this wise. Many years ago I was making a voyage, when my ship caught fire, and I—with the officers and crew—escaped in three of the boats. The other boats were lost; and after several of my companions had died of hunger, we were picked up by a ship to which Green belonged. All the officers and crew treated us with kindness; Green especially took care of me, and pressed on me the use of his purse when we arrived in England, where I was also treated with great kindness. Such conduct can never be forgotten, and I have ever endeavoured to imbue the hearts of my pupils with a love for England, and for everything English.”

“We are very much obliged to you and Green,” said Higson, “since we have benefited so largely by your instructions.”

As there was no longer any danger, Higson proposed going back into the drawing-room. The young ladies, however, first showed him and Tom their drawings and embroidery, and numerous other samples of their handiwork, which passed the time very agreeably. When they went downstairs, they found a huge samovar bubbling and hissing on the table, and such tea was offered them as they had never before tasted. Higson, indeed, in compliment to his hostess, begged to have his cup replenished again and again, till he had drunk six or eight cups-full; though, to be sure, they were not of any unusual size. Herr Groben undertook to take charge of Higson and Tom for the night, and to give them due warning should there be any danger of their being discovered, though he thought that this was not likely; still, he acknowledged that there were some persons who might prove treacherous should they hear of English officers being in the house; and he begged them on no account to make their appearance out of doors without him, a caution which they promised to observe.

Chapter Twenty.

Green returns without Higson and Tom—Jack goes in search of them—Colonel Paskiewich’s House—Higson and Tom captured by Cossacks—Tom’s Escape—Miss Feodorowna’s Joy—The Fort blown up—The Mosquito Fleet—Gallant Exploit of Captain Lyons—Jack heads Expedition Inland—Escape.

Murray and Rogers had been employed during the day in removing the guns from the fort, while Adair and his party watched over the prisoners. It was their intention to blow it up, but they were unwilling to do this until the return of the boats. Evening was approaching, and as they had not yet made their appearance, Jack became somewhat anxious as to what might have happened to them. The smoke rising from the conflagration of the stores and vessels could be discerned in the far distance, so that it was evident that they had accomplished their work; but it was possible that some disaster might afterwards have happened to them. Jack accordingly went on board the Giaour to consult with Murray, who agreed to send up a couple of his boats at daybreak the next morning to search for those under Higson, and to negotiate for his and his party’s release, should they have been taken prisoners. Jack begged that he might lead the expedition himself, to which Murray willingly agreed.

Darkness had for some time set in, and still the missing boats had not appeared; as Jack, whose anxiety had increased, was walking the deck with Mildmay, the splash of oars was heard. The sentry hailed, and Green’s voice replied; the boats were soon alongside, both of them half full of water.

“Where are the first lieutenant and Mr Rogers?” asked Jack.

“I am afraid, sir, that they are in the hands of the Russians;” and Green gave an account of what had happened, adding, “Had it not been for an old friend of mine, who warned us of the approach of the troops, we should ourselves have been over powered, or at all events have had a pretty hard tussle for it.”

Green took care not to throw any blame upon Higson, who might have been accused of acting imprudently, if not of neglecting his duty, by remaining longer than was necessary at the house which he had visited to obtain provisions. Having heard Green’s report, Jack again went on board the Giaour, and as some time would be required to repair his own boats, Murray arranged, as he had before promised, to send two of his half an hour before daylight, so that they might enter the river as soon as they could see their way.

Just as the ruddy streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, Jack shoved off from the Tornado’s side. He took Green with him to pilot the boats, and also to communicate with the old German tutor, through whom he might be able to learn what had become of the prisoners. He carried also a flag of truce, in the hopes of gaining his object by pacific measures. As the boats passed under the walls of the fort, they were hailed by the sentry on the ramparts, by whose side Gerald Desmond directly afterwards made his appearance. Jack told him to inform Commander Adair where they were going, and that he hoped to be back again in the course of a few hours.

“The Russian commandant, sir, wishes to send a letter to his family to inform them of his safety, and he will be obliged to you if you will convey it.”

“That is more than I can undertake to do,” answered Jack; “but inform the commandant that if he will let me know where his family reside, I shall be happy to give them any message he may send.”

Gerald disappeared, and quickly afterwards returned with the commandant and Adair. The commandant, in surprisingly good English, described his residence to Jack, and requested that he would tell his wife and daughters that he was well, and, as he was to be liberated on his parole, that he hoped to remain with them till the end of the war.

“This information will be more satisfactory to them, probably, than had I gained a great victory,” he added; “so that they will be ready to receive you as friends rather than as enemies.”

“I shall be happy to deliver your message, colonel,” answered Jack; “and regret that I am unable to carry a written communication.”

A few further compliments having been exchanged, Jack ordered his men to give way, and the boats proceeded up the river.

“Why, sir, that house must be the very one which Mr Higson and your brother visited,” said Green; “unless the Cossacks have carried them off to a distance, they may, I hope, be easily recovered.”

“That is satisfactory,” said Jack; “whether we recover them or not, we must be away from this early to-day, as there is work to be done in other places.”

The boats pulled on some way, when they caught sight of a vessel stealing along on the opposite shore towards the mouth of the river. Jack immediately steered for her, ordering Archie to pull ahead, so as to cut her off should she attempt to slip by them. On seeing them approach, however, the Russian skipper immediately hauled down his colours.

Jack found, on stepping on board, that the Russian skipper was not aware that the English vessels were still off the mouth of the river, and had expected to get clear; he said that his was the only vessel that had not been burnt.

“Sorry to have to condemn yours to the fate you have escaped,” said Jack.

“It is the fortune of war,” answered the skipper, shrugging his shoulders; “I only wish the war had come to an end.”

The operation did not take long; the unfortunate skipper and his crew were landed, to make their way home as best they could; when the vessel, being set on fire, drifted on to the bank, where she quickly burnt to the water’s edge. Jack then pulled on, and in a short time the boats reached the landing-place near the colonel’s house, which Green pointed out. Having, as far as they could from the water, examined the ground before them, they came to the conclusion that no enemy was in the neighbourhood. Green, who felt that some blame might have been attached to him for deserting his commanding officer, volunteered to proceed by himself to the house to ascertain how matters stood. He assured Jack that he could trust Herr Groben, who would give him warning should the enemy be near. Jack agreed to this, and Green set off.

In a short time he was seen returning to the boat, accompanied by the old German tutor, who, as he approached, appeared to be much agitated.

“Bad news, sir,” said Green, as he came up to Jack; “the Cossacks have got hold of Higson and your brother.”

“It was dere fault, it was dere fault,” broke in the old tutor; “dey would go out walking vid de young ladies when I warned dem not to go, and a troop of Cossacks came galloping up to dem, and carry dem both off. It almost break de young ladies’ heart, and dey have not done crying yet.”

“Then they must be still in the neighbourhood!” exclaimed Jack, “and we may be in time to overtake them.”

“Oh no, captain,” answered Herr Groben; “I fear not, for dey mount upon two horses and gallop away.”

“At all events, if you can supply us with a guide to show us the way they have taken, we will pursue them,” said Jack.

“Perhaps one of my pupil vill go, for dere moder, Matame Paskievich, is very unhappy at the thoughts the officers were made prisoner, as she consider that they were under her protection; and as dey come as friends, dey should be allowed to go away as friends.”

As there was no time to be lost, Jack, ordering Green to remain, with a couple of men in each boat, set off, accompanied by Archie and Herr Groben, who promised to find him a trustworthy guide, though he showed no inclination to go himself. The name of Paskiewich had struck Jack, and, on making inquiries from the old tutor, he found that the owner of the house was the commandant of the fort.

“I think, sir,” observed Archie, who was walking by his side, “if that is the case, we shall be able to exchange the colonel for Mr Higson and Tom.”

“I would rather get them back without having to do that,” said Jack; “the colonel is to be liberated on his parole; but, should we find it necessary, we shall be able, as a last resource, to recover them as you propose.”

On arriving at the house they were met by Madame Paskiewich and her two daughters. Jack, fortunately recollecting the colonel’s message, delivered it to his wife, who expressed herself very grateful for the kind treatment he had received, and assured them how grieved she was that, notwithstanding all her precautions, the Cossacks had captured the two officers. Jack, in reply, expressed his conviction that it was from no fault of theirs, and comforted them greatly by telling them that probably in the course of the day the colonel would be enabled to return to them.

On hearing of their want of a guide, Madame Paskiewich at once consented to allow her eldest boy to show them the way the Cossacks had gone, though she believed that by this time they were far beyond pursuit Herr Groben’s pupils soon made their appearance, and the eldest, Ivan, who spoke English very well, without hesitation undertook to guide them, and to make inquiries on the way as to where any troops were stationed, so as to prevent them from being surprised. Jack, though perfectly sensible of the risk he ran, resolved to persevere; and, accompanied by young Ivan, at once set off at the head of his party, who, as they were well armed, had no fear of the result should they meet three times their number.

They had gone some distance, when Jack learned, from Ivan’s inquiries, that the Cossacks were already a long way ahead; he at length began to despair of recovering his first lieutenant or Tom; he felt, too, the imprudence of advancing farther into the enemy’s country, when, before he could secure his retreat, the foe might gather between him and the boats. He was at last obliged unwillingly to confess that he must give up the pursuit.

“I am very sorry for it, sir,” said their guide; “the English midshipman and I had become great friends; and though I don’t think he will be treated ill, yet he will not like to be kept away from his ship. However, when my father returns, I promise to do my best to get him set at liberty.”

“Thank you,” answered Jack warmly; “I will trust you.”

He now gave the order to his men to face about, and they began to retrace their steps. They had gone but a short distance, when the loud clattering of hoofs struck on their ears, and, looking round, they caught sight of a horseman galloping towards them at headlong speed.

“Hurrah! that’s Tom himself!” cried Archie; and Tom appeared from amid a cloud of dust, riding as he had done many a day after the hounds in —shire. He was within hailing distance, when a couple of hundred yards or so behind him were seen a number of Cossacks in hot pursuit. Jack ordered his men to fix bayonets, to be prepared to receive cavalry. As Tom came galloping along, they opened to let him pass, when, not without some difficulty, he pulled up at their rear.

“I’ve done them!” he exclaimed; “I was sure you would come to look for me, though I little expected to find you so near at hand.”

The Cossacks, of whom there were scarcely more than a dozen, and who had by this time got within a hundred yards of them, on seeing the resolute bearing of the British sailors, pulled up, and, after a moment’s hesitation, wheeling round their horses, galloped off, followed by a shower of bullets.

“The only thing you have done wrong was to fire without my orders!” exclaimed Jack; “reload, and now right-about face and march—double quick time.” The party, without a moment’s delay, hurried back on the road they had come.

“I’m afraid Mr Higson’s in for it,” said Tom. “The Cossacks had halted for breakfast, when the thought came into my head that we might make our escape while the men were all dismounted, and eating some horrid mess or other, their horses being picketed some distance from them. I did my best to persuade him to come too, but he never was much of a horseman, and declared that he could not do it; though he told me to take my chance, and that he would try and prevent anyone from following me. I had already fixed my eyes on a horse. While the men were all engaged, I sauntered up to where their steeds were tethered, and, before anyone had observed me, I set a dozen or more of them at liberty, when, finding that the men suspected what I was about, I leaped on the back of the one I had fixed on, and, giving a loud shout, galloped off as fast as the wind, with a troop of riderless horses scampering at my heels. I had got a fine start, and intended to keep it, and it was not till just before I caught sight of you that I knew I was pursued; still even then I did not give up all hopes of escaping, though I little knew how near help was at hand; I only wish Mr Higson had followed my advice.”

As Jack had no wish to encounter the Cossacks, who were certainly not likely to bring Higson with them, he hurried on his men, and at length reached Colonel Paskiewich’s house. The fair Feodorowna, in an artless manner, showed her pleasure at seeing Tom in safety; while Ivanowna could not restrain her tears on hearing that the lieutenant was still a prisoner.

As Jack considered it his duty not to delay a moment longer than was necessary, he was compelled to decline Madame Paskiewich’s invitation to remain for breakfast, and, accompanied by Herr Groben, who wished to bid farewell to Green, he hurried to the boats. In a few minutes they were again pulling down towards the mouth of the river.

On arriving at the fort, Jack found that all the necessary preparations had been made for its evacuation. Colonel Paskiewich and his officers were liberated on their parole not to serve again during the war, while the men were transferred to the Flash, to be conveyed on board some of the larger ships of the fleet.

“I’ll do my best to obtain the liberation of your first lieutenant,” said the colonel to Jack, as he bade him farewell.

“We might arrange for exchanging you with him,” observed Jack.

“Thank you, but I would rather not,” answered the colonel significantly; “I should then be compelled again to fight in this detestable war, whereas at present I may remain as a non-combatant with my family; which I confess—though mention it not, my friend—much better suits my principles and taste.”

“You are a brave man, and defended your fort gallantly,” observed Jack.

“That was my duty,” answered the colonel; “a man, I hold, may be physically brave, and yet abhor fighting. As long as it was my duty to fight, I fought; I can now with honour sheathe my sword, in the earnest hope that I may never again have to draw it, especially against Englishmen. There are many of my countrymen, who, I doubt not, feel as I do. Good-bye, my friend; may we meet again in happier times!”

Jack accompanied the colonel out of the fort, and, as soon as the last Russian had taken his departure, Jack fired the trains which had been laid to the mines in different parts of the fort, and, leaping into his boat, pulled away towards the Tornado. Before the boat had got half-way, the first explosion was heard, the stout walls trembling and shaking, while clouds of dust and smoke, and fragments of stone and timber rose in the air; and in a few seconds the spot where the fort had stood presented a mass of shapeless ruins.

“We’ve done for the fort, at all events,” observed Tom; “I hope that before long our army will treat Sebastopol in the same way.”

“I wish they were likely to do it at so slight a cost,” said Jack, as he thought of Sidney, from whom he had not heard for some time; for he knew what sorrow his loss would cause to his family at Halliburton.

The three commanders, having delivered over their prizes to the admiral, proceeded to carry out their instructions, in conjunction with the Mosquito fleet, engaged in the destruction of the vast magazines of corn and other provisions accumulated at numerous places on the shores of the Sea of Azov, as well as the fleets of vessels loaded with supplies for the Russian army in the Crimea.

“It seems to me a wanton destruction of property,” observed Jack when he first received his orders.

Murray, to whom he spoke, smiled. “Sagacious commanders have to take into consideration the appetites of their men, as well as those of the enemy, quite as much as their battlefields and the weapons they use,” he observed; “if we can cut off the supplies of the garrison of Sebastopol, we shall render as effectual service as the guns of the besiegers, and quickly bring the war to a conclusion.”

“Then I’ll set about it with all my heart!” exclaimed Jack; “though I wish, instead of burning the wheat, we could ship it off to our people at home.”

“That would prove a somewhat too long operation,” observed Murray; “and if we remember that every stack we burn will perhaps shorten the war by as many hours, any scruples we may feel on the subject will soon vanish.”

Jack and his brother commanders, remembering this, set energetically to work to perform what would have been otherwise a very disagreeable duty. The gallant Lyons, who in the Miranda had been some days in the Sea of Azov, had already inflicted immense damage on the enemy; on his arrival off Genitchesk at the entrance of the Putrid Sea, he found a large fleet of merchantmen at anchor, protected by a strong force of infantry and a battery of field-pieces on the mainland. On sending in to summon the flotilla to surrender, his demand being refused, he despatched his boats under the command of his first lieutenant, Mackenzie, through the strait, covering their advance with a heavy fire of shell on the town and troops. In spite of all opposition, thus protected, the brave lieutenant set fire to seventy-three vessels and several corn-magazines. On returning to their ship, the party discovered that some of the vessels had escaped the conflagration; on this, Captain Lyons despatched a second expedition with three other officers, Lieutenants Buckley and Burgoyne, and Mr Roberts, a gunner of the Ardent. On approaching the shore, and discovering that the enemy were prepared to give them a warm reception, the three latter officers determined to land by themselves, so that their men might escape the risk of being cut off; while Mackenzie undertook the destruction of the shipping. The vessels were quickly set on fire, and the magazines had shared the same fate, when a troop of Cossacks bore down on the three officers who had landed. They, accordingly, had to take to their heels; and, keeping well ahead of their pursuers, were received in safety by Mackenzie on board the boats, which pulled back to the ships without the loss of a single man, one only having been slightly wounded.

Thus he went on from place to place, destroying stores and vessels in the same daring manner, his two lieutenants frequently landing in a four-oared gig, and setting fire with their own hands to different Government buildings. Taganrog, a place of great strength, was attacked, and though the town was protected by some heavy batteries, and above three thousand troops, who kept up a hot fire on the ships and boats, every Government building and magazine was destroyed. In this way Captain Lyons sank or burnt upwards of two hundred and fifty vessels laden with supplies and provisions and stores, to the value of many thousands of pounds, and at the present juncture of immense importance to the Russian army and the beleaguered city. His brave career was, however, drawing to a close; rejoining the squadron off Sebastopol, at the end of a fortnight, he was shortly afterwards struck by a shell, while running into harbour at night to annoy the enemy, and in a few days breathed his last at the hospital at Therapia, to which he had been removed.

He was succeeded in the command of the squadron by Captain Sherard Osborne, an officer of equal determination, courage, and sagacity, who was not likely to leave any of the work he had undertaken undone, or half-done. Our three commanders proceeded in the same spirit to the execution of their duty. On revisiting several places where a few weeks before they had destroyed all the then existing supplies, they found that the Russians, supposing they would not return, had rebuilt their storehouses, and completely replenished them, giving a proof of the productive power of the neighbouring districts. All the work before them was not, however, accomplished with the same ease; hitherto they had had only to dash boldly on shore, protected by the guns of the ships, set fire to the stores, and to be off again as fast as they could. Spies were not wanting, who brought them information of the position of stores; from one of these men, Jack, who was stationed off the spit which separates the Putrid Sea from the Sea of Azov, gained intelligence that some large stores, situated on the Crimean shore, had lately been replenished, and that the grain was only waiting the means of transport to be removed to Sebastopol.

Jack asked the spy whether he would lead a party to the spot; this, however, he declined, but gave so exact a description of the country, that Jack felt convinced that he could find it out without the man’s aid. Plenty of volunteers were ready to go; but having, as he said, got every inch of the way into his head, he determined to lead the expedition. He did not, however, hide from himself the dangers to be encountered. “If I destroy these stores, the siege may be shortened by one or two days, or it may be more, and the lives of several of my fellow-creatures saved; then it is my duty to go.”

Had Higson been on board, he might have entrusted the expedition to him; Green would be very likely to carry it out; but he feared that Mildmay would fail. He had perfect confidence that Tom would obey his orders; he accordingly fixed on him, with Dick Needham and Jerry Bird, in addition to his gig’s usual crew. Standing in at nightfall as close to the spit as the water would allow, he pulled on shore. The boat had now to be dragged across the sands, and launched on the opposite side. He and all hands uniting their strength, accomplished it, however, and away they pulled with muffled oars across the Putrid Sea. A mist lay on the placid water, which would have shrouded them from the view of any boats which might have been passing, even at a hundred yards’ distance. Not a word was spoken above a whisper; it was impossible to see the shore, and difficult to know when they might come upon it; indeed, had not the boat been provided with a compass, the commander would have been unable to steer a direct course.

The men gave way with a will, as the success of the expedition depended on the rapidity with which it was carried out. On a sudden, as Jack fancied they were still a considerable way from the shore, he felt the boat’s keel passing over a soft bottom; directly afterwards she remained fixed. In vain the men pulled away with might and main, endeavouring to force her over; the water appeared shallower ahead even than astern, and at length all hands had to jump overboard, including the commander and Tom, when they sank almost up to their knees in mud.

“Pretty condition we shall be in if daylight finds us here!” said Tom.

“No fear of that,” answered Jack; “off the boat must come.”

Needham, with boat-hook in hand, went ahead to ascertain the depth of water, and on his return reported that after some yards it deepened considerably, whilst, as he could see nothing of the land, he concluded that they were on a mudbank.

“No doubt about it,” said Jack; and all hands together lifting the boat, they bore her along for fifty yards or so, when, washing the mud off their legs, they tumbled on board, and again gave way.

“Pretty mess we’re in,” observed Tom.

His brother laughed. “We shall be in a worse mess before long, as we have a couple of rivers and a marsh or two to wade through before we reach our destination. Needham, you are in good wind, I hope?”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Dick; “I doubt whether any Russian would overtake me if we have to run for it.”

“I wish that I was to go with you,” said Tom.

“No, you must remain by the boat, and keep a bright lookout that you are not surprised,” answered Jack; “have your muskets ready for instant use; and should we at the last be pursued, be ready to cover our retreat; you don’t know at what time we may come. We may be turned back before we reach our destination, or we may succeed, and still be hard pressed to escape capture; the last is most likely to occur: at all events, be on the watch.”

Jack had previously made all his arrangements; the gunner and Jerry Bird each carried match-boxes in waterproof cases, and small torches which they could easily ignite, so that the moment they stepped on shore they could proceed on their expedition. A sense of the importance of the work to be accomplished made Jack enjoy it, otherwise an act of incendiarism would not have been to his taste. The gunner and Jerry Bird, it must be confessed, did not trouble their heads much about the matter.

At length a group of trees, seemingly of unusual magnitude, standing apparently on the top of a hill, appeared ahead, but almost an instant afterwards the bows of the boat touched a bank with a few willows or alders growing on it. As far as Jack could judge, it was the very spot he would have chosen for landing, as the bushes would afford sufficient concealment to the boat during his absence.

“Remember my orders,” said Jack, as he sprang on to the bank, followed by Dick and Jerry. They had not gone many yards when they found themselves floundering in the mud, at which the two latter began to grumble, as seamen will grumble, not at the work before them, but at the mud, which prevented them from advancing as rapidly as they desired.

“Never mind,” said Jack, as he led the way, “we shall get on the firm ground presently; those in the boat are much less likely to be taken by surprise than they might have been by the side of a hard bank.”

The marsh, however, was broader than Jack expected, but, as they ran lightly over it, their feet did not sink down very deep. They at length reached firm ground. According to the commander’s calculation, they had about two miles to go before they could get to their destination. A pocket compass, and a small lantern which threw its light on it, enabled him to steer a direct course. The country was unpopulated and open, the chief impediments in the way of the party being the streams and marshes and rivers. They got on rapidly over the hard ground, but found it heavy work wading amid the expanse of rushes which bordered the streams.

“No crocodiles or alligators about here, I hope, sir?” whispered Jerry to the gunner.

“If there are, it’s our business not to mind them,” answered Dick, with a low growl, intended as a rebuke to Jerry; “if there was a shoal of sharks, either, we should have no business to cry out till we were caught.”

They dropped a few feet behind while thus speaking, but quickly again overtook the commander, who was wading across the stream, the water gradually getting deeper and deeper, till it rose up to his waist.

“Maybe we shall have to swim for it,” whispered Dick; “but where’s the odds, provided we get across at last?”

Jack led on, not listening to the low, whispered remarks of his companions. One river was thus crossed; still there was another, on the farther bank of which were situated the stacks of wheat destined to destruction. The ford was some way above the stacks, so that they would have to cross the river by it, and then descend the bank, taking the same route on their return. Jack had been unable to ascertain what sentries were likely to be posted in the neighbourhood, or what guards protected the stacks. An extent of open ground had now to be passed over, and there was then a tolerably extensive wood, with more open ground between it and the river. Jack was able to recognise each feature of the country from the description given to him by the spy; he thus felt sure that he was on the right road. He went on and on till the bank of the river was reached, and he could see a town or village on the opposite side. He now led the way up the stream till he discovered the ford, which he and his companions crossed without difficulty, though he had some fears that he might find a guard-house on the opposite side.

No one, however, appeared; the Russians undoubtedly supposing, from the numerous impediments in the way, that no enemies would venture to attack the place. They had now to make their way along the bank of the river for some distance before they could reach the stacks destined to destruction. It was necessary to proceed with the greatest caution, for the slightest noise might betray them to the enemy, and ensure their capture. They had gone part of the distance when they heard a dog bark, and they could make out, a few yards from the river, the roof of a cottage, from the neighbourhood of which apparently the sound came. They could only hope that the dog was chained, for, should he be loose, he might rush out upon them, and though they might kill him with their cutlasses, the noise they might make would, in all probability, bring his owners on their track.

The mist had cleared away and the stars were shining brightly overhead, so that they had to keep under cover as much as possible. Jack hoped, however, that all the inhabitants of the place would be in bed. Again the dog barked. Jack, in a whisper, ordered the gunner and Jerry to crouch down and remain perfectly quiet for a few minutes, when immediately the dog became silent. After waiting a minute or two, he again led the way forward till he could see the tops of the lofty stacks rising high above the houses against the sky. They had made some way, when again the dog barked fiercely, and they could hear the animal leaping and rolling about, as if trying to break his chain.

“Here comes the brute!” cried the gunner, stepping forward; and they caught sight of the animal, a huge mastiff, bounding towards them. Dick held his drawn cutlass ready in his hand, and as the creature sprang up to seize him by the throat, with one sweep of his weapon he laid it dead at his feet, with its head almost severed from the body.

“Well done, Needham!” exclaimed Jack.

“It was necessary, sir, but I was sorry to kill the poor brute!” answered Dick.

“We have no time to think about that,” said Jack, “for we must set the stacks on fire at once;” and they again crept forward. Brave as he was, and fully convinced of the importance of the act he was about to do, he could not help reflecting that it was not the sort of work in which he, as an English officer, would wish to be discovered. However, it was to be done, and the sooner it was done the better. As he got close to the stacks, he looked to either side, to ascertain whether any sentry was posted in the neighbourhood, but discovering no one, he placed his two companions, one at one end, and the other at the centre of the stacks, with directions to strike their lights immediately they saw him ignite his, so that they might fire them at the same moment. He then crept forward to his post, and waited a few seconds to listen; not a sound was heard from the neighbouring village, and, quickly obtaining a light, he set fire to a bundle of stalks which he pulled out of the stack, strewing it along the side. His companions imitating him, in one instant the whole of the immense pile was in a blaze, the flames ascending with unexpected rapidity.

“We must put our best foot foremost,” said Jack, suiting the action to the word; and off they set running as hard as they could. Fortunately there was a tolerably well-beaten path along the bank of the river, by which they had come, but concealment was hopeless, and Jack observed the glare of the fire falling on the backs of his two companions as he followed at their heels, feeling it his duty, as he had led the advance, to bring up the rear.

Shouts and cries were presently heard; every moment he expected to see a body of the enemy in hot pursuit. At first he thought of plunging into the stream and swimming across; but, fully clothed as they were, it would have been a difficult undertaking, and they might get over by the ford quite as quickly. They accordingly kept on till it was reached, and then, wading across, they returned down the opposite bank, Jack considering it important to keep in the road they had come. By the time they had got opposite the stacks, the whole were blazing fiercely up, throwing a ruddy glare on all the objects around to a considerable distance. They thus stood revealed to the inhabitants on the opposite side, who appeared not to be aware till then who were the perpetrators of the deed.

Just then they saw a large body of Cossacks galloping up towards the fire, some of whom by their gestures had, it seemed, at that moment caught sight of them.

“We must put on all our steam, or these fellows will be at our heels,” said Jack; and again they set forward. One glance he cast over his shoulder showed him the Cossacks making for the ford; he could not help feeling very doubtful whether he and his party could keep ahead of them. The bank of the first river they had crossed was again reached, and plunging in, partly by swimming, and partly by wading, they boldly pushed across, thus avoiding the loss of time by going round by the ford.

Scarcely, however, had they got over, when through the gloom of night they distinguished the Cossacks galloping towards them. They did not stop long to shake themselves, but dashed on, still hoping to keep ahead, as the Cossacks would have to go some distance up the stream to cross the ford.

“I only wish the fellows would try to swim,” said Dick; “their horses would stick in the mud and rushes we’ve had a hard job to get through. Keep up, Jerry, keep up,” he continued, observing that his companion was flagging; “we’ve a clear road before us, and we mustn’t let our legs play us false.”

Thus encouraged, Jerry made fresh efforts to keep alongside his companions. Jack felt his own legs moving somewhat heavily, and could not help acknowledging to himself that there was every probability of their being overtaken; once across the stream, the Cossacks on their fleet steeds would soon be up to them. The thought of being speared in the back by a savage horseman, and left to die like dogs, was too terrible.

“No; if we are overtaken, we must fight for it, and die like men, with our faces to the foe,” said Jack aloud.

“Ay, ay, sir, that we will!” exclaimed Dick; “maybe, however, they’ll miss us; and if we can get anywhere near the boat, Mr Rogers and our fellows will help us by peppering them.”

At length Jack was compelled to stop for a moment to draw breath; he took the opportunity of casting a look behind him, to ascertain in what direction the Cossacks were coming, but he could nowhere see them.

“I hope that you are right, Needham,” he whispered; “and now, on we go, and we may get up to the boat before we are discovered.”

Scarcely had he spoken, than a shout was heard, and the figures of the horsemen, with their long lances, were perceived against the sky.

“On! on!” cried Jack; “they see us; no matter, we are still well ahead of them.”

Dick, seizing Jerry’s arm, again sprang forward; on came the Cossacks clattering in their rear; the boat was still at too great a distance to enable them to make themselves heard by Tom. The ground was hard and level, and, straining every nerve, they ran faster than they had ever before done in their lives. No mercy could be expected from the Cossacks, should they be overtaken.

Again Jerry began to slacken his pace. “Cheer up, mate, cheer up!” cried Dick; “the Cossacks’ lances are not within a good many inches of us yet, and it will be time enough to cry out when they get inside our waistcoats.”

Jack, though he might have gone faster than either of his men, would not leave them behind; if he sprang ahead, it was merely to have time to look round and ascertain how far off were their pursuers. He calculated that they were approaching the boat, and that if they shouted loudly Tom would bear them; once more he looked round; the horsemen were within a hundred yards of them; they might have stopped them with their carbines; possibly, however, they were unloaded, when they hurriedly threw themselves on horseback. Jack, as he sprang forward, felt the ground very soft beneath his feet, and recollected that they must have reached the marsh they had crossed on leaving the boat. To run across it seemed scarcely possible, as their feet had before sunk in every few yards they trod; there appeared to be no hope of escape.

Just at this moment down came poor Jerry—who had for some few seconds been floundering along, though doing his best to keep up—with his face in the mud.

“Go ahead, sir, go ahead!” cried Dick; “don’t stop for us; I’ll do my best to set Jerry on his legs.”

“I will not desert him,” answered Jack, stooping to lift up the fallen seaman, while Dick lifted him up with the other arm, and quickly again set him on his feet.

“Heave out that quid of mud from your mouth, and give your eyes a rub over, and you will be all to rights,” said Dick; “don’t say die yet; now on we go;” and suiting the action to the word, dragging Jerry along with him, they began moving forward in a “hop-skip-and-a-jump” fashion, which enabled them to get over the soft ground with tolerable rapidity. They were scarcely more than a quarter of the way across, when the Cossacks reached the edge of the marsh, of the existence of which they were apparently not aware, for, without pulling rein, they plunged in; the consequence being that, with the impetus they had attained, and the weight of their horses, they sank deep down in the soft mud.

Jack, with infinite satisfaction, saw that they were floundering about, but he did not allow his companions to slacken their speed, for the horses would still, probably, be able to make their way across it. He, therefore, assisting to support Jerry, moved on as fast as his weight and the nature of the ground would allow. Jerry’s fall, however, had given an advantage to their pursuers, who were now making their way across the morass, sometimes stopped by a soft portion, and again moving faster where the ground was comparatively firmer. Still the Cossacks had somewhat gained upon them, and were scarcely fifty yards off, when Tom’s welcome shout reached their ears.

“We see you, we see you; and we see your pursuers too!” he cried; “we’ve got our muskets ready to cover you.”

“Then fire!” cried Jack; “and reload quickly.”

A volley from the boat somewhat staggered the Cossacks, for though none of them were seen to fall, yet the bullets whistled pretty close to their ears. It might have made them less eager in spurring on their steeds; still, on they came. The sound seemed to revive Jerry, who, though nearly done up, again made an effort to push on. A few shots were fired at them by their disappointed pursuers, who might have guessed that they would soon be beyond their power.

Tom had kept the boat ready to shove off at a moment’s notice; the latter part of the ground was somewhat higher and harder; across it they rushed as hard as they could pelt, for the Cossacks had already passed the softer portions, and, once upon it, they would be up to them. The points of their long lances were couched not many yards behind, and Jack again shouted to Tom to fire, while he, with the gunner and Jerry, almost the next instant sprang into the boat.

“Shove off!” cried Jack, seizing an oar; Dick and Jerry imitated him, while the rest were reloading their firearms. The boat was but a few yards from the bank when the Cossacks reached it, and had to pull up sharp to avoid plunging into the water.

“Good-bye, old fellows!” shouted Dick; “you’ve had a hard scamper, and now you may go back and look after your corn-stacks.”

That these had not been put out was evident by the ruddy glare which suffused the sky in the distance. On receiving another volley from the boat, the Cossacks wheeled about and made their way over the marsh, where, had Jack thought fit, they might all have been picked off in detail; but he had from the first seen the wickedness of killing a single human being unnecessarily, and now that they could no longer impede their flight, he was glad to let them escape. Lest, however, they might give notice to any armed Russian boats to proceed in chase of the daring Englishmen, Jack ordered his crew to pull away as hard as they could, so that they might possibly regain the ship before daylight.

They were not, however, free from danger, as the burning stacks would put the people on the shores for miles round on the alert, and they could scarcely expect to escape pursuit. Jack, by steering rather more to the northward, escaped the bank on which they had before run, and he hoped now to make a straight course across the water. The sandpit had then to be passed before the boat could be launched into the more open sea. Poor Jerry was so exhausted that it was some time before he could handle an oar, so he employed the interval in trying to wash the mud out of his eyes and nose.

The mist had again come down, and but a few yards could be seen ahead; thus the crew were pulling on as hard as ever, when, before jack was aware that they were near, the boat’s bows grated against the sand, which fortunately yielded easily or they would have been stove in.

“All hands leap out!” cried Jack; and the men, seizing the boat, began hauling away, without stopping an instant, across the sand.

They had got very nearly to the water’s edge on the other side, when Tom shouted out, “See, sir, here come some Cossacks!”

It was fortunate that Tom had observed them; in another minute they would have been up to the boat, but the men, giving her a shove which sent her skimming away over the calm surface, leaped on board, and, getting out their oars, pulled away at a rapid rate, leaving the Cossacks to shake their lances at them in vain.

After pulling some way, they caught sight of the Tornado’s light, when the commander and his party were welcomed with a hearty cheer on board, the crew having felt very anxious when they heard of the dangerous character of the expedition on which he had gone.

Chapter Twenty One.

Dick Needham’s Expedition—Dick and Archie captured—Attack on the Caravan—Unexpected Meeting with Higson and Midshipmen—Higson’s unwillingness to return—Jack’s Solution of the Difficulty—The Young Ladies’ Grief—Tom, against his will, joins the Flash—Captures a Fort and Guns—The Sleeping Beauties—The Flash Aground—Attacked by Russians—Fate of Flash—Desmond thinks of Emigrating—Tom’s “Prior Engagement”—Capture of Kinburn.

The Mosquito fleet had been employed for many weeks in destroying almost immeasurable quantities of provisions and stores, effectually crippling the resources of the Czar’s armies. Private property had invariably been spared, so that the inhabitants of the country did not exhibit any ill-feeling towards the English. The few men who by chance fell into their hands were treated with considerable kindness.

Jack’s usual plan was, after having ascertained the whereabouts of the magazines or stacks, which were nearly always placed on the seashore, to steam up to the spot just before daybreak, and immediately to send in one or two boats, the officers of which, landing with torches, quickly set the stores on fire, and scampered back before they could be pursued. Night after night, now in one place, now in another, stores and magazines were destroyed; and as there were upwards of a dozen vessels thus engaged, it may be conceived what mischief was committed.

There is an old saying, however, that the pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last. Jack had heard from his faithful spy, Niuski, that some large stores existed on the shores of a lake about a mile from the coast, the river communicating with which was too shallow to allow of the boats proceeding up it. He had intended going himself, but an attack of illness made him feel that it would be imprudent to venture, as he might break down on the way. Dick Needham, hearing of what was required to be done, at once volunteered to lead an expedition, and Jack gladly accepted his offer. Tom and Archie, who had been burning to distinguish themselves in some exploit of the sort, begged that they might be allowed to go.

“There are no fellows on board who have better wind or can run faster than we can,” observed Tom; “Archie, with his long legs, gets over the ground at a great rate, and I can keep up with him by making my short ones move so much the faster.”

Jack, believing that there was no greater risk than usual, consented, greatly to the midshipmen’s delight. Billy Blueblazes was ordered to go in the boat, to remain in charge of her while the rest of the party were on shore. The spy had informed Jack that there were no enemies in the neighbourhood. Tom and Archie were in high glee. Dick Needham had settled to take only one man with him, besides the midshipmen, leaving the rest under the command of Billy Blueblazes to cover their retreat. The boat, with muffled oars, pulled in for the shore, when, no one being seen, Dick and his companions landed.

“Remember, Billy, the commander’s orders are that you are on no account to leave the boat; and should by chance the enemy come down upon you, you are to pull off to the ship, and obtain further orders,” said Tom; “not that there’s much chance of that.”

“Good-bye, my laddie,” said Archie, as he and Tom leaped on shore; “we’ll be back in little more than half an hour, and you will know when to look out for us by seeing the jolly bonfire we are going to light.”

There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly forth, enabling them to steer their way by them. The country being pretty level, they hoped, should they have to run for it, to make rapid way; it was also tolerably open, with here and there copses composed of trees of moderate height, by advancing along the side of which Dick expected to be able to keep concealed till they had gained their destination.

“We may reserve our strength for the run back after we have set the stores on fire,” he whispered to the two midshipmen; “we learned a lesson about that in our other expedition.”

Whenever they had to cross an open space, they bent down like North American Indians on a war-trail, keeping perfect silence, so that they might have passed close to an enemy without being discovered. Thus on they went, Dick calculating that it would take them about half an hour to reach the magazines, and they expected to return in half that time. Dick led, Tom and Archie followed, and Tim Nolan brought up the rear. Each one of them knew beforehand what they were to do, and there seemed no risk of failure.

The magazines and stores were at length reached, presenting much the same appearance as those which had before been destroyed. Not a sound which could indicate that any human beings were in the neighbourhood was heard; not a dog barked. In less than a minute they all had their torches lighted, and effectually set fire to the buildings and stores, which blazed up so rapidly that had any people been out of doors at the time the flames would have quickly betrayed them. Their task being accomplished, they set off at a rapid speed towards the boat, Dick as before leading. The midshipmen enjoyed the scamper, and they had every reason to believe that they should get back in safety. They had not got far, however, when they heard the voices of people from the neighbouring cottages, who had been, it was evident, aroused by the glare, and who would soon, from the nature of the conflagration, suspect that it had been the work of incendiaries. Unless, however, they could throw themselves on horseback, there was no risk of their overtaking the nimble seamen; still concealment was difficult, for as the fire increased its glare fell upon them and betrayed their whereabouts.

They had passed over the widest extent of open ground, and had made their way along under the shelter of a copse, when they were again exposed to view. As they were passing another copse a short distance on their right, several shots whistled by them.

“Push on, Needham!” cried Tom; “they’re not very good marksmen.”

A cry from Tim Nolan made Tom turn his head, when he saw a party of the enemy, who had rushed out from the copse, close upon him, while Tim, by actively dodging, tried to escape. “Arrah, never mind me!” he shouted; “though I’m after being made a prisoner, you’ll get off if you keep going.”

Archie, who was some little way behind him, endeavoured to escape, when his foot struck against a stone, and the cry he uttered made Tom again look round and spring back to help him get on his feet. In his hurry he also fell; the cry he had uttered made Dick also look round, when, believing that one or both of the midshipmen were wounded, though he was so far ahead as to have been able to reach the boat without difficulty, he immediately turned back to assist them. As he did so, he saw the Russians hurrying up. Drawing his cutlass, he threw himself between them and the midshipmen, hoping to drive back their foes, and allow them to make their escape. Tom and Archie were quickly on their legs, but before they could do as Dick told them and run for their lives, they were surrounded by a party of helmeted Russians.

Dick, however, laid about him so lustily with his cutlass, that had the midshipmen been willing to leave him, they, at all events, might have made their escape. They were endeavouring to draw their swords, when the Russians, throwing themselves on them from behind, seized their arms; and Dick received a wound from a bayonet in his sword-arm which made him, very much against his will, drop his weapon. In an instant, more Russians coming on, they were completely overpowered and dragged away; not, however, till Dick, in a stentorian voice, had let Billy Blueblazes know what had happened, and directed him to pull back to the ship with the news.

Billy had caught sight of the party in the distance just as the enemy rushed out on them, and had seen Dick turn back to help Tom and Archie. Had he not been ordered to remain in the boat, he would have landed, and tried to assist them. Fortunately, perhaps, he did not make the attempt, as his men could not have fired at the Russians for fear of hitting their friends, and he and his party would, in all probability, have been captured, with the loss of their boat. As soon as he heard Dick’s voice, he shoved off and pulled away for the ship, in the hopes of getting assistance.

Jack, however, saw that it would be useless to send a party on shore, as the Russians would to a certainty carry off their prisoners to a distance. As Billy stated that he saw a large number of men, the fresh party might very likely be overwhelmed. Jack naturally felt very much grieved at the loss of the midshipmen and gunner, although they were not likely to be otherwise than kindly treated; still the war might last for some time, and they would lose the advantage of the experience they were gaining—while he could ill afford to dispense with Needham’s services, or lose Tim Nolan, a good seaman on whom he could always depend.

“The midshipmen are pretty sure to fall on their feet wherever they are carried,” observed Mr Mildmay, “so we need not, I hope, be over-anxious about them.”

Next morning, Jack sent a flag of truce on shore to inquire what had become of his captured officers and man, and to offer to send them any necessaries they might require. Before the boat returned, another steamer hove in sight, which proved to be the Giaour. Murray had orders to summon the Tornado, with any other vessels he might fall in with, in order that their boats might form an expedition up the river—across which ran the great highroad leading to the Crimea. Information had been received that a large amount of stores and provisions were on their way to the garrison of Sebastopol.

“If we can cut them off, we shall commit incalculable damage—perhaps starve the garrison into surrender,” Murray observed. He was, of course, sorry to hear of Archie’s capture, but the two commanders agreed that they need not make themselves very unhappy about the matter. Green, who had gone on shore with the flag of truce, returned, saying that he had been unable to fall in with anyone who could communicate information about the prisoners; and they had therefore to be left for the present to their fate.

A few hours afterwards the Flash appeared, and the three commanders proceeded to the rendezvous, a short distance out of sight of land. It had been arranged that they were to stand in at nightfall, and immediately to send their boats up the river, so as if possible to take the enemy by surprise. In the meantime several of the fleet were sent to different parts of the coast, to burn all the Government stores they could discover, and thus to assist in misleading the enemy. The squadron was delayed longer than had been expected, but at length information was received that a caravan was on its way, and might be expected near the mouth of the river the next night. Jack settled to take command of one of his boats, while Green took command of the other. Adair went in one of his, and Desmond, greatly to his delight, had charge of the second. Murray also despatched two of his, and the other ships sent the same number.

The squadron came off the mouth of the river about an hour and a half after dark, when the flotilla of boats, without a moment’s delay, proceeded up the stream, with muffled oars. A mist lay on the water, though the stars could be distinguished overhead, which, as they kept directly in the centre, would, they hoped, conceal them from any persons on the banks. The crews were ordered to keep perfect silence; the larger boats were armed with guns in their bows, capable of throwing shot and shell, so that they were well able to compete with any force which might appear, even though accompanied by field—pieces. It was known, however, that the enemy possessed but few in that part of the country.

The boats at length got up within about a quarter of a mile of the ferry at which the caravan was expected to pass. Either bank of the river was lined with a broad belt of tall rushes, in which they were directed to conceal themselves, while Adair in his gig pulled up to try and ascertain whether the waggons had reached the bank. The commodore had settled to wait till some had crossed, so as to attack as many as possible close to the edge of the water, making sure of destroying them as well as those actually crossing.

The crews of the boats were waiting in anxious expectation for the order to dash out of their places of concealment. Day at last dawned; the startled wildfowl flew up from among the rushes, screaming loudly at the intruders; while, as the light increased, the dark water assumed a brighter hue, though a mist still lay on the surface, which greatly assisted in the concealment of the boats. At length Adair’s gig was seen dimly through the mist, pulling at a rapid rate down the stream. In an instant the crews of the boats, jumping into their seats, got out their oars ready to give way as soon as the order should be received. Adair soon reached the commodore’s boat; he said that the provision-waggons had begun to cross, and that several were already on the opposite or western bank. The boats had been ordered to pull up in two divisions, the larger to attack the east bank, the other the west; Jack’s and Adair’s boats belonged to the latter.

The welcome order to advance was heard, and the boats, emerging from their cover, pulled away in two lines, as fast as the men could bend to their oars, moving along like two huge serpents darting on their prey. Not a word was uttered; so that the boats, still shrouded by the mist, were close up to the ferry before they were discovered. The Russians were taken completely by surprise; the waggons on board the ferry-boat were at once captured. The small body of troops sent to convoy them fired a volley from the east bank, on which side the greater number of waggons were still advancing to cross, and then, seeing the strong forces approaching to the attack, retreated; while shouts and shrieks and cries resounded on all sides, the drivers endeavouring to turn round their animals and escape—while the seamen, who sprang on shore, set to work to cut the traces, to prevent them from so doing.

Jack and Adair, with their men, had landed on the west bank, where the drivers of the waggons were doing their utmost to urge on their beasts. The sailors were getting quickly up to the nearest of them to put a stop to their progress, while the others ahead still endeavoured to escape; some in their hurry getting off the road upset. The wildest uproar and confusion ensued, the drivers shrieking to their beasts, the seamen shouting as they rushed forward.

One of the leading waggons, as it dashed forward, overtook a carriage which had apparently been on its way down to the ferry, when the postillions, alarmed by the sounds which reached their ears, turned it round to escape in the opposite direction. A waggon coming against its hinder wheel, had upset it on one side of the road. Just at that juncture, Adair and Desmond, who with their men had gone ahead, arriving at the spot, heard cries for help from female voices proceeding from the carriage. At the same moment they saw a gentlemanly-looking personage in a travelling-dress emerging from one of the windows, and several others, who had evidently been on the outside, endeavouring to pick themselves up in a field into which they had been thrown.

“If that isn’t Tom Rogers, I’m not an Irishman!” exclaimed Desmond; “and there’s Archie Gordon, too—hurrah! provided they haven’t broken their legs or arms, they’ll be all to rights after all;—and that’s no other than our friend Colonel Paskiewich.”

Hurrying forward to assist Colonel Paskiewich in extricating himself from the overturned carriage, they perceived that there were several ladies in the inside, who, although they every now and then uttered screams, were wisely remaining quiet, holding each other in their arms.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said the colonel; “I must now ask you to help out my wife and daughters, who are naturally fearfully alarmed at what has occurred.”

“We regret to have been the unintentional cause of their disaster,” said Adair politely; while he and Gerald, climbing up on the side of the carriage, caught hold of one of the young ladies, who proved to be Mademoiselle Feodorowna. They were quickly joined by Tom and Archie, the former of whom took the fair Feodorowna in charge. Another person now made his way up from the field into which he had been thrown.

“Why, Higson, my fine fellow, I am very glad to see you!” exclaimed Adair; “where do you come from?”

“I’ll tell you all about it by and by,” answered Higson, “when we have got out the ladies;” and he lending a hand, Mademoiselle Ivanowna was next hauled up, Higson taking her in his arms with the most affectionate solicitude and carrying her to a place of safety by the side of the road; while the rest dragged out her mamma, who, if not much hurt, was greatly alarmed. The coachman, who had also been thrown off his box, had in the meantime been assisting the postillions in cutting the traces; which, having been done, the latter galloped off, under the impression, probably, that should they remain they would be made prisoners with their master.

While this scene was taking place, Jack, with Jos Green, and their men, had advanced towards the post-house, in front of which a small body of troops were drawn up, waiting an opportunity, apparently, to attack the English as soon as they were still more scattered in their pursuit of the waggons, as it was evident they would quickly be. No sooner, however, did they perceive Jack’s compact party of seamen in well-ordered array advancing towards them, than, without even firing their muskets, they went to the right-about, and scampered off as fast as their legs could carry them.

Just as they disappeared, a window in the post-house was thrown open, and out of it jumped Dick Needham, followed by Tim Nolan. “Erin-go-bragh!” shouted the latter; “it’s ourselves have gained our liberty.”

“There’s no time to tell you how it all happened, sir,” said Dick, as Jack welcomed him; “we were not badly treated by the Russians, but I am main glad to get out of their hands—I only wish there was as good a chance of your brother and Mr Gordon getting set at liberty; but I am sorry to say they gave their parole, as they called it, to the colonel; and when I told them that Tim and I had got a plan for getting off from the Russians and making our way to the coast, they told me that they could not join in it, as they were bound to stay till the war was over.”

Commander Rogers, however, had no time to listen further to what his gunner had to say, as he had to set to work at once to destroy the captured waggons. Having examined the post-house to ascertain that no enemies lurked within, he set fire to the leading waggons; and, upon his way to the river to destroy the remainder, he came upon the overturned carriage, near which he found the colonel’s family, with Higson and the midshipmen. The colonel expressed his pleasure at seeing him, and informed him that he was on his way to visit an estate, remote from the seat of war, in the eastern parts of the country, when he heard that some English officers and seamen who had been made prisoners were in the neighbourhood, and that on visiting them he discovered that they belonged to the Tornado. Upon making application to the governor of the district, he had succeeded in obtaining the release of the officers on their parole, though the men had to continue in charge of their guard. “I am afraid, therefore,” he added, “that I cannot restore the former to you, unless you choose to consider me your prisoner.”

“As you are a non-combatant at present, we certainly cannot capture you or your family,” answered Jack; “but with regard to my lieutenant and the two midshipmen, I am somewhat in doubt whether or not to do so.”

Greatly to Jack’s surprise, Higson and Tom both expressed their decided opinion that as men of honour they ought to remain; though Archie seemed much less confident on the subject.

“We’ll get your carriage on its wheels and then think about this matter, colonel,” said Jack; “and if you will send your coachman to bring back the runaway postillions and their steeds, we will escort you across the river, and see you on your journey to the eastward.”

As there were no enemies to contend with, the plan proposed by Jack was quickly carried into execution; the horses were brought back; the carriage, which was an old-fashioned family coach, had not received much damage. Jack consulted Adair as to how he should act towards the lieutenant and midshipmen.

“As they are in our power, we are bound to lay hands on them whether they like it or not,” answered Adair; “if they go unwillingly, their parole is not broken;” whereupon Jack told Higson and the midshipmen that they must consider themselves under arrest, and prepare to return in the boats to their ship.

On hearing this, both the young ladies began to evince signs of agitation.

“Surely you are not going to take away Lieutenant Higson!” exclaimed Ivanowna.

“You cannot be so cruel as to carry off our dear Tom!” cried Feodorowna.

“We had all sorts of pleasant schemes to make them contented during their exile,” added Ivanowna.

“I must be very hard-hearted, and perform my duty,” answered Jack.

It was pretty clear that both Higson and Tom had no objection to remaining, but he was firm; though Archie seemed happy enough to get back.

“I’ll tell you how it is,” he whispered to Desmond; “the first lieutenant and Tom are spooney on the young ladies; it is my belief that they expect to marry them some day. The colonel and his wife seem to have taken a great fancy to Higson.”

“Oh, oh!” said Jack; “that makes it doubly important to keep them out of harm’s way.”

In vain the young ladies again and again pleaded, supported by their mamma and the colonel; Jack was inexorable. The remains of the waggons burnt on the banks of the river having been cleared away, the colonel’s carriage was escorted to the ferry-boat, which conveyed it across to the opposite bank. Here, however, so many more waggons had been destroyed that some time was spent before it could proceed. Higson and the midshipmen now got leave to pay their farewells to the ladies. Ivanowna could with difficulty restrain her feelings, as the gallant lieutenant approached to shake hands; and Archie declared to Desmond that he heard him vowing unalterable affection, and making a promise that as soon as the war was over he would come back and marry her, with her parents’ permission.

The more impulsive Feodorowna threw her arms round Tom’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. He, in return, made the same promise as his lieutenant, with a proviso that he should obtain his papa’s permission.

“All right,” said Jack, when he heard of it; “he’s very safe.”

A considerable amount of damage had been inflicted, but the waggons proved only to be a leading detachment, a second and larger portion being some miles in the rear, and they, getting timely notice of the raid of the English, retreated to a safe distance. The commodore, receiving information that troops with some field-pieces were advancing, prudently conducted his boats down the river, to avoid an engagement which could have produced no satisfactory results.

Tom Rogers was at first very much downcast, but in the company of his old friends quickly regained his spirits; and he and Archie were loud in their praises of the hospitality with which they had been treated. Higson did not say much, but Jack could not help suspecting that he no longer relished being engaged in hostile operations against the countrymen of his charmer. He confessed as much: “Still, you’ve known me long enough to be sure that though it may be against the grain, I’ll do my duty whatever happens.”

Higson kept to his word, and no man was more active in the operations which soon afterwards took place off Gheisk, Vodnia, and Glofira. Strange as it may seem, considering that the places had before been attacked, the Russians had accumulated along the shore in their neighbourhood enormous rows of stacks, several miles in extent. They had, however, four thousand troops to protect their property, while they were aware of the small force possessed by the English, who could not muster more than two hundred men for boat service. The larger vessels, from want of water, had to remain in the offing, while the gunboats towed the other boats as near as possible to the shore, and then covered them by their heavy fire. They pulled in, when their crews, springing to land, drove back the enemy, and set fire to the stacks in succession; proving that it is much easier to commit harm than to prevent it.

These attacks being made simultaneously at different points, so distracted the enemy, that they knew not in which direction to proceed; scarcely had the flames burst out at one point than they saw fires blazing up at several others. The stores at Vodnia and Glofira having been destroyed, the squadron proceeded off Gheisk. Here, for full four miles, stacks of corn and hay were arranged close to the water’s edge; while under the protection of the forts around the town were vast piles of timber, cured fish, naval stores, and a number of boats. Here again the shallowness of the water prevented the larger vessels from approaching; even the gunboats could not get in nearer than long range; such boats as could carry heavy guns, being distributed in four divisions, were sent in to cover the landing-parties in the smaller boats, about a mile from each other. As they approached, they saw that the Russians had thrown up light breastworks along their front, from which they kept up an unremitting fire on their invaders. Fortunately the wind blew on shore, and carried the smoke from their own and the British guns in their faces; the landing-parties, rapidly advancing, sprang on shore, and, dashing with bayonet and cutlass over the Russian breastworks, speedily put the enemy to flight.

The stacks along the whole of the line, being simultaneously lighted, blew so dense a cloud of smoke into the eyes of the Russians, that, though they rallied and opened a hot fire, they were unable to take aim or ascertain what their persevering foes were about. In six hours every stack, as well as the timber and naval stores and boats, were destroyed, with no other loss to the British than five men wounded.

These proceedings, unheroic as they might appear, tended greatly to bring the war to a conclusion. The Flash, with several other vessels, had in the meantime been despatched to different parts of the coast to carry on a similar work. Tom had a short time before been sent to serve on board her. After he had been brought back to the Tornado, he appeared a changed being; unless when compelled, he spoke to no one except Higson, and they two seemed to have much interesting conversation together. Jack observed it, and came to the very natural conclusion that Tom was over head and ears in love with the Russian colonel’s daughter; he consulted Murray on the subject.

“Send him on board the Flash,” was Murray’s answer; “Adair and young Desmond will soon knock all that sort of nonsense out of him. It never does for midshipmen to be falling in love; it is bad enough for a lieutenant—except under some circumstances,” added Murray, recollecting how both he and Jack had acted.

“At all events my father would not approve of his marrying a Russian, even putting her religion out of the question,” said Jack.

The Flash being in company at the time, Jack pulled on board her and soon arranged the matter with Adair, who very readily consented to take charge of Tom. That young gentleman was somewhat astonished at finding that he was thus to be disposed of, but he could not venture to expostulate with his commander, even though that commander was his brother. With a deep sigh he wished Higson good-bye.

“Perhaps if you are sending a letter on shore you will put in a word from me to Feodorowna, and assure her that I shall ever be faithful,” said Tom.

“As to that, Tom, I don’t think there is much chance that I shall have an opportunity of writing to anyone living in the enemy’s country,” answered Higson, who could not help perceiving the absurdity of the thing. “You, with the interest you possess, have certain prospects of promotion, and you will be giving them all up, and be separated from your family, if you were to marry a Russian and settle down in this part of the world. My case is very different; I have no interest—am getting on in life, and shall probably not get my next step till I am old enough to retire from the service. The young lady has, I’ll allow, a fancy for you, but she’ll soon get over it; and if I ever come out and marry her sister, I’ll persuade her that it is the best thing she can do.”

Tom did not quite fancy this advice, but, like many another midshipman, he had to grin and bear it; and was two minutes afterwards proceeding with his chest on board the Flash. Gerald welcomed him warmly, and, having received the cue from Adair, said not a word for some time about the fair Feodorowna. The Flash being actively engaged, Tom had plenty of work, and very little time to think about his lady-love. His conscience was not at all troubled when he was sent in to burn stacks of corn and hay, and other Government property; indeed, had he been so, as he had heard Jack observe that by doing so the war would be the sooner brought to a conclusion, he would have considered that he was doing what would be well pleasing to the colonel and his family.

Although Adair thought Tom a goose for falling in love, he yet placed great confidence in his gallantry and discretion. The Flash had been sent to the eastern end of the Sea of Azov. She was cruising one day close inshore, when her commander observed a fort which mounted six guns, but could see no gunners to fight them. He accordingly came to the conclusion that they had been withdrawn to garrison Taganrog, or some other important fortress.

“We must have those guns,” observed Adair. “I intend sending you, Rogers, and Desmond, in to-night to bring them off, should I find, as I suspect, that they are undefended,” he said to Tom. “You will be supplied with a scaling-ladder, with which you can take a peep in and ascertain the state of affairs. If there are only three or four soldiers, you must secure them; then shut the gates of the fort, to prevent anyone getting in, while you hoist the guns into the boat.”

Tom and Gerald were delighted with the thoughts of the proposed expedition, and undertook faithfully to carry out their commander’s orders. The Flash continued steaming on till she was out of sight of the fort, when, as soon as it was dark, her head was put inshore, and she ran back to within a short distance of the fort Tom and Gerald were ordered to burn a blue light should they require assistance, but if not, to carry out the work as quietly as possible.

“You may trust us, sir,” they said, as they stepped into the gig, which had a crew of six hands, and a supply of tackles for lowering the guns.

“This is just the sort of fun I like,” observed Tom, as they were pulling for the shore.

“Much better than sighing your breath out for the Russian damsel,” answered Desmond; “I am sure of that.” It was the first time he had ventured to touch on the delicate subject.

“What, have you heard about my little affair?” asked Tom; “I suppose, then, the whole fleet have been talking about it?”

“Don’t trouble yourself as to that,” whispered Desmond; they were both speaking in a low voice, so that neither their own men nor the enemy could hear them; “however, it is time, unless we want to be discovered, to clap a stopper on our jaw-tackles.”

“You are right,” said Tom; “we shall soon be up to the fort.” They pulled on till they came under the walls, which rose sheer out of the water. Landing on one side, and leaving a couple of hands in the boat, they carried the scaling-ladder to a wall which offered a fair prospect of their being able to mount to the top. Tom claimed the post of honour for himself, the rest of the party being prepared to mount as soon as he should summon them. The instant after the ladder was placed he was on the top of it. On looking down, not a human being could he see, either awake or asleep. Making the signal to his companions, they speedily followed him, and dropped down noiselessly into the fort.

Their first care, as ordered, was to secure the gate; and then, lighting their lanterns, they began to search the various chambers in the fort. They had not gone far when they heard voices from what appeared to be a guard-house. “At all events, we shall have no great difficulty in securing them,” said Tom. As they opened the door, they found four soldiers, a flagon of vodka before them, and their heads resting on the table.

They were excessively astonished to find their arms seized by a party of Englishmen, who signified by their gestures that the less noise they made the better. They were then lashed to their seats, and almost immediately afterwards dropped off to sleep again.

“At all events, we are not likely to meet with much opposition,” said Tom; “though, if we had had some fighting, we might have gained more credit.”

No other persons being found in the fort, they immediately set to work to unship the guns and to lower them down into the boat, which was brought under the wall for the purpose. They were of brass, and not very heavy considering their size, but it was soon found that three were as many as the gig could carry. Having secured these, they pulled back to the Flash, which now stood in as close as she could venture, when they returned for the other three. They looked in as they arrived at the drunken garrison, who were still fast asleep and unconscious of what was taking place. The remaining guns were then removed as the first had been.

“Faith, those Russian fellows will be astonished when they wake to-morrow morning and find themselves minus their guns,” exclaimed Gerald, laughing.

“I only hope that they won’t be shot in consequence,” said Tom. “I think we ought to have left a notice of the way we surprised the fort, with a request that the brave garrison may not be punished.”

On returning to the ship, they received due commendation from their commander for the way in which their exploit had been performed. The next day Adair himself determined to undertake a still more hazardous expedition, very similar to that in which Tom and Desmond had been captured. He had to proceed north, two miles from the coast, to the banks of a river, where he burned a large number of stacks. On his return he was chased by a body of Cossacks; he fortunately got within fire of his men in the boats just as the Cossacks were up to him. He acknowledged on getting on board that he had never had a harder run in his life.

Thoroughly knocked up, he turned in, leaving orders that the ship should be kept along the coast, so as to draw off their attention from other places which were to be attacked. Adair was in a deeper sleep than a commander under such circumstances generally ventures to enjoy, when suddenly he was startled by a shock, accompanied by an ominous grating sound, the meaning of which he too painfully knew.

“The ship’s on shore!” he exclaimed to himself, starting up and with the practised rapidity of a seaman putting on his clothes. An officer entering his cabin, he found his worst apprehensions realised. The Flash had struck on a reef, not a quarter of a mile from the beach. He was on deck in a moment; the hands were turned up, and the boats immediately lowered to lay out an anchor astern to haul her off. The day was just breaking, and as the light increased rocks were seen inside of the ship, with a sandy beach and a wide extent of level country.

In vain the officers and crew exerted themselves; the tide had been falling, and every instant made the task of getting the ship off more difficult. Adair had once before lost his ship under circumstances when the best of seamanship could not have saved her; but he now felt that she had been got on shore by inexcusable carelessness, and this thought made him inclined to become almost frantic. He restrained his temper and feelings, however, in a wonderful way for an Irishman, and with perfect coolness bent all his energies to the task of getting her off. His first lieutenant was on the sick list; the second had a short time before been relieved by a mate who somewhat resembled Mr Mildmay, without the sterling qualities of that officer, and for the sake of being better able, as he thought, to examine the coast, had kept the ship just a point or two, as he said, to the northward of the course given to him. However, had he even steered directly for the shore the commander was answerable, Terence knew too well.

In vain the crew laboured away at the capstan till the hawser was taut as a fiddle-string; not an inch would the ship budge. The master suggested that by heaving the guns and stores overboard she might be got off.

“And perhaps even then we might stick fast, or before she is afloat the enemy might make his appearance and find us at his mercy,” answered the commander; “no, no—we’ll keep our teeth, and show them too, to some effect, as long as the ship holds together.”

Tom and Desmond were not very complimentary to the stupid old mate who had been the cause of the disaster. Tom, who was acting as signal-midshipman, had been for some time examining the shore, when he caught sight of some figures moving along in the distance. Presently, as they approached, he could see that they formed a small body of Cossack cavalry; two of them galloped on ahead, till they got near enough to ascertain the condition of the ship. A shot from one of her long guns, though it missed them, sent them to the right-about, and the whole body soon afterwards disappeared. No long time, however, had elapsed when they were again discerned coming in the direction of the ship, accompanied by a body of infantry and several field-pieces.

“We must be ready for those fellows,” observed Terence, “and do our best to dismount their guns.”

While one portion of the crew were sent to their quarters, the others were kept employed in endeavouring to haul off the ship. On came the infantry, looking out for such imperfect shelter as could be found on the coast; and the guns, which had remained some way behind them, opened their fire on the ship. They were not ill served, and their shot fell pretty thickly about her. Terence immediately ordered his guns to be fired in return, when the Cossacks, wheeling about, retired to a safe distance.

“I can’t say much for the gunnery of those fellows,” said Tom; “not a shot has struck us yet.”

“Wait a bit, my boy,” answered Desmond; “they’ll get the range presently. It’s more easy for them to hit a big object like our ship, than it is for us to reach those little gimcracks of guns.”

The Russian riflemen having in the meantime advanced, their bullets kept whistling through the air, close to the heads of the crew, who, however, took no more notice of them than had they been pellets from pop-guns. At last a shot from the Flash struck the earth directly in front of one of the Russian guns, which at the same instant was fired, and the next, when the dust and smoke had cleared away, it was seen upset with its carriage broken, and several gunners lying stretched on the earth on either side of it. The other guns, however, still kept their position, and fired away as briskly as before.

“They’ll be after getting tired of that,” observed Desmond, “if we can manage to send another of our pills down their throats like the last.”

The firing was kept up for some time on both sides without intermission, no apparent effect being produced on the enemy, while the ship was frequently hulled by their shot. Still Adair did not despair of getting her off, and as soon as the tide began to rise, he set to work with renewed energy. He and his crew seemed to bear charmed lives; for though the shot caught the rigging above their heads, and came plunging into the ship’s side, not one of them had been hit.

“There’s a fresh body of the enemy coming down, sir,” said Tom, pointing to the north-east.

“If they are only Cossacks they’ll not harm us,” answered Adair, taking a look in the direction Tom pointed through his telescope. “I am not quite certain about that same,” he observed to his first lieutenant.

“They appear to me to be artillery,” answered that officer.

In a few minutes more this became evident; up came the officers, galloping at full speed, with four more guns.

“They are not of very heavy metal, or they would not come along so fast,” observed Adair. “We’ll be ready for them,” and he ordered one of the after-guns to be trained so as to give them a warm reception as soon as they came within range. As they approached, however, the guns separated, and took up positions a considerable distance from each other, while those which had already been engaged followed their example.

This, of course, increased the difficulties of the Flash, as each of her guns could only engage one opponent at a time. Her heavy sixty-eight pivot-gun was, however, worked with such rapidity and skill that the enemy were frequently compelled to abandon their guns, and many of their men and horses were killed. Still fresh horses were brought up to move them to new positions, not allowing the crew of the Flash a moment of rest from their labours. Every time one of their shot was seen to tell with effect they cheered lustily; and as they worked away they seemed to enjoy the fun, laughing and joking as if no round-shot and bullets were whistling through the air near their ears.

The master had just reported that the water had risen another inch, and Adair had begun to entertain fresh hopes of getting the ship, ere long, afloat, when the smoke of a steamer was seen in the offing.

“I hope she’s the Tornado or Giaour,” observed Desmond; “they’ll be for sending the boats on shore and putting the enemy to the rout.”

Adair naturally hoped pretty much the same, but, on consideration, he could not help suspecting that the ship in sight was the Anaconda, commanded by Commander Allport, his superior officer, for whom, on account of previous circumstances which need not just now be mentioned, he had no special regard.

“At all events, he is a brave fellow, and will stand by me,” he said to himself.

As the stranger drew near, Adair found that his surmises were correct. He had, in the meantime, been continuing his efforts to get the Flash afloat, the crew working away as energetically as at first.

“She’s the Anaconda, sir,” said Tom, who had been watching the signals as they appeared at the masthead of the approaching vessel.

“Say the ship’s ashore, but I hope to get her off, and beg Anaconda to stand in and support me,” said Adair.

The signals were hoisted. It was possible that the wreaths of smoke which circled round the ship might have prevented them from being seen clearly. The enemy continued firing away at her as if hoping to secure her destruction before support could reach her, while her crew worked her guns with the same ardour as before. Adair calculated that, in another hour, she would be afloat, perhaps in less time. The Anaconda stood in nearer, and began again to make signals. Adair looked over the signal-book.

“It can’t be that!” he exclaimed, as he read, “Abandon ship, and come on board me with your crew.”

“There must be some mistake,” he added in an undertone. “I wish that I was blind of one eye and not able to see it. Answer it,” he said at length, “‘Before we quit the ship, we’ll try what we can do.’”

With reluctant heart he gave the order to heave the pivot-gun overboard, taking care to secure a buoy to it, hoping that he might yet get it up. The engine was set going, once more the capstan was manned, but still the Flash did not move.

“If that Commander Allport would stand in like a true man and lend us a hand, we might get off even now,” exclaimed Desmond. “Arrah, my poor uncle, ’twill be after breaking his heart to leave the barkey here.”

The Anaconda now fired a gun and made fresh signals, ordering Adair immediately to quit the ship. The boats, all of which had escaped injury, were hoisted out, and the crew were ordered to leave the ship they had fought so bravely. Adair was the last man to quit her.

“Well, I am the most unfortunate fellow alive!” he exclaimed.

He was thinking of Lucy and his promotion stopped, and all the other unpleasant consequences of the loss of his ship. The only thing which kept up his spirits was the hope that he might persuade Commander Allport to stand in and make fresh efforts to get her afloat. It was a wonder none of the boats were struck as they left the ship. They, however, at length succeeded in getting on board the Anaconda. Commander Allport, who was standing on deck, received Adair with a supercilious air. He had been many years a lieutenant, and his temper had been considerably soured before he had got his promotion; indeed, some of those whom he had known as midshipmen were now admirals, and he seemed to take especial pleasure in acting in a dictatorial manner towards all those under him.

“Well, Commander Adair,” he observed, as Terence stepped on deck, “you have made a pretty business of this somehow or other; young officers are, however, not always the best navigators, and the Flash has been lost to Her Majesty’s Service. It won’t bring much credit on those concerned.”

Adair bit his lip, but, though ready enough to retort, he wisely restrained his temper, and answered, “If you will let me have your boats, or will stand in and give us a tow while we keep the enemy at bay, we may get the Flash off before many hours are over; she has not a shot-hole in her to signify, as we plugged them all as soon as they were received.”

“Impossible, Commander Adair,” answered his superior officer; “the only thing we can do is to prevent the Flash from falling into the enemy’s hands. I cannot uselessly expose the lives of my crew in so hopeless an undertaking. Those who have the advantage of experience know that it is the duty of an officer to watch with a father’s care over his people. We’ll stand in closer, and then see what is to be done.”

Adair still urged the possibility of saving the Flash.

“I am your superior officer, and it is my duty to act as I think fit, without taking your opinion,” answered Commander Allport.

Adair turned away with no very affectionate feeling in his heart towards his “superior officer.”

The Anaconda stood on till, when still at a safe distance from the enemy’s shot, she brought her broadside to bear upon the unfortunate little Flash, and commenced practising with her heavy guns. A groan escaped from Adair’s bosom, echoed by many others from his crew, as he saw one huge missile after another strike his devoted craft, and in a short time commit more mischief than the enemy had inflicted on her during the gallant fight he had waged for so many hours.

“We must take care, should she fall into the hands of the Russians, that she is reduced to an utter wreck,” observed Commander Allport.

“You are certainly setting about the right way to make her so,” observed Adair.

He even now was strongly inclined to urge the old martinet to desist, as he saw shot after shot strike the hull of his vessel. The enemy, seeing that the English were engaged in destroying her, wisely saved their own powder by ceasing to fire, and allowed them to finish the work which they had commenced.

While the Anaconda was thus employed, another vessel hove in sight, steaming up from the westward.

“She’s the Giaour,” observed Commander Allport, looking at the signal-book; “Murray will assist us in knocking her to pieces.”

“I very much doubt whether he will do anything of the sort,” answered Adair, unable to restrain himself; “I only wish he had come an hour ago, to save her from destruction.”

“You are forgetting our relative positions, Commander Adair,” observed Commander Allport, beginning now to fume.

“I only expressed my opinion that Murray would not have tried to knock the Flash to pieces, till he had assisted me in making further efforts to get her off,” answered Adair; “and I only ask you to desist from firing till you have his opinion.”

Now Commander Allport did not recollect that Murray was his senior. The latter had been promoted a few weeks before him, and would have power to decide the question. Instead of desisting, however, he directed his guns so as to concentrate their fire upon one portion of the Flash, thus more completely to ruin her. Adair knew that it would be useless to plead any longer; his only regret was that he had obeyed his superior officer’s command, and quitted the vessel, instead of remaining on board and taking the consequences. Had he remained he felt that he would certainly have run the risk of censure for disobeying orders, but he would have saved his ship, and that alone would have proved a sufficient excuse had Commander Allport brought him to a court-martial; which it was very likely he would not have dared to do. Terence consoled himself with the reflection that he had fought his ship gallantly, and would have continued to fight her till she had been knocked to pieces, and that he had acted in obedience to the orders of a superior in quitting her.

“Well,” he said to himself, “as Murray always used to advise, ‘Do right and take the consequences.’ I have done right in obeying, but the consequences are not less unpleasant. I shall be reprimanded for losing my ship, and shall be sent on shore with a black mark against my name, and all my prospects in the service ruined; and Sir John will be less likely than ever to allow me to marry Lucy. I am the most unfortunate fellow alive.” This was about the twentieth time poor Terence had uttered the expression since he had been compelled to leave the Flash. As long as he continued on her deck, fighting her bravely, he had not cared half so much about her having run on shore; besides which, he had never abandoned the hope of getting her off. So completely did his feelings run away with him that he even began to contemplate, though his calmer moments would have forbidden him doing so, the idea of calling out Commander Allport, as the only way of avenging the injury he had received; but he, happily, had strength to banish the thought almost as soon as it was conceived, and, walking to the other side of the ship, he anxiously watched the approach of the Giaour.

As soon as she drew near, he ordered his gig, and, without holding any further communication with Commander Allport, pulled on board her.

“Why, Adair, what have you been doing with the Flash?” asked Murray, as he sprang up the side. Terence briefly explained what had happened, and declared his conviction that the ship might have been saved by the adoption of proper measures.

“Instead of that, old Allport is expending powder and shot in making a target of her, for no earthly reason beyond that of showing that he is my superior officer, though of equal rank. I wish to goodness he had been laid on the shelf, the only position he is fit for.”

“We must try what can be done,” said Murray. “Happily, I am his superior officer, which he will find out by looking at the Navy List, if he does not know it already;” and Murray directed a signal to be made to the Anaconda to “Cease firing.” Commander Allport, who still had not discovered that Murray was his superior, was at first inclined to pay no attention to the signal; till his first lieutenant, happening to know the true state of the case, brought him a Navy List, and pointed out to him Murray’s date of promotion.

“The old fellow is in the wrong box,” whispered Desmond, he having observed what was taking place; “there’s a chance after all for the little barkey.”

“Cease firing,” cried Commander Allport. Directly afterwards Murray sent his second lieutenant to the Anaconda, with a request that the commander would come on board his ship to consult with him as to the best means of saving Her Majesty’s ship Flash, now in sight on the rocks. The request, of course, amounted to an order, which Commander Allport, however unwillingly, obeyed.

“Save her?” he exclaimed; “surely you mean destroy her as soon as possible. I have done my best for the last two hours to knock her to pieces.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” answered Murray; “we should never abandon a vessel while there is the slightest hope of saving her; and the enemy might easily have been kept at a sufficient distance to prevent them from interfering with us, when getting her off. I must ask you to stand in towards the shore, as close as you can venture, and keep the enemy in check with your guns.”

For the first time for some hours Adair’s heart began again to beat with hope, as the two steamers, with the lead going and a bright look-out kept ahead, stood towards the shore. The artillery were seen to limber-up and gallop off, while the infantry scampered away, as fast as they could go, to a safe distance; judging correctly that as they had made no material impression upon a single ship, they were unlikely to impede the proceedings of two.

Murray, accompanied by Adair, and followed by the whole of the boats of the Flash, immediately pulled on board her. Groans, and expressions which were certainly not groans, however much they were like growls, proceeded from the crew, as they observed the damage committed by the Anaconda’s shot. A very brief inspection satisfied Murray and Adair that she was too completely ruined to allow of any hope that she could be got off.

“It can’t be helped,” exclaimed poor Terence; “the only thing now to be done is to prevent her falling into the hands of the enemy. I would sooner have gone down in her to the bottom of this wretched pool than this should have happened. We must blow her up; I know it—I am the most unhappy fellow alive—I shall never get another ship, and Lucy is farther off than ever.”

“We must set her on fire, of course, or the enemy will boast that they have captured her; but as to any blame being attached to you personally at a court-martial, I don’t believe it,” answered Murray, in a tone calculated to soothe the feelings of his friend. “From what I see, I am pretty sure that, had old Allport not taken it into his head to knock her to pieces, we should have got her off and put her to rights in a few hours. The side exposed to the enemy is but slightly damaged, and he allows that you must have fought her bravely, and that he only ordered you to desert her for the sake of preserving the lives of you and her crew. The first thing, however, we have to do is to weigh her guns.”

Murray, having formed his plans, summoned the larger boats of the squadron, when, after much labour, the guns were weighed, and conveyed on board the Giaour. The Russian troops had taken their departure, and a good many parties of the peasantry were seen on the shore, spectators of what was going on, probably hoping that the wreck would be deserted, and that they should find a rich booty on board her. They were to be disappointed. Now came the scene most trying to Adair; everything of value, and that time would allow, was removed; the Flash was set on fire, and the boats pulled away, leaving her in flames fore and aft.

“There goes our little barkey,” exclaimed Desmond; and in a short time she blew up, covering the sea on every side with the fragments of wreck. “I am glad, Tom, it was not you or I got her on shore; I don’t envy old Fusty his feelings, if he’s got any; perhaps he hasn’t. If Uncle Terence doesn’t get a ship, he’ll be for cutting the service and going out and settling in Australia; and I intend to go with him, to keep sheep and ride after wild cattle, and lead an independent sort of life. I say, Tom, won’t you come too?”

“Oh no; I am bound to come out here, and marry my little Feodorowna,” answered Tom; “though perhaps she’d like to come out to Australia with me.”

“You be hanged, Tom! that’s all nonsense,” answered Desmond. “I thought you had forgotten all about that affair.”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Tom indignantly; “if she’s faithful to me, I am bound to be faithful to her.”

“Always provided Sir John approves of your faithfulness,” put in Desmond.

“Let’s change the subject,” said Tom. “It’s time that you and I and Gordon should pass for seamanship, and as soon as we go home we shall get through the college and gunnery, and then, I hope, before long get our promotion.”

Castles in the air erected by midshipmen are apt to fall to pieces, as well as those built by older persons. They serve, however, to amuse their architects, and after all, as they do not exhaust the strength or energy, are not productive of any harm.

The squadron continued their depredations along the coast, till not a Russian vessel, or any craft larger than a cock-boat, remained afloat, and every storehouse and stack of corn or hay which could be got at by the British seamen had been destroyed. As no private property was intentionally injured, these proceedings produced scarcely the slightest ill-will among the inhabitants, though they might have thought the perpetrators somewhat impious for thus daring to offend their sacred Emperor. History tells how gallantly the naval brigade behaved before Sebastopol, and how at length, the night before that proud fortress fell, the Russians sank their remaining line-of-battle ships; and how the English and French admirals, to prevent a single keel from escaping, placed their fleets across the mouth of the harbour, when the garrison, despairing of saving even their steamers, set them on fire with their own hands; and after proud Sebastopol had fallen, how Kinburn, not far from the mouths of the Boug and the Dnieper, a strong casemated fort, armed with seventy heavy guns, supported by well-made earthworks, each furnished with ten guns more, was attacked by the combined fleets. Its best defence, however, existed in the shallowness of the surrounding water and the intricacy of the navigation, so that ships of the line could not approach it; while the smaller vessels ran the risk of getting on shore when attempting to do so.

The fleet consisted of between thirty and forty steam-vessels, and numerous transports conveying four thousand troops. The French had as many troops, but fewer ships of war; among them, however, were three newly-invented floating batteries, from which the Emperor Napoleon expected, it was said, great things. Difficult as was the navigation, every inch of ground was well known to the commanders of the fleets, it having been thoroughly surveyed by Captain Spratt of the Spitfire.

Early on the morning of the 15th the troops were thrown on shore, to the south of the principal fort, when they immediately entrenched their position, to cut off the retreat of the garrison. The next day proving too rough for the ships to co-operate with the troops, the attack was postponed; but on the 17th the work was begun in earnest by the English mortar-boats, which first opened fire on the devoted fort. The French floating batteries followed suit, throwing their shot and shell with effective precision, while the enemy’s round-shot dropped harmless from their iron sides, their shells shivering against them like glass. After this game had been carried on for about a couple of hours, the ships of the line stood in on the southern side of the forts, till they got within twelve hundred yards.

“Now comes our turn!” exclaimed Jack Rogers to Adair, who was serving as a volunteer on board the Tornado, which ship, following close astern of the Giaour, formed one of a large squadron of steamers which had been directed to approach the forts on the northern side.

The two squadrons reached their destined positions at the same time, when they both opened a tremendous fire, literally raining down shot and shell upon the hapless garrison. Stubborn as were the Russians, human endurance could not long withstand such a fire.

“Faith, I’m very glad I’m not inside those walls,” said Gerald to Tom, as they watched the effects of their shot, hundreds of shells bursting in the air together, and raining down fragments of iron on the heads of the unfortunate garrison; “if each round-shot and shell only kills a single man, there won’t be one left alive in the course of a few minutes.”

“Fortunately, I fancy that it takes fully five shot to kill a man,” answered Tom, though he may not have been perfectly correct in his estimate.

“I should doubt if even a cat could escape, unless she hid herself in a cellar,” said Desmond; “it is tremendous.”

His last remark correctly described the scene; from the two lines there issued, without intermission, flashes and wreaths of smoke, each denoting the passage of an engine of destruction against the fortress; the shells forming continuous arches in the air, the shot flying with more direct aim, till the whole atmosphere became filled with dense clouds of smoke, amid which the walls of the fort and dark hulls of the ships, with their masts and rigging, could only be indistinctly seen. At the end of ten minutes there appeared, in a conspicuous part of the fort, a white flag. In an instant, as if by magic, the wild uproar ceased, and the only sounds heard were the cheers of the seamen at their speedily-gained victory.

The admirals at once proceeded on shore, when the governor and his officers, coming out of the fort, presented their swords, which were politely returned to them, when a French garrison was left in the fort. Two generals and a large staff of officers thus became prisoners, besides which a large number of guns, ammunition, and stores were captured.

As the Government still held out, the fleet proceeded to the attack of Oczakov, but, greatly to the disappointment of the allies, the Russians evacuated it, and blew it up. This was almost the last action of any consequence during the war; though the Mosquito fleet still continued their depredations on the shores of the Sea of Azov till the winter compelled them to retire, when, before the return of spring, peace with Russia was concluded.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Adair acquitted for Loss of Flash—Appointed to Gleam—The Tornado in the Bosphorus—Arrival of Herr Groben—Higson obtains Leave of Absence—Tom asks for it, and is sent on board Gleam—Higson Promoted—His Marriage with the Fair Russian—Ball on board the Tornado—The Gleam in a Storm—Tom and Adair lost overboard—Desmond’s Grief—The Admiral’s Home—Appearance of the Missing Ones—Joy of the Admiral—Adair narrates their Adventures—Jack and Adair married—Generosity of Admiral Triton.

Antecedent to the events mentioned in the last chapter, one of considerable importance to Terence Adair occurred. He had to undergo a court-martial for the loss of the Flash. She had been run on shore, of that there was no doubt; but when there he had fought her with the greatest gallantry, and had done his utmost to get her off. The result of the investigation was that, having been admonished for the loss of his ship, his sword was returned to him.

“Really, my dear Adair, I don’t think you need break your heart about the matter,” said Jack to him when he returned on board the Tornado, which he had joined as a volunteer; Tom and Desmond were already on board her. “Depend upon it, it won’t stand in the way of your getting another ship or promotion. I hear that the admiral highly approves of your conduct, and that he has stated he will give you solid proof of his opinion as soon as a vacancy occurs.”

These remarks raised poor Terence’s spirits, and he wrote a very hopeful letter to Admiral Triton, which he hoped might be shown to Lucy rather than the one he had penned some time previously. Still some weeks went by, and Adair remained without a ship; he at length got a cheery reply from his old friend in answer to his letter, urging him to keep up his courage, and prophesying that all would turn out well at last. “There is a young lady by my side who fully agrees with me, and who is as ready as I am to admire the gallant way in which you fought your ship, and to appreciate your merits, whether the Admiralty do so or not. I am the last man to advise a promising young officer to leave the service; but should you be compelled to come on shore, and turn your sword into a reaping-hook, I have made such arrangements as will enable you to do so without having to depend solely upon your pittance of half-pay,” wrote the admiral.

“What can the kind old man mean?” asked Terence, when he showed the letter to Jack.

Jack smiled. Perhaps he had heard something about the matter.

“It is evident that he has your interest at heart,” he answered, “and intends to give you substantial proof of his regard; however, my opinion is that you will not be laid on the shelf, and that if you remain out here the admiral will give you the first vacancy that occurs.”

Jack, was right; a few days afterwards, on the return of the Tornado to the fleet, the admiral sent for Adair, and, complimenting him on the gallant way in which he had fought the Flash, informed him that he was appointed to the Gleam, the commander of which had just been invalided home. Adair’s heart bounded as if a load had been taken off it. Without loss of time he went on board his new command. His natural wish was now to do something by which he might gain credit.

“Let me advise you, my dear fellow,” said Murray, who paid him a visit on board, “not to trouble yourself about that, but just go straight forward and do your duty, and you’ll gain all the credit you can desire in doing that.”

Terence followed his friend’s advice, and was warmly complimented by the admiral for his zeal and activity in carrying out the orders he had received, although he had done nothing to fill a page in history.

The Tornado was lying in the Golden Horn, having made her last trip to the Crimea, when a caique came alongside, an old gentleman in somewhat quaint costume seated in the stern. Green, who happened to be near the gangway, on looking down recognised his old German friend, Herr Groben. “Glad to see you,” he exclaimed, as he ran down to help him up the accommodation ladder.

“Ah, my friend Green, I am delighted to see you,” answered Herr Groben, shaking his hand warmly with both of his. “I come on a very delicate and important matter, and you can help me greatly.”

“Very glad to help you to do anything you wish,” answered Green, “provided it doesn’t amount to treason or petty larceny.”

“Ah, no, my friend, this is no treason,” answered the old tutor, looking over his shoulder as if he expected to see a Russian spy there; “it relates entirely to another sort of affair. You know that Mr Higson, the first lieutenant of this ship, fell in love with the eldest sister of my pupils; and, to confess to you the truth, the young lady fell in love with him, and she has been expecting now that the dreadful war is over that he would go back and claim her hand.”

“So I suppose he intends doing when the ship is paid off; but, till then, he is not his own master, and he could not get away however much he might wish it,” answered Green.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Ivanowna does not understand that sort of thing, and began so to pine and fret that she became very ill indeed; and, seeing her state, I volunteered to come to Constantinople, where I heard your ship was likely to be found, to bear a message to Lieutenant Higson; and I have been greatly anxious till I got on board lest the ship should have sailed away. Where is your first lieutenant, that I may deliver myself forth of my message?”

“For a wonder he has gone on shore,” answered Green, “but he will be off again soon; and, in the meantime, we will take good care of you; so come down at once into the gun-room, and we shall have luncheon on the table immediately.”

Herr Groben was warmly received by the officers when they heard who he was, and soon had out of him the whole history of the loves of Lieutenant Higson and the fair Ivanowna. Lieutenant Mildmay expressed his intention of writing it in verse; the doctor proposed their healths during luncheon, in conjunction with that of the Queen of England and the Emperor of Russia, now the best friends in the world. After luncheon, as Higson did not appear, Herr Groben expressed a wish to go round the ship, and Green at once offered to conduct him. As he was going round the lower deck, he popped his head into the midshipmen’s berth, when, whom should he see seated directly before him but Tom Rogers.

The recognition was mutual; Tom started up. “Oh, Herr Groben, I am delighted to see you!” he exclaimed. “Do tell me, how is Miss Feodorowna? Have you just come from there?”

“Not very long ago,” answered Herr Groben; “and I can tell you they have not forgotten you, and she told me if I saw you to give her very kind remembrances.”

“Is that all?” asked Tom.

“Of course,” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, who was seated in the berth; “what more could you expect from a young lady?”

“Then doesn’t she care about me?” cried Tom, forgetting that several of his messmates were within hearing, and that they were not likely to forget his question.

“As to that I must be discreet,” answered the old tutor, laughing; “if you ever come back to Russia in peaceable guise, not in one of your ships with big guns to batter down our forts, you may depend upon it. Colonel Paskiewich and his family will be very happy to see you.”

The conversation was cut short by Green, who had gone away, returning to conduct Herr Groben into the gun-room. Soon after he was seated there, Higson returned on board, little expecting whom he was to find. Though he had never been known to exhibit the slightest signs of nervousness, he looked excessively agitated on seeing the old tutor; who, after telling him that he had lately come from the family of Colonel Paskiewich, requested a private interview. The old German had evidently something of importance to communicate beyond what he had told Green. Higson’s agitation as he proceeded increased; he, however, at length came to a decision, and Herr Groben returned on shore, saying that he should expect to see him the next day.

When Jack, who had gone on board the Gleam to see Adair, just on the point of sailing for England, returned to his own ship, Higson begged to have a few minutes’ talk with him. Jack, of course, granted it, and, begging him to come into his cabin, sat down to listen to what he had to say.

“We have been shipmates a good many years, Commander Rogers, and I am going to ask a favour of you,” he began. “You know how I fell in love with a young lady in Russia, and she has fallen desperately in love with me, it seems. I don’t say it as a boast, and cannot account for it, and, what is more, her mother sends me word that she is dying for fear I should go away and forget her, or, at all events, not come back again. Now, I have no thoughts of doing anything of the sort; though the young lady may believe what I will write to her, I would rather give her practical evidence of my affection by paying her a visit at once. I could be there and back in a week or ten days, and if you could manage to give me leave for that period, I would run over and see them, and I trust that neither the service nor the ship will suffer from my absence.”

Jack reflected on the request made to him, and considering that Higson merited all the favour he could grant at his hands, and that the duty of the ship could be carried on in the meantime, gave him the leave he asked. Higson expressed himself very thankful, and set about making arrangements for his intended journey.

Scarcely had Higson left the cabin when Tom entered, and begged to have a few minutes’ conversation with his brother.

“What is it?” asked Jack.

Tom went into the whole story of the kind treatment he had received from the family of Colonel Paskiewich; “And you must know,” he continued, “that I fell in love with Miss Feodorowna, and promised to go back and marry her as soon as the war was over.”

“Really, Tom, I hope with the proviso that you should obtain the permission of Sir John,” remarked Jack.

“I don’t know about provisionally,” answered Tom; “I promised to go back and marry her as soon as peace was settled; and as you wouldn’t wish me to break my promise, I hope you will give me permission to do so at once.”

Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter.

“I’ll tell you what, Tom, I am much more likely to marry you to the gunner’s daughter,” he answered.

“That is very cruel treatment,” exclaimed Tom; “you’ll drive me to quit the service and expatriate myself for ever.”

Jack only laughed louder.

“Do you mean to say that you are going to deprive the country of your valuable services, bid farewell to your father and mother and sisters, or perhaps take service in the Russian navy, should they ever launch any fresh ships, and turn your sword against your countrymen, simply because I refuse to let you go and make a fool of yourself by marrying this little Russian girl? though my belief is that, even should I let you go, as soon as her father finds out that you haven’t a sixpence to bless yourself with, he’ll send you about your business with a flea in your ear. Come, Tom, think the matter over; you used to have some brains in your head, and I hope you have not left them all behind you in the Sea of Azov.”

Still Tom was obstinate; he really had a midshipman-like amount of attachment for Feodorowna, but though it was very disinterested and sincere and romantic, it was not the less foolish. Nothing Jack could say would induce him to promise to give up all thoughts of her, and to write a kind note pointing out the impossibility of their marrying, and bidding her farewell.

“She mayn’t see the impossibility of it,” answered Tom; “her father is the owner of thousands of acres, and country-houses, and serfs; and she told me that all he wanted was to get gentlemanly, intelligent sons-in-law, who could live in his houses and superintend the cultivation of his estates.”

“Well, well,” said Jack, “that doesn’t sound so badly; but still, you have no right at your age to go and marry without our father’s and mother’s sanction; and until you have got it I’ll be no party to your giving up the service and settling down for life in an out-of-the-way corner of Russia. With regard to Higson, the case is very different; he is twice your age, has very little prospect of promotion, and no friends that I know of to give up; besides which, I am pretty certain that nothing would induce him to take service in the Russian navy, with the chance of being employed against England.”

“I don’t see that our cases are so very different,” answered Tom; “and you may put me in irons, and do what you like, but I’ll not promise to give up Feodorowna, nor write the cruel letter you propose, to bid her farewell. There, you’ve got my answer, and I’ve in no way infringed the articles of war by saying that, though you are my commander.”

“I am not quite certain that you have not, by the tone in which you speak,” answered Jack; “however, I am very sorry for it, Tom, and warn you that as you are obstinate, I must take measures accordingly.”

What those measures were, Jack did not tell his brother. Having dismissed him, he sent for Dick Needham, and desired him to keep a watchful eye on the youngster, lest he might take French leave and quit the ship.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Dick; “though they’re not a bad sort of people in the main, I shouldn’t like Mr Tom to turn into a Russian—it won’t be my fault if he gives leg-bail.”

Satisfied on this point, Jack, ordering his gig, pulled on board the Gleam, which ship was to sail the next day for England. The Giaour had gone home some time before, and Murray hoped to pay her off and to be allowed to remain on shore with his beloved Stella. Jack explained his anxieties about Tom to Adair, who at once agreed to take him home, and not to lose sight of him till he had handed him over either to Admiral Triton or Sir John and Lady Rogers.

“Take him in the first instance to the admiral,” said Jack, “he will consider his opinion as less biassed than that of our father and mother, and be more likely to yield submission to it.”

On his return to the Tornado, Jack ordered Tom’s marine to pack up his chest, and have it lowered into his gig alongside; he then summoned Tom, and, allowing him to wish his messmates good-bye, told him to follow his chest. Tom looked, as he felt, very unhappy; Dicky Duff and Billy Blueblazes, especially, thought him a hardly-used individual—though his older messmates were more inclined to laugh than to sympathise with him. Adair received him on board in a very kind way, and Desmond acted the part of a true friend by listening to all he had to say—though he avoided giving him any encouragement, and when Tom declared his intention of making his escape in the first caique which came alongside, he warned him that he could not possibly succeed.

Next morning the Gleam steamed away down the Bosphorus. Tom had not been many hours at sea before he recovered his spirits, and was able to admire the beautiful scenery amid which the ship was steering her course.

Having now settled this matter to his satisfaction, Jack turned his attention to the affair of his first lieutenant. Higson’s interview with the old tutor had confirmed him in his resolution to abandon the service and marry Ivanowna; and Jack, though sorry to lose him, promised to do his best to forward his views. Jack gave him leave of absence, and Higson was engaged in packing up to accompany Herr Groben in a steamer which was to start the next day for the Crimea, when the commander of the Tornado was sent for on board the flagship. Greatly to his satisfaction, Jack found that he had to return to Balaclava on an affair relating to the evacuation of the place, and afterwards to visit other places to the eastward which had been captured by the allied squadrons and restored to the Russians.

“This is a most fortunate circumstance for you, Higson,” he said, when he returned on board; “you will have an opportunity of visiting your friends, and if you take my advice, you will go home in the ship, and, as I hope, obtain your promotion.”

Higson, thanking Jack, promised to be guided by circumstances. The Tornado had got her steam up, when the mail from England was signalled, and Jack waited for its arrival. He received several letters—one from his sister Mary, replete, as was usually the case in her letters, with scraps of news. The most important, as far as he himself was concerned, was that Julia Giffard was somewhat out of health, and that her father had taken her to Malta, where they intended to pass the winter. Sir John and Lady Rogers were as averse as ever to Lucy’s marriage with Adair, not from any objection to him, except on account of his want of means; and they were annoyed at the encouragement Admiral Triton and Miss Deborah appeared to have afforded the young people. The admiral had actually written to Sir John on the subject, but neither he nor Lady Rogers could understand his meaning, except that he thought him unwise in objecting to a fine promising young officer, who was certain if he remained in the service to become an admiral some day. “Poor Lucy is sadly perplexed about it,” said Mary; “she has given her heart to Adair, and is certainly not a person likely to bestow it on anyone else; so that her fate will be a hard one if she is not allowed to marry.” Sidney had returned home very much improved by his Crimean campaign, having dropped all his Guardsman’s airs, and become, Mary observed, very like Jack himself.

Jack would have been more deeply concerned about Julia, had he not received a letter from her, assuring him that the voyage had done her a great deal of good, and that she was looking forward to the happiness of seeing him shortly on his arrival at Malta. Murray had reached England, but, much to his disappointment, the Giaour had not been paid off, and he had been directed to hold himself in readiness to sail immediately. He spoke of the admiral as very much broken, while Mrs Deborah was also ailing. He could not sufficiently express his gratitude for the kindness with which the old people had treated Stella and his two children; she was still residing with them at Southsea—they insisted on their remaining there till his return, to which he had consented, as he hoped not to be long absent from home. “I shall then,” he said, “not seek for employment, and, as I have some hopes of my promotion, I may become an admiral some day. I had expected to have been back at Bercaldine and to have been able to receive you and Mrs Jack Rogers on your wedding tour; perhaps even now I may be home in time, and, at all events, my dear Jack, I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you and Terence Adair there as one of the greatest in this sublunary world.”

Jack had read his letters, when Higson entered the cabin, with an official-looking despatch in his hand.

“Congratulate me!” he exclaimed. “I have received what I little expected, my promotion; and, as there is small chance of my being employed, I think you will agree that I should be wise in taking advantage of the good fortune offered me.”

“I congratulate you heartily,” said Jack, “and I won’t say a word to dissuade you.”

Higson, after considerable trouble, succeeded in obtaining a commander’s full-dress uniform, with which he expressed himself highly delighted. He had just time to get on board when the Tornado steamed away for Balaclava, with the worthy tutor, to whom Jack had offered a passage on board. The duties with which he had been charged at Balaclava having been performed, Jack continued his course to the eastward, and the Tornado soon arrived off the fort with which he had had so gallant a contest. Jos Green having undertaken to carry the Tornado up the river as far as the depth of water would allow, she entered its mouth, keeping the lead going, and proceeded on at half speed till she came off Colonel Paskiewich’s house. Her approach had been perceived; gay flags, that of England being the highest, were hoisted on the flagstaff near the house, and numerous persons were seen collected at the landing-place.

Jack agreed to accompany Higson, who of course had put on his commander’s uniform, on shore; the two other boats followed with most of the officers, all in full-dress. The colonel was the first person to greet them. He welcomed them cordially, and invited the whole party up to the house, where the ladies sat ready to receive them. The eyes of the fair Ivanowna beamed with pleasure as they rested on the gallant commander, though she cast them down modestly as he approached to take her hand, which he lifted gallantly to his lips.

The eyes of poor little Feodorowna wandered in vain among the group of officers in the background in search of Tom, and her countenance fell on discovering that he was not among them. Unable to restrain her anxiety, she asked Herr Groben, who was compelled to inform her of the truth, on hearing which she burst into tears.

“How very, very cruel to send him away!” she exclaimed; “I don’t see why my sister’s lover should have been allowed to come and mine been sent off to England.”

Herr Groben tried to explain that the one was a commander, and the other only a midshipman; and that while one might be allowed to act as he thought fit, the other was still under the direction of his parents. Nothing, however, would comfort her; it had, however, the effect of making her look very interesting; and just at that moment any one of the officers would have been perfectly ready to take Tom’s place, especially Dicky Duff and Billy Blueblazes; indeed, they both determined to make her an offer in the course of the evening, and to toss up which should first do so. Perhaps the attention she received somewhat consoled her, for she soon dried her tears, and to all appearance became perfectly happy.

After a magnificent banquet, when the table literally groaned with viands of all descriptions, a dance was got up, several young ladies arriving from various houses in the neighbourhood, while for a couple of hours after it had begun, others, to whom notice of the coming of the English ship had been sent, arrived from greater distances. As a natural consequence, all the unmarried and unengaged officers lost their hearts to Russian young ladies, and it was said that Feodorowna received certainly two if not three offers before the evening was over. Jack, when he found the state of affairs, began to consider whether he had not made a mistake in coming to the place.

Not till morning dawned did they return on board. Honest Higson was, of course, the hero of the evening, and it was very evident, from the attention the colonel paid him, that he was well pleased with his intended son-in-law. At breakfast the next morning, Higson begged Jack to wait till his wedding, which he told him had been fixed for the next day.

“Rather sharp work,” observed Jack.

“Why, the fact is,” answered Higson, “Madame Paskiewich is anxious to give the marriage éclat by having the advantage of your presence, and that of my late shipmates, and, as the young lady did not object, of course I was delighted, and I hope you will be able to stay.”

Jack of course agreed, and the news, soon spreading round the ship, afforded infinite satisfaction. It would take more space than can be allowed to describe the magnificence of the fête. As many of the officers as could be spared were invited on shore, while an abundance of good viands were sent off to those who had to remain on board to take care of the ship. The whole neighbourhood were assembled in their gayest costumes. The upper classes were entertained either in the house, or in a large marquee erected on the lawn, and tables were spread in the neighbouring field for the peasantry and seamen, who, though they could not exchange many ideas, became nevertheless on excellent terms. Everyone, indeed, seemed to forget that a few months before their respective nations had been engaged in a fierce and bloody struggle.

The marriage ceremony was performed in a neighbouring church. Though Jack, who acted as Higson’s best man, did not admire the style of service, and the pictures of saints, and bowings and singing, he came to the conclusion that his friend was as firmly spliced as he would have been in a quiet English country church; and that, after all, as he remarked to him, was the chief point to be considered.

The officers and crew of the Tornado made all the preparations in their power to do honour to their former first lieutenant’s marriage; the ship was decked with flags, and the boats’ crews who had attended the wedding requested the honour of escorting the young couple round the ship. A barge having been got ready for their reception accordingly, Higson, leading his bride down to the water, embarked, and was rowed three times round the ship; while the crew manned yards, the band played “Haste to the wedding,” and the guns fired a salute.

Jack and his officers had also arranged to give a ball on board, and invitations had been sent out through Madame Paskiewich to all her acquaintances. The ship for the purpose had been housed in, and by an extensive use of bunting the deck had been converted into a perfect ballroom, while a handsome supper was laid out in Jack’s cabin and the gun-room. The ship’s boats, aided by a few from the shore, were employed in bringing off the guests; and as they danced away merrily to the music of the ship’s band, few recollected that a few months before the big guns on that deck had been busily engaged in firing on their countrymen. It was one proof of many how slight an interest the nation at large had felt in the war, which they had looked upon as an imperial affair, with which they themselves had nothing to do beyond sending, as in duty bound, their quota of friends and relatives to be slaughtered. Altogether, the ball was pronounced a success, and the officers and their guests parted mutually satisfied with each other.

Feodorowna, who suspected that Jack had been the cause of Tom’s being spirited away, could not help at first exhibiting her displeasure, but by degrees he calmed her anger, assuring her that Tom would have proved a very unsatisfactory husband, as he was much too young for her, and would in a few months have got heartily sick of an idle life on shore, and have either taken to drinking, or run away; and that she would do much more wisely to choose an older partner for life; on which she naïvely inquired whether his second lieutenant was disengaged.

Jack assured her that he was wedded to the muses, and that he doubted much whether even for her sake he would be induced to break off his engagement, but that he would ask him. On Mildmay’s begging to be excused, she begged Jack to select one of the officers; but he told her that notwithstanding his wish to oblige her, such not being the duty of a captain of a man-of-war, he must decline interfering in the matter. The result was, that, having bade Higson and his bride farewell, and wished them every happiness, Jack ordered the fires to be got up, and steamed away down the river.

Greatly to his satisfaction, on his return to Constantinople, he was ordered off to Malta, where he found Julia Giffard and her father. Jack thought Julia looking as blooming as ever; she acknowledged that the voyage had done her so much good that she thought she should be ready to go back again, should he be ordered to England.

“Then your father will, I hope, take a passage on board my ship,” said Jack; “the admiral will not now object to your doing so; but had I the happiness of calling you my wife, it would be against the rules of the service, and I should very likely be compelled to let you come home by some other vessel.”

Julia raised no objection to this proposal, and the colonel very kindly said he wished to do whatever his daughter liked. Jack, therefore, waited with some anxiety to hear the admiral’s decision as to his future proceedings. To assist in deciding the point, he directed the engineer to make a report as to the state of the engines; while the carpenter sent one in respecting the condition of the ship. Both were of opinion that though her safety would not be endangered by the voyage home, she was in a condition to require such a thorough repair as could only be obtained in England.

“In fact, Commander Rogers, you have no objection to go home and pay off your ship, I presume?” observed the admiral; “you certainly have not had much opportunity of allowing the weeds to grow on your keel since she was commissioned, and I shall therefore send you home with despatches; when the Admiralty will decide whether or not to pay the ship off.”

Jack, highly pleased, came back with the news to Julia, who the next day took possession of the cabin Jack had fitted up for her accommodation.

“This is indeed perfect,” she exclaimed, as she admired the neat chintz curtains and furniture, vases and flowers and pictures, which adorned the bulkheads; “I had no idea that a cabin could be made so nice and pretty.”

The colonel was equally well pleased with the accommodation provided for him, and Jack felt a proud satisfaction at being able to carry home his intended bride on board his own ship. We must leave them to make the passage, forgetful of the possible storms, and the many other dangers to which those who voyage upon the fickle ocean are exposed, and follow Adair on board the Gleam.

On touching at Gibraltar, Adair saw by the papers that the Giaour, instead of being paid off, was ordered to proceed to the Cape; and, as far as he could make out, Murray still commanded her.

“Poor Alick!” he exclaimed; “I thought he would now be allowed to remain on shore, and enjoy the society of his wife; there are plenty of other fellows who are not so blessed, who would have been delighted to supersede him.”

Adair was beginning to sympathise with his benedict friend, hoping as he did, in spite of adverse circumstances, ere long to belong to that fraternity.

While in harbour, he had a strict eye kept on Tom, who, though by this time he had regained his usual temper, might, he thought, if possible, take it into his head to try and make his way back to the Crimea.

After getting through the Straits, and when to the northward of the latitude of Cadiz, the ship encountered unusually bad weather. Instead of improving, it became worse and worse; two of her boats were washed away, the wheel and the steering apparatus damaged, and numerous other injuries were received. She would, indeed, have been compelled to put in to Cadiz, had not the wind shifted to the southward; when, setting her close-reefed topsails, she ran on before the gale.

“Well, old fellow, our sweethearts and wives have got hold of the tow-ropes, and are hauling us along at a famous rate,” observed Desmond to Tom.

“Don’t talk about that sort of thing to me,” answered Tom gloomily; “I have no sweetheart or wife in England to tow me along—I am only getting farther and farther from all I hold dear.”

At hearing this, Gerald burst into a hearty fit of laughter. Tom at first felt inclined to quarrel with him, but a poke in the ribs from his messmate, and the word “humbug,” made him instead join in Desmond’s cachinnations. Adair had invited his midshipmen to dine with him, and had by his kind remarks succeeded in driving Tom’s absurd notions out of his head. Tom, who really felt grateful to him, talked cheerfully of home, and of the pleasure he expected to enjoy on returning there.

It was Tom’s first watch. Shortly after sunset he and the second lieutenant, who was officer of the watch, were seen standing on the bridge; the weather had somewhat moderated during the evening, but it had now come on to blow harder than ever, and the ship seemed suddenly to have entered a wild region of tossing, tumbling waves. Adair had left the deck for a few minutes to obtain some refreshment, for he saw that the night was likely to prove a boisterous one, and he intended, as every good commander will do under such circumstances, to remain on deck. He hurried over his meal; indeed, there was no temptation to spend any longer time over it, as even the puddings and fiddles could scarcely keep the articles on the table. He had rung for his steward to clear away, to avoid that operation being performed by the eccentric movements of the billows, and was going towards the door of the cabin, when the ship received a tremendous blow, which made her quiver from stem to stern. At the same time loud cries reached his ears; he sprang on deck, when, glancing towards the bridge, he saw his second lieutenant alone standing there.

“Man overboard!” shouted several voices.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Mr Rogers, sir,” was the answer; “he was on the bridge a moment ago, and he isn’t there now.”

“There he is, there he is,” shouted someone; and a figure was seen struggling on the foaming crest of a sea. Adair had made his way aft to the lifebuoy, and, pulling both the lanyards, as it dropped into the ocean, a bright light burst forth from its centre. For one moment he gazed at it; he recollected that Tom was Lucy’s brother,—he had been committed to his charge,—without aid he would be unable to reach the buoy. Can I allow him to perish without an attempt to save him? These thoughts flashed through his mind far more rapidly than it has taken to record them; and, without considering the fearful risk he was running, shouting to his first lieutenant to lower a boat, he plunged overboard, and was seen buffeting the tumbling seas and making his way towards the midshipman; who, catching sight of him, cried out, “All right—I see the lifebuoy, and shall soon be up to it.”

Adair, believing that he said this to prevent him from exhausting himself by making efforts to assist him, contented himself by treading water and throwing off his coat, that he might be able to swim to Tom’s assistance, should he prove after all unable to reach the lifebuoy. The ship, meantime, was running on before the gale, and minutes which seemed hours passed by before her canvas could be reduced and she could be rounded to, to enable a boat to be lowered. Besides the regular boats’ crews who stood collected between two of the guns, ready for instant service, numerous volunteers had come forward, as is always found to be the case whenever there is work to be performed; the two lieutenants stood together.

“We shall sacrifice the boat’s crew and boat if we make the attempt,” observed the first lieutenant; “still, I wish to obey the commander’s orders.”

The first lieutenant and master were both of opinion that a boat could not live in such a sea; the discussion was brief, but it lost time, and every moment was of consequence.

“Surely, sir, you’re going to lower a boat,” cried Desmond, who observed the hesitation of his superiors; “you can’t be after letting my uncle and Tom Rogers drown without an attempt to save them; it’s myself would go in her, even if I go alone;” and without further remark he sprang to the lee side, where several of the crew were already collected.

“I’ll go also, at all risks,” cried the boatswain. “Who’ll go with me and Mr Desmond?”

The crew were standing ready with the falls in their hands; he selected six of the best men; but, as they were on the point of leaping into the boat, a sea struck her, and, lifting her bows, unhooked the forward fall, and the next instant she was dashed to fragments against the side.

“I should be throwing away your lives, my lads, to lower another boat,” cried the first lieutenant, as he saw the crew running to the after-quarter boat. “Very sad, but it can’t be helped; we must look after the ship, or she’ll be in a scrape presently.”

By this time the light from the lifebuoy was no longer visible, and even had a boat been lowered, it would have been difficult, if not almost impossible, to find it. The order was given to brace round the headyards, the helm was put up, and the ship was kept on her course running before the wind. Several seas struck her, carrying away two more of her boats and committing further damage. Had not the hatches been battened down, so tremendous was the quantity of water which flooded her decks that she would in all probability have foundered.

Still the men talked and grumbled, and asked whether all had been done that was possible to save their commander and the midshipman. Poor Desmond was in a fearful state of grief; he declared, perhaps unjustly, that all had not been done, and that the ship ought not to have left the spot without, at all events, searching for the lifebuoy, and endeavouring, should the commander and Tom have been found clinging to it, to get them on board. The night was unusually dark, so that had the light not continued burning this would have been impossible. The weather, contrary to expectation, again moderated; Desmond thought that even now they ought to put back, and try to find the lifebuoy. He expressed his opinion very strongly to the first lieutenant.

“You are using very unwarrantable language, young gentleman,” was the answer; “I overlook it, as you naturally feel grieved at the loss of your uncle and friend, but I am the person to judge what it is right to do, and I should not have been warranted in risking the lives of the crew, even to attempt saving that of the commander.”

Poor Desmond was silenced, and though quite indifferent to the consequences, he felt that he had already gone further than he ought to have ventured. He was unable to recover his spirits during the remainder of the passage; he could scarcely say whether he was most sorry to lose his uncle or Tom Rogers, who was to him more even than a brother. From their earliest days, with slight intervals, they had been shipmates and friends; then, again, he thought of the grief Tom’s death would cause at Halliburton; and he had a slight inkling of the engagement between Lucy Rogers and his uncle, and having faith in the tender nature of young ladies’ hearts, he fully believed that hers would be broken. He had read Falconer’s Shipwreck, and remembered the lines, “With terror pale unhappy Anna read,” as she received the news of Palaemon’s loss.

At length the ship reached Portsmouth, and was ordered at once to go into harbour. Desmond, to whom the first lieutenant had been very civil during the remainder of the voyage, asked leave to go on shore, that he might communicate the sad news to Admiral Triton, should he be at Southsea, and get him to break it to Tom’s family. The first lieutenant, who also knew of Adair’s engagement to Miss Rogers, very willingly gave him leave; for though he had acted according to the best of his judgment in not making further efforts to pick up his commander, he could not help reflecting that censorious remarks might be made on his conduct, and he was anxious to avoid any bad construction being put upon it.

Gerald hurried on shore, and made his way as fast as he could to Southsea; on reaching the admiral’s house, he was at once admitted, and ushered into the drawing-room, where he found Mrs Deborah and Mrs Murray seated at the tea-table; and almost before he had time to open his mouth, the admiral stumped into the room.

“Who are you?” he asked, examining his features; “I know you—you need not tell me; you are my old friend Paddy Adair’s nephew. I remember him when he was much younger than you are, and your jibs are cut much alike. He sent you up with a message, I suppose—paying off his ship, and couldn’t come himself? We shall see him soon, however; he’d have come fast enough had he supposed that a certain young lady was staying here.”

Not till now could Desmond get in a word.

“I am sorry to say, sir, that I bring very sad news,” answered Gerald; and he briefly described what had occurred. The admiral, who had been standing up, tottered back into a chair as he heard it.

“I won’t believe it!” he exclaimed at last; “your uncle and Tom can’t be lost—poor, poor Lucy! and my friend Sir John and Lady Rogers, they’ll be dreadfully cut up at the loss of that fine youngster, Tom. It mayn’t have been your fault, Desmond, but I wonder you didn’t try and save him.”

“I’d have risked my own life to do so, sir,” answered Gerald; and he explained more fully all that had taken place.

“I must go on board and make inquiries about the affair!” exclaimed the admiral. “Deb, help me on with my greatcoat.”

“Pray don’t think of going, admiral; it is too late in the day, and you are not fit for such a walk,” said the old lady, without moving from her chair.

Desmond had remarked the wandering way in which the admiral had spoken, as also that there was a great change in his appearance. He assured him that there was no possible use in going on board, and persuaded him at length to give up the idea. He grew more quiet and reasonable after he had taken a cup of tea, and observed with a sigh that it was high time he should slip his cable, since so many of his younger friends were losing the number of their mess.

“And now, youngster,” he asked, “what are you going to do with yourself when your ship is paid off, which I suppose she will be in a day or two? Have you any friends to go to?”

Desmond owned that without his uncle he should be very unwilling to return to Ballymacree, and he thought that the best thing he could do, would be to get afloat again as soon as possible.

“You are right, youngster, depend on that,” said the admiral; “but in the meantime you must come and hang your hammock up here, and my sister Deborah will take care of you.”

Desmond of course accepted the admiral’s kind offer, and made himself very useful by walking out with the old man, who was now unfit to go out by himself, while he also made an excellent listener to his long yarns.

The next day, Mrs Murray, who sympathised greatly with poor Lucy, and Sir John and Lady Rogers, wrote to Mary that she might break the intelligence to them, which they thus fortunately heard before they saw it in the papers. Desmond found that Murray had sailed but a short time before, but was expected back again shortly, when Mrs Murray hoped that the ship would be paid off.

Some time passed away; though Desmond frequently spoke of trying to get a ship, the admiral always replied that there would be time enough by and by, and that a spell on shore would do him no harm. They were one day walking across Southsea Common, intending to go to some shops in the High Street, when Desmond caught sight of three officers, whom he saw by their uniforms were commanders, walking along at a rapid rate towards them. A fourth, in a midshipman’s uniform, at that moment came up from behind them. The admiral had just before stopped to take a breath, while he leant upon Desmond’s arm. The astonishment Gerald felt made him gasp almost as much as the admiral, when he recognised Commanders Murray and Rogers and his Uncle Terence, with Tom Rogers, both of them as alive and hearty as they had ever been. He could not restrain a shout of joy as the fact burst on his mind, though the admiral’s arm prevented him from rushing forward as he was inclined to do.

“I knew it, I was sure of it,” cried the admiral, as he shook the hands of the whole party. “Now let me hear all about it. We’ll not go into Portsmouth to-day, Desmond; come back with me; come back with me. You’ll make the ladies as happy as crickets, and restore my little friend Lucy to life; by the last account she was in a sad way. Sir John and Lady Rogers are very little better; grieving over you, you rascal, Tom; poor Mary had enough to do in looking after them. Now I think of it, Lucy was to be with us this very day; so you are in luck, Adair; though we must break the news to her gently, or we shall be sending her into hysterics, and doing all sorts of mischief. As you, Murray, I am pretty sure, are eager to see your wife, we’ll let you go on first, for, as she expects you, it won’t have the same effect on her.”

Murray gladly followed the admiral’s advice, and hurried on to his house, leaving the rest of the party to stroll slowly along. Adair then narrated the wonderful way in which he and Tom had been preserved. Tom, though a good swimmer, was almost exhausted when Adair made his way up to him and assisted him to reach the lifebuoy, over which they both managed to get their arms. To their dismay they saw the ship running away from them till she disappeared in the darkness. At length, however, they again caught sight of her as she rounded to a long way to leeward. The light burned but dimly amid the mass of spray which surrounded it, and they knew that their voices would be drowned in the loud howling of the tempest, should they exert them ever so much. They waited, therefore, still hoping against hope that the ship would make her way up to them. Adair well knew the difficulty she would have in finding them, and the fearful danger there would be in lowering a boat; he even doubted whether he would have made the attempt himself.

Still neither he nor Tom gave way to despair. They both hung on securely to the lifebuoy, and felt little or no exhaustion. They kept their eyes fixed on the ship, believing to the last that she would stand down to them. At length she disappeared in the darkness, and Adair knew that his first lieutenant, despairing of finding them, had borne up.

“I did not blame him, for I knew he had done his best,” he said; “my only fear was that an attempt had been made to lower a boat, and that some of my poor fellows might have lost their lives in trying to save us.

“Hour after hour went by. Tom kept up his spirits wonderfully; and I did my best to keep up mine and to cheer him. I thought of a good many things during that period; indeed it seemed to me that I was living my life over again.

“We were looking out anxiously for morning, in the hopes that we might be seen by some passing ship, when Tom cried out that he saw a steamer standing right for us. She came near; we shouted at the top of our voices, which were still pretty strong. When not half a cable’s length from us, what was our joy to see her stop her way and alter her course so as to avoid running us down. When just abreast of us a boat was lowered, and, on being taken on board, great was our surprise to find ourselves on the deck of the Giaour. It was only equalled by that of Murray at seeing us.

“We had no opportunity of sending home information of our merciful preservation, and, as Murray had to sail again at once, we, as you see, were the first to bring home intelligence of our safety.”

“And thankful I am, my boy, that you have escaped,” exclaimed the admiral, again wringing Adairs and Tom’s hands. “Well, Commander Jack, and what have you to say for yourself? I suppose you will be starting immediately for Halliburton?”

“That must depend upon the arrangements of Colonel Giffard and his daughter, who took a passage home in my ship,” answered Jack; “my belief is that they will return home shortly, to make arrangements for an event which is to come off early next month, which is no other than my marriage with Julia Giffard. Adair has promised to be my best man; and I know I may trust to your coming, admiral.”

“Not unless Sir John and Lady Rogers consent to allow Adair to take a leading part in another event of the same description; and I will now tell you, Adair, what I’ve done. I have left you half my property, provided you marry Lucy Rogers within six months—that is to say, if she wishes to have you; or, in case you should decline, I have left it to her to console her for your ill-treatment.”

“You are indeed most kind and generous,” exclaimed Adair, wringing the admiral’s hand.

“As to that, I don’t know that it is any great exertion of generosity,” answered the admiral; “considering that I can’t take my money away with me, and that I have no relative except Deborah to whom I am bound in any way to leave it. She’ll do what she thinks fit with the other half; either will it away to a hospital for dogs and cats, or leave it to those whom she thinks it may most benefit.”

The meeting of Adair and Lucy need not be described. Murray and Jack paid off their ships; when the former, instead of returning immediately, as he had intended, to Bercaldine, accepted an invitation to spend some weeks at Halliburton. The double marriages took place, when, after the pleasantest time they had ever spent together, the three commanders separated, Murray going with his wife and family to his Highland home, where shortly afterwards Jack and Terence, who were on their wedding tours, paid them a visit.

Ben Snatchblock, who had been appointed to the charge of the Stella, had got her trim and taut as ever; and many a pleasant cruise did the old shipmates take together on board her, sometimes accompanied by their wives, and sometimes alone. Which proved the pleasantest trips of the two we cannot venture to say, but undoubtedly on the latter occasions there was more fun and frolic on board the craft; while many a yarn of old days was spun, in which Ben took his part. They were all, indeed, supremely happy, with no cares or responsibilities to trouble them; but the pleasantest of times must come to an end, and again the old friends parted, Jack and Terence going south with their brides, to finish their promised round of visits, while Alick and Stella remained at Bercaldine, very naturally hoping that nothing for a long time to come might compel them to leave it.

Chapter Twenty Three.

A Hard Trial for Jack and Terence—The Dragon and Eolus sail for the Pacific—The Straits of Magellan, Valparaiso, Callao—Peruvian Kidnappers—A Strange Tale—Sail for Tahiti—Fall in with a Kidnapper—A Fearful Atrocity—A Coral Island—Tahiti—Its present state—Samoa.

“Those Lords of the Admiralty are the most horribly cruel, tyrannical, hard-hearted set I ever heard of. Why could they not have appointed another officer who is not just married? There are numbers of single men who would have been delighted to take command of the Dragon; and to think of their sending you, my dear, dear Jack, all the way out to the Pacific, for I don’t know how many years, among coral reefs and cannibals, and all sorts of fearful dangers;” and Mrs Jack Rogers put her handkerchief to her eyes and sobbed as if her heart would break. Her husband, who held an official-looking letter, which he had just read, in his hand, looked as he felt, much distressed; but at the same time, it never occurred to him that he could possibly refuse the appointment to the fine new screw-steamer which had just been offered him, although her destination was the Pacific, and she might be kept out there three or four years. It was the first trial of his married life—a very great one—and he had had no other as yet to break him in. He in vain tried to comfort his young wife; it was very, very hard to them both; and, indeed, it was very difficult to discover any sort of comfort, and the more he said the more poor Julia wept.

“Could you not say that, under your circumstances, you would rather be appointed to the coastguard?” she exclaimed at length; “then you might stay at home, and I should not be separated from you in the unnatural way the Admiralty propose.”

“It would be equivalent to desiring to be shelved, and I aspire to become a post-captain and to get my flag some day,” answered Jack. “Our case is not worse than that of many others. Some friends of mine have been sent off to sea a few days only after they have been married.”

“It was a shame, then, and they had no business to go,” answered Julia indignantly. “I wonder how those horrid lords themselves would like being separated from their wives, unless, as is possible, they are incapable of feeling the slightest love for them.”

“I assure you, my dear Julia, that, though in the aggregate they are somewhat inconsiderate of the feelings of naval officers, they are individually as amiable gentlemen and affectionate husbands as any other men,” said Jack. “My friend, Tom Somers, one of the most lucky dogs in the service, who was a post-captain at five-and-twenty, tells a capital story on the subject. He is, I must confess, impudence personified. He was one day at the Admiralty, complaining to one of the lords, much in the way that you are now doing, of their want of consideration for the feelings of junior officers. The lord heard him out, and then asked him to come and dine with him, which Tom condescended to do; and a very good dinner, with a number of excellent wines, he enjoyed. His host produced one bottle after the other of different descriptions, and of the choicest. ‘And you like my wines?’ he asked. ‘Excellent, all of them, sir,’ answered Tom. ‘I shouldn’t mind dining with you once a week while I remain on shore.’ ‘Very well,’ answered the lord: ‘but as I am leaving home, and cannot have the pleasure of seeing you, I’ll send you a bottle, and you shall tell me how you like it.’

“The next day Tom received a bottle, tied significantly round with red tape, for his host was somewhat of a wag. On tasting it, Tom poured out a glass and drank it off, but the instant afterwards regretted his precipitancy, for he declared that he had never tasted anything so execrable. Just then his friend looked in upon him. ‘Well, Somers, how did you like my wine?’ he asked. ‘I can’t say that I ever wish to take another drop of it,’ answered Tom. ‘Well, I sent you exactly the wines you tasted at my house,’ answered his visitor. ‘You, however, drank them separately; I mixed them together, and you complain of the result. Now if you take each of us lords by ourselves, you will find us as well-disposed and amiable as most other men; but when we act together we put aside all the gentle feelings of our nature, and form the stern, unrelenting body you and others find us.’ I believe, Julia, Tom gave a very exact description of the Admiralty; and however much some of the lords might be disposed to befriend me individually, I should ruin myself in the service were I to plead that I have just married a wife, and would rather not go to sea.”

“Then is there no chance of your getting some other appointment?” asked Julia, in a faltering tone.

“Not the slightest, I am afraid,” answered Jack; “however, we must make the best of a bad case. Some weeks may pass before the ship is ready for sea, and perhaps before that time you will have got tired of me.”

Julia gave a melancholy smile, as she looked up in her husband’s face. “I am jealous of Lucy,” she said after some time; “I suppose the Admiralty will not also be appointing Commander Adair to a ship.”

“I am not so certain of that,” said Jack; “I know that they talk of sending out several to put a stop to the kidnapping system which has of late prevailed in the Pacific, as also to keep some of the black and brown island-chiefs in order, and they may fix on Adair as likely as on anyone else.”

“Poor Lucy!” said Julia; “I am sure I don’t really wish her to share my fate.”

This conversation took place at Colonel Giffard’s, where Jack and his bride were staying. The very next day he got a letter from Adair, who with Lucy was at Southsea, saying that he had been appointed to the Eolus, to proceed forthwith to the Pacific station.

“Lucy behaves capitally, like a sailor’s wife, and says she knows I ought to go—though it is a cruel affair to us both. However, Jack, I know that you will compassionate us, and that your wife will do her best to comfort her when I am away. I tell her that I have hopes of coming back in a couple of years, as I will try at the end of that time to get superseded, which, with the help of the admiral, I hope I may succeed in doing.”

“Poor Lucy!” said Julia, “we must support each other; but when we married, I little thought such would be our fate.”

Jack, of course, took his wife down to Southsea, as, fortunately for him, the Dragon was fitting out at Portsmouth, as was also the Eolus. The young ladies, having got over their first sensations of grief when they met, wisely determined to make the most of their husbands during the time they remained with them. The Eolus was almost ready for sea, and sailed about a fortnight after Adair had commissioned her. Curiously enough, Desmond had been previously appointed to her; so he once more accompanied his uncle.

The Dragon was not ready till the week afterwards. Jack was glad to get Jos Green as master, with Mr Mildmay as his first lieutenant. His brother Tom, who had been taking a spell on shore, was appointed to her, and, just before she sailed, Archie Gordon joined her. Dick Needham, though eligible for a much higher rate, had joined as gunner, with Mr Large, who had been with Jack in the Gauntlet, as boatswain. When it was known that Jack was to command the Dragon, several old shipmates volunteered, Jerry Bird and Tim Nolan among them. Tom was much pleased to have his old messmate Billy Blueblazes. Dicky Duff had joined the Eolus. Altogether Jack was well satisfied with his officers and ship’s company.

We cannot venture to describe the parting, as it might be too touching to the feelings of our fair readers. Lucy, having had to undergo the same ordeal just before, was able to console her sister-in-law. Jack’s manly heart felt very full, but he tore himself away, and, hastening on board, ordered the ship, which was at Spithead, to be got under weigh. Round went the men at the capstan, the merry pipe sounding, and under all sail the Dragon stood down Channel. She was directed not to use her coal except in case of necessity. Having touched at Madeira, where she took in a cask of wine for the admiral, and oranges enough to keep scurvy at bay for many a month, and having sighted the Cape de Verdes in the distance, she stood across to Rio. That city had improved greatly since Jack was last there, the enlightened Emperor being the advocate of liberal institutions, which have done much to advance the social as well as the material interests of the inhabitants. Mildmay, who still, notwithstanding he was first lieutenant, indulged his poetical fancies, wrote a sonnet on the benign rule of the Emperor, which, unfortunately, having been blown overboard, cannot be given.

Touching at the Falkland Islands for a supply of fresh beef and vegetables, the Dragon steered for the Straits of Magellan, which Jack had determined to run through. She called off Sandy Point, near the eastern entrance of the Straits, where the Chilian Government have formed a settlement for the purpose of working a coal mine. Some copper-coloured natives, with broad faces and high cheek-bones, and dressed in guanaco robes and skin boots, came off to the ship, principally to obtain some liquor, though they brought some ostrich, fox, and guanaco skins to exchange for guns and gunpowder or spirits. The passage of the Straits being broad and well known, the ship steamed rapidly on till she reached Cape Pillar at the western end, beyond which the Pacific Ocean burst on their view. Instead, however, of entering it, she steered north into Smith’s Channel, the southern end of a passage which runs due north between the mainland and a chain of islands, two hundred miles in length. Nothing could be grander than the scenery which those on board the Dragon beheld, as the ship threaded her way through this intricate channel, with the islands on the left hand, and lofty snow-capped mountains towering up on the right. As she proceeded northward, their bases appeared covered with trees, reaching almost to the water’s edge, deep bays and gulfs running up far inland; indeed, the whole scenery was grand and beautiful. It required careful steering and a bright look-out ahead to avoid running on shore, a hot tide being frequently met with which might quickly have whirled the ship round on the rocks.

At length, a heavy gale blowing outside, in order to avoid it she ran through a narrow passage, and entered a small harbour known as Connor Cove. The mountains, thickly covered with trees for some distance up, rose around the harbour, their snowy summits towering to the sky. The scene was grand and sombre, a few sea-birds only appearing, who, with their loud, wild shrieks increased its melancholy character. Though several of the officers landed, they could make no progress through the dense forest, the whole ground being one mass of rotten timber, amid which grew ferns and moss of various descriptions. Here, though the gale raged overhead, she lay as securely as in a dock, moored by the stern with a hawser to a large tree on shore. The gale having ceased, steam was again got up, and about forty miles on she entered the open sea, and passed several Chilian towns, the most northern being Lota and Coronel, at both of which places extensive coal-mining operations were carried on. At the latter, the Dragon took in a fresh supply of coal, which would carry her, if properly husbanded, across the Pacific. Steaming northward, she entered the bay of Valparaiso, which Tom, as he looked at the barren, red, and bare hills surrounding it, with scarce a bush except the cactus to be seen, pronounced a very odd sort of Paradise. The town stands partly on the shores of the bay, and chiefly on a number of hills separated by valleys, with the mighty Cordilleras rising beyond, giving the scenery, in spite of the barren aspect of the foreground, a grand and picturesque character. The bay was full of vessels, showing that a considerable amount of trade is carried on in the place. Jack and his officers received numerous invitations both from the English merchants and the native residents of rank; a ball being given by them in honour of the Dragon’s officers, at which Tom lost his heart, as did several of his companions theirs.

“What, you don’t mean to say you have forgotten the fair Feodorowna?” said Archie, as Tom was expatiating on the beauty of the black-eyed damsel who had attracted his admiration.

“Well, as you know, she is in another hemisphere, and as I never expect to see her again, and she has probably forgotten me, I don’t think I ought to wear the willow for her any longer,” said Tom; “and Doña Seraphina is, you’ll allow, very beautiful.”

“Granted,” answered Archie; “but as the ship sails tomorrow, and Doña Seraphina will probably forget you in the course of a day or two, even if she happens to distinguish you from the rest of us, you’ll not, I hope, break your heart about her.”

“Not if we happen to touch at another port soon, and a ball is given to us there,” said Tom, with a demure look; “provided I have the luck to meet a partner with attractions equal to Doña Seraphina’s.”

“You’re all right, my lad,” said Archie, clapping him on the back; “and Mr Mildmay won’t have to write your epitaph, ‘Hic jacet Tom Rogers, who died of a broken heart, etcetera, etcetera.’”

About three weeks after this the Dragon entered the bay of Callao, passing round the barren island of San Lorenzo, long the burying-place of Protestants, who were denied sepulture on the mainland. At the farther end of the plain, between the lofty Cordilleras and the shore, could be seen the spires and fanes of Pizarro’s “City of a thousand towers and a hundred gates,” while on the island were basking numbers of drowsy seals and sea-lions with sleek skins and shaggy manes. The ship came to an anchor about a mile from the mole, outside the merchant-vessels. Jack had been looking out for the Eolus, and was somewhat disappointed at not hearing of her at any of the ports at which he had touched. As they had been ordered to cruise in company, he determined to wait here for her. This gave an opportunity to several of the officers to visit Lima. Those who went there pronounced the city a very fine one, and declared that it was more worthy to be called the Vale of Paradise than the Chilian town to the southward.

The ship had been there some days, when some time after sunset a schooner was observed gliding into the harbour. She came to an anchor among several other vessels which concealed her from sight. Jack, who had been on deck enjoying the cool air of the evening, was about to turn in, when the sentry hailed a small boat which was seen approaching. An English voice answered, and asked leave to come on board; it was granted, and a middle-aged seafaring man stepped up the side.

“Who are you, and what do you want, my man?” asked Jack.

“Please you, sir, I am an Englishman; my name is Ralph Hake, of Plymouth; and I belonged till half an hour ago to a Peruvian schooner, the Saltador, which now lies inside of us; but I’ve taken French leave of her, and don’t want to go back,” answered the man.

“A very clear statement of yours; but what brought you on board this ship?” asked Jack.

“Because I had nowhere else to go to, sir, and that’s why. I’d like to enter with you, sir; I’m sick of the craft I was serving aboard, and of the work she was carrying on,” answered the man.

“What was that?” asked Jack.

“Just kidnapping poor natives in the different islands away to the westward whenever she could get hold of them, and bringing them here as slaves, to labour in the mines, or at any other task their masters may think fit to put them to,” answered Hake. “You see, sir, I was left on shore sick, from a whaler, which, as she never came back for me, was, I suppose, lost, and as I was starving, not knowing how this craft was to be employed, I shipped on board her, being promised high wages and thinking I should like the trip; but when I came to see the sort of work she was carrying on, I made up my mind to leave her on the first opportunity, though I never found that till to-night, when, getting hold of the dingy which was alongside, I slipped my bag into her, and pulled away before anyone found me out. I can tell you, sir, I never saw more cruel work than that craft carried on. When the skipper could, he enticed the natives on board, and clapped them under hatches. Sometimes he pretended to trade with them, and got them below under the pretence of looking at his goods; at others, he asked them into the cabin to have a bit of something to eat, and, making them drunk, slipped their hands into handcuffs before they knew what was happening. At some places where this did not answer he sent the boats’ crews armed on shore, and seized as many as he could fall in with, and not unfrequently took the people out of fishing-canoes, which he sent to the bottom. I have known him run down three or four canoes one after the other, to get hold of some of the people in them, not minding what became of the rest. At one place the people must have been Christians, for when we went on shore we found a number of them in a large chapel, and a brown man preaching to them. We got hold of nearly a score, and when their friends attempted to rescue them, we shot or cut down all who interfered, and carried away a dozen or more. When we got them on board, instead of complaining, they sat together and sang psalms, and one of them, who I found knew a little English, talked to me, and told me that two of their number were elders of their church, and that he and all the rest were Christians. When I told the skipper, he only laughed, and said that they were only Protestants, and that when they got on shore the priests would make them into real Christians. The native, when I told him this, sighed, and said he hoped he and his friends would remain faithful. On another occasion we enticed a whole fleet of canoes some distance off the shore; when they, taking the alarm, were pulling back, he fired among them, and when they took fright and were paddling away, we sunk the whole of them, giving some the stem, throwing shot into others, and firing at the rest. We picked up as many people as we could, but not a few were drowned, and the remainder managed to swim on shore. At last, with a full cargo, though some died on board, we came in here. I found that this was not the first trip on this business the schooner had made, and that half a dozen more craft were employed in the same way, so that many hundreds of the poor natives must have been carried off from their homes to die up among the snowy mountains of cold, starvation, and hard work, or else of broken hearts.”

“This is important information, my man; you should at once have informed the consul, who might have taken steps to get the natives liberated,” observed Jack.

“If I had gone on shore, sir, I should have had a sharp knife stuck under my ribs before I was many hours older,” answered Hake. “By that time, and long before the consul could have interfered, the whole cargo would have been miles away up the country; even now there is not one left in the schooner.”

Jack reflected on what the man had told him, and, believing the account, gave him leave to remain on board during the night, resolving to look into the matter the next morning. A hand was sent to secure his punt; but it was found that when he stepped out of her he had given her a shove, and sent her drifting away, and she was nowhere to be seen.

The next morning Jack went on shore to communicate with the acting consul, who acknowledged that he had had information on the subject; but though aware that several vessels had been fitted out for the purpose mentioned, he had been unable to take any steps for putting a stop to their proceedings.

“Then I must see what we can do!” exclaimed Jack indignantly.

“If we can find out from what islands people have been taken, and the inhabitants ask for our protection, we shall have the right to afford them all the assistance in our power. You may be very certain, should you seize any vessels engaged in carrying off the natives, no one will interfere; for their Government, even should they be aware of their proceedings, will not dare to acknowledge that they are so, or protect them; and I am very sure that the French will be ready to assist in capturing the villains who may have ventured to visit any of the islands under their rule,” observed the consul.

“Then I will go to Tahiti, and ascertain what the French Government knows about the matter,” said Jack; “possibly on my way I may fall in with some of the kidnappers, and it will be a satisfaction to release the slaves they may have taken, and to put a stop to their proceedings.”

That evening the ship sailed for the westward. A look-out was kept for any craft which might answer to Hake’s description of the vessels engaged in the traffic. The Dragon had been nearly three weeks at sea when a vessel was seen ahead steering to the eastward. As she drew nearer, she was seen to be a brigantine, and Hake declared that she was one of the vessels sent out to collect natives. Hopes were entertained that she might have some on board, and that they should have the pleasure of releasing them and taking them back to their homes, if such could be found. As the Dragon drew nearer, Jack made a signal for the stranger to heave-to; and as she did not appear to understand it, he fired a shot across her bows, which had the desired effect. A boat was lowered, and Jos Green, with Tom and Archie, were sent to examine her, and should natives be found, to bring her close up to the ship, so that they might be transferred on board.

Jos and his companions pulled away in high glee, fully hoping that they should have the satisfaction of liberating some of their fellow-creatures.

“It is too bad,” observed Green, “that we should be spending our energies on the West and East Coasts of Africa, and all the time that these degenerate descendants of Spaniards out here in the Pacific should be endeavouring to drag our fellow-creatures into a far worse slavery than the Africans have to endure. These poor islanders, accustomed to the perfect freedom of the breezes of the ocean, must perish miserably in the course of a few months if compelled to work in the mines, or even in the fields on the mainland.”

“I think we should be right to hang up their captors at their own yard-arms, and send their vessels to the bottom!” cried Tom indignantly.

Archie, though he doubted the legality of the proceeding, perfectly agreed with Tom that it would be a just punishment for the kidnappers. Six ruffianly-looking fellows, one of whom appeared to be the master, most of them having their heads or arms bandaged up as if they had been wounded, received them on deck. The master pointed to the Peruvian flag, and inquired why he was stopped on his voyage.

“I’ll tell you when we’ve examined your craft,” answered Green.

“You’d better not go into the forecastle, where we have five of our men suffering from the smallpox,” said the skipper.

“And how many have you in the hold?” asked Green, who knew Spanish sufficiently to carry on a conversation.

“We have no one there, but you had better not go into it, for some have died there of smallpox, and you may carry the disease on board your own ship,” answered the skipper.

“We will run the risk,” said Green; “take off the hatches, and I’ll go below.”

As no one seemed inclined to obey him, he ordered his own men to lift off the hatches. He and Tom, with two of the men, went below, while Archie, with the rest, remained on deck, keeping an eye upon the Peruvian crew, who, as Tim Nolan observed, “looked as if they were after mischief.” The hold was empty, but it was evidently fitted for passengers, or rather for slaves.

“What are all those dark marks?” asked Tom.

“Bloodstains,” answered Green, examining them; “and see, here are bullets sticking in the deck and timbers. The wood has been splintered in all directions; depend on it there has been some desperate work going on. I believe that the account of the smallpox was false, and was merely given to try and prevent us from examining the craft.”

“You found no one, as I told you,” said the skipper, when Green returned on deck.

“No, but we have found enough to convince us that you have murdered the unhappy wretches you induced to come on board,” answered Green.

“You should rather say our passengers treacherously rose on us, and we had to fight in self-defence,” said the skipper, forgetting what he had said about the smallpox.

“And your men forward are suffering from the wounds they received?” said Green.

“Such is the case, but I was ashamed to acknowledge how nearly we were defeated by the savages,” said the master, with the greatest coolness.

Green accordingly went forward, and found five men in their bunks, all badly-wounded, two being nearly at the last gasp.

“I will bring the surgeon to dress their hurts,” said Green; “though, if what I suspect is the case, you all deserve to be sent to the bottom; and, depend on it, we shall endeavour to get at the truth of the story, and you will hear more of the matter by and by.”

The master shrugged his shoulders; and Green, not thinking it prudent to leave anyone on board with such villains, returned with the midshipmen to the ship to make his report. Jack was doubting how to proceed with the brigantine, when her sails were let fall, and, the breeze freshening, she stood away to windward. As the Dragon had not even her fires lighted, there was but little chance of catching her, and Jack did not think it worth while to go in chase, as he felt pretty sure that she would not continue her kidnapping cruise.

The next day the look-out announced that he saw a fleet of vessels ahead. “A grove of palm trees, rather,” observed Green, laughing. As the ship rose and fell in the swell, the trees alternately disappeared and came into sight; and, on getting nearer, a coral island hove in view; it consisted of a ring a quarter of a mile or so in width, with a lagoon in the centre. First was seen a line of surf, then a white sandy beach, and beyond a belt of green ground, sparsely sprinkled with cocoanut and pandanus trees, and here and there with a few bushes of low growth. The ship stood along the shore at a respectful distance, a look-out being kept for inhabitants, as Jack thought it possible that if any of the people had escaped from the brigantine, they might have managed to effect a landing, the natives of these islands being generally first-rate swimmers. No one, however, was seen, and he feared that the whole of the kidnapped people must have perished. As he was unwilling to lose time by heaving-to to effect a landing, he stood on towards Tahiti.

All hands were somewhat disappointed with the appearance of that island when they first came in sight of it—jagged peaks and rugged mountains being alone visible; for the shady groves and waterfalls, the verdant meadows and fields, were not to be seen till the ship got close to the entrance of the harbour. Before them appeared a line of breakers dashing in snow-white foam on the encircling reef of coral, with a lagoon of calm blue water within, out of which rose the shore, covered with the richest tropical vegetation; numberless vines and creeping plants making their way up the hillsides, amid which sparkling cascades came falling down from the rugged mountains above.

“Well, after all, Tahiti does present a highly picturesque and beautiful landscape,” exclaimed Mildmay, taking out his notebook; “and I hope that we shall find the inhabitants living in that Arcadian simplicity appropriate to so lovely a region.”

Alas! they found but little Arcadian simplicity when they reached the shore; guns frowned from the surrounding heights down on the harbour; the French flag flew from the battlements of the forts; French soldiers were everywhere seen. It was soon, evident that the once free Tahitians were a conquered race.

Jack lost no time in communicating with the French governor, who had already heard that many of the natives of the outlying islands under French protection had been carried off. He had already sent out two men-of-war to try and catch the kidnappers, and he expressed his wish heartily to co-operate with the English in putting a stop to so abominable a system. Jack, being satisfied that the French would attend to that part of the Pacific, determined to proceed to the westward, where the appearance of an English man-of-war might effect some good.

The fires were lighted, and preparations were being made for weighing, when a column of smoke was seen in the distance, announcing the approach of a steamer. A French officer on board said that she must be direct from Europe, as none of their own cruisers were expected. Jack, hoping to obtain some news, accordingly waited for her arrival. As she approached, she made the number of the Eolus. Soon, coming to an anchor, visits were exchanged between the two ships’ companies. Adair told Jack that he had arrived at Callao the day after the Dragon had left, and that as soon as he could obtain fresh provisions and water, he had again sailed in search of him. The Eolus had come round by the Cape, and had not entered the Pacific till three weeks after the Dragon.

Jack agreed to wait till the Eolus could take in provisions and water. The feeling with which the unjustifiable capture of Tahiti by the French had been regarded by the English had by this time subsided; and, the officers of the two ships having been treated with all the civility the French were able to show, they left the harbour with some regret, as they were not likely to meet with any place so advanced in civilisation before they reached Sydney.

A voyage across the Pacific sounds very romantic; but there are often long distances to be traversed when no land is in sight, and there is nothing to break the monotony of the voyage. The midshipmen of the two ships voted it very dull, and began to believe that they should meet with none of the wonderful adventures which they had anticipated. Mr Mildmay confessed that he had been dreadfully disappointed; he had expected everywhere to see bevies of graceful nymphs, dressed in gossamer robes, their glossy hair decked with wreaths of bright flowers, and their necks and arms adorned with coral and precious stones; instead of which, he declared that he had seen only a set of dowdy women with brown skins and without a particle of beauty to boast of.

“One thing, however, can be said of the inhabitants of these islands,” observed Jack; “whereas a few years ago they were in heathen darkness, now, thanks to the exertions of the missionaries, heathenism has disappeared from all the islands to the southward; and if the people are not perfect Christians, they are at all events as much so as the great mass of people in Christendom.”

Jack was right; indeed, they found missionaries established at all the principal islands at which they touched, with large chapels, well-built schoolhouses, and neat villages; the inhabitants being universally able to read and write, and many of them being well informed on various important subjects. After touching at several islands to the south and west of Tahiti, where not a single heathen remains, the ships steered for a harbour in one of the islands of the Samoan group. It was here that a boat’s crew of the French navigator, La Perouse, were massacred. As they approached the islands, no sign of a harbour could be perceived—lofty cliffs towering up before them to the sky without apparently a break. Still the Dragon stood on, followed by the Eolus, two rocks appearing, one called the Tower Rock, and another on the opposite side, the Devil’s Point, so well defined that Jack had no fears of mistaking the entrance. The sails were furled, and the steam got up. At length the ships entered a passage between the cliffs, about a third of a mile in width, till they reached a basin, completely surrounded by lofty precipices, from 800 to 1000 feet in height. The lower portion of the rocks was bare, but their summits were clothed with the most luxuriant vegetation—magnificent tree-ferns and cocoanut-trees growing high up in situations in which they are seldom seen in other latitudes.

No sooner had the ships dropped their anchors than they were surrounded by canoes full of natives, who, though they appeared to be merry fellows, were remarkably well behaved; all of them being also decently clothed. Several chiefs and others came on board, some of whom spoke English; and from them it was ascertained that the whole of the people were Christians, having long been under missionary influence. One of Jack’s chief objects in entering the harbour was to ascertain whether any of the natives had been carried off. A strange vessel had appeared off the coast, and had attempted to entrap some lads fishing in a canoe, but they had been too wary to be so caught; and when a boat put off in chase of their canoe, they had made their way to the shore, though only just in time to escape capture.

Jack issued a notice which he desired might be sent among all the islands of the group, warning the people against the various devices practised by the kidnappers. After a short time the two ships again put to sea.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Santa Cruz—Its unattractive Inhabitants—A Schooner chased by the Boats—Suspicious Characters—The Schooner allowed to proceed—A Gale—Run for Shelter under the Lee of an Island—A Volcano bursts forth—Driven away—Breakers ahead—An Opening in the Reef—Pass through—Land on an Island—Food found—Natives appear—Hostile Demonstrations—Green’s Old Shipmate—Peace established—Escape from the Island.

The Dragon and Eolus had been for some weeks at sea; the latter was to touch at various islands of the New Hebrides group, after which she was to proceed to the Loyalty Islands, to visit the Isle of Pines and Norfolk Island, and thence to go on to Sydney. The Dragon, meantime, was to continue her course to the north-west, visiting Santa Cruz, the Solomon Islands, New Ireland, and New Britain; and she also was to visit Sydney. Thence the two ships were to recross the Pacific, to touch at the Sandwich Islands, and to go on to Vancouver’s Island and British Columbia; after which, all hands heartily hoped that they might be ordered home. The projected cruise was being discussed in the midshipmen’s berth, with the chart on the table.

“It doesn’t look so very far,” observed Billy Blueblazes; “though, considering that we are to perform the distance under sail, it will take us some time, I suppose.”

“I rather think so, laddie,” observed Archie, who had a pair of compasses in his hand, and was measuring off the distances; “we shall have run over between sixty and seventy thousand miles of salt water before we drop anchor in Portsmouth harbour,—not an inch less according to my calculation,—it would be enough to wear the sheathing off the ship’s bottom if it was not pretty thick to begin with.”

Most of the islands the ship visited were lofty, the hills covered thickly with trees to their summits. They were surrounded by coral reefs, through which, in many instances, no passage was to be found; others had openings affording secure harbours within them. After visiting several small islands in the neighbourhood, the ship came to an anchor in a sheltered harbour in the island of Santa Cruz. Canoes quickly gathered round her, full of the ugliest-looking natives they had yet met with. Their skin was nearly black, their heads covered with thick woolly hair, their foreheads low and receding, their faces broad, with high cheek-bones, their noses flat, and their mouths large. They had adorned their bodies with various colours, and ornamented themselves further with rings through their noses and ears, as also with armlets and necklaces of human teeth; the rest of their dress consisting only of a string round the waist, to which a small apron was secured. These unattractive-looking personages were considerably under the ordinary size, but appeared, notwithstanding the character bestowed on them of being the most cruel and treacherous in the Pacific Ocean, to be a good-tempered, merry race. They brought off large quantities of cocoanuts, bows, arrows, and mats, which they were willing to exchange for empty bottles, old-clothes, and tobacco. As yet, no missionaries having ventured among them, they were in the same savage state in which they had for centuries existed.

In the evening, those who had been allowed to come on board were turned out of the ship, and a bright look-out was kept against any treacherous trick they might have attempted to play. The fires had been let out, as Jack intended to remain during the day for the purpose of obtaining water. Early the next morning, a schooner was seen passing close in with the land. As the wind was light, Jack despatched two boats to overhaul her; one was commanded by Green, who was accompanied by Archie—the other by Tom, who had Billy Blueblazes as his companion. They pulled away, hoping soon to overtake the stranger. When, however, they were about half a mile from her, a breeze sprang up; but, as the boats had their sails, the masts were stepped, and they stood on after the chase. She took no notice of the musket which Green fired as a signal for her to heave-to, but, instead of doing so, she set more sail and stood on. This making him more suspicious than ever of her character, he determined to persevere; Tom and his companion being equally ready to continue the pursuit.

“Perhaps she is a pirate,” observed Billy, “and when she finds that she cannot get off she will try to defend herself, and we shall have some fighting—something to vary the monotony of the voyage.”

“As to that, I doubt whether such craft are to be found in these seas at the present day,” answered Tom; “and I rather think, if we can manage to get up to her, that she will strike without firing a shot.”

The question was, however, whether the boats would come up with her; the breeze was freshening, and she was walking away from them. Still Green kept on, hoping that the wind might head her, or that it might fall calm, when they would soon be alongside. She was steering towards a lofty conical island, which rose sheer out of the sea, with a thick cloud of smoke rising above its summit, which showed it to be an active volcano. The day was drawing on, but the schooner did not gain sufficiently on the boats to make Green abandon all hopes of overtaking her. Her persevering efforts to escape convinced him that something was wrong, and made him the more eager to overhaul her. At length, her sails were seen to flap against her masts, and, though the boats still had the breeze, it was very evident that she was becalmed. The sky had for some time been wearing a threatening aspect, and had not Green been so eager to overhaul the stranger, he would have endeavoured to make the best of his way back to Santa Cruz. At length the wind dropped altogether, and, the sails being lowered, the crews of the boats gave way, with a certainty that they should at length get up with the chase. Each boat had four muskets; the officers had stuck their pistols in their belts, and the men had their cutlasses—weapons on which British seamen always place more reliance than on firearms. They were now within gunshot of the schooner, but she did not fire, nor were any signs visible that she intended to offer resistance. Green steered for the starboard quarter, and directed Tom to board on the port side. They were soon up with her; Tom and Billy, with six men, scrambled up on deck, which Green and his party gained at the same time; but, except the man at the helm, and one other forward, none of the crew were visible. The man at the helm looked very much astonished, and asked with cool effrontery what they wanted. Green replied that he must know where the schooner was from, whither she was bound, and what cargo she had on board.

“The master will tell you all about it, sir,” answered the man, “but he is at present below, sick with a bad leg.”

“Then I must pay him a visit, and get him to show his papers,” said Green; who, telling Tom and Billy to keep a watch on deck, went into the master’s cabin with Archie, and a couple of armed men. The master was sitting up in his cot, with a black boy attending on him.

“Well, gentlemen, what do you want?” he asked, as Green and Archie entered.

“Why did you run away from us,” asked Green, “when you must have seen that our boats were those of one of Her Majesty’s ships-of-war?”

“How could I tell what you were?” said the master; “you might be pirates. At all events, I have no wish to be stopped in my voyage.”

“Well, at any rate, show me your papers, and inform me how many people you have on board; for as yet I have only seen a couple of hands,” said Green.

“We have upwards of eighty, including passengers,” answered the master. “I suppose the crew got out of the way lest you should fire at us, and for the same reason the passengers thought it prudent to keep below. Boy, take that tin case out of the the locker there, and give it to the officer.”

Green examined the document brought him. It set forth that the schooner Expert, Captain Toby, belonging to Brisbane, Queensland, had a licence to trade for sandal-wood, and to carry a hundred passengers.

“Well, your papers seem all very clear; and if your passengers came on board with their own free will, I can have nothing to say to you, but wish you a good voyage,” he remarked; “but I should have been better pleased had you hove-to when I made a signal to you to do so, as you would have saved us a long pull.”

Captain Toby only grinned, as if he was well pleased at the trouble he had caused the man-of-war’s officers. As they were speaking, two other men, who were apparently mates, came out of a side cabin, yawning and stretching themselves in a way which somewhat tried Green’s patience.

“Well, I must beg your officers to show me your passengers, and the rest of your crew, before I quit you,” he said, addressing the master.

“I suppose you’ve got legal authority for what you are doing?” said Captain Toby.

“Certainly; and as we are in a hurry to be off, I must beg you to be smart about it,” said Green; turning to the mates, “Come, my lads, I am only performing my duty, and that duty I intend to carry out.”

The two mates, seeing that the officer was not to be trifled with, went forward and summoned eight ruffianly-looking fellows who had been stowed away in the forecastle. Three or four were apparently Englishmen, the others black or brown men, one a Kanaka, the other a New Zealander. By the mate’s orders they lifted off the hatches, and went below. Archie observed that they had the butts of pistols sticking out of the breasts of their shirts, and that all of them wore long knives in sheaths by their sides. There was some talking below, and one by one sixty black-skinned natives made their appearance on deck, and were ranged on either side. None of them had any other clothing besides a piece of matting or sail-cloth round the waist. Unfortunately, Green had come away without an interpreter; but he did his best to try and ascertain from the natives if they were on board of their own free will. No one uttered a complaint, but he observed that the mates kept their eyes fixed on the blacks, who seemed to cower under their glances. He was still not satisfied, but he was unable to find any sufficient reason for detaining the vessel. On returning to the cabin he found another individual, who had not before appeared, seated at the table, busily employed in writing.

“Our doctor, sir,” said the master; “he has come with us for the sake of science, to gain a knowledge of the wild inhabitants of this region. He is a perfect slave to science; are you not, doctor?”

“It is the sole object of my life,” answered the person who had been addressed, without rising from his seat.

Though the man spoke with the accent of a gentleman, Green thought that he had seldom seen a more ill-looking individual.

“Well, I hope you are satisfied, Mr Officer,” said the master at length; “and, if so, that you will allow us to fill our sails and stand on; for my mate tells me he doesn’t like the look of the weather, and I’d advise you to make the best of your way back to your ship.”

Green saw indeed that it was important to get back, and did not therefore waste words with the master or his ill-mannered surgeon. On returning on deck, he found that the mates had sent the blacks below again, while the crew were shortening sail. The weather had become rapidly worse; he could not help regretting that he had come so far from the island, with the prospect of a pull back through a heavy sea. He could not hoist the boats on board, or, under the circumstances, he might have compelled the schooner to beat back to Santa Cruz. Had he attempted to do so, and to tow the boats, they would, in all probability, have been swamped.

“We must make the best of it,” he said to Tom, who had for the last few minutes been feeling anything but comfortable about the matter.

“A safe voyage to you, my friends,” he said, as he leaped into his boat.

The mates made no reply, but as he shoved off he fancied that he heard a laugh, and at the same time he caught sight of the ill-favoured visage of the scientific doctor looking over the quarter, while the schooner stood away to the southward. Scarcely, however, were they a quarter of a mile apart than the wind came down with greater force than before, and he found that it was impossible to make any headway against it. The nearest island was that of Tinakula; by running under its lee he might get shelter for the night; but should an eruption occur, it would prove a dangerous neighbourhood. There were other islands beyond, but they were surrounded by reefs which might prevent the possibility of landing upon them, while, from the savage character of the natives on the inhabited ones, they could only expect a hostile reception.

“We’ll try it a little longer, Rogers,” sang out Green; “perhaps the weather will moderate; and if it grows worse, we must run under the lee of that burning mountain; we can only hope that it will remain quiet for a few hours.”

The weather did not moderate, and when the men had been pulling hard for a couple of hours without gaining ground, the boats’ heads were put round, and with reefed sails they steered towards the eastern side of the mountain, Green intending to haul round it, so as to be able to anchor during the night under its lee. Night rapidly came down over the stormy ocean; the wind increased, and the seas came roaring up astern, threatening every instant to swamp them. Green led, Tom following in his wake.

“I wish we hadn’t been sent after that abominable slaver!” exclaimed Billy, who was feeling more uncomfortable than he had ever before been in his life. “I wonder whether the ship will come to look after us?”

“Not likely,” answered Tom; “as well hunt for a needle in a bundle of hay; she wouldn’t know where to find us if she did. My brother trusts Green, who always knows what he’s about, and he will not be unhappy on our account. We shall soon be under the lee of the island, and then we shall be snug enough; though, for my part, I would rather have been comfortably stowed away in my hammock.”

“You take things very coolly, Rogers!” cried Billy. “Oh, look at that big sea! it will tumble aboard us in a moment.”

“If it does, you must stand by to bale it out,” answered Tom; “hold on though, in case it should wash you overboard.”

Tom, who was grasping the helm with a firm hand, received the sea on the quarter; a portion of the crest broke over the boat; she, however, went gliding forward, while the sea roared on till it caught Green’s boat, which appeared for a moment to be overwhelmed, but was seen directly afterwards rising on the summit of another wave; while Billy and the rest of Tom’s crew baled away with might and main, knowing the importance of freeing their boat before another sea broke into her. Thus on they rushed amid the dark, foam-crested waves; several times they were treated in the same manner, but as quickly as the water entered it was hove out again. The darkness increased, and the dim outline of the mountain alone could be seen, its lofty summit towering to the clouds. Green was unwilling to keep farther off the island than was necessary; but, at the same time, he thought it possible that a reef might extend some distance from it, on which, should the boats strike, they must inevitably be lost. A keen lookout was kept ahead, but nothing could be seen besides the dark, tumbling, foam-crested seas. It was a time to try the hearts of the stoutest. Gradually the island grew more and more distinct.

“Haul aft the sheet!” cried Green, and the boats sailed on with the sea abeam.

Now was the most dangerous time, for a sea striking the side might in an instant, without allowing anyone a chance of escaping, have capsized the boats, and sent them to the bottom. The seas seemed to rush forward with greater fury even than before, as if eager to seize their prey before it had escaped them. Happily it did not last long; on shooting under the lee of a lofty precipice which rose sheer out of the water, they were almost immediately becalmed, though still fearfully tumbled about by the waves as they swirled round the base of the cliff.

“Get out your oars, my lads, and give way,” cried Green.

The order was quickly obeyed, and after pulling for a few hundred yards, the boats lay in comparatively calm water. The island mountain rose like a dark spectre above their heads, without any beach that could be discovered on which the boats could be hauled up, or any cove to afford them shelter. Green had a lead-line on board; it was let fall over the side, but no bottom was found.

“Perhaps by pulling on a little farther we may find some place in which we can bring up for the night; if not, we must keep the oars moving,” said Green.

They pulled on accordingly.

“Hilloa!” cried Tom; “what’s that?”

The moment he spoke a bright light appeared on the summit of the mountain; it rapidly increased, and presently a vast stream of incandescent lava came flowing down the side, now moving in a broad sheet, now rushing down in a cataract of fire, again to unite at the foot of a precipice, as it rushed down in a dozen different streams, some close to where the boats lay, till reaching the water they suddenly disappeared.

“Very fortunate that we were not on shore, or we should have been all burnt into cinders,” said Tom; “we are even now nearer than is altogether pleasant.”

“If we get farther off we shall be in the middle of a cross-sea which will quickly swamp us,” observed Green; “I see the crests of the waves dancing about, not many cables’ lengths away, with the light from the mountain reflected on them. We will pull back a short distance to the eastward and lie on our oars.”

The boats’ heads were turned round, but the men had not pulled many strokes when the lava again rushed out from the crater, rising far above it in a fountain of fire; then down it came, covering over the whole side of the mountain with a vast sheet of liquid flame, sending its glare far over the ocean, and rendering the night as bright as the day.

“Grand!” exclaimed Billy Blueblazes; “magnificent! superior to anything I ever saw at Vauxhall!”

“I should rather call it awful,” said Tom; “how those huge black cliffs stand out! Why, they positively look as if they were about to topple down over us; it will give us an idea of what the world will be like when it is on fire.”

The men gazed at the burning mountain, their countenances expressing their feelings, though none of them spoke. The hardy seamen could scarcely believe that they should escape destruction; the water hissed and bubbled as the hot lava reached it, and sent wave after wave towards the boats; which, as they rushed on board, were found to be perceptibly warmed. Green, who had been watching the summit of the mountain, began to doubt whether it was prudent to remain in the neighbourhood; at any moment it might send up not only lava, but ashes and stones, and huge rocks, which might in an instant overwhelm the boats. Now came a fearful rumbling noise, louder than a thousand Woolwich infants roaring together. Tom declared that the whole mountain seemed to shake, while the summit appeared covered with a crown of ruddy flame.

“This will never do,” cried Green; “better be swamped at sea than be buried under a shower of rocks. Pull round and give way, my lads; stand by to hoist the sail the instant we feel the wind.”

The men dashed their oars into the water, and pulled away as fast as they could stretch their arms, eager to get to a distance from the fearful scene; but though they were really going at a rapid rate, it seemed as if the mountain was still as near as ever. Even the most dull and ignorant must have been conscious of their utter helplessness; at any moment the fiery shower might descend on their heads; indeed, the farther they got off, the more clearly they saw the fearful work going forward on the summit of the mountain; the flames seemed to spout higher and higher and higher, and amid them every now and then appeared huge fragments of solid rock, which, cast up to a great height, again fell down into the crater; while similar fragments came toppling over the edge, and rolled crashing down the cliffs into the ocean. Though the sea was rough, the wind, affected apparently by the outburst of fire, seemed greatly to have abated, and it was not till they had got some distance from the island that Green ordered the sails to be hoisted. He was on the point of hauling up, intending to beat back to Santa Cruz, when once more the gale was upon them.

“We must stand on,” he cried to Tom; “we shall never be able to pull back against this wind, our best chance is to run before it.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said Tom; “I’ll follow you;” and the two boats flew on as before, over the tumbling seas. They were well built, and well managed too, or they would to a certainty have been swamped.

They had, by this time, got to a considerable distance from the mountain, but still it appeared almost as clear as at first, the dark cliffs projecting far out from amid the sheets of fire which almost enveloped its sides, while the summit appeared in a still more fearful state of eruption than at first. Vast flames came spouting upwards, the fiery masses which were thrown out spreading over on every side, while overhead appeared a dark canopy of smoke, from which a shower of ashes continued to fall without intermission; and Tom declared, as he looked astern, that he saw huge pieces of rock descending into the sea. They had indeed reason to congratulate themselves that they had not delayed longer under the mountain, and even as it was they were conscious that they were still not free from danger. Their anxiety had hitherto prevented them from feeling hungry, or indeed from recollecting that they had brought but a small supply of food. In each boat was, however, a breaker of water, and Billy had slipped some biscuits into his pocket, as had also several of the men, just before they shoved off. After some time, when he believed that he had only the danger of the ocean with which to contend, Billy pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and offered part to Tom, who, beginning to feel very hungry, accepted it. The crew were sharing their portions among each other; and then the breaker of water was broached, for the biscuit had made the men feel very thirsty.

In Green’s boat the men were not so well off, Archie and one of the men only having had sufficient forethought to bring a couple of biscuits apiece. This afforded but a scanty meal to all hands; and they knew that it might be very long before they could hope to get a further supply of food. The gale had still further increased, and the sea was rougher than ever. They thus ran on for some hours; Tom manfully sat at the helm, assisted by Billy, his anxiety keeping him broad awake; for he well knew that the slightest carelessness on his part might lead to his own destruction and that of all with him. Unhappily, they had come away without a compass in either boat, and as the sky was completely overcast, Green had not even the stars to steer by. The wind, he felt sure, had shifted several points while they lay under the island, and he was thus uncertain in what direction he was running. He could only tell by looking astern at the mountain, which, like a huge beacon, blazed away all night. There were other islands, he knew, ahead, surrounded by reefs; and, when morning approached, he judged that they could not be very far from the nearest. The atmosphere, however, was too dense to enable him to see the land at any distance. Still he could not venture to heave-to; his only hope of keeping the boats afloat was to run on, and he trusted that day light would return before they could reach the neighbourhood of the reefs. It was too dark to see the hands of his watch, even when held up so that the light from the mountain could fall on it.

“I think the sun will rise in about half an hour,” he observed to Archie; “and then I trust that we shall be able to look out for an opening in the reefs, so that we may run in and take shelter till the gale is over.”

The men in both the boats were all this time employed in baling, for the crests of the seas came toppling over, now on the quarter, now running up alongside over the gunwales, wetting the people through and through. Tom, with his lips closely-pressed together, his hand firmly grasping the helm, excited the admiration of the men, who knew well that their lives depended on his coolness and judgment.

“He’s a regular chip of the old block; as like the commander as two peas,” observed the bow-man to the man sitting next to him. Tom, indeed, had always been held in respect by the crew, but that night’s work raised him still higher in their estimation.

They had been running on for some minutes, when a shout reached them from the master’s boat. “Breakers ahead, and land beyond them.” Tom steered straight on, waiting to see what Green would do, still following in his wake. Green deviated slightly to port.

“There is an opening,” he shouted; “follow me.”

Tom peered through the mass of blackness surrounding them, and made out a line of white foam, rising like a wall on the starboard bow, while beyond he could just distinguish the outline of a still darker mass which he knew must be land. His heart did not sink, nor did his hand tremble. The crew turned their heads over their shoulders as the roar of the breakers reached their ears, becoming louder and louder as the boat rushed on. The seas came rushing up astern more furiously it seemed than ever, catching them now on the port quarter; should the wind fail them, or a rope give way, they must be lost. They all knew that, and each man grasped his oar ready to throw it out and give way as a chance for life. The breakers became more and more distinct, leaping high above the tumbling ocean; but ahead was a blacker patch, though even that was streaked with foam. There must, however, be depth for the boats to pass over, though the passage was a fearfully narrow one; for away on the port-bow the breakers were seen rising as high as on the starboard side. Green stood on; he did not again hail, but he knew that he could trust Tom, and that he was following. In another minute they would be safe, or the boats dashed to pieces on the coral reef. Still on they flew; a vast surge came rolling up, lifting the stern of the boat, and Tom, for an instant, thought that she would broach to; but with all his might putting the helm hard a-port, she went rushing on before it. The foaming, roaring breakers were leaping up on either hand. He had lost sight of Green’s boat. Could she have met with the fate he had expected to overtake his boat? No! there she was, safe inside the reef, with her sail lowered. The next instant he was gliding forward in comparatively smooth water.

“Lower the sail,” he shouted, “and get out the oars.”

He was soon alongside Green’s boat.

“We will lie on our oars, and wait till daylight to find a safe place for landing,” said the master. “Let us thank God that we have escaped thus far. Should there be natives on the island, we must try and keep on friendly terms with them, and we shall the better do that by not landing till they invite us. In the meantime, we will look to our arms, for they must have got wet, and are pretty sure to miss fire.”

The boats accordingly pulled along the lagoon till they reached a part where, sheltered by a higher line of the reef, the water was perfectly calm. Even there, as they looked in the direction from whence they had come, they could see the burning mountain blazing away as furiously as at first; the upper portion, which appeared above the horizon, presenting the appearance of a vast shining cone, with a crown of fire rising towards the sky. Far-off as it was, the light it cast had enabled them to see the breakers much sooner than they otherwise would have done, and had been the means thus of saving their lives.

Daylight now appeared, and a glimpse was caught of the sun through an opening in the cloud just above the horizon. His rays fell on a hilly country, richly wooded, with streams flowing down at the bottom of the valleys, one of which emptied itself directly opposite the break in the reef by which they had entered. As yet no natives had appeared, nor were any huts seen, but it could scarcely be supposed that so fine a region was destitute of inhabitants. Green, therefore, pointed out to his men the importance of acting cautiously. Their hunger and thirst, however, must be satisfied; he therefore pulled in towards the mouth of the stream, where, at all events, they could obtain water. As they approached, Billy’s sharp eyes detected some cocoanuts growing on several tall trees a short distance from the beach; these would afford them food till more substantial fare could be obtained. The difficulty, however, was to reach the trees where the fruit grew.

“I’ll manage to do it,” cried Billy, “in a way I have read of somewhere, with a rope round my waist.”

Some rocks near the mouth of the stream afforded sufficient shelter to the boats, and enabled the party to land without the necessity of beaching them. The arms had all been made ready for use, and Green ordered one half of the men to remain in the boats under Tom’s command, while he led the other, who carried the breakers to fill with water. Billy, in the meantime, with Archie to assist him, prepared to climb up a cocoanut tree. He had brought a long piece of rope, which he formed into a large grummet, or hoop, round the tree. He made several attempts, however, before he could succeed in getting up even a few feet. Though Archie laughed at him, he was undaunted.

“Practice makes perfect,” he answered, again working his way upwards till he got several feet higher.

His plan was to hold tight with his knees while he jerked the grummet as high as it would go, and then to swarm up again and rest. Higher and higher he got, till at length he was able to catch hold of a branch by which he held himself up, when, highly delighted, he quickly broke off all the fruit on the tree, and threw them down to Archie. His success encouraged the bow-man in Green’s boat, who, being a light, active lad, succeeded even better than he had done, and a supply of nuts for all hands was thus obtained. By this time Green’s party with the breakers had returned, and the hungry crews eagerly commenced breakfast.

“We must look out for more substantial fare than this though,” observed Tom; “if we can’t get any animals on shore, we shall, at all events, be able to find shell-fish in the water, and we can easily light a fire and cook them.”

Till, however, the men had satisfied their hunger with the cocoanuts, no one felt disposed to hunt for shell-fish, or for animals on shore. It was, indeed, doubtful whether it would be prudent to allow any of the men to go inland till they had ascertained what inhabitants were in the neighbourhood, or whether they were likely to be friendly. From the character of the natives on the surrounding islands Green very much doubted whether this would be the case; and he wished, if possible, to avoid bloodshed, even although his party might prove victorious. He had also heard that they used poisoned arrows, even a slight wound from which might prove fatal. As the gale still continued blowing outside, it was absolutely necessary that more substantial food should be found. As soon, therefore, as they had somewhat taken the edge off their appetites, he allowed a small party under Tom to proceed along the beach in search of shell-fish, while the boats pulled slowly along close in to the shore, so as to be able to take them off immediately should any natives appear. No officer could have acted more wisely and cautiously. Tom and his party collected a good supply of shell-fish, his last find being a bed of oysters. Two of the men, having stripped off their clothes, waded up to their necks and dived for them. They were thus employed when Green caught sight of a dark triangular fin, which rose for an instant to the surface and disappeared. He shouted at the top of his voice to the men, telling them of their danger, and ordering his own crew to pull in, and to splash the water as much as possible with their oars. The men sprang towards the shore, fully aware of the danger they were in. They were not a moment too soon, for the monster, having caught sight of their white legs, dashed forward and almost grounded itself on the beach before, giving a whisk of its tail, it darted off again, startled by their shouts and cries, and escaped.

Tom now cried out that he had seen some birds, and that if he might use small shot he was certain that he could kill several. Green, seeing no signs of natives, thought there would be no risk, and gave him leave. Tom was a good shot, and the birds, a species of pigeon, being unaccustomed to firearms, were not frightened, so that he very quickly made a heavy bag, without having had to go far for it. There appeared to be now no reason why the party should not land to cook their provisions, and, finding a clear stretch of beach, they pulled in and hauled up the boats. Some of the men set to work to gather sticks, and a blazing fire was soon lighted; while others plucked the pigeons and prepared them for the spit. These were placed on forked sticks round the fire, while the men sat down on the ground to enjoy themselves. A few cried out for grog, but not a drop of spirits had been brought, so they were obliged to go without it, but the smokers had their pipes and tobacco, and Green had put his cigar-case into his pocket, so that they were able to pass the time pleasantly enough while the birds were cooking.

“After all, we’ve no great cause to complain,” observed Tom, as he lighted one of Green’s cigars. “I suppose when the gale abates the ship will come and look for us, or if not we shall have no great difficulty in getting back to Santa Cruz, while in the meantime we may make ourselves happy where we are,” he observed.

Billy Blueblazes, of course, echoed the sentiment, but Archie was somewhat doubtful whether they might not miss the ship, as it would take them the best part of two days to pull back, and before that time she probably would have come out to look for them. Green was rather inclined to be of Archie’s opinion, and was considering what under the circumstances it was best to do.

“Dinner ready, sir,” said Jerry Bird, who had dished up the pigeons with some large leaves. “We have broiled oysters and mussels, and cocoanut for dessert, and as much milk and water as we like to drink; a feast fit for a king.”

Green and the midshipmen preferred the pigeons, leaving the shell-fish to be divided among the men, who had their share also of the birds. No one had cause to complain of want of sufficient food. After dinner, their spirits being raised, they amused themselves by playing rounders, varied by a game of leap-frog on the beach, till Green reminded them that they might have a couple of nights or more at sea before they could get back to the ship, and that it was as well to take some rest while they could obtain it. The difficulty was to find shade, as the sun was beating down with intense heat on the sand, though while they were in exercise they did not think of it. The palm trees afforded but a scant shelter; however, by going a little way inland they obtained some enormous fern-leaves, with which they quickly built several huts, sufficient to shelter all the party, with the exception of two, who were stationed on the top of the bank to keep watch; Green deeming it prudent not to run any risk of being caught napping. It fell to the lot of Archie and Tim Nolan, who belonged to Green’s boat, to keep the first watch. Green directed them to remain in the shade under the trees with their muskets in their hands, and to keep a bright look-out inland, so as to be able to arouse the party in good time should any natives appear.

There was an opening in the valley just where the party were encamped, extending an eighth of a mile or so inland, leaving the trees on either side some distance apart. Archie took one side, and directed Tim to get into the shade on the other, so that they might thus, without having to step far out into the sun, command the whole of the open ground. Archie felt very tired and sleepy, and was longing for his watch to be over, but nevertheless, obedient to orders, he kept a bright look-out, seeing also that Tim did the same. They had been on the watch for nearly two hours, when Archie, as he stepped out a few paces from where he had been standing, caught sight of three or four black figures at the farther end of the glade. They stopped as they saw him, regarding him with looks of astonishment, each man seizing an arrow, and fixing it in his bow. Archie shouted to Tim, and told him to awaken the sleepers, while he himself advanced into the centre of the glade, and while he held up his musket in one hand to show the blacks that he was armed, made signs with the other to them to keep back. Green had heard his voice, and was on his feet in an instant, calling out to the rest of the party to show themselves. The blacks, seeing that the strangers were much superior to them in numbers, did not advance. They were savage-looking fellows, with their hair tied up in a huge bunch at the backs of their heads, and destitute of any clothing with the exception of a short kilt of matting tied round their waists. They appeared rather surprised than alarmed, and after watching the strangers, apparently to see what they would do, for some minutes, they darted off among the trees, and were hid from sight.

“We will get the boats into the water and be ready to shove off, in case those fellows should come down in overwhelming numbers; for though we might keep them at bay, I am anxious to avoid bloodshed,” said Green.

Tom agreed with him, and the men immediately began to launch the boats; but the tide had fallen, and it was no easy matter, as they had to shove them over the rough beach for some distance. While they were thus engaged, loud shrieks and shouts reached their ears, proceeding out of the forest, and in another minute a whole host of blacks armed with bows and arrows, spears and clubs, poured into the open, and came rushing down towards them. It seemed scarcely possible to get the boats afloat before the savages would be upon them. Green waited till the last moment, then, calling the men, drew them up on the beach, and ordered them to present their muskets, but not to fire till he should give the word. The blacks, who apparently were well acquainted with the power of firearms, on seeing the force opposed to them, not only halted, but drew back several paces, bending their bows, however, as if they were about to shoot. Green, on seeing this, made signs to them to retire, pointing at the same time to his men’s muskets, to let the savages understand that they only waited his command to fire. The blacks evidently understood him, for they at once relaxed their bow-strings, turning their heads over their shoulders as if about to beat a retreat. Just then, however, a chief made his appearance and began to harangue them, urging them, it seemed, to attack the strangers who had ventured to land on their shore. The moment was a critical one. Green saw that he might be compelled to order his men to fire, and should the savages have sufficient courage to rush out and attack them before they had time to reload, they must be clubbed or speared. He knew, too, that the blacks’ arrows were poisoned, and that every person wounded by them would die. He would gladly have retreated to the boats and made another effort to get them afloat, but should he show any sign of fear, it would to a certainty encourage the blacks to come on.

“Stand steady, my lads!” he cried; “I’ll try once more to make the savages understand that we don’t wish to quarrel with them;” and, taking up a bough which had formed part of one of the huts, he waved it slowly backwards and forwards.

The effect at first appeared to be satisfactory, but just then the voice of the old chief, who had before incited them to attack the strangers, was again heard, and the savages, encouraged by him, once more drew their bows; while he, flourishing his club, came forward at their head, leaping and bounding in the strangest fashion, his followers imitating his example.

“Tim Nolan,” shouted Green, “as soon as I give the word, pick that fellow off; if Tim misses, do you, Bird, give an account of him. Don’t throw a shot away, my lads, and we’ll make them repent interfering with us.”

Green wisely said nothing about the deadly effect of the poisoned arrows, hoping that the men would not think about them. Just as Green was about to sing out “Fire!” feeling that it was useless any longer to entertain hopes of maintaining peace with the savages, a strange-looking being leaped out from their midst, armed only with a club, which, placing himself in front of the chief, he whirled round and round in his face, shouting, at the same time, at the top of his voice. He was a white man, though scarcely better clothed than the blacks, his body being tattooed all over with strange devices, while his long carroty hair hung down over his shoulders. No one attempted to interfere with him; even the chief came to a standstill, while he bounded backwards and forwards in front of the horde of savages, shouting and gesticulating in the most vehement manner conceivable. Having thus succeeded in stopping the advance of the blacks, he turned round and rushed forward towards where Green was standing.

“Arrah, shure, Masther Green, it’s meself, Paddy Casey, is delighted to see ye; though little was I after thinking, when I last set eyes on ye, that the next time ye’d see me I’d be turned into a wild savage!” he exclaimed.

“What! Pat Casey, my man,” cried Green; “of course, I remember you right well; though I confess I shouldn’t have expected to see you, one of the smartest hands on board the Tudor, in your present style of dress.”

Pat, looking at himself, gave a broad Irish grin.

“Shure enough, yer honour; and bad luck to them who left me here, thinking I’d be killed and cooked and eaten, about which I’ll be after telling yer honour when there’s more time than at present. I’ve just been informing these black friends of mine that they were fools to come and attack you, seeing that you belong to a mighty big ship, which would come and blow them and their island right out into the sea in a quarter less than no time; and now I’ve got them to be peaceable, it will be as well to take advantage of the opportunity to get the boats afloat, for, by my faith, they’re not the most dependable of people, and in another moment they may again change their minds.”

“I am much obliged to you, old shipmate,” answered Green; “and if you can manage to keep the blacks quiet, we will have the boats in the water in a few minutes. Tell them that we were driven by the storm on their island; that we wish to be good friends with them, as with all the people in these parts, and, provided they behave well to us, we will do them no harm.”

“Shure, yer honour, I’ll tell them all that, and just anything else that may come into my head at the same time, and I’ll answer for it that they’ll be decently behaved as long as you stay,” said Pat.

“Just keep them in play, then, while we get the boats afloat; and make them understand that we go away because it is our good pleasure, and not because we are afraid of them,” said Green.

“Shure, yer honour, I’ll do that,” answered the Irishman, with one of his inimitable grins, which possibly had been the means of enabling him to preserve his life.

While he went back to his black friends, the two crews, uniting their strength, got first one boat afloat and then the other. Green felt greatly relieved, for, whatever turn events might take, he and his party would be able to get away without having to fight for their lives.

Casey now returned.

“The savages say, sir, that if you like to stop and be friends, they’ll be friends with you; but I’m after thinking that the sooner you can get away from this the better, for they’re not altogether trustworthy gentlemen. Not long ago a sandal-wood trader put in here and sent her boat ashore, when they knocked every mother’s son of the crew on the head, and ate them afterwards. To be sure the Englishmen hadn’t behaved altogether properly, for once before when they had been here they employed the natives to cut a cargo of sandal-wood for them; and when they had got it on board, they refused to pay what they had promised, saying that they would come back again, and that it would then be time enough to talk about payment. When they saw you they thought that you were people of the same sort, and so were going to treat you as they had done the others.”

“I must confess,” said Green, “that the Englishmen met their deserts. But how did you manage to escape, my man; and what brought you to the island?”

“Arrah, yer honour, it’s a long story; and about the escaping, it was a narrow squeak I had for it. You see, when I was paid off from the Tudor at Portsmouth, I went up to London, when I entered on board an emigrant ship bound out to Sydney. While I was on shore there one day, and had been taking my grog pretty freely, a chap I had never set eyes on before hailed me as an old chum, and telling me he was now skipper of a fine schooner, axed me if I would join her, and promised that I should fill my pockets with gold in a few months. As they were just then turned clean inside out, and I had had my spree on shore, without more ado I closed with him; and before I knew where I was going, I found myself stowed away on board the schooner, which at daybreak next morning sailed out of Sydney Harbour. The craft, I discovered, was engaged in the sandal-wood trade, cruising among the islands, and getting it as best she could, sometimes in one way, and sometimes in another, and very curious ways they were. We made several trips, and each time came back with a full cargo. At some places we got the natives to cut the wood and bring it off, paying them with beads and trinkets when they were content with such things; at others with rum, muskets, and powder and shot. When no natives appeared, we went on shore ourselves to cut the wood.

“At last the skipper took a new dodge, for he was in no ways particular. Having put in to a harbour where the natives were friendly, he enticed above three dozen off, making them large promises if they would cut wood for him, and undertaking to bring them home again as soon as they had done the job. All seemed very fair and above board; we at once sailed for one of the islands to the westward, which is inhabited by blacks of a terribly fierce character, but where plenty of sandal-wood grows. Having landed our passengers, we went on shore, well armed, to keep the natives at bay, while they were employed in cutting the wood. They worked well, and we quickly got a full cargo. Now, as the wind was from the eastward, and it would have taken us a fortnight or more to beat back to the island from which we had brought our labourers, while it was fair for Sydney, the skipper had no fancy to lose so much time. What did he do, therefore, but send the poor fellows back again, telling them that they must remain and cut another cargo while he went to Sydney, and that he would come back and take them off. Knowing the character of the natives, they did not like this at all, and begged hard to be taken on board, saying that they would go on to Sydney, or anywhere else, rather than remain. In truth, it was a terribly cruel thing the skipper was doing, and I and another man told him so, and declared that when we got to Sydney we would make the matter known. He replied that we had better not, but said nothing more. The long and the short of it is that the poor brown men were left behind, and it’s my belief that one and all of them were killed and eaten, before many days were over, by the cannibal blacks.

“The night after we sailed it came on to blow hard, and the next morning when I came on deck to keep my watch I was told that Ned Mole, the man I spoke of, had been washed overboard. I had my thoughts about it, and couldn’t help saying that I was sure there had been foul play. I had better have held my tongue. In a few hours it fell a dead calm, just as we were off this here island. The skipper observing that he thought there would be sandal-wood on it, had one of the boats lowered, telling me to come in her. I, of course, went, without thinking that any harm was intended me. As no natives were seen, we at once landed, when the skipper ordered me to accompany him with an axe, saying that we would have a look for sandal-wood. We had gone some distance when at length we discovered some tree of the sort we were in search of. ‘Now, Casey,’ says the skipper, ‘do you cut as much as you think the boat’s crew can carry, and I’ll go back and fetch them up. I should like to have a sample of this wood, as it seems somewhat different to what we have got on board.’ ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ I answered, and, taking off my jacket and tucking up my sleeves, I began chopping away. I thought the skipper was a long time in coming back, for I had cut even more than he was likely to want. I waited and waited, but still saw nothing of my shipmates; at last I began to have some uncomfortable feelings about the matter; shouldering my axe, I made my way down to the beach. I need not tell you, sir, how I felt when I could nowhere find the boat, and saw the schooner standing away to the southward, for the breeze had again sprung up. I shouted and shrieked, but she was too far off for those on board either to see or hear me, and I then felt sure that the skipper had left me behind on purpose, and had probably told his crew that I had been knocked on the head by the savages, or had met with some other fate. I was dancing about and shouting out, and tearing my hair with rage at being so treated, when, turning round, I saw standing close to me a dozen black fellows. They were all staring at me, wondering what I was about. I was too full of rage to feel frightened, and so, forgetting that they couldn’t understand me, I began to tell them how I had been treated. They jabbered away in return; and I shouted louder and louder, thinking to make them understand what had happened; while, holding my axe in my hand, which I flourished in the air, I leaped backwards and forwards as if I was a madman—in truth I felt very like one.

“At last one of the blacks, who seemed to be a chief by the big rings he wore in his nose and ears, and the long feather stuck on the top of his head, came forward, waving a green bough, and then, putting out his hand, took mine, which he rubbed on his flat nose. It was a sign that he wished to be friends; and by this time, as I had begun to get a little cool, I saw that it would be wise to make the best of a bad matter; so I took his hand and rubbed it on my nose, and behaved to all the party in the same manner. From that time the blacks treated me with great respect. Whether they had seen any other white man before that I cannot tell; but at all events they saw that I was superior to themselves; and maybe they took me for a prophet or a great medicine-man, or something of that sort. The chief had fixed his eyes on my axe, but I gave him to understand that I would not part with it; however, wishing to please him, I took off my jacket, and made him put it on, which pleased him amazingly, and bound him to me as a friend. It is my belief, from what I saw of them afterwards, that if they had found me sitting down and bemoaning my hard fate, they would have knocked me on the head and cooked me before the day was over—so I had reason to think myself in luck.

“The natives, I found, lived on the other side of the island, and, for some reason or other which I could never make out, seldom came over to this side. They at once took me with them; and when we got to their village, which consists of a number of small huts not much bigger than beehives, the chief introduced me to his wives, who made me sit down on the ground and brought me out some food, which I was very glad to get, seeing that I was pretty hungry by this time. In return, having nothing else to offer the chief lady, I took off my shirt and put it on her, which pleased her as much as my jacket had her husband. It was not pleasant to go without clothing, though I still held on to my trousers, but it was better than being killed; and I thought that if I could make the chief and his wife my friends, I might be able to live pretty pleasantly among the people. I succeeded even better than I had expected; and from that day became a sort of prime minister to the chief, and general of his army. I found, however, that another of his wives was jealous of the first who had got the shirt; so, thinking to please her, I made myself this here petticoat, and presented her with my trousers. As she didn’t fancy putting them on the right way, she threw them over her shoulders, and wears them in that fashion to this day.”

“Well, Pat, you have had indeed a narrow escape of your life,” observed Green. “Do you wish to live on with your friends?”

“Arrah, no, yer honour, ’tisn’t for a dacent man like me to desire altogether to turn into a savinge,” said Pat. “I’m mighty eager to get back to the old country to see once more my brothers and sisters, and the rest of the Casey family; so, if you will take me with you, and supply me with a pair of trousers and a shirt, I’m ready to go off at once—though I shouldn’t just like to appear on board without some dacent covering to my skin.”

“I shall be very glad to take you,” said Green; “but will the chief be willing to part with his prime minister? I’m afraid the whole country will go to rack and ruin if you leave him.”

“I’m afeard, yer honour, that I must leave the country to look after itself,” answered Pat, with one of the broadest of his grins; “and as to axing the chief about the matter, I’m after thinking it will be better to take French leave, lest he may try to stop me. The weather, I see, is moderating, and if yer honour will take my advice, you’ll shove off as soon as it is calm enough to put to sea.”

“We can’t go without food, and it will take us some time to collect enough to last till we find the ship,” said Green.

“Then I’ll tell my friends that they must bring us some, for not a rap of salary have I had since I became prime minister, and if they were to load the boats up to the thwarts, I shouldn’t be overpaid for the good I have done the state,” said Pat; and, flourishing his axe in the fashion he had found so effective, he made his way back to where the blacks were now seated on the ground, discussing apparently some important matter or other. The chief listened to him for some time, and he and his people then getting up disappeared among the trees in the distance.

“I’ve done it, yer honour,” said Pat, who quickly returned; “they’ll soon be back with as much we can require for some days to come.”

While the savages were away, a fire was lighted, and the remainder of the shell-fish and the birds which Tom had shot were cooked. The boats were also got ready, so that they might put to sea as soon as the provisions arrived, or, in case the natives after all should prove treacherous, shove off at a moment’s notice. Green knew well the danger of an encounter with savages armed with poisoned arrows; a shower of such arrows might wound every one of the party, and he was aware that even slight hurts might prove fatal. At length the blacks made their appearance, carrying baskets containing taro, cocoanut, several other roots and fruits, and some fish of various sizes. By Pat’s directions they were placed on the ground, when Green, not wishing to take them without payment, collected some handkerchiefs and clasp-knives and a few other articles, which he desired Pat to convey to the chief. This unexpected gift afforded intense satisfaction to the savages, who would have rushed forward and rubbed noses with the strangers, had not Pat hinted to his friends that such a proceeding would not be appreciated by the white men. The blacks, having set down their baskets, retired, and they were forthwith conveyed to the boats. While the natives were absent, Tom had wisely refilled the breakers.

“Now’s your time, yer honour,” cried Casey, who feared that his friends might suspect his intention of leaving them. The men, by Green’s directions, retired quietly to the boats, Pat trying to keep himself concealed among them; and while they were embarking, he also jumped in and stowed himself away in the sternsheets of Green’s boat.

“Shove off, yer honour,” he shouted out, “or they’ll be coming down to stop me.”

Before the boats had got half a cable’s length from the shore, the chief discovered that his prime minister had disappeared, and, suspecting that he had gone off with the white men, he and his tribe came rushing down to the beach, shouting vociferously to him to come back.

“That same is more than I intend doing,” cried Pat, from the bottom of the boat.

The surf had by this time considerably gone down, and the sea was sufficiently smooth to enable the boats to steer a direct course for Santa Cruz; Green could, therefore, only hope that the ship might not have left the harbour to look for them, as, in that case, they would in all probability miss each other.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Jack’s Anxiety—Search for the Boats—A Wreck discovered—The Mate brought off—Mr Large attacked by Savages—The Natives punished—The Boats recovered—Sydney—The Ships sail for the Sandwich Islands—A Visit on Shore—Visit Hawaii—Scene of Cook’s Death—Trip to the Crater of Kilauea—Magnificent Scene—Tom nearly lost—Return on board—Again at Sea—Vancouver’s Island—Doings there—News from Home—Jack and Terence superseded—Reach England—Future Career of the Three Commanders—Conclusion.

Jack’s anxiety became very great when, after the boats had gone away in chase of the schooner, he saw the threatening state of the weather. He waited for some time, expecting them to return, and then ordered the steam to be got up, intending to go in search of them; the gale, however, increasing, and night coming on, he had but slight hopes of success. At length the engineer reported that the steam was up, and in spite of the risk he ran, he stood out of the harbour, steering in the direction he supposed they had taken. Scarcely had he got outside than the weather became worse than ever. All night long the ship continued standing backwards and forwards over the ground where he expected to find the boats, while, as they happened at the time to be under the lee of the burning mountain, he of course could not see them. At daylight he steamed back into the harbour, hoping against hope that they might have returned, but his fear was that though the natives had behaved well in the presence of a big ship, they might conduct themselves very differently should a couple of boats only take shelter in their harbour. His doubt, therefore, was whether he should remain to wait for their arrival, or go in search of them. He did not, on his return, bring up, but, after remaining for a short time under way, he again put to sea and stood to the southward. A bright look-out was kept for the boats, as also for the schooner they had chased, for it was thought possible that, finding bad weather coming on, they might have remained on board. The island where they actually were at the time was sighted, but no signal being made from it, he stood on. He then visited several islands farther to the south, on which he thought it possible they might have landed.

Towards evening the Dragon came off a small island, the character of the scenery being similar to that of those in the neighbourhood. As she approached the coast, a vessel was sighted on shore with her masts gone, and it was very evident that she was a complete wreck.

“Should any of the people have escaped, we must do our best to help them,” observed Jack to Mildmay, as they stood looking at the wreck through their glasses.

“I am afraid there is very little chance of that,” answered Mildmay; “but if they should have reached the shore alive, the natives are nearly sure to have clubbed them.”

“We shall soon ascertain the state of the case,” said Jack; “in all probability she was cast away during the gale last night, and we may still be in time to rescue any who have remained on board.”

The Dragon stood on, with the lead going, as close as it was prudent to venture, when her head was put round, and a boat was sent away under charge of Mr Large, who was directed to board the wreck if he could, but on no account to venture on shore should any considerable number of natives make their appearance. The boat pulled away, first making for the wreck; the boatswain’s proceedings were watched from the deck with great interest. He first visited the wreck, and after he had been some time on board, he was seen with the assistance of his men lowering a person into the boat. He then pulled for the shore, but just as he reached the beach, a number of savages rushed out from among the trees, and sent a flight of arrows at their visitors. He immediately pulled away, and came back at a rapid rate to the ship.

“Two of the men are hit, sir, I am afraid,” he said, as he came on deck; “and an arrow has gone through the arm of the poor fellow we took out of the wreck, who was before almost dead of hunger and wounds. There seems now but little life in him of any sort All I can make out about the vessel is, that she is the Expert, of Sydney; and from the look of her hold, I should think that she had a number of slaves on board, though what has become of them is more than I can tell.”

No time was lost by the surgeon in looking after the wounded men; his great aim was to neutralise the effects of the poison. The man taken from the wreck, notwithstanding Mr Large’s report, recovered considerably, and was able in a faint voice to answer the questions put to him. He said he was mate of the vessel; that she was wrecked the previous night, when the master and several of the hands had been washed overboard; that the passengers had broken loose and made their way to the shore, where, however, they had been attacked by the natives, who, to the best of his belief, had killed or captured every one of them.

“Then what became of the rest of the crew?” asked Jack.

The mate said he thought it possible that they had got away in the boat with the doctor and second mate, during the night when there happened to be a lull, but of this he was uncertain. He confessed that the vessel had been boarded by two man-of-war’s boats, but the officer in command, finding nothing to detain her, had allowed the schooner to proceed; while they, he concluded, had returned from whence they came. Mr Large, who was present at the examination of the mate, thought it just possible that the boat might have left the wreck, and if so, that she was in all probability driven on shore, when those in her must have shared the fate of the so-called passengers. Mr Large, however, volunteered to go on shore to try and ascertain what had really become of the people. The ship was by this time about half a mile from the beach, so that through a glass everything going forward on shore could be seen.

Soon after the boat had shoved off, a considerable body of natives issued from among the trees, and stood gazing at her and at the ship. They were all armed with clubs and spears and bows and arrows, but, as they did not by their gestures show any hostile intentions, the boat continued her course; the boatswain still hoping, apparently, to establish friendly relations with them. As there was little or no surf, the boat ran on to the beach; Mr Large stepped on shore, waving a white flag in his hand, and holding out several articles which he had carried with him as presents. On seeing this, two of the natives, placing their weapons on the ground, advanced towards him, when he gave each of them a present, and signed to others to come forward and receive the remainder. As he was all the time covered by the muskets of the men in the boat, he did not appear to consider that he was in any danger. As soon as the natives had received their presents, they retreated to a little distance and sat down, he imitating their example. He then, by signs, endeavoured to make them understand that he wished to know what had become of the people who had landed from the vessel on the rocks. They seemed to understand him, and replied by signs that the people had gone away into the interior. He, on this, tried to make them understand that he wished them to be brought back. They made no reply, but talked eagerly among themselves, and he could not tell whether they intended to comply with his demands. Still they appeared to be as friendly as at first. He was still sitting on the ground, waiting for their answer, when their party was increased by several other persons, who advanced from the larger body in the background. They were all young men, who, though they had laid aside their bows and spears, still retained their clubs. Having seated themselves, they made signs that they also wanted presents; when they found that they were not forthcoming, they got up, and, approaching the boatswain, who had also risen to his feet, one of them tried to snatch his cap, while another seized a cutlass which he had buckled round his waist. On this, with a blow of his fist, he knocked the savage down, and was in the act of drawing his weapon to defend himself, when another black, who had sprung behind him, dealt him a blow on the head with a club, which felled him to the ground.

So rapidly had this taken place that the boat’s crew were not prepared to fire till they saw him fall. They instantly poured in a volley, which killed two of the savages, while the rest bounded off towards their companions. The seamen, then reloading, sprang on shore, in the hopes of bringing off the boatswain, whom they supposed to be killed. All that had occurred was seen from the ship, and Jack immediately ordered two shells to be thrown in the direction of the savages, which, falling into their midst, just at the moment that they were drawing their arrows to shoot at the seamen, drove them back into the forest. The arrows thus flew wide of their mark, and the seamen were able to convey Mr Large to the boat, and to shove off without molestation. Several other shells were fired in the direction taken by the natives, who immediately scampered off, leaving several dead behind them.

On the return of the boat alongside, Mr Large was seen sitting up, when with some assistance he managed to get on deck, notwithstanding an ugly gash he had received at the back of his head.

“I’ll never trust those black rascals again!” he exclaimed; “they very nearly did for me, just as I thought I was getting on so well with them. I only hope our boats won’t have landed on their shores, or they’ll receive an unpleasant welcome.”

“I trust not, Mr Large,” said Jack, who, on having such evidence of the savage disposition of the natives, was becoming more and more anxious about Green and the midshipmen; “however, you did your best; and now you must let the surgeon look after you, for that wound in your head is an ugly one.”

The boat was, after this, again despatched to bring off any arms or articles of value which could be found on board the schooner, and then, as she was a perfect wreck, she was set on fire to prevent the savages from benefiting by her loss. This done, the ship proceeded along the coast, when a little farther on she opened a village which there was every probability belonged to their late treacherous assailants. A couple of rockets fired into it quickly set it in flames, and another village in the neighbourhood was treated in the same manner. Jack considered that this punishment was necessary to teach the natives that they could not attack white men with impunity.

Jack was by this time almost in despair of recovering the boats, but would not yet abandon the attempt to find them. If they had escaped foundering or being driven on a reef, they must have reached the shores of one of the neighbouring islands; he resolved therefore to go back to Santa Cruz, and then to steam round every island in succession, narrowly examining their shores. The ship accordingly stood back to Santa Cruz, though Jack scarcely expected to find the boats in the harbour. A look-out was kept on every side, and at night blue lights were burned frequently to attract their attention should they be in the neighbourhood.

In the morning watch, just before daybreak, as the ship was gliding smoothly on with a light breeze, a hail was heard on the weather bow. It was so faint, that had the screw been going at the time, it would not have been noticed. Mr Mildmay, who was officer of the watch, ordered the yards to be braced up, and kept the ship in the direction from whence the hail came. Again it was heard louder.

“There’s no doubt about it,” he exclaimed; “that must come from the boats—call the commander.”

In a minute Jack was on deck. At length the two boats could be seen under sail, running down towards the ship. She was immediately hove-to, and in another minute they were alongside. Instead of the woebegone, half-starved beings Jack expected to see, he was delighted to find them all in good condition and excellent spirits. Green and Tom gave a rapid account of their adventures; after leaving the island they had gone to Santa Cruz, where, not liking the manners of the natives, after obtaining a fresh supply of water, they immediately put to sea again in search of the Dragon, which Green felt pretty sure would not be far-off. No one was at all the worse for the adventure, and Green’s old shipmate, Pat Casey, from being able to speak the language of the natives, proved of great assistance during the remainder of the cruise. He, to be sure, did not always make himself understood, but that might have been because the natives spoke a different dialect to the one he had acquired. Numberless atrocities were brought to light, some committed by the sandal-wood trader and kidnappers, who were generally the aggressors; but others by the natives, who had treacherously cut off several boats’ crews and murdered numerous individuals, who had been surprised much as was Mr Large. Where the crime could be brought home to the natives, they were punished by the destruction of their villages and canoes. In one or two instances in which the chiefs had been implicated, they were carried off and left on other islands at a distance, from whence they were not likely to be able to return. It was a far more difficult matter to get the white men convicted and punished for the foul deeds of which they had been guilty in these regions.

At length the Dragon’s course was shaped for Sydney, where Jack had the satisfaction of finding the Eolus, which had arrived a short time before him. Adair had numerous adventures to recount, very similar to those which the Dragon had met with. The chief satisfaction they experienced on their arrival was to receive letters from home. Their wives were bearing their separation as well as could be expected, and gave them very minute accounts of all their doings. Julia was living at Halliburton, and Lucy had been paying a long visit to the admiral and Mrs Deborah, both of whom were somewhat ailing. The admiral could rarely do more than take a few turns on the esplanade, sitting down between each on one of the benches facing the sea, to watch the vessels as they ran in and out of the harbour.

The officers of the two ships were received with much hospitality by the inhabitants of Sydney. They were made honorary members of a club equal to any in London, and balls, dinner-parties, and picnics were got up for their entertainment. Indeed, after their long absence from civilised life, they very naturally thought Sydney a magnificent city, as indeed it is; rising as it does gradually from its superb harbour, and thus exhibiting to advantage its fine public buildings and substantial residences; in the suburbs were seen a number of beautiful villas, many of considerable size, while cabs, omnibuses, and other public conveyances, and handsome private equipages, abounded. Indeed, carriages were kept by families who would not have dreamed of maintaining them at home.

Not a few of the officers made up their minds to return and settle in the country. The midshipmen, for a wonder, did not lose their hearts—possibly on account of the small encouragement they received from the young ladies, who literally and metaphorically looked down upon them, being as a rule much taller than they were, and well able to distinguish between the various ranks in the service. Indeed, some little disappointment was felt when it was discovered that the two commanders were married men.

The ships, having filled up their coal bunks, shaped a course for the Sandwich Islands. As it was important to husband their coal, the greater portion of the passage was performed under sail. Numerous islands were seen, several of them being regular coral islands, with lagoons in the centre, not more than a couple of miles in circumference, and some even much smaller, and rising within a few feet out of the water. About six weeks after leaving Sydney, Oahu, in which Honolulu, the capital of the Sandwich Islands, is situated, was sighted. The ships ran on and came to an anchor in the outer roads, opposite the city, which is very conspicuous from the sea, and has a somewhat imposing appearance, with its numerous public and private edifices spread out along the shore, and churches and tall spires in their midst. The coast had a barren appearance, very unlike the beautiful region everyone had expected to find it, far behind the town the land rising into high ridges, divided by deep and narrow ravines, amid which but little vegetation was visible; while the surf in a succession of long rollers broke along the reefs on each side of the inner anchorage, threatening any vessel with destruction which might have parted from her anchors.

The next day a portion of each ship’s company got leave to go on shore. Tom, Desmond, and Archie were once more together. As they pulled in, they were highly delighted at seeing a party of the natives sporting in the surf on their surf-boards; now they swam out through the breakers, amid which it seemed impossible any human being could exist; then, mounting to the summit of a huge roller, one of them would leap up on his board in a standing posture, and glide down the side of the watery hill, balancing himself in a wonderful manner. Another would perform the same passage while sitting, or a third would throw himself full length along his board. In the same manner they would return to the shore, fearlessly approaching the surf, through which they made their way to the beach. Some twenty or thirty young men and lads were thus sporting together.

On landing, the midshipmen were assailed by the owners of horses, much in the same way that people landing in European cities are by porters or drivers of vehicles. The Kanakas, as the natives are called, were habited in every variety of costume, some fully clothed, others with little more than pieces of native cloth round their waists; though the women were all decently if not elegantly clad in long calico gowns, reaching from the shoulders down to the feet, generally of gay colours. Both men and women appeared good-natured, and ready to laugh and joke with their visitors. There was no quarrelling about the horses; the midshipmen were soon suited with steeds, on which they hoped to enjoy a pleasant ride. Their party was increased by Green, who had taken charge of another set of youngsters. All being mounted, away they galloped across the plain at the back of the town. They had not gone far when they overtook a cavalcade of fair damsels, seated on men’s saddles, with long skirts fastened round their waists, and their heads adorned with wreaths of flowers. They answered the midshipmen’s salutations with shouts of laughter, and either supposing that they had had an invitation to do so, or, which is not improbable, not thinking it necessary, they joined company, and away midshipmen and maidens galloped with a speed which would have tried less hardy steeds. Before long they overtook other parties of girls; on they went till a hill was reached, over which they scampered, descending at breakneck speed into a plain of still larger dimensions, on the other side. Here the road compelled them to keep closer together, as it passed between several sugar plantations. Tom had fixed upon a pretty Kanaka as his companion, who could speak a few words of English, as was the case with many of the others; indeed, most of the young ladies, though not very rigid in their manners, were fairly educated, and remarkably intelligent. Away they went for several miles, till one of the elder damsels, looking at the sun, declared that it was time to go back again; and, wheeling round their steeds, they returned as fast as they had come. On nearing the town, they made signs to the young officers to fall into the rear, while they advanced at a more sedate pace, when they scattered in various directions to their different homes. This was only one of their many excursions on shore.

Honolulu is a capital city, though a small one; few cities of its size contain more churches and schools; but, unhappily, they are not all of one denomination, for Protestants, Episcopalians, and Roman Catholics have of late years entered the field with the Presbyterians or Independents, by whose means the natives were converted to Christianity. It now boasted of a cathedral and an English bishop, who, while the ships were there, headed a grand procession, with banners, and bands playing, terminated by a display of fireworks and healths drunk in champagne opposite the king’s palace; but whether it was of a religious or merely social character, our midshipmen’s friends were unable to determine.

A considerable amount of trade is carried on, the chief export being sugar to the United States. There are merchants and inhabitants of all nations, but by far the greater number are Americans, who hold also some of the chief offices of State. There was a theatre, in which not only plays but operas were performed, and there were various other places of amusement. It was, indeed, difficult to believe that comparatively a few years ago the country was sunk in heathen darkness; especially when it was reported that few kingdoms are better governed, and no people, taken as a whole, more orderly and contented. Happily for, itself, having no harbours of sufficient size to afford shelter to men-of-war, or which are capable of being defended, it is likely to remain as heretofore independent, unless republican principles should prevail, and the people involuntarily join themselves to the United States. The then king was said to be an amiable and enlightened gentleman, as well educated as most of the European sovereigns were but a few years ago; and the young Dowager Queen Emma, who has English blood in her veins, was pretty, sweet-tempered, sensible, and altogether a most excellent and attractive person. Still, notwithstanding the attention the officers received from the inhabitants, they agreed that Honolulu was not a place at which they would wish to remain for any length of time.

“Hurrah!” cried Tom, rushing into the berth one afternoon, “we are to be off to-morrow morning for Hawaii; and if there’s time, some of us will have a chance of visiting the volcano of Kilauea, and the very spot where Captain Cook was killed. The commander told me I might tell you. And I advise you fellows who haven’t got your clean linen off to send for it without delay, or you may chance to have to wait for it till our return, which I hope may be never.”

Several of Tom’s messmates jumped up on hearing this to follow his advice, as the Kanaka washerwomen were not likely to prove more honest than those of other places, or to return “wash-clothes” before the time agreed on.

The next morning the two ships were steaming out of the roads. For a few hours they brought up in the far-famed bay of Kealakeaku, on the north side of which was a rock, protected from the swell by a point of lava rocks, thus affording a convenient landing-place. Near it, at the foot of a cocoanut tree, is the spot where the celebrated navigator breathed his last; and on the still remaining stump of the tree was nailed a sheet of copper, on which was inscribed an account of the event. Most of the officers having visited the spot and inspected its surroundings, with such copies of Cook’s Voyages in their hands as were to be found on board, the ships steamed out again for Hilo Bay, on the other side of the island. Round the shores appeared groves of tall cocoanut and richly-tinted bread-fruit trees, with extensive plantations of sugar-cane beyond; while amid them flowed numberless murmuring streams. Above this lower level rose a succession of pasture lands, surmounted by belts of trees, changing their character from the vegetation of the tropics to that of the more northern regions of the world. The country indeed sloped upwards twenty miles or more, forming the side of an elevated tableland in the centre of the island, out of which sprang towards the sky two mountains of prodigious height—that of Mauna Loa, the nearest, in the form of a smooth dome; and Mauna Kea, surmounted by nine snow-covered cones. Above the tableland appeared a silvery cloud, showing the whereabouts of the fearful crater of Kilauea, which it was the intention of the two commanders to visit on the following morning. As night closed in, its position was rendered still more visible by the glare of the ever-burning fires within the crater reflected on the cloud.

At early dawn, Jack and Adair, with a party of their ships’ companies, and as many of the officers as could be spared, and who wished to go, started for the shore. Jack took Tom and Archie and Mr Mildmay, who undertook to narrate the events of the expedition in verse. The second lieutenant declared that he had no wish to toil up a steep mountain for the sake of seeing a huge pit full of fire and smoke, so that he willingly remained on board instead of the first lieutenant. Several others, however, had more curiosity. Adair took Desmond, and three or four of his gun-room officers and midshipmen.

“Now, recollect that none of you must run the risk of being turned into cinders by tumbling into the crater,” observed Jack, as they were setting off.

“I rather think that gas would be the product of such an immersion,” observed the doctor; “there wouldn’t be so much solid matter of you left in five seconds as I could put into my snuff-box—so look out for yourselves.”

Horses and guides were in readiness, for of late years the once mysterious residence of the goddess Pelé has become one of the lions of the world.

“Forward!” cried the commander, and the party trotted on, headed by their guide. Eight miles on they passed a vast chasm, after which they began to ascend more rapidly than before. In a short time they entered a region of black lava with hollows in it full of water, into which the natives on foot plunged to cool themselves. Trees, however, were still seen which had sprung up amid the once burning mass, and bushes of various sorts, among them strawberries, not here low plants, but vines of large size bearing delicious fruit. Just below the edge of the plateau was a forest, and, on rising above it, the vast dome of Mauna Loa, of a bronze hue, rose before them, against the deep blue of a tropical sky. They had barely time to reach the edge of the crater and to pitch their tents, which had been sent on before, when the sun set, and the surrounding darkness revealed two lakes of liquid fire down in the depths of a vast basin, with perpendicular sides several miles in circumference, and an apparently level bottom. For some time they gazed at the scene; not a word was uttered—even the midshipmen failed to cut a joke. No loud sounds were heard; no reports, as many of the party had expected; but, instead, there came up from the bottom of the abyss a low, bubbling murmur, like that emitted by a thick liquid when boiling—for to nothing else could it be likened. Guided by some of the natives, Jack and Terence, with the three midshipmen, climbed down to the ledge some hundred feet below the plateau, when they found themselves apparently not much above the margin of the largest of the two lakes of fire.

“There are a good many things I would dare to do, but I shouldn’t like to jump into that,” said Tom, as he watched the mighty volume of lava in a furious state of ebullition, forming fiery waves which ran ceaselessly across the lake towards a wide abyss to the southward. Sometimes the whole seemed rising, and suddenly, at the distance of scarcely three hundred yards, a vast column spouted up to the height of sixty or seventy feet, almost as quickly subsiding; and the next instant another rose still nearer to them, which made even Jack spring back, for so near did it appear that he could not help fancying that it might fall upon them.

After watching this wonderful phenomenon for some time, the rest of the party were very glad when Terence proposed that they should climb up from whence they came; an operation which took them the best part of an hour. The early part of the night was spent before they could manage to go to sleep, and even then few of them could get the terrific scene they had witnessed out their heads. They had not been long asleep when all hands were aroused by a report like thunder, which came up from the vast lake boiling beneath them. Everybody started up; Billy Blueblazes, seizing hold of Desmond, alongside whom he was sleeping, exclaimed—

“Is the volcano going to burst out and smother us? Won’t it be better to run for it?”

“Arrah, sure it will be running faster than we can,” answered Desmond, who wasn’t quite comfortable, though he didn’t wish to show it.

On looking over the cliff, however, the lake was seen boiling away as before, sending up here and there spouts of fire, which at the distance they were below them looked like flashes from firearms at night, though probably fifty or sixty feet in height. No one, however, felt inclined to turn in again for some time, in spite of the cool air which circled round them. As they looked over the crater, the shadows from its mighty walls were cast upwards, reaching, it seemed, to the sky, and giving it the appearance of being clothed in a dark cloud.

“It is very fine,” cried Terence at length; “but if we wish to enjoy our ramble to-morrow, we shall be wise to get a little more sleep.”

His advice was followed. After breakfast next morning several of the party started off to walk round the crater, while the more adventurous ones, including the two commanders, Tom, and Desmond, with a couple of Kanaka guides, again descended another part of the cliff to the ledge. On looking at the spot where they had stood on the previous evening, a thrilling sensation came over them as they observed that it had disappeared in the burning lava below—the cause undoubtedly of the noise which had startled them during the night. Still they were anxious to get close down to the boiling lava, and obtain some of it in a state of fusion. Their guide confessed that many had gone and come back safe, but that he considered it an expedition of no slight danger. Probably at that moment neither Jack nor Terence were thinking of their wives at home.

They had gone some way, when suddenly the whole mass surged upwards, and the lava on which they were walking began to crack, while terrific reports were heard.

“Back! back!” cried the guide. They needed no second warning, but, keeping apart, made for the upper ledge. All had gamed it, except Tom, who, being at a distance from the rest, made for a part which when he got up to it he found inaccessible. Close behind him at that moment the crust was rent asunder by a terrific heave, and a vast jet of molten lava, with a fearful noise, rose high into the air. Almost roasted by the heat, he cried out for help; in another moment it would have been too late, when the guide, hearing his voice amid the uproar, leant over, and, just able to grasp his arm, though his own face was burnt in the attempt, jerked him up with a strength few of Tom’s companions could have exerted, and placed him in comparative safety. Not a moment was to be lost, for the seething mass was fast gaining on them. Up the cliffs they climbed till they gained a place of safety.

“We’ve had enough of the inside of the crater,” said Jack, as he thought how nearly Tom had been lost; and they made their way again to the upper rim of the vast basin. The larger lake, they calculated, was 1190 yards long and about 700 wide; the smaller nearly circular, and upwards of 300 yards across. The lava continued rising till it overflowed a large portion of the hitherto black surface, in some places appearing like a vast sheet of liquid fire, in others running along in serpentine courses. As their time was short, as soon as the party who had gone round the crater arrived, the tents were packed up, and they commenced their descent by the way they had come.

The next day the ships weighed, and shaped their course for Vancouver’s Island, under sail. Jack and Terence were eager to reach their destination, in the hopes of finding letters awaiting them there from England. In about little more than three weeks they entered Fuca Straits, up which they ran for about sixty miles, with magnificent scenery on both sides, though desolate in the extreme, till they reached Esquimault Harbour, in Vancouver’s Island; about three miles from which stands Victoria, the capital.

Jack and Terence eagerly awaited the letter-bag, which, as soon as their arrival was known, would be sent off to them. Jack was reading his letters, when Adair came on board.

“Jack,” he said, “the kind old admiral and Mrs Deborah have both gone, and have left Lucy and me the whole of their property.”

“Our good old friends dead!” exclaimed Jack, in a tone of grief; “I can scarcely realise the fact. I can remember him from my earliest days; always the same—kind and wise, and hearty and full of spirits. I saw a great change in him before we left, but still hoped to be greeted by his cheery voice on our return. How my father and mother will miss him!”

“I especially must ever hold his memory in grateful remembrance,” said Adair, with feeling. “For Lucy’s sake, I am most thankful that he and his kind sister have left us their property, as indeed I am for my own. I must be off for England as soon as I can get superseded, as it is absolutely necessary to settle their affairs. I wish you had as good an excuse as I have.”

“I heartily congratulate you, Terence,” said Jack; “but I am not sure that I shall not also have to go home before long, for Julia writes me word that her father is very ill, and much wishes to see me. As we have already served two years, I don’t think that the Admiralty will object to supersede us, as it will give them an opportunity of obliging some of their friends.”

After the two young commanders had somewhat got over the sorrow they naturally felt at hearing of the admiral’s death, their spirits recovered; and, when together, they could talk of little else than their proposed return. They hoped to be sent down to Panama, where their ships could wait till their successors arrived. They possibly, on this account, took less interest in Vancouver’s Island than they might otherwise have done, though present at a naval regatta at Esquimault, when the quiet harbour assumed a wonderfully gay appearance by the arrival of numerous steamers and boats of various descriptions from Victoria, and also at several cricket-matches played between the settlers and the officers of the ships’ companies, and at a ball at Government House. The midshipmen voted the ball a decided failure as far as they were concerned, in consequence of the small amount of attention they received from the fairer portion of the guests; though they considered the cricket-matches and regatta very good fun.

At length the Dragon and Eolus were ordered to Panama. Soon after their arrival, two officers, who had come across the isthmus by the railway, made their appearance on board with the welcome information that they were to supersede them. They were both old shipmates, in whom they could place thorough confidence; they therefore left those who had so long sailed with them with less regret than would have been the case had they confided them to the charge of strangers. Notwithstanding the distance they had to pull, their respective midshipmen begged leave to man the boats which conveyed them on shore; and a few minutes after landing they were seated in the railway-car, which rattled on through the rich vegetation of the tropics, across the famed Isthmus to Colon, the port on its eastern side. Thence proceeding by the mail steamer, they safely reached Southampton, where Julia and Lucy were waiting to receive them.

The important affairs which had brought them home took some time to settle, and, Colonel Giffard soon afterwards dying, Jack found himself in possession of a comfortable income, which few people were better able to enjoy. He frequently heard from Tom, who liked his new commander, and gave an amusing account of the subsequent adventures he met with in the Pacific. That young gentleman never alluded to the fair Feodorowna, and in a letter Jack received from Higson, he learned that she had married, not long after her sister, a Russian gentleman of good fortune; though she never failed to inquire after her youthful admirer, hoping that in ten years or so he would find an English wife to suit him.

Dick Needham got charge of a ship in ordinary, and nothing gave him so much delight as to receive a visit from his old shipmates, who never failed to go and see him when they went to Portsmouth.

Ben Snatchblock remained in charge of the Stella, and every summer when Murray was at home she was to be seen trim and taut at her old moorings off Bercaldine. The three commanders paid their wives the compliment not to apply in a hurry for employment, though they all at different times had commands offered them, which, however unwilling they were to leave home, they felt it their duty to accept. They were in due time posted, and all three are now admirals.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Three Lieutenants"

Chapter One.

Lieutenant Jack Rogers at home—His brother Tom resolves to follow in his wake—His old shipmates discussed—Letter from Terence Adair descriptive of his family—Admiral Triton pleads Tom’s cause—The Admiral’s advice to Tom—Leaving home.

“Really, Jack, that uniform is excessively becoming. Do oblige us by standing up as if you were on the quarter-deck of your ship and hailing the main-top. I do not remember ever having seen a naval officer above the rank of a midshipman in uniform before. Do you, Lucy?”

“Only once, at a Twelfth-night party at Foxica, to which you did not go, when Lady Darlington persuaded Admiral Triton to rig himself out, as he called it, for our amusement, in a naval suit of the time of Benbow, belonging to her great-grandfather. I prefer Jack in his uniform, I own, and he looks infinitely better in it than he does in top-boots and a hunting-coat, when he is eclipsed by many of the young farmers who have not two ideas to string together.”

These remarks were made in the presence of Jack Rogers by his young and pretty sisters, Mary and Lucy, soon after his return home from China, on his promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, when one morning he entered the breakfast-room, dressed in a bran-new uniform, which, with inward satisfaction, he had put on at their request, that he might exhibit it to them. It set off to advantage his manly, well-knit figure, at which no one could look without seeing that he must possess ample strength of limb and muscle. An honest, kind heart beamed through a somewhat broad, very sun-burnt countenance. His features were good, though, and his head was well set on a wide pair of shoulders, which made him look shorter than he really was, not that he could boast of being a man of inches. Take him for all in all, Jack Rogers was a thoroughly good specimen of the British naval officer. Of course his sisters admired him—what sisters would not?—but their admiration was surpassed by that of his youngest brother, Tom, who was firmly of opinion that there never had been and never could be anybody like him; yet Tom was Jack in miniature, and the portrait of Jack, taken just before he went to sea, was frequently supposed to be that of Tom. At school (Tom went to Eagle House, which, though old Rowley had retired to enjoy a well-earned “otium cum dignitate” in his native Cumberland, still kept up its ancient character under an able master) his great delight was to talk of the sayings and doings of “my brother Jack,” and to read extracts from the accounts of the latter, which from time to time came home. Tom’s schoolfellows knew almost as much about Jack’s adventures as those who, in subsequent years, read them in print, and they all agreed that he must be a first-rate chap.

“I should think so, indeed,” said Tom, in a tone of confidence. “If you were just to see him once you’d say I am right, and my great wonder is, that the Lords of the Admiralty don’t make him a post-captain right off at once. They couldn’t help themselves if they knew him as well as I do.”

Thus admiring Jack, it was natural that Tom should have resolved to follow in his footsteps. His whole heart was set upon being a sailor, and going some day to sea with Jack. He did not talk much about his intentions; that was not his way, except, perhaps, to one or two very intimate friends; but he had confided his hopes and wishes to Admiral Triton, who had promised to forward them.

“You can’t choose a better profession, and I’ll see about it when the time comes,” answered the Admiral. “Not that the service is what it was, but I never hold with those who swear that it’s going to ruin, and I shall have no fear on that score as long as there are plenty of fine young fellows in it, like your brother Jack and his friends Murray and Adair and scores of others, and such as you’ll turn out, Tom, I’m sure. No, no. I’ve a notion, however, that we should have been much the better if those abominable, smoky tea-kettles of affairs introduced of late years had never been thought of, but one comfort is, that they never can be of the slightest possible use as men-of-war, though they may serve to tow ships into action when forts are to be attacked and such-like work. Never do you get appointed to one if you can help it, Tom. They’ll spoil our sailors as sailors if they do nothing else.”

This was said before the Nemesis in China, and other steamers had done good service, which even seamen of the old school could not disparage.

Of course Tom regarded steamers with the utmost contempt, and never spoke of them without quoting the remarks of Admiral Triton, who, however, in the course of time, learnt to modify his opinions.

Tom, who had come home for the holidays with secret hopes of not having to return to Eagle House, sat proudly smiling his assent to their sisters’ remarks on Jack, stopping for awhile from the vigorous attack on a plate of ham and eggs, which he had before been making. Jack, who had taken a chair at the table, asked quietly,—“do you really wish to hear me hail the main-top?” Mary nodded.

Tom’s eyes twinkled, his countenance beamed all over with delight.

Jack got up, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and put his hand to his mouth as if about to hail.

“I had better not,” he said, laughing, “lest I frighten the household out of their propriety. They will think that some wild bull has got into the breakfast-room.”

“Oh, never mind that; we want to hear how you do speak on board ship,” said Lucy; “just a few words, you know.”

“As you like it,” said Jack, and then, putting his hand to his mouth, he shouted simply, “Maintop there!”

The sound made his sisters jump from their chairs. Tom clapped his hands with delight, and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. In rushed the butler and footman and two housemaids, with dusters in their hands, to ascertain what was the matter. Sir John came hurrying in from the garden with a look of astonishment on his countenance, and her ladyship’s own maid was sent down to know if anything had happened.

“I told you so,” said Jack to his sisters. “I was only speaking as we do sometimes at sea,” he added, turning to the servants, the female portion of whom lingered to take an admiring look at their young master.

Sir John gazed with a father’s pride at his manly son, and then looked at Tom, about whom he had the evening before received a letter from Admiral Triton, saying that if the boy still wished to go into the Navy, he should have great pleasure in getting him forthwith appointed to a ship.

“If the service turns him out as fine a fellow as his brother, I shall not regret should he choose it,” thought the baronet. “I’ll talk to him and Jack about the matter by-and-by, and ascertain the real bent of the boy’s inclinations.” Had Tom known what was passing in his father’s mind he would speedily have decided the question.

The whole party were soon assembled at breakfast—that pleasantest and most sociable of meals in an English country-house. Besides the members of the family already introduced, there was Lady Rogers—fair, comely, gentle-mannered—and kind-hearted—Paul the eldest son, studying the law that he might take the better care of his paternal estates; and, lastly, Sidney, a captain in the Guards, at home on leave. Then there were several guests, county neighbours, who had come for a couple of nights, a brother officer of Sidney’s and a school-fellow of Lucy’s. Jack cast an appreciating glance over the breakfast-table, with its plates of attractive little rolls, its racks of thin, crisp toast, its small pats of butter, swimming amid ice in elegantly-designed bowls of crystal, its eggs under snow-white napkins, its covered dishes containing muffins or sausages or other minute delicacies, its hissing urn and cream and milk jugs, and tea set at one end, and its coffee set at the other, presided over by two sweet-looking girls; and then he smilingly looked over his shoulder at the side-board, on which, among various comestibles, appeared a round of beef, another of brawn, a huge ham, and a venison-pasty.

Who that has been long a wanderer from home has not gone back in memory to such a scene as now greeted Jack’s eyes, especially when hunger has been gnawing or provender coarse? Jack often had, and though he had never grumbled at privations or hardships, he was, notwithstanding, all the more ready to do ample justice to the viands spread out before him. He showed this when, after having helped several of the party from the side-board, he returned with his own well-loaded plate to the table. The guardsman watched him with astonishment, and even his brother, the barrister, thought that Jack had got an enormous appetite. Jack, who was hungry, saw no reason why he should not eat till he was satisfied, and had laid in a store of food to last him till the seven o’clock dinner, for luncheon he eschewed as effeminate and an unnecessary interruption to the business of the day.

Before breakfast was concluded the post-bag was brought in, opened by Sir John, and its contents distributed. An official-looking letter, addressed to Jack, attracted universal attention.

“Who is it from?” asked Mary anxiously.

“About your prize-money, Jack?” inquired his mother. “You are not yet again appointed to a ship, I hope, my dear boy?”

“I am, though!” exclaimed Jack exultingly, for the moment not thinking of his mother’s feeling, “and second of a fine new thirty-six gun frigate the Plantagenet, commanded by my old friend Hemming. Couldn’t wish for anything better. Where there’s work to be done he is sure to be sent.”

“But you will not have to go away at once, dear Jack, I trust,” cried Lucy, who loved her sailor brother dearly.

Tom said nothing, and it might have been difficult to decide whether he was about to cry or laugh. He evidently felt as much interested in the announcement as Jack himself.

“Faith, they do work you hard,” observed his guardsman brother. “If the purchase-system was allowed in your service I suspect that buyers would be rare.”

“I am very glad it doesn’t; for now, if a hardworking fellow gets his foot on the ratlines he has a chance of climbing upwards,” answered Jack. “However, as the Plantagenet has only just been commissioned, I shall be able to enjoy the civilising influences of home for a short time longer. In truth, I am almost ashamed at being pleased with the thoughts of going off again to sea; but after having knocked about all one’s life as a midshipman it is satisfactory to feel that one is an officer in reality, with a cabin of one’s own.”

“Of course, my boy; much more natural than to wish to be dangling after your sisters, or any other of the petticoat tribe who might take it into their heads to patronise you,” said Sir John, glancing with all a father’s pride at his gallant son. “To what station are you to be sent?”

“As far as I can discover, that remains as yet in the mysterious depths of my Lords Commissioners’ minds,” answered Jack, glancing over some other letters. “Hemming has an idea that it may be to the West Indies; at least such is the opinion of the Portsmouth tailors, who have generally more correct information on these matters than any one else. Just now, when the world is so peaceably disposed, it is not of much consequence where we go; and as I have never been in those seas I would rather be sent there than anywhere else.”

“I trust that it will not be to the West Indies, my dear boy,” said Lady Rogers. “I have read such sad accounts of the dreadful yellow fever which kills so many people, and of those terrible hurricanes which send so many ships to the bottom, and devastate whole islands whenever they appear, that I tremble at the thoughts of your going there.”

“Pray don’t let such an idea trouble you, mother,” answered Jack; “the yellow fever only comes once in a way, and hurricanes appear even less frequently; so that we may hope to escape both one and the other, even if we do go there. I have no wish, however, to leave home in a hurry, and should be glad to remain long enough to receive Murray and Adair, whom I invited to come here, but I am afraid when they hear of my appointment that they will write to put off their visit till another time, which may never arrive. It is not likely that we shall be at home together again. They are capital fellows. You remember them, Lucy, when we were all on shore after our first trip to sea, and they came to call on us in London, and afterwards Adair went down with us for a few days into the country.”

“Yes, indeed. Mr Adair, I suppose I must now call him, was, I remember, a terrible pickle; while Mr Murray appeared to be a wonderfully sedate, taciturn young Scotchman, a pattern of correctness and propriety,” said Lucy.

“Maybe, but as noble and brave a fellow as ever breathed!” exclaimed Jack warmly. “I should like to know what opinion you would form of him now. I must write by to-day’s post, and beg him to put off other engagements if he can, and come to us at once.”

“And that terrible pickle, as Lucy calls him, your Irish friend, Mr Adair, are we to have the honour of renewing our acquaintance with him before you go away?” asked Mary. “I must protest against having him here unless you are present to restrain his exuberant spirits, and the various eccentricities in which he may take it into his head to indulge.”

“Oh, Paddy Adair is as gentle as a pet lamb if you only manage him properly,” answered Jack, laughing. “Those various eccentricities are merely his little frolicsome ways, which can be restrained by silken cords. There isn’t a quieter fellow breathing in the society of grown-up young ladies, such as you now are. Remember, you were school girls when you saw him last, and he possibly did not think it necessary to treat you with the respect he now would.”

“He must indeed be much altered then,” observed Lucy. “He had then a curious fancy for standing on his head, jumping out of windows, and climbing in at them too, dressing up the dogs and cats in costume, letting off squibs under horses’ noses, putting gunpowder into candles, etcetera, while his tongue kept up a continued rattle from morning till night.”

“Avast there, sister,” cried Jack, interrupting her; “I beg your pardon; you have made me speak like a sailor on the stage. I assure you that Paddy would not dream of committing any of the atrocities you enumerate; on the contrary, if you ask him what is the chief drawback to his pleasure in society he will tell you that it is an overpowering bashfulness, which prevents him from expressing himself with the fluency he desires, and that his great wish when mixing in society is to receive sympathy and gentle encouragement to enable him to feel at his ease.”

“From what I recollect of your friend, Mr Adair, I should have thought it difficult to find a young man more at his ease in any society into which he may be thrown,” observed Lady Rogers, who was somewhat matter of fact; “I beg therefore, my dear Jack, that you will not persuade your sisters to give him any of that sympathy and gentle encouragement he wishes for, or I do not know where he will stop short.”

“Depend on me, mother, I will be as discreet as a judge,” said Jack, who had thus succeeded as he desired in turning the thoughts of Lady Rogers and his sisters from the yellow fever and hurricanes of the West Indies, and the conversation for the remainder of breakfast-time became general.

He wrote immediately to his two old messmates, begging them to come at once, and telling them of his appointment to the Plantagenet. Much to his regret, and possibly to that of his sisters, who were curious to see into what sort of persons the young midshipmen had grown, they could neither of them immediately avail themselves of his invitation. They congratulated him on his good luck, and said that as their friends were exerting their interest to get them afloat it was possible that they might ere long meet again, though as they were of the same standing in the service they could not hope all to be appointed to one ship. Alick Murray wrote from Scotland. He had taken under his wing a young orphan cousin, Archy Gordon, who longed to go to sea. Alick said that his great wish was to have the lad with him, should he get a ship, “if not,” he added, “I shall be thoroughly satisfied to have him with either you or Adair, as I am sure that you will both stand his friend in case of need, and keep an eye on him at all times.”

“Of course I will,” said Jack to himself. “Murray’s friends must always be my friends, and those he cares for I must care for; however, I hope that he will not be allowed to rust long on shore; little chance of it when once he has made himself known.”

Adair was in Ireland. “Things are not quite so bad as I expected to find them in the halls of my ancestors,” he wrote. “Although the estate with its thousands of acres of forest and bog was knocked down as I told you, the old castle of Ballymacree, with a few dirty acres surrounding it, was bought back again, and still serves as a residence for my father and mother, and the best part of a score of my brothers and sisters, and the wives and husbands and children of the elder ones—a pretty large party we make, you may fancy. I felt myself quite lost at first among them all, and the noise and confusion which prevailed after the quiet and regularity of a man-of-war quite confounded me; however, I have got accustomed to it now, and can join heartily in the fun and frolic which goes on from morning till night, and considering my bashful and retiring disposition, this will show you that I feel myself at home and perfectly happy.”

“I said so,” exclaimed Jack triumphantly, showing the letter to his sisters; “I told you what a quiet, sedate fellow Terence has become, and here is proof of it. Let us see what more he says.” Jack read on:—

“I confess, however, that the sooner I am away and afloat again, the better for the rest of the family. How they all manage to exist is to me a puzzle. To be sure there are fish in the streams and neighbouring lakes, and game in abundance, which we retain the right of shooting; and sheep on the hills, which, as my father does not attempt any new-fangled plans for improving the condition of the people, are allowed to exist; and there are praties in the fields, and fruit and vegetables in the garden; but there is a scarcity of flour and groceries, and instead of the claret which, in the good old days, flowed freely at table, we are reduced to drink whisky, of which the excise has not always had an opportunity of taking due cognisance. My father does not quite see the matter in the light I do, and was inclined to be offended when I ordered down a cask of the cratur from Dublin, as a salve to my conscience, and a few dozen of claret, as a remembrance of days gone by; but as the latter went in about as many evenings, we shall have to stick to the whisky in future. However, if the house holds together till the Plantagenet is paid off, I can promise you plenty of amusement of one sort or another, and the enjoyment of magnificent scenery, if you, my dear Jack, will pay a visit to Ballymacree. You may depend, too, on as hearty a welcome as I am sure I should have received by your family had I been able to avail myself of your invitation. To be sure we muster somewhat stronger than you do, I suspect, and, might possibly exhibit, what with your sedate English ideas you would consider an exuberance of spirits, and I am almost afraid that you would think my five fair young sisters rather hoydenish young ladies, compared to your own. One of them, Kathleen, is looking over my shoulder and exclaims, ‘Arrah, now Terence, don’t be after saying that same, or Leeftenant Rogers will be thinking us a set of wild Irish girls, with no more civilisation than a family of gipsies;’ but I tell her I won’t scratch out what I have written, but I’ll add that she’s not the ugliest of the lot; so, dear Jack, when you do come, you can form your own opinion; I only wish that I had the chance of making some prize-money for their sakes. By-the-bye, the eldest of them, Nora, who, at sixteen, married Gerald Desmond, has got a son called after his father, who has taken it into his head to go to sea, and as nothing I can say will make him alter his mind, I suppose he must have his way. I have written to our cousin, Lord Derrynane, and asked him to try and get Gerald appointed to the Plantagenet, as I should like him to be under Hemming and you. He is a ‘broth of a boy,’ as we say here, and I know for my sake, Jack, that you will look after him. They say that he is very like me, which won’t be in his disfavour in your eyes—though I don’t think I ever was such a wild youngster as he is; not that there’s a grain of harm in him. Mind that, and he’ll soon get tamed down in the navy. I don’t think I ever wrote so long a letter in my life, and so as it’s high time to bring it to an end, farewell, Jack, till we meet, and may that be soon, is the sincere wish of,

“Yours ever faithful and true,

“Terence Adair.”

“Of course I will look after his nephew, as I would my own brother. I’ll write and tell him so, though he knows it,” exclaimed Jack; “and now, Lucy, what do you think of my old shipmate?”

“I cannot exactly say that I admire the style of his epistle, but I have no doubt that he is as kind-hearted and brave as you describe him,” answered Lucy.

“I don’t mean to say that he is much of a letter-writer,” said Jack; “but at all events he writes as he feels and speaks, in the belief that no eye but mine would read what he had written. His mind is like a glass—it can be seen through at a glance; and he has no idea of concealing a single thought from those he trusts, though he is close enough with the world in general; and I can tell you that he is as true as steel, and as brave and high-spirited as he is kind-hearted and generous.”

“A perfect hero of romance,” observed Lucy, laughing; “I am really sorry that he is not coming here to enable us to judge of him fairly.”

Possibly Lucy thought more about Lieutenant Adair than she chose to acknowledge. She could not, however, help reflecting that her mamma would look upon an Irish half-pay naval lieutenant, with a host of penniless brothers and sisters, in no very favourable light, should he come in the character of a suitor, so that after all it was just as well he could not accept Jack’s invitation.

Jack made the most of his time while he remained at Halliburton Hall, winning the good-will of everybody in the neighbourhood. He laughed and talked and danced with the fairer portion in the most impartial manner; young and old, pretty and plain, all came in for a due share of his attentions. His sisters were quite vexed with him for not falling in love with one of three or four of their especial friends. They had a preference for a Julia Giffard; but should Jack fail to lose his heart to Julia, or Julia decline bestowing hers on him, there were at least three others of almost equal attractions and perfections, either of whom they could love as a sister-in-law; and it would be so delightful, while Jack was away, to have some one to whom they might talk about him, and to whom he would write such delightful letters which they, of course, would have the privilege of reading.

Then, some day, when he was a commander or post-captain, he would come home, and marry, and settle down in a pretty little cottage near them, and take to gardening, as many naval officers do, and be so happy. One day they delicately broached the subject to Jack. He burst into a hearty laugh.

“I fall in love with Julia Giffard!” he exclaimed. “My dear girls, what a miserable fate you are suggesting for your friend. Suppose she were to engage herself to me! Away I go for three or four years; back for two months, and off again for a cruise of like duration as the first. In the mean time she meets half-a-dozen more likely fellows than I am, as far as money is concerned at all events, but cannot encourage them on account of her fatal engagement to me; and perhaps, after all, I get knocked on the head and never come home at all, while the best years of her youth have gone by. No, no, girls; young naval officers who intend to follow up their profession have no business to marry; that’s my opinion, and I intend to act on it.”

Jack’s sisters were disappointed, for they saw that he was in earnest, and had sound sense on his side, still they were not inclined to give in.

“Then why were you so anxious to get your two brother officers to come here?” asked Lucy, with considerable naïvété.

“Whew! was that running in your head, missie?” cried Jack. “There’s no use denying the fact.”

What that fact was Jack did not say. Lucy blushed, and said no more about Julia Giffard to her hard-hearted brother. Jack went on as usual, making himself agreeable, to the best of his power, and no one would have suspected who saw them together, that the pretty Julia had been suggested to him as his future wife, least of all the young lady herself. He and every one of the family had soon another matter to engage their attention—Admiral Triton arrived. Tom on seeing him could scarcely conceal his agitation. The crisis of his fate, as he believed, had arrived. The Admiral was diplomatic, however, not knowing how Sir John, or at all events Lady Rogers, would receive his proposal to send off another of their sons as an offering to Neptune. He and Tom had a long talk, first in private. Tom acknowledged that he had serious thoughts of stowing himself away in Jack’s chest, not to come out till the ship was well at sea when he could not be landed; or, failing that plan, to run off and enter as a powder-monkey or cabin-boy under a feigned tame. Go he would he had determined, in some way or other, for if not, he should certainly fall into a decline, or at all events pine away till he was fit for nothing. As the Admiral looked at his sturdy figure and rosy cheeks he burst into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t fear any such result even should you meet with a refusal, Tom,” he observed, wishing to try him a little further.

“Oh, Admiral Triton, you don’t think that they would wish to make a parson or a lawyer of me surely?” exclaimed Tom, in a tone of alarm.

“I cannot say honestly that I consider you cut out exactly for either profession, though I have no doubt you would do your duty should you be induced to adopt one or the other,” was the answer. “However, I will speak to your father and mother, and if they give me leave I will see what can be done for you at the Admiralty, and should there be a vacancy get you appointed to Jack’s ship.”

Tom thanked the Admiral from the very bottom of his young heart, though he felt a qualm at the thoughts of the sorrow he should cause his mother, even should she consent to part with him her youngest born. It did not, it must be confessed, last very long, and he looked forward anxiously to the result of the Admiral’s application on his behalf.

Admiral Triton waited till after dinner, when the party were assembled in the drawing-room to broach the subject. A very short conversation with Sir John showed him that there would be no strong opposition on his part, and he accordingly stumped over to Lady Rogers, by whose side he seated himself on the sofa, sticking out his timber toe and commencing with a warm eulogy on Jack.

“A right gallant fellow is that son of yours. I knew from the first that he would turn out well; has fully equalled my expectations; had the true spirit of a sailor as a boy; we want a succession of such in the service; had I a dozen suits I would send them all to sea, that is to say if they wished to go. Naval men, generally, don’t think as I do, perhaps. They fancy that the country doesn’t appreciate their services, and, therefore, won’t appreciate their sons, and so look out for berths on shore for them; but it’s possible, Lady Rogers, that they over-estimate themselves. The case is very different with Jack; he is as modest as a maiden of sixteen, and yet as bold and daring as a lion; a first-rate officer; he’s sure to get on; he’ll be a commander in three or four years, and be a post-captain not long after. Now, there’s your boy, Tom, just such another lad as Jack was—sure to rise in the service; and yet he’d be thrown away in any other profession. If you send him to Oxford or Cambridge he’d expend all his energies in boat-racing, or steeple-chasing and cricket—very good things in their way, but bringing no result; whereas, the same expenditure of energy in the navy would insure him honour and promotion; and depend on it he’ll get on just as well as Jack.”

“But do you think, Admiral, that Tom really wishes to go to sea?” asked Lady Rogers, in a slightly trembling voice.

“No doubt about it; determined as a young fellow can be, with yours and his father’s permission,” answered the Admiral; and he gave an account of his conversation with Tom, assuring her ladyship that Sir John had no objection provided she would consent.

Lady Rogers called up Tom, who had been watching her and the Admiral from a distant part of the room, guessing what was going forward. With genuine feeling he threw his arms round his mother’s neck, and while, with tears in his eyes, he confessed that he had set his heart on going to sea, he told her how very sorry he felt at wishing to leave her.

“The news does not come upon me unexpectedly, my dear boy,” she answered, holding his hand and looking with all a mother’s love into his honest face. “I have long suspected that you wished to go to sea; but, as you did not say so positively, I thought, perhaps, that you might change your mind. However, as Admiral Triton assures me that you are cut out for a sailor, and that he can answer for your becoming as good an officer as your brother Jack is said to be, if your father gives his consent, I will not withhold mine.”

“Thank you, mother, thank you!” cried Tom, again throwing his arms round her neck, when something seemed to be choking him, and he could say no more.

“He has the right stuff in him, never fear, never fear, Lady Rogers,” said the Admiral, nodding his head approvingly behind Tom’s back; “he’ll do.”

The rest of the evening was spent in discussing several important points connected with Tom’s outfit, Jack being called in to the consultation. Admiral Triton confessed that, not expecting a refusal, he had already made all arrangements at the Admiralty for Tom to join the Plantagenet with Jack; and Tom, his ardent hopes realised, went to bed to dream of his dashing frigate, of Howe, Nelson, and Collingwood, of the countless adventures in which he expected to engage, and of the heroic exploits he had determined to perform.

Tom got up the next morning, feeling two inches taller, and walked about all day with the full consciousness that he was no longer a schoolboy, but a midshipman in the Royal Navy, with the right to demand due respect from all civilians; indeed the female portion of the establishment, with whom he was a monstrous favourite, were perfectly ready to humour him to his heart’s content. He had been the last baby in the family, and it was only a wonder that he had escaped being utterly spoiled. His manners did not escape the notice of the Admiral, who, highly amused, called him to take a turn in the grounds.

“A little advice from an old salt, who has seen no small amount of service, will do you no harm, my boy,” he began, after they had walked some way, talking of various matters. “You cannot steer a straight course, either on shore or afloat, without a definite object to guide you. Let yours be Duty. Never mind how disagreeable or how arduous or difficult it may seem, do that which you believe you ought to do, strictly obey the orders you receive, never neglect an opportunity of doing the right thing or of gaining professional knowledge, and never be tempted to do the wrong one. Every officer, remember, and man, too, from the commander-in-chief downwards, is bound to act to the best of his abilities for the good of the service. Whatever you are ordered to do, or however you may be treated by those above you, believe that they are actuated by that principle. If you remember that whatever you may be doomed to bear is for the good of the service, you will be able to endure an immense amount of what you may think hardship without grumbling. You will find a good many persons above you on board ship whom you will be bound to obey—your brother Jack among them. Be as zealous and as ready in obeying him as any one else. Never take offence from superiors or equals; it is the sign of a weak mind. When spoken to or even abused, whether you are in the right or the wrong, don’t answer again, and don’t be ashamed of expressing regret when anything has gone wrong. Do your best on all occasions—more you cannot do. There, Tom, I have given you a pretty long lecture; log it down in your memory, and act upon it. I repeat—let Duty be your guiding star; do your best for the good of the service, and don’t grumble at your superiors or abuse your inferiors. These are golden rules well worth remembering, my boy.”

“Thank you very much, Admiral Triton; I will try and not forget them,” answered Tom.

“By-the-bye, you’ll not find midshipmen of much ’count on board ship,” continued the Admiral, with a twinkle in his eye, watching to see how Tom took his remark. “Not only are they inferior in rank to all the commissioned officers, but to the three warrant officers who have risen from before the mast, and even the petty officers and men are inclined to treat them as nurses do the babies under their charge; so you must not be disappointed if you do not meet with the respect you may possibly expect from those whom you may look upon as your inferiors, though they’ll obey you readily when you repeat the orders you have received from your superiors.”

“I understand, Admiral,” said Tom, wincing a little at the remark about the babies, though he laughed as he spoke; “but I suppose, if I set to work to learn my duty and get quickly out of petticoats, I shall be sent away in charge of boats, as Jack used to be, and have opportunities of proving that I am worth something.”

“Well said, Tom; it won’t be long before you are breeched, depend on that,” said the Admiral, laughing and patting him on the back. “Just don’t mind asking for information from those able to afford it, and you will soon become a sailor.”

The last days at home went rapidly by. Tom enjoyed the satisfaction, shared in by the whole household, of appearing in his new uniform, an old one of Jack’s, which exactly fitted him, having been sent to Selby, the Portsmouth tailor, as a pattern. With no little pride also he buckled on a sword to his side, dirks having by that time gone out of fashion. Dreading the Admiral’s quizzing glances, he took the opportunity of his absence to exhibit himself, again putting on plain clothes before his return, and only at his mother’s request did he venture to resume his uniform at dinner, not again for many a day to appear in mufti.

Admiral Triton insisted on accompanying Jack and Tom to Portsmouth, where he was always glad of an excuse for going. It was a consolation to Lady Rogers to see Tom go off under Jack’s wing, as she knew that, as far as one human being can take care of another, Jack would watch over Tom. Jack left Halliburton without having, by word or look, confessed an attachment, even if he felt it, for Julia Giffard, or for any other young lady among his sisters’ dear friends. He and Tom were much missed, and certainly Julia Giffard, who came to stay there, took considerable interest in listening to his sisters’ accounts of Jack’s numerous exploits—so at least these young ladies fancied.

Chapter Two.

Admiral Triton at Portsmouth—The three old messmates meet each other, and their three young relatives become acquainted—The dinner at the “George” with Admiral Triton—Anecdotes—An eccentric commander—The frigate and corvette sail for the West Indies—A philosophical boatswain—Jolly time with fine weather—A heavy gale—Times change—Marines and midshipmen on their beam ends—Men lost—The midshipmen regain their appetites.

The Admiral and his two young friends were soon at Portsmouth. The former took up his quarters at the “George,” while Jack, who had remained at home to the last day allowable, accompanied by Tom, at once went on board the Plantagenet, lying alongside a hulk off the dockyard. He was warmly welcomed by Captain Hemming, and, much to his satisfaction, he found that the newly appointed first-lieutenant of the frigate was his old acquaintance Nat Cherry, lately second of the Dugong in the China Seas, from whence he had only just arrived. “The authorities give us but little time to enjoy the comforts and quiet of home,” he observed, “but it’s flattering to one’s vanity to discover that one’s services are considered of value; and so when Hemming applied for me I could not decline, on the plea that my health required recruiting after the hard work I went through in China, although my friends declare that I have become as thin as a lath, and have no more colour than a piece of brown leather. I cannot say that of you, Rogers, however.”

“Really, Cherry, you look to me as well filled out and as blooming as ever,” answered Jack, surveying the rotund figure and rosy cheeks of his new messmate; “you and I afford proof that hard work seldom does people harm. Idleness is the greatest foe to health of the two. And who is to be third of the frigate?”

“No one has as yet been appointed. The master and purser have joined—very good fellows in their way—with an assistant-surgeon, and three or four youngsters; among them young Harry Bevan, who was with us in the Dugong.”

“I am very glad of that,” said Jack; “Bevan is the style of lad I should wish as a companion for my young brother Tom.”

“Your brother, the youngster who came on board with you. I was sure of it; you are as like as two peas,” said Mr Cherry. “I hope that he’ll imitate you in all respects. It’s a satisfaction to have steady youngsters on board who keep out of scrapes and don’t give trouble.”

Tom—who had already made himself known to Harry Bevan—was called aft, and introduced by Jack to Mr Cherry, and felt very happy and proud as he looked along the deck of the fine frigate to which he belonged. It was no dream; there he was in reality, walking about and talking to Bevan and other fellows dressed like himself in midshipmen’s uniforms; and then he went into the berth, and took his seat among the others at dinner. It was just as Jack had described it; not very large, but, till the rest of the mess had joined, with just sufficient elbow-room. They had plenty of good things, for the caterer, old Higson, was something of an epicure; and Tom tasted grog for the first time, which he thought very nasty stuff, though he did not say so, as he knew that sailors liked it; and besides it would not be polite to express his opinion to Higson, who had evidently no objection to its taste. Altogether Tom was convinced that midshipmen, as he had always supposed, must lead very jolly lives. That very night, too, he was to sleep in a hammock, which he thought would be rare fun. He and his new messmates soon returned on deck, when the men who had been at dinner came tumbling up from below, and set to swaying up yards and hoisting in stores, the boatswain sounding his shrill pipe amidst the hubbub of noises—the officers, from Mr Cherry downwards, shouting at the top of their voices, and the men bawling and rushing in gangs here and there at headlong speed, hauling away at ropes till Tom felt more bewildered than he had ever before been in his life, and narrowly escaped being knocked over several times in spite of the efforts he made to keep out of the way. However, his experiences were only those of midshipmen in general when they first join a ship.

Tom had been advised by Jack to learn all about the masts and rigging as soon as possible, and he accordingly set to work without delay, asking questions of every one whom he for a moment saw standing quiet, and was likely to answer him. Harry Bevan told him a good deal, as did the other midshipmen, no one showing a disposition to humbug him, possibly on Jack’s account, who would have found them out if they had. Before night Tom began to fancy that he really knew something about a ship, though it might be some time before he could consider himself a thorough sailor.

Though the captain lived on shore, the first lieutenant had taken up his quarters on board; Jack finding plenty to do, and being economically inclined followed his example. A fine-looking corvette, the Tudor, was fitting out a little way higher up the harbour. Jack scanned her with a seaman’s eye, and thought that had he not been appointed to the frigate he should like to belong to her. It was still uncertain to what station the Plantagenet would be sent. No great difficulty, however, was found in getting men to enter for her. Sailors look more to the captain and officers than to the part of the world to which they are to go. One clime to them is much the same as another. They are as ready to go to the North Pole as to the coast of Africa, if they like the ship and the commander. Captain Hemming bore a good character, as did Lieutenants Cherry and Rogers, among those who had ever sailed with them. No persons are more thoroughly discussed than are naval officers by seamen; the wheat is completely sifted from the chaff, the gold from the alloy; and many who pass for very fine fellows on shore are looked upon as arrant pretenders afloat. Jack was making his way towards the shop of Mr Woodward the bookseller, when two seamen in a happy state of indifferentism to all sublunary affairs came rolling out of the street which debouches on the Common Hard near the Dockyard gates.

“I say, Dick, if that bean’t Jack Rogers, say I never broke biscuit!” exclaimed one of the men, pointing ahead with out-stretched arm.

“No doubt about it, Ben,” answered his companion, “I’d a known him a mile off, and I see’d last night in the paper that he’s appointed to the Plantagenet along with Captain Hemming. (Dick pronounced all the syllables long.) What say you? my pockets are pretty well cleaned out, and so, I’ve a notion, are yours. Shall we go and enter at once? It must come to that afore long.”

“I’m agreeable, Dick—when a thing’s to be done, it’s best to do it like men,” said Ben, just as they arrived in front of the bookseller’s shop, where they waited the reappearance of the lieutenant, Jack soon came out, and at once recognising two former shipmates in the Dugong, Dick Needham and Ben Snatchblock asked them if they were willing to join the Plantagenet. An affirmative being given, he begged them to pick up any other prime hands they could come across. By the evening, when he returned on board, he had, much to his satisfaction, obtained ten good men.

The next day Jack went on shore for the same purpose, accompanied by Tom, with the intention of calling on Admiral Triton before returning on board. They had just passed through the Dockyard gates when Jack saw approaching from the left, accompanied by a young midshipman, a lieutenant, whom it did not take him many seconds to recognise as his old messmate, Alick Murray. They did not exactly rush into each other’s arms as Frenchmen or Spaniards would have done, but they shook hands with honest warmth, and Jack exclaimed, “I thought you were in Scotland. Where have you sprung from, Alick?”

Murray then told him that he had been appointed as second lieutenant to the Tudor, Commander Babbicome, with orders to join immediately, which he had done the previous evening but having the outfit of a youngster to look after, and letters to write, he had been unable to get on board the Plantagenet. He turned round and introduced his companion, a tall, slight lad, as his cousin Archy Gordon, who had also been appointed to the corvette. Thereon Jack introduced Tom, and the two midshipmen, who had before been eyeing each other askance, shook hands, and of course at once fraternised. Tom felt very proud of being able to speak in an authoritative tone about the frigate to Archy, who had not as yet been on board the corvette, and had not even seen a ship of war except at a distance.

“We do things as smart as lightning aboard our frigate, I can tell you,” continued Tom. “Our first lieutenant is a very good fellow, and our second is my brother Jack, and there are not many like him. I’ve been twice up to the main truck, and ever so often into the mizen-top, and we’ve a capital mess, and shall be a jolly set when all hands join. Are you going to belong to us?”

“I dinna think so,” answered Archy, in a broad Scotch accent. “My cousin, that is my father’s sister’s son, Alick Murray there, is lieutenant of a ship they call the Tudor, and I’m to go alang wi’ him.”

“Oh, that’s the small craft fitting out ahead of us. She’s a fine little ship of her class though, so my brother Jack says, and so I may congratulate you, but of course she’s not to be compared to our frigate. I say, you must come and pay us a visit on board, and I’ll put you up to all sorts of things.”

Archy expressed himself much obliged, but cautiously refrained from accepting the invitation till he knew what his cousin Alick might say on the subject.

Meantime Jack and Alick Murray were talking eagerly together.

“And where are you bound for?” asked Jack.

“I heard through a friend at the Admiralty that the Tudor is to be sent to the same station as the Plantagenet, which, as you may suppose, gave me no slight satisfaction,” answered Murray.

“That is capital news,” cried Jack. “It will be curious if we keep together as lieutenants as much as we did as midshipmen, and go through as many more adventures as we have already fallen in with. I only wish that by some wonderful chance Paddy Adair could be with us.”

“And that same wonderful chance has brought him here,” exclaimed a voice from behind, and while a hand was placed on the shoulders of each, on looking round they caught sight of the merry countenance of Paddy himself, now smiling into the face of one, now into that of the other.

“It’s dropped from the clouds you are after thinking I am now,” he continued, laughing, “only they don’t as a rule rain such big fish as myself. Well then, to satisfy your curiosity you are indebted for the satisfaction of seeing me here this morning, to a peremptory missive from my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, directing me to hasten over from Ireland to join the Plantagenet as third lieutenant, and I needn’t tell you I never obeyed an order with more willing alacrity.”

“And I don’t think anything next to being made commander-in-chief right off could have given me greater satisfaction,” said Jack, who seldom indulged in anything so nearly approaching a sentimental speech.

Murray said something of the same sort.

While the three old school-fellows were carrying on an animated conversation, a third midshipman had joined Tom and Archy.

“Will ye be after telling me, if ye plase, who are those two leetenants my Uncle Terence is talking to?” he said, as he stepped up to them and made them a polite bow with his cap. Archy returned it, but Tom, who had discovered that it was not the fashion for midshipmen to bow to each other, only laughed, and asked as he pointed with his chin at the three lieutenants—

“Do you mean that merry-looking fellow between those two?”

“That same sure,” was the answer.

Tom explained who they were, adding, “And who are you, and what ship do you belong to?”

“Sure I don’t belong to one at all at all, but my Uncle, Terence Adair, is to be third lieutenant of the Plantagenet frigate, and I’m to be a midshipman with him; and in the matter of my name, I’m Gerald Desmond, of Ballymacree Castle, in County Clare, Ireland.”

“Well, Mr Gerald Desmond, of Bally—what do you call it, County Clare, Ireland? I have the pleasure of informing you that you are to be a messmate of mine, and as I’ve heard a good deal of your uncle, Paddy Adair, from my brother Jack, I shall be very happy to welcome you on board and to introduce you to the other fellows.”

Gerald expressed himself much obliged to Tom for the intended favour.

“But ye’ll not be after calling my Uncle Terence, Paddy, if ye plase,” he added, his Irish blood rising with the idea that some disrespect was shown to his relative.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that, my dear fellow,” said Tom, who never wished to quarrel with any one. “My brother Jack always calls him so, and the Paddy slipped out by mistake; but you may be very sure that you’ll be Paddy Desmond from the hour you step on board, and for ever after unless there’s another Irishman to deprive you of the title, though, probably, there’ll then be a brace of Paddies.”

“Faith, I’m not ashamed of my country, and I am perfectly happy to be Paddy Desmond if you and the other boys like to call me so,” answered Gerald, laughing.

Adair finding that it was not necessary to go on board the frigate immediately, accompanied his two friends into Portsmouth, the three young midshipmen following in their wake, Gerald having first been introduced to Jack and Alick. The youngsters were fast friends from that moment, laughing and rattling away, and playing each other all sorts of tricks. No one would have supposed that they had only just met for the first time in their lives. As they turned into the High Street the lieutenants encountered Admiral Triton stumping along in his flushing coat and weather-beaten hat. He recognised Murray and Adair at once, and invited them and Jack, with Tom and his two friends to dine with him at the “George” at six.

“I shall then hear how you like being a sailor. It isn’t too late to give it up,” said the Admiral, looking at Tom.

“Wouldn’t change if they would make me a judge or Archbishop of York,” answered Tom, in a positive tone.

“Just like Jack,” observed the Admiral, smiling, “I hope at the end of your cruise you’ll have no reason to repent your resolution.”

Jack during the day picked up several more men, and returned early on board; when Tom, with no little pride, introduced his new friend to the mess, as Mr Gerald Desmond, of Ballymacree Castle, County Clare, Ireland.

“Mr Gerald Desmond be hanged!” exclaimed old Higson, who had come down tired, after having worked hard all day, and was out of humour. “Call him Paddy Desmond at once. We have no misters in this berth.”

“And sure, so I am Paddy Desmond, and if it’s to show that I come from old Ireland, I’m proud of the title,” said Gerald, taking his seat, and looking about him with an air of unconcern.

“I told you so,” whispered Tom. “I knew from the first that they would call you Paddy.”

Gerald quickly made himself at home, and took in good part all the quizzing his messmates chose to bestow on him.

The dinner at the “George” went off capitally. The Admiral put his young guests at their ease, and let them talk and laugh away to their hearts’ content, telling them all sorts of amusing anecdotes, and though he took good care not to allow them to drink more wine than their heads could carry, they unanimously declared that he was the jolliest old fellow they had ever met. Of course, he did not forget to tell all the company boxy Adair had made him carry his portmanteau, and to chuckle over the story for five minutes at least.

“A pretty pass the service has come to when midshipmen take such liberties with their superiors, eh, Captain Sourcrout?” he exclaimed, giving a poke in the ribs with his elbow to a stiff, old, martinet style of post-captain, who sat next to him, and had looked utterly horrified at his story.

“The world’s turned upside down, isn’t it? We shall have the youngsters mast-heading us next, if we don’t exactly please them, eh?”

Captain Sourcrout, unable to speak from indignation, could only shake his head and frown terribly, at which the midshipmen, as he was not their captain, laughed the more heartily. The Admiral had heard, too, of the trick Jack and his messmates had played with Quirk, the monkey, on Lieutenant Spry, of the marines, and while he told the story as he had received it from Jack, with a few amplifications of his own, the tears ran down his eyes, till Captain Sourcrout, boiling over with indignation, exclaimed:

“The navy has indeed come to a pretty pass when such things are allowed. Instead of being mast-headed, the three midshipmen should have been brought to a court-martial, and dismissed the service.”

“But, my dear Captain Sourcrout, the affair happened a good many years ago, remember,” interrupted the Admiral, wishing to tranquillise him, “and had not leniency been shown to the culprits, the service would have lost three promising young officers likely to prove ornaments to it. However, I would advise other youngsters not to imitate them. Such tricks don’t bear repetition, I’ll allow. By-the-bye, Captain Sourcrout, are you acquainted with my old shipmate, Jerry Hazledine? He served under me as a youngster, and I have kept an eye on him ever since. He hailed from Ireland, and as all his ways and doings savoured strongly of the Emerald Isle, he was known as Paddy throughout the service.”

The Admiral went on, without wailing to hear whether Captain Sourcrout was or was not personally acquainted with the officer in question.

“Paddy Hazledine was possessed of prodigious strength, though he seldom put it forth, except in what he considered the side of right and justice. His notions, to be sure, on these points, were occasionally like himself, somewhat eccentric; ha! ha! ha! I remember it as if it were yesterday. Coming up High Street one night, I saw a crowd collected round a lamp-post, not one of your modern iron affairs, but a stout, honest one of timber, with a cross-bar at the top as long as a sloop’s cross-jack-yard. Seated with his legs over it was Paddy Hazledine in full rig, cocked hat and sword—he was a lieutenant then as composed as possible, smoking a cigar, which, it appeared, he had got up there for the purpose of lighting at the huge glass lamp, as big as a seventy-four’s poop-lantern. While he held on with one hand, in the other he flourished a formidable shillaly, which he usually carried, as he declared, in order to keep the peace when more warlike weapons could not be used. Below him stood half-a-dozen watchmen, who, in angry tones, were ordering him to come down, while he, in eloquent language, was asserting his right to be where he was, and proclaiming his intention of remaining there as long as suited his pleasure. Every now and then the watchmen made a rush at him with their cudgels, the blows from which his faithful shillaly enabled him to ward off, and occasionally to bestow a pretty heavy tap on the heads of the most daring of his assailants.

“‘Is it breaking the peace I am, do ye say?’ he exclaimed. ‘Not at all at all. It’s you are doing the same, and running the risk of getting your on heads broken as the consequence. Now be off wid you, and lave a quietly-disposed citizen to his meditations.’

“I kept out of sight to see what would happen next. At length the watchmen lost patience. While three of their number remained at a respectful distance from the heavy end of the shillaly to prevent Paddy from escaping, the others went off, as I supposed, for a ladder and further assistance. Hazledine, fearless of consequences, sat smoking his cigar with perfect composure. Presently a dozen watchmen came trooping up, some armed with sticks and others with crow-bars and pick-axes and spades. Their object was evident. While one party began digging away round the lamp-post, the others defended them by fierce assaults with their sticks on the gallant lieutenant’s legs, giving him enough to do for their defence, and thus preventing him from bringing down his weapon on the heads of their comrades. Still he showed every intention of keeping his seat, and notwithstanding the violent shaking which the working party gave the post as they got near the heel, he held on. At length, several stout fellows putting their shoulders to it, up it came, but instead of toppling it over, away they marched, carrying off Paddy in triumph, as they thought, to the watch-house; but they little knew the man they had got hold of. He seemed to enjoy the fun, and sat smoking as before, and occasionally indulging in a quiet laugh. Suddenly uttering a wild Irish shout, he sprang over the heads of his bearers, and with a whirl of his shillaly, scattering those who attempted to stop him, he darted down a narrow lane, the end of which they were passing at the time, and disappeared from sight. As his ship sailed the next morning, the police of Portsmouth searched in vain for the culprit, who, getting undiscovered on board, did not fail to amuse his messmates with a full account of his exploit; ha! ha! ha!”

The Admiral laughed heartily at his story, as, of course, did everybody else, with the exception of Captain Sourcrout, who, grimly smiling, observed—

“I should have brought that harum-scarum lieutenant to a court-martial pretty sharply.”

“What for—smoking a cigar on the top of a lamp-post?” asked the Admiral. “It is not against the articles of war.”

“No, Admiral Triton, but for conduct unworthy the character of an officer and a gentleman,” answered Captain Sourcrout gruffly.

“Well, as to that, people may be allowed to have their opinion. It’s not a usual proceeding, I grant you, but the act was beyond the jurisdiction of his captain, and as Paddy was as gallant a fellow as ever stepped and never failed in his duty, I don’t think he would have been willing to act as you suggest. We must not forget that we were once upon a time youngsters ourselves, and we may possibly recall to mind some of the tricks we played in those days, ay, and after we had mounted a swab, or maybe two, on our shoulders. You remember the sentry-box which stood at the inner end of the landing-place on the Common Hard, with a comfortable seat inside it, rather tempting, it must be confessed, to a drowsily-disposed sentry to take a quiet snooze. Our fore-fathers had more consideration for the legs and feet of soldiers than the martinets of our times. To be sure, it a sentry was found asleep he ought have been flogged or shot, but he could sit down and rest himself, and if he did so it was at his own risk.

“One night several young commanders, there may have been a post-captain among them, coming down to the Common Hard, after a dinner-party on shore, to go on board their ships, found the sentry fast asleep in his sentry-box. They, of course, were as sober as judges; he, evidently, drunk as a fiddler. They thereon held a consultation, and came to the unanimous conclusion that it was meet and fit that a man guilty of so flagrant an infraction of military discipline should receive condign punishment, and constituting themselves the executioners as well as the judges of the law, forthwith set about carrying out the sentence they had pronounced. Calling up the strongest men of their boats’ crews, they ordered them to shoulder the sentry-box and its sentry within, and to carry it down to one of the boats as gently as possible, not to awake the occupant. There, however, was little chance of that. Safe on board,—there being no witnesses but themselves to the operation,—the boat containing it was towed across to the Gosport shore, on which, being carefully landed, it was set up in its proper position, facing the harbour. Great, as may be supposed, was the consternation of the ‘Relief’ when it arrived at the post, to find sentry-box and sentry gone. The soldier could not have walked off with it as a snail does its shell on its back. A rigid search was instituted, but no sign of sentry or box could be discovered, and the sentry at the Dockyard gates, having also been snoozing at the time, had neither seen nor heard anything unusual. The captain of the guard, unable, even by a conjecture, to solve the mystery, considered it of sufficient importance to report without delay to the major, who, jumping to the conclusion, as he heard it when awakened from his first sleep, that the French had made their way into the harbour, and were about to assault the town, turned out the guard, ordered the draw-bridge to be hauled up, and, like a wise soldier, took every precaution to avoid surprise. Not till the next morning was his mind set at rest, when a report came from across the harbour that a sentry-box had been found on the Gosport shore, where one had not stood the night before, with a sentry in front of it, who could give no account of how he got there. The sentry, on awaking at daybreak, had in vain looked for the objects he expected to see around him, but deemed it prudent to maintain his post. When questioned, he roundly asserted that he had been broad awake all night, and the only conclusion to which he or any one else could come, was that he had been the victim of some trick of witchcraft.”

“Were you, admiral, among those who played it?” asked Captain Sourcrout “because then the less I say on the subject the better.”

“A man is not compelled by law to give evidence against himself,” answered the admiral, laughing. “I give the tale current at the time, and happened to have been informed of the facts which solved the mystery. I should say that Jerry Hazledine had nothing to do with it, as it was before his day. He has a good many things set down to his account.”

“Some of them were true bills, however,” observed another post-captain. “I was a midshipman under him when he commanded the old Turk. Though good-natured he was somewhat hot-tempered. One of our marines had been bred a barber, and Jerry, discovering this, made the man come in every morning to shave him, the steward following with a jug of warm water. It had just been placed on the table as the barber had finished lathering the captain’s face, but instead of being only warm was scalding hot. The marine, not reflecting on this, dipped in his razor, and intending to commence operations on the captain’s upper lip, touched the tip of his nose with the back. As Jerry felt the pain, on the impulse of the moment up went his fist, which he planted with a knock-down blow between the eyes of the unfortunate jolly, who rolled over, half-stunned, on the deck. I, at that moment, went into the cabin, having been sent on some duty or other, and heard Jerry shout out in a voice of thunder:—

“‘Take that, ye spalpeen, and think yourself fortunate to get it instead of the three dozen you would have had as sure as you’re alive for burning your captain’s nose.’ The captain, in half a minute, sitting down as if nothing had happened, the jolly picked himself up and went on with the operation, taking very good care, you may be certain, not to burn Jerry’s nose again. Some time after this, our captain received an intimation from the Admiralty, as did other captains, that flogging was as much as possible to be avoided, and other punishments substituted. On this, Jerry, who was possessed of an inventive turn of mind, set himself to work to devise such as would to a certainty be so hated by the men that they would answer the purpose of maintaining discipline fully as much as flogging. The ship’s cook was a one-legged negro, a jolly, fat fellow with a comical expression of countenance, Sambo Lillywhite by name, generally known as Sam Lilly. Sam had a white mate called Tim Dippings, an incorrigibly idle rascal. One day Tim—not for the first time—had neglected to clean the galley, and on being reported, both he and Sam Lilly were put in the black list. Jerry, exercising his inventive genius, ordered Tim to walk the deck the whole of the afternoon watch, with a cauldron slung round his neck half full of slush; while the black cook, with a huge frying-pan held at arm’s length in each hand, had to pace up and down for the same period. As each bell struck Tim had to sing out, ‘Here am I for not cleaning the galley,’ which was responded to by Sambo, in the most dolorous tone, with, ‘I here for no see ’um do it,’ his peculiar voice and the comical expression of his countenance eliciting roars of laughter from his shipmates. Thus at every half-hour the words went sounding along the deck, ‘Here am I for not cleaning the galley!’ ‘I here for no see ’um do it.’ Jerry, however, on another occasion, surpassed even himself, he caught a man smuggling a bottle of rum on board. The opportunity for exhibiting his inventive genius was not to be lost. The bottle was captured and the man put in the black list. The captain, after due consideration, ordered a cock to be fixed in a seven-gallon beaker, into which, being more than half-filled with water, the rum was emptied. It was then secured by a rope yarn round the neck of the culprit, who appeared thus at the commencement of the watch with a tumbler in his hand, and as the bell struck he had to fill his glass and drink the contents, shouting out at the top of his voice each time, ‘Here am I, a smuggler bold!’ He was never again caught smuggling spirits on board. Some captains with less inventive genius are much more cruel than was our friend Jerry in their black list punishments.”

“That is not a subject I wish to bear spoken of,” observed Captain Sourcrout, in an angry tone.

“Come, come, we’ll change it then, gentlemen,” exclaimed the good-natured admiral.

“I forgot,” whispered Jack’s neighbour to him. “Old Sourcrout is said to have had a man’s head shaved, and to have made him carry a kettle of boiling water on the top of it for two hours during every day-watch for a week, but that may be scandal.”

“As to the shaving I fancy so, but with regard to the water it is true enough, only it was not boiling,” answered Jack. “He got hauled up for it, notwithstanding, and no wonder that he does not like the subject of black-listing spoken of.”

Notwithstanding the grumpy remarks Captain Sourcrout occasionally let drop, the party went off very pleasantly, and Desmond and Gordon assured Tom that he had not overpraised the admiral, and that they had no notion there were such jolly old fellows in the navy. He, at all events, was worthy of all the patronage they could bestow.

Murray came on board the frigate the next day to see Jack and Terence. He was pleased with the corvette as far as she herself was concerned.

“She is as fine a little craft as I could wish for, but,” he added, “the commander is one of the oddest fish I ever fell in with. He has not been to sea for a number of years, and having, as he says, turned his sword into a ploughshare, has devoted his mind to farming and rural sports. Unwilling to tear himself altogether from his beloved beeves and sheep, and pigs and poultry, he has brought them along with him, and has converted the little ship into a regular Noah’s ark. The boats are turned into sheep-pens and hen-coops, and the decks cumbered with ox-stalls and hay-stacks. If the latter, in the meantime, do not catch fire, the admiral, when he comes to inspect us, will order them and the greater portion of the live-stock to be landed, and we shall probably benefit by the remainder, as they must be killed for want of food, so we have said nothing to him as yet on the subject; but Haultaut, our first, grumbles and looks askance at the beasts every time he goes along the deck, and declares that the ship is more like a Thames barge than a man-of-war, while Grummet, the boatswain, grins ominously at them, and tells the butcher to keep his knife sharp, as he will have work enough on his hands before long. Old Babbicome is afflicted, it seems, with absence of mind. The day after he joined the ship he sang out to a midshipman, ‘Let my cab be brought round to the door.’ The youngster stared. ‘Do you hear? What did I say?’ ‘You desired to have your cab brought round to the door, sir,’ answered the midshipman, trying to stifle his laughter. ‘Ah! did I?’ exclaimed the commander. ‘Well, possibly. It’s no easy matter to change one’s mode of expression on a sudden. I mean, man my gig; I am going on shore.’ The first day he attempted to carry on duty, he threw all the crew into convulsions by shouting out, ‘Wo-ho! wo-ho, there! I mean, avast hauling, you lubbers!’ and he swore and stamped with rage when he saw the men tittering near him, and wanted to know what they were laughing at.”

Probably, we shall hear more of Commander Babbicome. Murray’s account highly amused his friends.

“Well, Alick, you may possibly pick up a few wrinkles which may be of use to you when your time comes, and you settle down on the Highland farm you used to talk about,” said Jack, laughing.

“I would sacrifice so remote a benefit for the sake of having the ship look rather more like a man-of-war than she does at present,” answered Murray.

Two days after this a lighter was seen alongside the corvette, when truss after truss of hay was lowered into her. Then came two fat oxen and lastly, nearly a dozen sheep.

“Any more coming?” asked the master of the lighter.

“No, no,” exclaimed the commander, who had been looking on with ruthful countenance, adding, as he turned aft, clenching his fist, and pulling at his hair, “I’d sooner throw up my command than part with them.”

The frigate and corvette were ready for sea at the same time, and went out together to Spithead. Still their destination was unknown. The tailors, the Jews, and even the bumboat-women were unable to solve the mystery, the fact being that the Lords of the Admiralty had not decided themselves. Ships were wanted at three different stations, but economy being the order of the day, all three could not be supplied. The West Indies, the South American station and the Pacific were spoken of. At length Captain Hemming announced that he had received orders to proceed to Jamaica, and that the Tudor was to accompany the Plantagenet. More stores and provisions were received on board, till every locker and cranny in the two ships was filled, as Adair remarked, to bursting.

Admiral Triton came on board the frigate to wish his young friends good-bye.

“I cannot say that I hope you’ll come back crowned with glory and your pockets filled with prize-money, for such things are not to be picked up now-a-days,” he said, shaking Jack’s hand, “but may you enjoy health and happiness and have many a long yarn to spin about your adventures in the West Indies or wherever you may be sent to, and I suspect that your captain has got orders to proceed rather farther than you at present expect.”

As the kind old admiral went down the side, the anchor was run up to the bows, to the sound of the merry fife, the topsails were sheeted home, and the two ships glided westward over the smooth waters of the Solent. It was a lovely morning, a few fine weather clouds were to be seen here and there in the sky, but there were not enough of them to obscure the noon-day splendour of the sun. The duck trousers and shirts of the crews looked clean and summerish; the new gold lace on the uniforms of the officers glittered brightly as they paced the deck, or hurried here and there as duty called; the sentries with gleaming arms and white belts; the fresh paint, the light-coloured copper, the snowy canvas, all indicated that the ships were just out of harbour, to many an admiring eye from Ryde pier, and from yachts large and small, as the frigate followed by the corvette, with a leading wind, ran past the shores of the Isle of Wight, towards the Needles passage. Numberless yachts skimmed by them; those fairy-like fabrics which Englishmen alone know how thoroughly to enjoy, varying in size from Lord Yarborough’s superb Falcon, to the tiny craft whose owner is probably proud of her in inverse ratio to her tonnage. All is not gold that glitters, and the fair admirers of the graceful frigate and corvette would have been somewhat horrified, could they have witnessed the various scenes taking place within the dark recesses of the ships, and had they heard the language, neither refined nor pious, uttered by their sturdy crews, and it must be confessed by some of the officers also—not by Jack Rogers though—for neither oath nor unbecoming phrase ever issued from his honest hips. The mate of the lower deck, with the purser’s clerks and assistants, had provisions and articles innumerable to stow away; the gunner, boatswain, and carpenter, their respective stores to look to; indeed, in every department order had to commence its reign, where chaos had hitherto seemed to prevail, operations not to be performed without their due allowance of shouting and swearing. On deck all went smoothly, and under the pleasantest of auspices the two ships ran through the Needles, and stood down channel.

Tom and Paddy Desmond (for, of course he was so called, as Tom said he would be) were as jolly as possible, and laughed at sea-sickness, or any of the ills landsmen are subject to; they were not going to be ill, not they. Already they began to consider themselves first-rate sailors, for they could go aloft and skylark as fearlessly as young monkeys, and box the compass; and had some notion when the helm was a-lee, and the head-sails backed against the mast, that the ship would come about. As yet, to be sure, they had had only light winds and smooth water, but even a heavy gale would make no difference to them, of that they were very sure. Old Higson grinned sarcastically when he heard them say so.

“Oh, of course, sucking Nelsons like you are above such weaknesses; we shall see, though, when the time comes. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.”

“Faith, I hope to have some better pudding to eat than this hard duff,” answered Paddy, who seldom understood the meaning of the proverbs Higson was in the habit of quoting. The old mate only laughed; though he had a colt, to keep the turbulent in order, he seldom used it, treating the two youngsters with more consideration than he might have done under other circumstances, out of respect to Rogers and Adair, though they were under the impression that it was owing to their own merits, and were apt accordingly to take liberties with him. He behaved to them as a good-natured bear might towards a couple of playful children whom he could munch up in a moment.

“I say, Tom, couldn’t we be after playing some trick like that the admiral told us of, which your brother and my uncle Terence played off on Lieutenant Spry, with Quaco, the monkey,” said Gerald, one day to his messmate, when they were alone together; “it would be mighty good fun.”

“I should like to do something of the sort amazingly, but once when Jack was telling me some of the tricks of his midshipman-days, he gave me a strong hint not to imitate them, as he would certainly be down upon me,” answered Tom; “for all he is so good-natured, he can be wonderfully strict, I can tell you. He was saying that tricks are very well in their way if they are original and have fun in them, but that those who play them must look out for the consequences.”

“I shouldn’t have supposed that of him,” said Gerald; “I’m after thinking now that my uncle Terence would be as ready for any fun as he ever was in his life.”

“Very likely, but he mightn’t approve of our indulging in it notwithstanding,” answered Tom; “however, if you can think of anything, I’m willing enough to lend a hand. We can’t play Lieutenant Jennings such a trick as they did old Spry, because he’s too wide awake and wouldn’t stand it; besides, we’ve no Quaco to dress up in his uniform. By-the-bye, I hope that we shall be able to get a jolly monkey before long, at Jamaica or elsewhere. I don’t know if they run wild in the woods there, indeed it might be as well to have a civilised one who knows how to behave himself, and then I think we might manage to play old Scrofton, the boatswain, a trick.”

“How?” asked Gerald eagerly.

“Don’t you know that he has got a notion in his head that men are descended, or rather, I should say, ascended from apes, which he declares has been proved by a Lord Monboddo, or some other wiseacre, and if we had a monkey, we might somehow or other put his theory to the test, and, at all events, have some fun with the old fellow.”

“Capital; I’ll think over what can be done,” exclaimed Gerald, rubbing his hands with glee; “do the gunner and carpenter agree with him?”

“No; the three are constantly disputing on the subject. I heard them yesterday, and they are probably at it again to-day. Come below; it will be good fun to hear them.”

The midshipmen found the three warrant officers in the boatswain’s cabin. He was seated; the others standing at the door, leaning against the bulkheads. They took up a position, so as not to be seen within earshot. The gunner was arguing that if men have grown out of monkeys, there would be none of the latter left, as they would all have turned into men; and the carpenter declared that though he had wandered all the world over, he had never met with one half-way between a man and a monkey, which he should have done if any change does take place.

“Have you ever seen apes without tails?” asked old Scrofton triumphantly.

“Yes,” answered Gimlett, “with blue faces and hinder-ends of the same colour, but they moved on all fours, and though we had one aboard, and did our best to teach him to speak, and light a fire, and make himself useful, he could never do anything, and remained as great a beast as ever to the cud of his clays.”

“Of course,” said Blake, the gunner; “a man’s a man, and a beast’s a beast; and there are no greater beasts than apes; that’s my opinion, whatever Lord What-do-ye-call-him, or any other of your philosophers says to the contrary.”

“I tell you it’s all down in my book as clear as a pikestaff, and it’s my Lord Monboddo says it,” exclaimed Mr Scrofton indignantly. “He, I should think, would know more about the matter than any warrant officer in her Majesty’s service, or any captain or commander to boot.”

The midshipmen’s laughter made the gunner pop his head out, when they, feeling ashamed of acting longer the part of eaves-droppers, moved off.

“Old Scrofton is fair game anyhow,” said Desmond. “I wonder a man can be such a fool.”

“He is a very good boatswain, notwithstanding, my brother Jack says,” observed Tom.

Mr Scrofton was a character, as are many other warrant officers. They must, indeed, besides being sober and steady and good seamen, be somewhat above the average as to intellect to obtain their appointments, while their eccentricities and peculiarities have generally not till then been noticed. Possessing but a limited amount of education, the boatswain of the Plantagenet endeavoured, on attaining his present rank, to instruct himself; and having no one to advise him, he had purchased some books at haphazard, the contents of which he respected the more that they were totally beyond his comprehension. The work mentioned was among them, and as he thought that he understood it best it was his chief favourite. He was a short, spare man, with a red face tanned by tropical suns, ferrety eyes, sharp as needles, and huge black whiskers which stuck out like studding-sails on either side of his countenance. Once upon a time it was reported a Russian admiral, on visiting the ship to which he belonged, was much astonished when Scrofton was pointed out to him as the boatswain. “What, so small a fellow as that?” he exclaimed; “we always select our boatswains from men six feet high and upwards, who can use their rattans with good effect.” Small as he was the boatswain of the Plantagenet had a voice which could be heard amid the loudest strife of the elements; and being a thorough seaman he was respected by the crew in spite of his philosophical notions, about which they cared nothing. He was extremely loath to get the men punished if he could help it, and never swore at them in the way they called swearing—not that they would have minded it much if he had—though he occasionally seasoned his remarks with expressions gleaned from his books, which had the more force that their meaning was utterly incomprehensible. He entertained a friendly feeling for the two young midshipmen, whom he took great pains to instruct in their nautical duties; and under his tuition they soon gained a fair knowledge of the arts of knotting, splicing, and other practical details of their profession; nor did he entertain a suspicion that they held his philosophical opinions otherwise than in profound respect. Jack and Adair gave them lessons in navigation, so that they had advantages not generally possessed by youngsters in those days who had not been to the Naval College. Tom, having got the start, though only of a few days, kept steadily ahead of his companion. He had had the advantage of better training at school, as far as navigation was concerned. Dick Needham, also, who had been rated as boatswain’s-mate, was another of their instructors; and as he was always in good humour, and took the greatest possible pains to teach them all he knew, they gained as much from him as from any one else.

The frigate and corvette sailed forward on their course across the Atlantic, with every stitch of canvas they could carry set slow and aloft. Two or three times they were totally becalmed, when the officers of the two ships paid visits to each other. Murray, with Archy Gordon, had come on board the Plantagenet.

“Well, Gordon, how do you get on aboard the corvette?” was the natural question put by Tom.

“Vary weel, but we’ve much the same sort of thing to do every day; washing and holy-stoning decks in the morning, and exercising at the guns and mail arms in the forenoon, and studying navigation and seamanship, and sic like,” answered Archy.

“Faith, that’s what we’ve to do here,” said Gerald. “I came to sea to enjoy some fun; but we’ve not had much of it yet, though, to be sure, we lead a jolly life, take it all in all.”

“The fun will come in time,” observed Tom. “We never can tell what will turn up—perhaps before long—who knows?”

Murray was with Jack and Terence in the gun-room.

“Well, and how does old Babbicome get on?” asked Jack.

“He is amusing enough, but not altogether satisfactory as a commander,” answered Murray. “He and Haultaut are continually disputing, and he never comes on deck without finding fault, at which Haultaut very naturally sets up his back, and generally finishes by going below. The commander seldom attempts to carry on duty, and that only in fine weather, without making some egregious blunder, and he always excuses himself by observing, ‘I don’t admire the new-fangled ways you young men have of doing things. We managed matters very differently on board the old Orion, I can tell you,’ or, as he walks up and down the deck examining everything not in existence when he was last at sea, he exclaims, ‘We’ll change all this presently—it doesn’t come up to my notions; never saw thingumbobs fitted in this way before.’ We have eaten most of his sheep, as it was necessary to kill them for want of provender; but if the rest live till we reach Madeira, he will, I conclude, lay in a fresh supply. His pigs are, however, his great delight. He gloats over them, and spends an hour every day in currying them as he would a horse. They do him credit, for they are as sleek and fat as poodles. Though he avows that he is fond of pork, I suspect that he will never bring himself to order one of them to be slaughtered. To his credit I must say that he does not swear at the men; he is not, however, liked by them. When a lieutenant he got the name of ‘Jib-and-Foresail Jack,’ and it sticks to him still. When he had the watch at night he would be always bothering them to alter sails, and it was, they say, ‘Up jib,’ and ‘Down jib,’ and ‘Up foresail’ and ‘Down foresail’ every minute. He carries on much in the same way at present, and seldom comes on deck without shaking his head as he looks aloft, and shouting out ‘Another pull at the lee-braces, Mr Haultaut;—we always trimmed sails properly on board the old Orion, sir,’ or some such complimentary remark to our much-enduring first. The boatswain has a dog—a favourite with the men—which goes by the no uncommon name of Shakings. The commander detests Shakings, who he unjustly declares worries his sheep. One evening poor Shakings fell overboard. The men were in despair, knowing that the commander would not dream of heaving-to to pick him up. I saw what had occurred, and was going to intercede for the dog when I heard a voice from forward sing out, ‘One of the captain’s pigs overboard—there he goes astern.’ The commander ran to the taffrail. Just then there was a splash, and as I looked over the side I saw one of his sleek pigs swimming as fast it could away from the ship. The commander soon caught sight of his favourite. The ship was hove-to, a boat lowered, and the boatswain, who jumped into her and managed to pick up the dog before he reached the other animal, avowed roundly that Shakings had jumped overboard to save the pig.”

Jack and Terence laughed heartily at Murray’s account of his commander, given as it was with all the gravity imaginable.

“Well, we bear with him as best we can,” he added, “and only hope that he may ere long return to the bosom of his family, and to the congenial pursuits which occupy his thoughts.”

A light breeze springing up compelled Murray and his companions to return to their ship. That night during the middle watch Tom and Gerald, who were fast asleep in their hammocks, were aroused by the boatswain’s shrill pipe and gruff voice bawling, “All hands on deck—shorten sail!” They turned out with the rest; most of the officers and crew were on deck before they reached it. The frigate, caught in a squall, was heeling over till her lee-scuppers were under water, while dark, foam-crested seas came rolling up, deluging her deck fore and aft. The fore-topgallant-mast had been carried away, and was striking against the fore-topsail, ready to sweep to destruction the hands who were swarming on the yard; the main and mizen-topgallant-sheets had been let fly, and the sails were flapping wildly in the gale; while the wind whistling through the rigging—ropes slashing about—the seas dashing—the bulkheads creaking—the masts and spars groaning, created a perfectly deafening uproar. Then came a clap like thunder—the foretack had parted, and the block striking a seaman had carried him overboard. To attempt to pick him up was useless—he must have been killed instantaneously. For a moment there was confusion; but the voice of the captain, heard above all other sounds, quickly restored order. While the topmen were clearing away the wreck of the fore-topgallant-mast, the most dangerous task, handing the main and mizen-topgallant-sails, and reefing topsails, the courses were hauled up, and the frigate righting flew forward on her course. The sudden movement threw Tom and Gerald, who had been holding on to the capstan, off their legs, and the next moment, as she again heeled over to the gale sent them rolling into the lee-scuppers, where they lay sprawling in the mass of water washing across the deck—Gerald striking out with arms and legs under the belief that he was overboard.

“Help! help! Heave us a rope. Where is it you are, Tom? Don’t be after giving up—swim away,” he cried out, as he got his head above the water still rushing round him.

Tom was striking out lustily, as Gerald soon discovered by a kick he received from his foot, of which he caught hold, supposing it to be the end of a rope. Tom struggled the more to release himself, having found out that he was safe on deck.

“Let go, I say, or I shall never get on my legs,” he exclaimed, kicking away with all his might.

“Arrah now, I’ll be drowned entirely,” bawled Gerald, as the water again washed over him. His shouts fortunately at this juncture attracted the attention of Jack, who, setting him and Tom on their legs, told them to go below and turn into their hammocks, as they were not of the slightest use on deck.

Drenched to the skin and crest-fallen, after holding on to each other for half a minute and gazing round them at the dark tumultuous billows, they did as they were bid, glad to strip off their wet clothes and endeavour to get between the blankets.

“Sure I’m after feeling mighty quare,” said Gerald, as he was trying to scramble into his hammock, but it would not remain quiet as it was accustomed to do.

“So do I,” groaned Tom, “I didn’t think anything could upset me, but this is awful.”

“Faith there’s but little fun in it at all at all,” cried Gerald, who had succeeded in getting in and covering himself up. “Will we all be drowned, do you think?”

“I hope not; my brother Jack seems to consider that there’s nothing in it, and of course he’s right—oh!”

The frigate gave a pitch, which made Tom feel as if he was going to be shot feet foremost along the deck.

“Arrah, now, where will we be after going to?” cried Paddy, from his hammock.

“Belay the slack of your jaws, youngsters,” growled out old Higson, who had just turned in after his watch, and being perfectly indifferent to all the rolling and pitching, and the wild uproar of the elements, wanted to go to sleep.

“If you make such a row, my colt and your backs will become acquainted with each other before long.”

“Why, man alive, it isn’t we are making the row, sure it’s the wind and the big waves outside the ship,” exclaimed Paddy.

The midshipmen’s small voices were, however, much more disturbing to the old mate than the sounds of the gale. A threatening growl was the only answer he condescended to make, as he had no intention to take the trouble of turning out of his hammock to execute the vengeance he promised.

Tom also by this time was dropping off to sleep, and Gerald shortly after followed his example. They ought properly to have kept the morning watch, but they were not called till the hammocks were piped up. They had then to turn out, feeling utterly unable to do anything but sit on their chests and languidly clutch their wet clothes. The two marines acting as their servants at length came aft, looking as pale and miserable as they were, and suggested that it would be wiser to get out some dry things. Dressing, after several pauses, was accomplished, and washing having been dispensed with, they managed to reel into the berth. There sat Higson, with coffee-pot in hand, and most of the other oldsters holding on to cups and plates, the biscuit-boat and more substantial viands being secured by puddings on the table.

“I’ve ordered some fat bacon especially for you fellows,” said the former, looking at Tom and Gerald; “it’s the best thing for you.”

“Oh, don’t,” they groaned in chorus. “Horrible!”

“Why don’t? You’ll never become sailors till you’ve eaten half a pound apiece every morning, for at least a week.”

The fat bacon was brought. Tom tried to lift a piece to his mouth at the end of his fork, but his hips curled, he could not have done it to save his life. Gerald essayed to do likewise with the same result.

They were not alone in their misery. The assistant-surgeon, two clerks, and another midshipman looked equally pale and miserable.

“Come, come, youngsters, munch away,” said Hickson; “it’s time to finish breakfast.”

“I wish to be a sailor,” cried Tom, again manfully lifting the piece of pork towards his loathing lips, but though his spirit was high his feelings overcame him, and he bolted out of the berth, followed by Gerald and several others, amid the laughter of the seasoned hands.

Tom’s misfortunes did not end here, for the frigate giving a violent roll he butted head foremost right between the legs of Mr Jennings, the tall lieutenant of marines, who not being especially firm on them just then, was upset in a moment. The rest of the party, including McTavish, the assistant-surgeon, escaping from the berth now came tumbling over them, and there the whole lay stretched on the deck, kicking frantically, as if knocked over by a dose of canister fired into their midst.

The prostrate officer, utterly unable to rise, shouted for some time in vain for assistance; at length his cries were heard by the corporal of marines and two of his men, who hurrying aft to his rescue, hauled off the superincumbent midshipmen and McTavish, and set Lieutenant Jennings, foaming with indignation, on his legs.

“Beg pardon, sir, I didn’t intend it,” cried Tom; “I won’t do it again.”

But Tom was counting without his host, for at that instant the ship, giving another roll, threw him once more against the luckless lieutenant, who grasping at the corporal, over they all went, McTavish and Gerald, who had been thrown against the other jollies, bringing them again right over Lieutenant Jennings to the deck.

“This is unbearable,” he spluttered out, “I’ll have you youngsters put under arrest. Marines, can’t you keep your legs? Help me up. Get off me, all you, I say.”

But as the marines could not help themselves, it could scarcely be expected that they could assist their officer, still less could the medico and the midshipmen. The serjeant, however, hearing the uproar, followed by a couple of his men, with a faint idea that a mutiny of some sort had broken out, hurried aft, and with the assistance of Higson amid the other oldsters who came out of the berth to see what was the matter, quickly got the mass of struggling humanity disentangled and placed in as upright position as circumstances would allow. The lieutenant ought really to have been much obliged to Tom, for his anger completely overcame the nausea from which he had been suffering; but ungrateful, like too many others, as Higson observed, he went back into the gunroom demanding condign punishment on the head of his benefactor and his messmates. He was saved thereby from witnessing the effect of that leveller of mankind, sea-sickness, on nearly half his men, who lay about the deck unable to move, and only wishing that the ship would go down and bring their misery to an end. Jack soon soothed the temper of his brother officer, who was a brave and really a good-natured man, and then went to look after Tom and Gerald. He advised them to lie down with their eyes shut in the berth which was now vacated, the occupants being called off to their respective duties, and the assistant-surgeon having retired into the dispensary to concoct a specific against sea-sickness of his own invention, which made him and those he persuaded to take it ten times worse.

Soon afterwards all hands were piped on deck, and the sea-sick had to appear as well as the rest. The report had been made to the captain that a man had been knocked overboard, but who was the sufferer was uncertain. The frigate was bravely breasting the foaming billows under close-reefed topsails, ever and anon a hissing sea striking her bows and its crest sweeping across the deck, the spray in dense showers coming right aft, and rendering flushing coats and tarpaulins necessary to those who desired dry skins. Overhead the dark clouds flew rapidly by, showing no abatement of the gale. Far astern was the Tudor with no fore-topsail set, showing that either the mast or yard had been sprung while it was impossible to say what other damage she might have received, if caught unprepared as the frigate had been. The muster-roll was now called over. A third of the crew had answered to their names. “Richard Jenkins” was called. It was the name of a fine young topman. No Richard Jenkins replied; but he must have been aloft at the time the fore-tack parted, and then two other topmen acknowledged that they had been afraid some one had been knocked from the fore-topsail-yard; but the thick darkness, and the wild flapping of the sail, had made them uncertain. The other names were called over. No one answered to that of Daniel Bacon. He was rated as a landsman, and would have been forward at the time. Two, then, in the darkness of night had been cast unnoticed into their ocean grave. “Poor fellows! poor fellows!” uttered by their messmates, was the only requiem they received—the contents of their bags were sold; the purser wrote D against their names, which before the gale was over had ceased to be mentioned.

The slight excitement and the fresh air on deck had kept the midshipmen up, but on going below they felt more miserable than ever. Utterly unable to stand they threw themselves on their chests, half wishing that they had gone overboard instead of poor Jenkins and Bacon. More than once they were hove off, but they managed to crawl on again, and cling to the lids in a way sick midshipmen alone could have done. Adair, on going round the lower deck, found them in this condition.

“Uncle Terence, dear, when is it all going to be over?” groaned out Gerald. “There’s mighty little fun in this same.”

“Only the ordinary seasoning youngsters have to go through,” answered Adair; “however, we’ll see what can be done for you.”

Tom, whose head hung over the end of his chest, with a kid which had been brought him under his nose, was past speaking. Adair ordered their hammocks to be slung, and being assisted in, they lay helpless till the gale was over. Let no one despise the two midshipmen, although their messmates might have laughed at them. Their experiences were those of many other brave officers, Nelson included; and they had not a few companions in their misery among those unaccustomed to the tumblifications of the ocean. At length, the wind going down, the sea became tolerably smooth, and turning out, they went on deck by Adair’s advice to enjoy a few mouthfuls of fresh air. The effect on their appetites was such as to astonish even old Higson by the way in which they devoured the pea-soup and boiled beef and potatoes, a junk of fat pork even not coming amiss, washed down by stiff glasses of grog, which, in consideration of their recent sufferings, he allowed them to take.

“Well, youngsters, you are filling up your lockers with a vengeance,” he remarked.

“Faith, it’s no wonder when they were cleaned out three days ago, and not a scrap the size of a sixpenny-piece stowed away in them since,” answered Gerald, who with Tom was eyeing lovingly a huge suet dumpling just placed smoking hot on the table.

“Any duff, Rogers?” asked Higson; “I doubt if you’ve room for much.”

“I think I could just manage a slice to begin with, and then I’ll try what more I can do,” answered Tom.

A huge slice was handed to him, and another to Gerald. “You shall have your next helping from the left side, youngsters,” said the caterer, with a wink at the rest, who all thereon begged for plenty. Tom and Gerald applied themselves to the duff, which they found rather appetising than otherwise; but when they looked up expecting to get their second slices, an empty dish with Higson’s face grinning beyond it, alone met their view. However, they agreed that they had dined very well considering, and from that moment, though others occasionally knocked up, they were never off duty from sea-sickness.

Chapter Three.

Madeira sighted—Misfortunes of Commander Babbicome—A ride on shore—Naval cavalry charge down a hill and overturn some dignitaries of Church and State—A pleasant visit of apology—Suddenly ordered to sea—An expedition to bring off “wash clothes.”

A few days after the storm was over Madeira was made; to the eastward of it, as the frigate sailed on, there came in sight a small island called the Desertas. Tom, wishing to show that he was wide awake, reported a large ship coming round the Desertas. He was, however, only laughed at, for his supposed ship turned out to be a rock of a needle form, rising several hundred feet out of the sea, and would have been as Higson told him, if it had been a ship, bigger than the famed Mary Dunn, of Diver, whose flying jibboom swept the weathercock off Calais church steeple, while her spanker-boom end only just shaved clear of the white cliffs of old England. The scenery of Madeira, as they sailed along its shore, was pronounced very grand and beautiful; its lofty cliffs rising perpendicularly out of the blue ocean with a fringe of surf at their base, and vine-clad mountains towering up into the clear sky beyond them; here and there a small bay appearing, forming the mouth of a ravine, its sides covered with orange groves and dotted with whitewashed cottages, and a little church in their midst. Rounding the southern end of the island, the frigate came to an anchor in the bay of Funchal, the town in a thin line of houses stretching along the shore before them, and a wild mountainous region beyond, with country houses or quintas scattered over the lower ground, and high above it the white church of Nossa Senhora do Monte, glistening in the sun.

An important object had attracted Captain Hemming to Madeira. It was to ship a couple of casks of its famed wine for the admiral on the Jamaica station, as well as one for himself, and he took the opportunity of fitting a new topgallant-mast. A few hours afterwards the Tudor came in and dropped her anchor close to the frigate. She had evidently suffered severely in the gale. Her fore-topsail-yard was so badly sprung that sail could not be carried on it. Her mizen-topmast was gone, her starboard bulwarks forward stove in, one of her boats carried away; besides which she had received other damages. The sea which had injured her bulwarks had swept along her deck, but everything had been secured, without doing further harm, and fortunately no one had been lost.

Commander Babbicome at once came on board the Plantagenet to pay his respects to Captain Hemming. He was a short, stout man, with a red face and thick neck, betokening a plethoric habit. After having been on shore for some years he had been appointed to the Tudor through the influence of a relative, who had actively supported the ministry in electioneering matters. Probably never much of a sailor, though he might have been as brave as a lion, such experience as he possessed being that of days gone by, he had an especial horror of all new-fangled notions. He laid all the blame of the disasters his ship had met with to the Dockyard riggers. “They don’t do things as they used to do, that’s very clear, or I shouldn’t have lost my mizen-topmast!” he exclaimed, while pacing the frigate’s deck with angry steps; “I doubt whether in this hole of a place we can get our damages repaired.”

“I’ll send my carpenters on board, so that you may be independent of the natives. How long will it take to set you to rights?”

“Three or four days I should suppose,” was the answer.

“Well, I will remain for that time, and we will sail together,” said Captain Hemming.

It was quickly known on board both ships that they were not to leave for some days, and parties were made up to go on shore the next morning, and take a ride to the Corral and other places of interest.

A merry set of gun-room officers and midshipmen left the ships soon after breakfast, Jack and Adair, with Lieutenant Jennings leading. Murray could not go, but Archy Gordon got leave; his services, as he told his friends, not being absolutely required. They wisely landed in shore-boats, thus escaping a drenching from the surf, and were hauled up the shingly beach by a number of shouting, bawling, dark-skinned natives, who handed them over to an equally vociferous crowd of muleteers and donkey boys, assembled in readiness with their beasts of high and low degree, to carry travellers up the mountain. Amid the wildest hubbub produced by the shouting, wraggling, jabbering of the owners of the beasts, each man praising the qualities of his own animal as he dragged it to the front, the naval party managed to mount; those who could secure them, on horses, the rest on mules; donkeys being despised, though attempts were made to thrust the midshipmen on them. The tall lieutenant of marines had not secured his horse, which he chose for its height, without a desperate struggle. A band of natives rushing on him, one had hoisted his right leg across a mule, another shoving a donkey’s rein into his hands, while a third adroitly brought a pony under his left leg, while kicking in the air; but the owner of the high horse saw that his eye had been fixed on it, and being a big fellow came to the rescue, and offering his shoulder as a rest, enabled the lieutenant to spring clear of the mule and other beasts on to the one he had chosen.

“Forward, my lads,” he shouted in triumph, as he galloped to the front. Amid an increased chorus of strange-sounding shrieks and cries, the party, shouting and laughing themselves almost as loudly as their attendants, set forward.

“Whoo! whoo!” sung out all the assembled natives in chorus, when the muleteers, catching hold of the tails of their respective animals with their left hands, began to urge them on by digging into their flanks the points of the short goads held in their right hands.

“Arra burra! cara! cara cavache! caval!” screamed out the natives, and on went the steeds, kicking and clattering through the pebble-paved streets, well nigh sending some of their less experienced riders over their heads, and dispersing to the right and left every one they encountered.

“I say, we won’t be after having these fellows at our heels all the way,” exclaimed Adair.

“Of course not,” said Jack; “it would be a horrid bore.”

“Be off with ye, now,” cried Adair, to the natives; Jack and the rest giving similar orders; but the muleteers, in the first place, did not understand what they said, and, in the second, knew better than to let go, as without the usual tail-pulling and goading, the beasts would not have budged a foot.

“We shall be quit of yer, ye spalpeens, when we get to the lull,” cried Adair, at which the swarthy natives grinned, and would have grinned more had they comprehended his remark. Quickly passing through the town, up the steep sides of the mountain, they clattered between high stone walls, crowned by vines, geraniums, and numberless flowering plants, while orange groves were seen here and there through various openings, with pretty quintas nestling amid them; or when they turned their heads glimpses were caught of the town and bay, and the blue ocean.

They had not gone far when they met an Englishman on horse-back, who, pulling up, introduced himself as the merchant about to ship the admiral’s wine, and invited them to stop at his quinta, on their way down from the Corral.

“With all the pleasure in life,” answered Adair; “and will you have the kindness, sir, to tell these noisy fellows, pulling at our horses’ tails, that we can dispense with their company?”

“It would be far from a kindness if I did, for you would find that your beasts would not move ahead without them,” said the merchant, laughing, and directing the arrieros to stop at his house on their return, he bade the merry party good morning.

Up and up they went, till Gerald declared that they should reach the moon if they continued on much longer. At length they found themselves on the brink of an enormous chasm, some thousand feet in depth, upwards of two miles in length, and half-a-mile in width, while before them a precipitous wall of rocks towered up towards the blue heavens, broken into numberless craggy pinnacles, amid which the clouds careered rapidly, although far below they lay in thin strata, unmoved by a breeze.

“Grand! magnificent!” and similar exclamations broke from the party. They pushed on to the end of the ravine, where it almost closes; a natural bridge of rocks existing over it to the opposite side; another much broader ravine opening out beyond. Returning by the way they came, the party gazed down upon Funchal and their ships in the harbour.

“Faith, they look for all the world like two fleas floating with their legs in the air,” exclaimed Adair; “this is a mighty big mountain, there is no doubt about that.”

Their keen appetites and the recollection of the merchant’s promised repast made them hurry on their downward way. They were not disappointed either in the substantials, or in the delicacies, oranges, and grapes, with other fruits and wines provided for their entertainment.

“I am expecting your captains and a few grandees and others to dinner, or I would have pressed you to stay,” said their kind host, as he wished them good-bye; “I hope you will come to-morrow, though, and remember that my house is at your orders as long as you stay.”

Most of the naval heroes had imbibed a sufficient quantity of the merchant’s generous liquid to raise their spirits, even somewhat above their usual high level, and Adair took Gerald to task for not having refused the last few glasses offered, though he declared that he himself was as sober as an archbishop.

“And so, faith, am I, Uncle Terence,” cried Gerald; “to prove that same I’ll race ye down to the bottom of this hit of a hill, and whoever comes in first shall decide the question. Now off we go. ‘Wallop ahoo! ahoo! Erin-go-bragh!’” And urging on his steed, of which his arriero had long since let go, as had the others of their animals on descending the mountains, away he started; Adair shouting to him to stop, from the fear that he would break his neck, followed, however, at the same headlong speed, giving vent, in his excitement, to the same shout of “Wallop ahoo! ahoo! Erin-go-bragh!”

The example was infectious, the marine officer even catching it, and off set lieutenants and surgeons, and midshipmen and clerks, as if scampering away from an avalanche to save their lives, instead of running a great risk of losing them. In vain their attendants shouted to them to stop, and went bounding after them. The animals kept well together in a dense mass—a regular stampedo—Terence and his nephew keeping the lead. To check themselves had they tried it was impossible, without the certainty of bringing their steeds to the ground, and taking flying leaps over their heads. Suddenly there appeared before them a palanquin—a dignified ecclesiastic seated in it—attended by footmen, while further on were seen several cavaliers, some in military uniforms, with a couple of naval cocked hats rising in their midst. That instant had the cry of “Erin-go-bragh!” escaped from the excited Irishman’s throat. “Avast! haul up for your life, boy,” shouted Adair, on beholding the spectacle before him. “Starboard your helm, or you’ll be over the padre.”

Gerald did try to pull up with might and main, but it was too late, his steed stumbled, shooting him as from a catapult, right on the top—not of a humble padre, but of a bishop of the holy Roman Empire, when his floundering steed upsetting the leading bearer, bishop and midshipman rolled over together, the former shouting for help, the latter apologising. The matter did not stop here. Though Adair managed to clear the bishop, after knocking over one of his lordship’s footmen, his steed bolted into the midst of the cavaliers behind, coming full tilt, as ill-luck would have it, against Commander Babbicome of the Tudor, who, in spite of his boasted horsemanship, was incontinently capsized, while, before he could recover himself, or his companions rescue him, down came thundering on them the rest of the hilarious cavalcade. Several of the riders, including Tom, attempting to rein in their animals, were sent flying over the prostrate bishop, among the foremost ranks of the party ascending the mountain, while the rest dashing on overthrew the military governor and several other personages of distinction, till Jack, who had from the first reined in his steed, and was behind the rest, could see nothing but a confused mass of kicking legs, and cocked hats, and naval caps, and here and there heads and backs and arms, with a shaven crown in their midst, blocking up the narrow roadway, shouts, cries, shrieks and execrations issuing from among them. The liberated horses had dashed on, leaving their riders to their fate. This contributed considerably to lessen the difficulties of the case. The drivers coming up, Jack dismounted, and giving his horse to one of them ran to assist the bishop and his fallen friends. The midshipmen quickly picked themselves up, very much frightened at what they had done, but not a bit the worse for their tumble. The ecclesiastic was next placed on his legs, with robes somewhat rumpled, but happily without contusions or bones broken, though dreadfully alarmed and inclined to be somewhat angry at the indignity he had suffered. Jack endeavoured to apologise with the few words of Portuguese he could command, Tom and Gerald assisting him to the best of their power, though their united vocabulary failed to convey their sentiments. Meantime, the dismounted cavaliers behind had regained their saddles, as had the gunroom officers and young gentlemen who had tilted against them their feet. Lieutenant Jennings and Terence had scraped clear without losing their seats, but nearly all the rest had been unhorsed. Commander Babbicome was the only one who had suffered damage, and he had received a bloody nose by a blow from his horse’s head, but he was infinitely the most irate. “It is a disgrace to the service that such things should be allowed,” he exclaimed. “Captain Hemming, I shall demand a court-martial on your officers, or an ample apology. Mine know how to respect their commander.” At that moment his eye fell on his own purser and surgeon, with two or three others who were trying to get by close to the wall on either side. “Ah! I see; they shall hear more about it, they may depend on that!”

“Lieutenant Adair will be ready to make you an ample apology, I can answer for that, and you know that naval officers are not always the best of horsemen, of which we have just had an example,” said Captain Hemming, who, though annoyed at what had happened, wished to soothe the feelings of the angry commander.

The Portuguese officers ascertaining that the bishop was unhurt took their own overthrow very coolly. “It’s the way of those young English naval officers,” they observed, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Paciencia!”

With bows and further apologies the two parties separated; the one to partake of the banquet prepared for them, the other to make the best of their way into the town.

“Uncle Terence, you bate me, I’ll acknowledge, but if it hadn’t been for the fat bishop I’d have won,” exclaimed Gerald, as they met Adair not very comfortable in his mind, coming back to look for them.

“We shall all get into a precious row, ye young spalpeen, in consequence of your freak,” answered Adair. “Why didn’t you pull up at once when I told you?”

“Pull up was it ye say, Uncle Terence?” cried the irrepressible young Irish boy. “Faith now, that’s a good joke. Didn’t I pull till I thought my arms would be after coming off, but my baste pulled a mighty dale harder.”

“Really that nephew of mine will be getting into serious difficulties if he does not learn to restrain the exuberance of his spirits,” said Terence quite seriously to Jack, as they rode on together. “When I was a youngster I never went as far as he does.”

“As to that, we are apt to forget what we were, and what we did, in the days of our boyhood,” answered Jack, laughing heartily.

“You certainly had a wonderful aptitude for getting out of scrapes when you had tumbled into them. However, as it is wiser to keep clear of them altogether, you will do well to give your nephew a lecture on the subject, and I hope that he will benefit by it. I intend to bestow some good advice on Tom on the subject. Many a promising lad injures his future prospects by thoughtlessness. Though we were not always as wise as Solomon, we were invariably sober fellows, or we should probably have come to grief like so many others we have known.”

“Faith, yes, it was that last magnum of Madeira floored the bishop and Commander Babbicome, no doubt about it,” observed Adair, with a twinkle in his eye.

By this time they had reached the beach, when the arrieros having claimed their horses, not forgetting a liberal payment for their use, the party returned in shore-boats to the ships.

The next morning Commander Babbicome’s anger was somewhat cooled down, though to vindicate his outraged dignity, as he could not punish the Plantagenet’s midshipmen, he stopped all leave from the Tudor. Captain Hemming considering that the matter should not be altogether overlooked, took Tom and Gerald on shore to apologise to the bishop, who instead of being angry, laughed heartily, and gave them a basket full of sweet cakes and fruit, for which, though it was a gentle hint that he looked upon them as children, they were very much obliged to him, and voted him a first-rate old fellow.

When the midshipmen of the Tudor heard of it they wanted to go and apologise also, but as none of them unfortunately had tumbled over his lordship, they could not find a sufficient excuse for paying him a visit, and though they sent a deputation on board the Plantagenet to put in a claim for a share, old Higson declined to entertain it.

Captain Hemming afterwards went on board the Tudor, and having told Commander Babbicome of the kind way the bishop had behaved, suggested that it was more Christian-like to forgive than revenge an insult even if premeditated, while that of which he complained certainly was not, and finally induced him to promise that he would say no more about the matter.

The repairs of the Tudor were nearly completed.

“A man-of-war steamer coming in from the eastward,” reported the signal-midshipman to Mr Cherry.

“She has made her number the Pluto,” he shortly added.

The Pluto’s huge paddle-wheels soon brought her into the bay, when the lieutenant commanding her came on board the Plantagenet, with despatches for Captain Hemming.

“It was thought possible that we might catch you here as we have had a good deal of calm weather, and our wheels carry us along rather faster than your sails under such circumstances,” observed the lieutenant, who knew that his tea-kettle was held in no great respect.

“Ah, yes, steam is useful for despatch-boats,” answered the captain, in a slightly sarcastic tone, as he opened the despatches.

He was to direct the Plantagenet and Tudor to proceed without delay to Trinidad, and thence to go on to Jamaica, calling at the larger Caribbean Islands, belonging to Great Britain, on their way. There was an idea that the blacks were in an unsettled state of mind, and that the appearance of a couple of men-of-war would tend to keep them in order.

Instantly the news became known there was a general bustle on board the frigate. Washed clothes had to be got off and fresh provisions obtained. She was to sail at daylight the next morning, and the Tudor was to follow as soon as ready.

“What are we to do for our washed clothes?” exclaimed Higson. “Mother Lobo wasn’t to bring them on board till to-morrow evening, and if we send to her the chances are she doesn’t get the message or doesn’t understand it if she does.”

“Sure, the best thing will be to go for them, then,” exclaimed Gerald. “Does any one know where she lives?”

“Well thought of, youngster,” said Higson; “I know where she hangs out, to the west of the town, beyond the old convent, some way up the hill, but as I can’t make her understand a word I say, even if I was to go there, I should not much forward matters.”

“But I can talk Portuguese like a native,” exclaimed Norris, a midshipman who had been on board a ship stationed at Lisbon for several months, and who, professing to be a great linguist, was always ready to act as interpreter. Whether he understood the replies of the natives or not, he never failed to translate them. It was reported of him that once having accompanied the first lieutenant on shore to get a new topmast made, he asked the Portuguese carpenter at the dockyard,—“In how many dayso will you make a new topmasto for mio fregato?”

“Naö intende,” was the answer.

“‘Not in ten days,’ he says, sir,” reported Norris to the lieutenant.

“Why, we can make one on board in less than half that time. Lazy rascals, we will have nothing to do with them,” exclaimed the lieutenant, his confidence in the midshipman as a linguist unshaken.

On the present occasion Norris’s services were, however, accepted, and all in the berth who could get leave agreed to go. Some of the Tudor’s midshipmen who were on board the frigate offered to bring on the things if they were not ready.

“No! no! thank ye,” answered Higson, cocking his eye, “I’ve a notion that clean linen would be plentiful aboard the corvette, and by the time it reached us it would be ready again for the laundress.”

He, however, accepted their offer to accompany the expedition. As the wind was light and off shore they got leave to take the jolly-boat, being able easily to land in her. Under the guidance of Higson they made their way up the hill to Senhora Lobo’s abode. A stream ran near it, on the banks of which half-a-dozen women were kneeling battering away, fine as well as coarse articles of clothing on some rough granite slabs, occasionally rubbing them as a change, with might and main on the hard stones, singing at the same time as they rubbed, or stopping occasionally to laugh and chatter. Among them was discovered Senhora Lobo or Mother Lobo, as Higson designated her, battering away harder than anybody at one of his shirts, as an example to her handmaidens. She rose from her knees, twisting tightly the dripping garment, not to lose time, as she recognised the young gentlemen, when Norris for a wonder made her comprehend more by signs than words, that as the ship was about to sail they must have their clothes immediately.

“Amañaä? to-morrow?” asked Senhora Lobo.

“No, no, ‘esta noite,’ to-night,” answered Norris vehemently.

The washerwoman consulted with her attendants. Piles of wet linen lay on the ground, but a quantity had not yet seen the water. After a considerable amount of jabbering and talking, it was agreed that the task could be accomplished. The sun was hot, and the gentlemen must not be very particular about the ironing. While one half of the damsels set to work again in the stream, the rest, headed by the mistress, began to hang up the washed articles, a young girl being despatched apparently for further assistance. This looked like being in earnest, and the dame assured Norris that the things should be ready by ten o’clock. How to spend the intermediate time was the question, and a ramble into the country was agreed on. Had they been wise they would have secured some mules or donkeys to convey the clothes to the beach. They had, however, undertaken to carry the bags themselves, and were resolved heroically to persevere. They set off on their ramble, Tom and Gerald, and the other youngsters, skylarking as usual. They expected to fall in with some venda, or wine-shop, where they could obtain the refreshment they should require before returning, and Dick Needham was sent back with an order for the boat to come for them at the appointed hour. After rambling to a considerable distance, they began to feel hungry, but in vain they searched for a venda. Fortunately at this juncture they fell in with an Englishman on horseback, to whom they made their wants known.

“Come along with me,” he answered; “I will show you a place where you can get some food.”

Turning to the right, he led them through a gateway, along a walk bordered by orange-trees, myrtles, geraniums, ever-blossoming rose-trees, and numberless other plants and flowers, up to a bungalow-style of building, from the verandah of which a fine view could be enjoyed over the bay, with the town in the distance, and the hills on either side.

“This looks like a regular first-class boarding-house; we shall have to pay handsomely,” whispered Tom to Gerald; “but never mind, we shall enjoy ourselves, and I am terribly sharp-set!”

“Make yourselves at home, gentlemen,” said their guide; “supper will soon be on the table.”

“Let’s have it as soon as possible, that’s all, and pray tell the landlord that we shall be perfectly content if we can have a few cold fowls and a ham, or eggs and bacon, and bread and cheese, and some bottles of country wine—we are in no ways particular!” exclaimed Higson, throwing himself on a garden-seat and producing his cigar-case. “Will any of you fellows have a smoke?”

When the case was opened but one cigar remained. Their guide observed it.

“Never mind, I dare say I can find some in the house,” he said, and soon returned with a box full. He offered it round.

“What do they cost?” asked Gerald, who indulged in a smoke sometimes, when out of Adair’s sight, though his slender purse forbade cigars.

“Never mind,” was the answer; “it shall be put down in the bill.”

The midshipman took a cigar, when a black servant appearing with a dish of charcoal embers, it was lighted and pronounced excellent. Shortly afterwards several ladies came out of the house and entered into conversation with the young officers, who took them to be guests staying at the inn. The time sped pleasantly by till supper was announced. The ladies accompanied them in, the oldest taking one end of the table, while their guide sat at the other.

“He’s mine host after all!” whispered Tom to Gerald. “He knows, however, how to look after his guests properly.”

There might not have been quite as many cold chickens on the table as Higson would have desired, but ample amends was made by the variety of other good things and the abundance of fruit, cakes, and wine.

“Capital Madeira, this of yours, landlord! Haven’t tasted better anywhere in the island!” exclaimed Higson, smacking his lips. “I’ll trouble you to pass the bottle.”

“I am glad you approve of it, sir,” said mine host, doing as he was requested. “There are several other qualities, but I always put the best before my guests.”

Altogether the young gentlemen enjoyed themselves particularly, and talked and laughed away with unrestrained freedom to the ladies, who seemed highly amused by them, and insisted on filling the pockets of the younger midshipmen with cakes and fruit to take to their messmates on board.

“It’s myself could manage better with a handkerchief!” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, producing a good big one.

The hint was taken, and some of the oldsters pulling out theirs got them filled likewise, supposing that it was the custom of the country for the guests to carry off the remains of a feast. Coffee was brought in, and a stroll through the grounds was then proposed. The object of the young gentlemen’s visit to the shore came out in the course of the evening.

“You must stay here, then, till the time you have appointed, and I will show you a much shorter cut to the shore than by the high road,” said mine host.

Higson gladly accepted his offer. Tea and further refreshments were found on the table on their return from the garden, and then one of the younger ladies went to the piano, and another took a harp, and a third a guitar, and the young officers who could sing were asked to do so, which of course they did, Paddy Desmond especially having a capital voice. Thus the evening passed pleasantly away, till it was nearly ten o’clock.

“I had no idea there were such capital houses of public entertainment as yours in the island,” said Higson, highly pleased with mine host, who had been very attentive to him. “Whatever Englishmen undertake, however, they always beat the natives hollow, and now just tell me what’s to pay?”

“I am amply repaid by having had the pleasure of entertaining you,” answered mine host, laughing. “I must not let you go away under a mistake. The ladies you have seen are my mother and wife, and our sisters and two cousins staying with us. You may have heard my name as one of the principal shippers from the island, and when you come across my brand in the old country you will be able to say a good word for it.”

“That I will, sir; but I must beg ten thousand pardons for my stupidity, and that of my shipmates. We ought to have found you out at first—couldn’t understand it, I confess.”

Mr — soon set Higson and the rest at their ease, and thanks and farewells being uttered, under the guidance of the former they commenced their journey through orange groves and vineyards down the hill.

Senhora Lobo’s washing establishment was soon reached, and there stood before her house a long line of bags and bundles, the former containing clothes, the latter tablecloths, sheets, and towels, each weighing twenty or thirty pounds. As time would be lost by sending to the boat for men the young gentlemen agreed to carry their property between them. Their new friend at once declared his intention of assisting. How to fist the bundles was the question. One could be easily carried on the back; but on counting them it was found that each person must carry two. After due discussion it was decided that the only way to do this was to fasten the bags or bundles two and two together, by the strings of the bags or the corners of the bundles, and to sling them thus over their shoulders, one hanging before and one behind. The two younger midshipmen got the lightest for their share, old Higson manfully taking the largest, and saying that he would bring up the rear. Their new friend led to show them the way. There was a high gate near the bottom of the path, but that was sure to be open. Off started the strange procession amid shouts of laughter, to which Senhora Lobo and her hand-maidens added their share. “Adios, adios, senhores!” they shrieked, clapping their hands and bending almost double in their ecstasies. The shouts of the merry damsels could be heard long after they had been lost to sight, as the not less jovial young gentlemen descended the hill. At first the path was tolerably even, but gradually it became steeper and steeper, and the bundles seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and the night darker and darker. They could see that they were passing though a vineyard, formed on terraces, built upon the hillside. The assistant surgeon, who followed next their friend, had slackened his speed, allowing the latter to get ahead of him. Suddenly the medico lost sight of his guide, when stumbling he let his bags slip off his shoulders, and was obliged to stop a minute to adjust them, bringing everybody else behind him to a halt. Then to make up for lost time he pushed on at greater speed than before. He heard their guide cry out something, but what it was he could not tell. “Make haste you in the rear,” he exclaimed, but scarcely were the words out of his mouth than he found himself going headforemost from the top of a high wall, when he began to roll over and over, down a steep declivity. He was not alone, for one after the other came his companions, the darkness preventing those behind from discovering what had happened, Higson being the last, till the whole party were rolling away down the hill, struggling and kicking with the bags round their necks, some well-nigh strangled by the cords which held them together.

“Och, it’s kilt I am entirely!” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, who was the first to find his voice. “Where are we after going to? Is the say below us, does any one know?”

“Can’t some of you fellows ahead stop yourselves?” sung out Higson, who came thundering along with his big bundles about his neck; but the ground had just been cleared, not a root or branch offered a holdfast, and his weight giving a fresh impetus to the rest away they all went again over another terrace wall, shrieks and shouts and groans proceeding from those whose throats were not too tightly pressed by the cords to allow them utterance. Their cries quickly brought their friend to their assistance, when a level spot having fortunately been reached, with his aid, after some hauling and twisting, they were at length got on their legs, and their bundles and bags being replaced on their shoulders they proceeded in the same order as before. One or two groaned, occasionally, from the weight of their burdens or from the pain of their bruises, but most of the party trudged on, laughing heartily at their adventure.

“Hillo, why the gate is locked—never knew that before!” they heard their guide exclaim. “Never mind, we can easily climb it.” Saying this he threw his bags over, and climbing to the top safely dropped down on the other side. The rest of the party, with one exception, followed his example. When Higson came to the gate it looked so contemptibly easy that he determined to climb it with his bundles on his back. Telling Tom, who was next him, to go on, he mounted to the top, when just as he had got over his foot slipped, and down he came, having his body on the outer side and his huge bundles still on the inner, his neck being held fast by the cord which fastened them together. A deep groan escaped him. It might have been the last he would ever have uttered, but fortunately Tom heard it, and turning back discovered what had happened.

“Help! help!” he shouted; “here’s old Higson hanging himself.”

His shout brought the rest to the rescue, accompanied by Dick Needham, who had come up from the boat to see after them. While a couple of the oldsters climbed to the top of the gate Dick raised the old mate with his shoulders, and after much pulling and hauling his neck was cleared from the noose, when he would have fallen to the ground had not Dick caught him.

“I’m much afeered Mr Higson’s gone,” exclaimed Dick, as he placed his burden gently down.

“Dead! why he was kicking tremendously just now,” cried Tom, much concerned, for he had a real regard for his messmate.

“I’m afeered so,” repeated Dick, with a sigh.

“Let me see,” said McTavish, the assistant-surgeon, and stooping down he undid Higson’s handkerchief and rubbed away at his throat, feeling carefully round it. “Neck not dislocated, as I feared; he’s all right, and will come round presently,” he said, the announcement giving infinite relief to those who stood around.

As McTavish had predicted, Higson soon recovered; and as Dick was there to carry his bundles the adventurers were once more en route to the boat. All hands were warm in their expressions of thanks to their hospitable entertainer.

“You’ll not forget ‘mine host’ of the country venda,” he said, laughing, as he shook hands for the last time. They gave him three cheers, as the boat shoved off and pulled away for the frigate.

Higson had been silent, while the rest were talking, as if brooding over something; at length he exclaimed, “I say, Rogers, I’ll not have you call me old Higson—they were the last words I heard.”

“Then you didn’t hear me call the other fellows to your assistance,” answered Tom promptly. “If I hadn’t you wouldn’t have been sitting up and talking now. It wouldn’t have been pleasant for your friends to have seen a paragraph in the papers, ‘John Higson, mate of HMS Plantagenet, was hung on the —’”

“Avast there,” cried Higson, “or I’ll break your head, you—”

“He really was the means of saving your life,” said McTavish.

“Then I’m obliged to you, Rogers, and you may call me old Higson as often as you like, provided you do me an equal service every time.”

The next morning the frigate stood out of the Bay of Funchal on her way to the West Indies.

Chapter Four.

The Frigate at Trinidad—Magnificent scenery—Midshipmen on shore—Purchase a Spider-Monkey, and take a ride with him into the country—Adair meets some relatives—He and Jack nearly lose their hearts, but don’t—Colonel O’Regan and his daughter Stella—A country-house—Visit to a coffee plantation—The Colonel’s schemes—The Colonel and his daughter embark on board the Plantagenet—The Dragon’s mouth—The frigate in danger.

The mists of the early morning hung over the ocean, but not with sufficient density to obscure altogether the outline of the land, as her Majesty’s frigate Plantagenet was entering the Boca Navios, or ship channel, one of the Dragon’s Mouths which lead from the north into the Gulf of Paria, between the island of Trinidad and the mainland of South America. Captain Hemming stood, speaking-trumpet in hand, conning the ship; the crew were at their stations; hands in the chains, ever and anon, as they hove the lead, in deep, sonorous voices shouting out the depth of water; every one was on the alert, for the currents were uncertain and the wind baffling. As the sun rose the silvery mist seemed to be drawn up like a curtain, exposing a magnificent spectacle; islands of fantastic shapes rising from the calm, blue water, clothed to their summits with mighty trees, of varied hues, growing out of the crevices of the rocks. Here, lofty cliffs; there, some deep bay, with plantations and cottages beyond; or a shady valley, the fit abode of peace and contentment, as Adair, who was just then in a sentimental mood, observed; now in a wilder, more open spot were seen the huts of a whaling establishment; and then, further on, open glades and grassy enclosures; while on the port side towered up to the clear, bright sky the lofty ridge-like mountains of Trinidad itself. The breeze freshening, at length the handsome capital of the island, Port of Spain, on the shores of its wide bay, opened out to view; its broad streets running at right angles to each other, and thus allowing every air from the water to blow freely through them. On the other side of the town could be seen the Savannah, a park-like enclosure bordered by pretty villas, with a panorama of superb hills clothed with vegetation, forming the background of the picture; between which, extending right across the island, was discerned the entrance to the fertile valley of Diego Martin; while across the gulf on the mainland rose the majestic mountains of Cumana. Leave was given to all not required on board to go on shore. The captain went to call on the governor, the officers to amuse themselves, according to their respective tastes.

The talents of Norris as interpreter were called into requisition; indeed, he had a good opportunity of practising his Spanish and Portuguese as well as French, the white population being composed of a mixture of most of the nations of Europe. The young gentlemen were wandering about, as midshipmen are wont to do, in a strange town; now stopping to buy fruit in the market-place, now entering a shop to look for something they did not exactly know what; now popping their heads in at a church-door, when they caught sight of a short, broad-faced, yellow-skinned Carib with a monkey perched on his head, one on each shoulder, and a fourth nestling in his arms, standing at the corner of a street.

“Hurra!” cried Tom, “here’s the chance we have long been wishing for. Come along, Norris, and try to make the monkey-merchant understand that we are ready to treat for one of his happy family.”

“For combien sixpenny pieces voulez-vous sell us one of those rum chapsos, mon amis?” said Norris, with perfect confidence, as if expecting an answer. Though the Carib knew no more French than did the midshipman, guessing what was wanted, he made the three monkeys on his head and shoulders jump down to the ground to exhibit themselves. Having gone through their performances, at a word they sprang back into their former positions, the most active being a long-tailed, long-armed creature, with a body like a lath, who had the post of honour on the Indian’s head.

“That’s the fellow for us,” cried Tom, clapping his hands. “I don’t think old Scrofton will ever acknowledge that he had his origin in such a spider-like animal.”

“No, but he may be after saying that we are descended from some such creature, if he catches us skylarking aloft,” observed Gerald.

“He’ll not venture on such an impertinence,” answered Tom. “I vote we have him.”

Though there were some dissentient voices, the majority were in favour of the spider-monkey. A dollar was asked, a high price for a monkey, considering that hundreds are caught in the woods to be cooked for dinner; but then, as the Carib tried to explain, this one was civilised, and his education had cost something, though he could neither read nor write at present; but he might do so, if the young gentlemen would take the trouble of teaching him. The Indian’s arguments prevailed. A dollar was quickly collected, Tom paying twice as much as any one else, that he might have a proportionate interest in the beast; and Master Spider, as he was forthwith called, became the midshipmen’s monkey. Poor Master Spider, he little knew the fate awaiting him. Now he was theirs, the question was what to do with him till they returned on board. Should they take him with them into the country, he would to a certainty be off among his native woods, they agreed. They modestly requested several shop-keepers in the neighbourhood to take charge of him, but all declined the trust. They bought, however, of a saddler a chain and strap to assist in securing their captive. At first they were going to put the strap round the monkey’s neck; but the Carib hinted that if they did, Master Spider would be throttled, and so it was fastened round his loins, he ungratefully giving Paddy Desmond, who performed the operation, a severe bite in return.

“Ye baste, what do ye mane by that?” exclaimed Paddy, in a voice which made Master Spider spring back as far as his chain would allow to the top of a saddle, where he sat vehemently jabbering away, as if offering a full explanation of his conduct, amid the laughter of the rest of the party. Norris proposed hiring a sitting-room for him at an inn; but a somewhat high price being asked for the accommodation, it was at length determined to take him with them now that he could not escape, each one agreeing to carry him by turns.

“But you fellows are not going to walk about all day, I hope. I vote we have a ride,” exclaimed Norris.

The proposal was agreed to. Six procured steeds—rather sorry jades; for the sagacious owners, having some experience of the way naval officers are apt to ride, would not bring out their best horses, but the midshipmen did not care about that. They tossed up who was first to have charge of Spider. Paddy Desmond won, and away they started.

“Look out that you don’t run foul of any of the great Dons of the island, or lose your way,” shouted their messmates.

“No fear,” answered Tom; “we’ve got Spider as a pilot.”

Spider did show the way in a vengeance, for Desmond’s horse finding a strange creature clinging to its mane, dashed off at headlong speed through the streets and round the Savannah, followed by the rest, shouting and laughing, till the foot of the mountains was reached. Then up they went, not by the high road, but by a rough pathway, which led they did not know where. That, however, was of small consequence; it must take them to some place or other, and they had little doubt of finding their way back. On they pushed, scrambling along regardless of the hot sun, the dust, the flies, and other stinging creatures, laughing and shouting, and belabouring each other’s steeds, Gerald, as at first, with Spider before him, bravely keeping the lead. They had not been unobserved, for Lieutenants Rogers and Adair were riding leisurely along the road round the Savannah as they passed at some distance.

“There goes my young hopeful of a nephew,” exclaimed Adair. “I must look sharper after the lad than I have done when he gets on shore, or he’ll come to grief, and my good sister, his mother, who doats on him, will break her heart.”

“I must keep a taut hand on Tom, too, for whom I feel myself responsible,” observed Jack. “I was glad to have him on board the frigate, but I did not reflect on the anxiety he would cause me.”

“Mercifully Providence watches over midshipmen, or the race would soon become extinct, and there would be no such promising young officers as you and I to be found,” said Adair. “There go a number more of them. Happy fellows! Well, it was not so long since we were like them, Jack.”

The two lieutenants continued their ride, bound on a visit which shall be mentioned presently. The midshipmen galloped along till their horses’ knees trembled under them. They had left the more cultivated country, and entered a wild region, the forest closing in on every side; birds of gorgeous colours flew by or rose from the thickets; beautiful butterflies fluttered in the glades, and monkeys gambolled in the trees, looking down on them from the branches overhead, chattering loudly as they passed.

“We’ve paid a pretty high price, I’ve a notion, for Master Spider, since we might have had a dozen such fellows for the catching,” observed Norris, as he watched the monkeys in troops springing from bough to bough.

“But how were we to catch them, I should like to know?” asked Tom. “They can beat any one of us at climbing, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Ah, well, I suppose they can, as they are at it all day,” answered Norris sagaciously.

Meantime Master Spider had been gazing up wistfully at his relations in the trees, every now and then answering their chatterings with a peculiar cry, when, passing under an overhanging bough, some three or four feet above him, suddenly springing on the horse’s head, and thence on Gerald’s, in a moment, with his long arms extended, he had laid tight hold of it, while Gerald letting go his rein, with equal tenacity grasped the end of the chain, fancying that he could haul him back; but the arms of the monkey were stronger than his. On galloped the horse, leaving him, as a consequence, hanging with one hand to the chain. Instinctively he made a grasp at the monkey’s long tail, greatly, it is possible, to the relief of the owner; and there he hung, swinging backwards and forwards between the sky and earth, the monkey jabbering and shrieking with the pain of the strap round its loins, amid a chorus of its relatives, while the other midshipmen gathered round, laughing till they nearly split their sides, without attempting to assist him. Even Tom—hard-hearted fellow—forgot to help his friend.

“Bear a hand, some of ye, and catch hold of my legs, or I’ll be carried off by the baste entirely,” shouted Gerald. “And there’s my horse galloped off, and I’ll have none to ride back on.”

“Hold fast, Paddy! hold fast!” shouted his messmates, “it’s such fun to see you.”

“It’s you I want to be holding on to me, for if ye won’t haul me down the baste of a monkey will be after hauling me up. He’ll be at the top of the tree in another moment, and his friends will be carrying me off among them, and I’ll never set eyes again on Ballymacree, shone! shone! but be turned into a spider-legged monkey, I will!” and poor Paddy began to cry with terror as he pictured the fate in store for him. At length Tom’s regard for his friend overcame his love of fun, and throwing the reins of his horse to Norris he jumped off, and catching hold of Gerald’s legs began hauling away with all his might. Now, though Master Spider could, by his wonderful muscular power, manage to support one midshipman, the weight of two was more than he could bear, and letting go, down came Gerald, and over went Tom, with the monkey struggling and scratching on the top of them, giving a revengeful nip on the most exposed part of his new master’s body. Master Spider hadn’t long his own way, however, for the reefers picking themselves up, Paddy gave him a box on the ears, which though it made him show his teeth, brought him to order, and the tired steed being found feeding close by, all hands agreed that, unless they wished to be benighted, it was about time to return shipward. Paddy declining the further companionship of Spider, Tom took charge of him, and off they set down the mountain’s side, for a wonder reaching the plain without breaking their necks; their steeds happily knowing the way better than they did. Darkness came on while they were still galloping along.

“Och, sure our horses’ hoofs are scattering the sparks all around us,” cried Paddy. One of the more knowing of the party, however, discovered that the sparks were fire-flies, flitting about above a damp spot through which they were passing.

A good supper at the hotel quickly restored their exhausted spirits, and they got safe on board with Master Spider. It was the last ride on shore they enjoyed for many a long day. They were soon to be engaged in more stirring and dangerous adventures.

We must now accompany the two lieutenants. On landing, having a bill to get cashed, they repaired for that purpose to the establishment of a certain Don Antonio Gomez, who acted as store-keeper and banker, and was, they heard, one of the leading men in the place. He spoke English, they found, remarkably well.

“Are you related to Mr Adair, of Ballymacree, in Ireland?” he asked, on hearing Adair’s name.

“I am his son,” was the answer.

“Then I am truly delighted to see you, my dear sir,” exclaimed the Don. “My mother is the daughter of an uncle of yours—no; let me see—of a great uncle who settled here some forty years ago or more, after the island became a dependency of England. She will be charmed to welcome you as a cousin. My wife, too, is Irish, and we have some guests also who hail from the old country, so that you will be perfectly at home. You will come up at once, and Lieutenant Rogers will, I hope, accompany you.”

Adair, of course, said all that could be expected; how enchanted he should be to make the acquaintance of his cousin, of whom, till that moment, however, he had never heard, while Jack gladly accepted the invitation offered him. While they were speaking Don Antonio was summoned on a matter of importance.

“I regret that I cannot accompany you at present,” he said, on his return; “I have therefore written to announce your coming, and have ordered horses, with a servant to show you the way. They will be here presently, and in the meantime you must fortify yourselves for the journey with some tiffin.”

He led his visitors to a large airy upper room looking out over the gulf. In the centre was a table spread with all sorts of West-Indian delicacies, and wines and spirits, and bottled beer. A person must go to a hot climate to appreciate the latter liquid properly. Several persons looked in, and took their seats at table as if it was a customary thing. Some apparently were resident planters; others skippers of merchantmen, and there were several foreigners, who spoke only Spanish or French.

One of the last comers was a fine military-looking man, with a handsome countenance, a few grey hairs sprinkling his otherwise dark hair and moustache. Don Antonio introduced him to the two lieutenants as Colonel O’Regan. The naval officers rose and bowed, and the Colonel taking his seat opposite to them at once, as a man of the world, entered into conversation.

“Colonel O’Regan has seen a good deal of service in the Peninsula and elsewhere,” observed Don Antonio to Adair; “knew your uncle, Major Adair, and was with Sir Ralph Abercromby when this island changed masters, I must confess very much to its advantage.”

The colonel heard the last remark. “I was a mere boy at the time, having only just joined my regiment,” he observed, with a smile. “It was not a very hazardous expedition, and had there been any fighting the navy would have borne the brunt of it; but the gallant Spanish Admiral Apodaca, whose memory is not held in the highest repute hereabouts, as soon as he saw the British fleet, having landed his men, set fire to four of his ships, and galloped off, that he might be the first to convey the intelligence to the Governor Chacon, who was preparing to defend the city from the expected assault. He entered at the head of a band of priests, piously counting his rosary. ‘Burnt your ships, admiral!’ exclaimed Chacon, in astonishment. ‘Then I fear all is lost.’ ‘Oh, no, most noble governor, all is not lost, I assure you,’ answered the admiral. ‘I have saved! only think I have saved the image of Santiago de Compostella, the patron of my ships and myself.’”

“Come, come, you are rather hard on the worthy Apodaca—his ships were only half manned, and Admiral Harvey would have captured them all after giving him a sound drubbing,” observed Don Antonio, laughing notwithstanding. “Besides it is a proof that we had pious men among us in those days. Remember that we had not long before been deprived of the holy Inquisition.”

“You did not regret its loss, I presume,” said the colonel. “I saw something of what it must have been in Spain when its dungeons were revealed to view.”

“As to that I live under the English government, and prefer the English system of managing matters,” answered Don Antonio, but wishing to change the subject he asked, “What news from the Main, colonel?”

“Unsatisfactory as usual,” was the answer. “Something, however, must be done or the cause will be lost, and I am resolved to be no longer influenced by those half-hearted patriots as they call themselves.”

Just then the horses were announced. “You will meet Colonel O’Regan, as he will accompany me by-and-by,” said Don Antonio to the lieutenants.

They found two richly caparisoned steeds waiting for them, with a sable attendant in livery, mounted on a third. He would have astonished an English groom. He wore huge spurs strapped to naked feet—a light blue coat richly laced, an enormously high hat with a deep band, and a flaming red waistcoat. He, however, was evidently satisfied with his own appearance, and considered himself a person of no small importance.

“Mr Pedro Padillo show dee way to Massa Lieutenants,” he said, bowing after they had mounted. “When say starboard, keep to starboard; when say larboard, keep to port; oderwise make way ahead.”

“Thank you, Pedro—you have been at sea, I perceive,” said Jack.

“Oh yes, massa. I serve aboard de King’s ships, and oder craft many years before turn head groom to Don Antonio,” answered the black. “He great man, as you shall see presently.”

After rather more than an hour’s ride under the steerage of Pedro, Jack and Adair reached the country residence of Don Antonio, magnificently situated on the broad shoulder of a mountain which rose clothed with gigantic trees behind it, while in front lay the blue gulf dotted over with the tiny sails of canoes—a highly cultivated plain stretched out below—hill sides and forests, plantations and villas appearing on either hand.

“Faith, my new cousin is well located. It bates Ballymacree I must confess,” said Adair, as they came in front of an extensive bungalow style of building, with a broad verandah running along the front and two sides, with such a garden as the tropics only can present, kept green by a clear stream taught to meander through it, and the source of which could be discerned as in a sparkling cascade it rushed down the mountain side amid the trees. “I am curious to know what sort of person my elder relative will prove, not to speak of the younger females of the family,” added Adair.

As he spoke a cloud of white drapery was seen moving in the verandah. It soon resolved itself into a tall, dignified old lady, another of matronly appearance, and a bevy of young ones; two or three of them mere girls; perfect Houris they seemed to Adair, and Jack was much of the same opinion. As Adair threw himself from his horse, the old lady advanced from among the rest, holding out both her hands.

“My young cousin, I am delighted to greet you. It is long, long since I set eyes on one of my kindred from the old country, and you are welcome—doubly welcome as coming direct from dear Ballymacree, the home of my youth,” she exclaimed, with a very perceptible Hibernian accent.

Terence made a suitable reply, albeit not much addicted to the utterance of sentimental speeches, and then he was introduced to his younger cousins of the second degree; and Jack, who had modestly hung back, came forward, and went through the same pleasant ceremony. One damsel had kept somewhat behind the rest as if she did not claim to be a relation.

“Irish to the core,” thought Jack. “Large grey eyes, rich brown hair—the complexion of the lily tinged with the rose—a figure a sylph might envy.”

“Let me make you known, Lieutenant Rogers and Cousin Terence to Miss O’Regan,” said the old lady, the others having retired a few paces, thus allowing the officers to advance, which they did bowing, with admiration depicted in their countenances, to the young lady. Courtesying, not very formally, she put out her hand, and said with a laugh—

“I must beg to be considered among the cousinhood, or I shall feel like a stranger in your midst.”

The fair cousins gathered round laughing, and said, “Yes! yes! of course!”

Adair took the beautiful little hand, so firm and cool, and felt very much inclined to press it to his lips, but he did not. The same favour was extended to Jack. They were soon as much at home as if they had known each other for months. Donna Katerina, however, as the elder lady was called, monopolised her cousin Terence, naturally eager to hear about Ballymacree, and the various members of his family. She charged him to bring up his nephew the next day; and hearing that Lieutenant Rogers had a brother on board, insisted that he must come also. Jack had thus for some time the young ladies to himself; which were most worthy of admiration he could not decide—they were all so charming; but undoubtedly Miss O’Regan—her friends called her Stella—which sounded more romantic to Jack’s ears than her surname—was perfection or near it.

A very pleasant afternoon was spent with music and singing, and conversation, and a stroll in the shade under the lofty trees, between which the breeze found its way, keeping the atmosphere tolerably cool and agreeable. Jack and Terence thought that they should like, if not to spend the rest of their days in so delightful a spot, to come back to it some time or other; but they did not venture to hint at such a thing just then. On returning to the house they found that Don Antonio, with Colonel O’Regan and their own captain, had arrived. The latter seemed as much struck with Stella as they had been, and they could not help feeling a little jealous of him, though they need not have been so, as he paid her no more attention than he did the other young ladies. He gave them, moreover, leave to remain on shore, as he intended returning on board, and he promised Donna Katerina to send up her young cousin, and Tom Rogers the next morning. Several other gentlemen arrived, and dinner was announced—a magnificent entertainment—plate and crystal and sparkling wines in profusion, and all sorts of tropical delicacies. Then came music and dancing—chiefly waltzes. The young Creoles swam through the dances; Stella moved with more life in her than all of them. Captain Hemming seldom danced. He could not resist the temptation altogether, but he was engaged for the most of the evening in earnest conversation with Colonel O’Regan. He returned to town in the carriage of one of the guests, and soon afterwards the whole party retired to rest.

As the lieutenants slept within earshot of the colonel they were unable to discuss Stella—a great privation. Don Antonio was a planter as well as a merchant, and he had invited his guests to visit his cocoa plantation, of which he was justly proud, three or four miles in the interior. The midshipmen, who had started by daybreak, arrived just as the party were setting off. They looked somewhat blank, when but a slight refreshment only was offered them, but were comforted when they found that they were to breakfast on their return. Gerald was received by Donna Katerina as a kinsman, and he and Tom were taken in charge by the younger of the young ladies. Some of the party went in carriages; others, Stella among them, on horseback, with Terence and Jack as her attendants. She rode like a thorough Irish girl well accustomed to the saddle.

The party proceeded along picturesque lanes, mostly in the shade of umbrageous trees, crossing many a brawling brook, till they reached, on the gentle slope of a hill, the confines of a lofty forest, with a peculiar undergrowth of shrubs from ten to fifteen feet in height of a delicate green tint. These were the cocoa-trees, and the duty of the more lofty ones, whose boughs, interlaced by numberless creepers, formed a thick roof, was to shelter them from the burning rays of the sun. A centre road ran through the plantation, intersected by numerous cross-paths, all lined with dark-leaved coffee bushes covered with jessamine blossoms, giving forth an exquisite perfume, while water in gentle rills conveyed life and fertility to every part. The horses were left at the house of the overseer while the party sauntered through the plantation enjoying the grateful shade, and the cool breeze which fanned their cheeks.

“How delightful!” exclaimed Jack. “I am greatly tempted to come on shore, and turn cocoa planter.”

“What, and give up the noble profession to which you belong?” asked the young lady by his side. “I should have expected better of you, Mr Rogers.” It was the first time Jack had heard Stella utter an expression which showed her character. “While there are wrongs to be righted, and the defenceless to be protected, I trust that no one engaged in the noble profession of arms will think of sheathing his sword.”

“I spoke from the impulse of the moment. I really have no intention of leaving the navy, which I love as much as any man.”

“I am glad of it,” said Stella, giving him an approving smile.

Jack, who was decidedly matter-of-fact, was wondering what wrongs Stella wished him to redress, when their conversation was interrupted, and he had no opportunity of asking her till they had mounted their horses and were riding homeward. Jack at last put the question.

“In all parts of the world,” answered Stella, with some little hesitation. “Look, too, over yonder vast continent.” She pointed to the blue mountains of Cumana seen across the gulf. “From north to south wrong and oppression reigns. Even in those states nominally free, one set of tyrants have but been superseded by another as regardless of the rights of the people as the first.”

“I have not often met young ladies imbued with sentiments such as yours,” observed Jack.

“Few young ladies you have met, probably, have fathers like mine,” answered Stella.

She stopped as if she was saying too much. Jack recollected the observations he had heard at Don Antonio’s luncheon-room. Probably the colonel is engaged in one of the many revolutionary schemes connected with the late Spanish South American dependencies, he thought. “His daughter very naturally has faith in the justice of the cause he has espoused.”

“Yes, I confess that I have adopted my father’s sentiments,” said Stella, as if she had known what was passing in his mind. “It is but natural, for we are all in all to each other. My mother is dead, and I have no sister or brother. He might have enjoyed a well-won rest at home without dishonour; but he disdained, while possessing health and strength, to remain in idleness, and I entreated that he would not leave me behind, so we came out here some time ago; and while he has made excursions on the continent, I have mostly resided with our friends here, though I have occasionally accompanied him. We have made some long trips by sea, and I have ridden with him several hundred miles on horseback.”

Jack, who believed that young ladies were most fitly employed in household affairs, or in practising the accomplishments they might have learned with an occasional attendance at a ball or archery meeting, thought his fair companion an enthusiast, a perfect heroine of romance, though he did not tell her so. She possibly considered him somewhat dull and phlegmatic. Jack’s notion of duty was to gain as much professional knowledge as possible; to obey the orders he might receive, and to carry them out to the best of his ability.

The midshipmen had no reason to complain of the breakfast spread before them on their return to the house; meats and sweets and fruits, unknown even by name; and such coffee, and perfectly ambrosial cacao. The young ladies seemed to have nothing to do but to amuse them, and perfectly ready they were to be amused, in a quiet way though, for the heat in the middle of the day was too great for much skylarking.

Don Antonio and the other gentlemen had gone into the town but they returned in the evening with Captain Hemming, who invited all the party to take a cruise to the southern end of the island, as he wished to visit the Pitch Lake and the Indian settlements, and to perform certain official duties. The colonel and his daughter, and Don Antonio and his wife, with most of the young ladies, accepted it, and a very delightful trip they had; and, of course, a dance was got up on board, which was more interesting to the fair damsels and the naval officers than any of the natural curiosities the island could afford. It was whispered in the gunroom that they were to have some of their visitors on board for a much longer time, and it at last came out that the captain had promised a passage to Colonel O’Regan and his daughter to Jamaica. Adair and Gerald rode out to wish their cousins good-bye. The old lady was as cordial as ever, and all of them made much of the midshipmen; but Terence had a slight suspicion that the younger ones were somewhat piqued that he and Jack had not laid their hearts at their feet. They were very pretty, charming girls, he acknowledged, and he was not certain what might have happened had he remained longer. Perhaps they were just a little jealous of Stella. He thought so when his sweet cousin Maria whispered, “No one will deny that she is very beautiful, but she is cold as the snow on Chimborazo, and it is said that while playing havoc with the affections of her admirers, she leaves them to their fate with the most callous indifference.”

“Jack Rogers thinks very differently of her,” remarked Adair. “He says that she is one of the most enthusiastic creatures he has ever met; but still I don’t know that he can exactly make her out.”

“No one can,” answered Maria. “She seems very affectionate to us, and grateful for the attention we have been able to show her, and yet we do not know her better now than we did at first.”

Just then the subject of their conversation approached, and directly afterwards Jack and his brother rode up to pay a short farewell visit, and to escort Stella to the town, where her father was waiting for her to go on board the frigate. The bustle of preparation prevented any further conversation. Donna Katerina assured Terence that he might rely on being welcomed as a relative should he return to Trinidad, and was equally civil to Jack when, in his usual hearty way, he wished his friends good-bye. He was watched narrowly as he handed Stella into the carriage, but the keenest eyes could not detect anything in his manner beyond the ordinary respect due to a lady.

The captain had come to the landing-place to escort his guests on board the frigate. They reached her side just as the sunset gun was fired. Stella gave not the slightest start at the sound, but sat as unmoved as her soldier father. Jack remarked the grace and, at the same time, the confidence with which she stepped up the accommodation-ladder, and walked along the deck as if well accustomed to ascending a ship’s side. “I never met a girl better fitted to be a heroine than she is,” he thought. “Still my sister Mary and Lucy are of the style I fancy best.”

The young lady was followed by her only attendant, a black damsel, carrying her dressing-case, and other articles, which nothing would induce her to commit to the charge of the men who offered to take them. “Missie Stella tell me not lose dem,” she answered, with a knowing shake of her head. “No, no, tank yoo.”

Stella retired at an early hour to the cabin the captain had fitted up for her, with a small one close to it for the faithful Polly. She wished to be on deck, she said, to see the ship get under weigh in the morning. She and the colonel were pretty freely discussed in the gunroom and midshipmen’s berth. All acknowledged that she was handsome, but some thought her proud and haughty, and others that she was rather slow, whilst Gerald was of opinion that his cousins beat her hollow, in which Tom agreed with him heartily.

“Much more jolly girls they are,” said Tom. “How they laughed at Spider’s antics! I only wish we may find a batch of such cousins in every place we go to with as capital a country-house.”

Terence pronounced her a Sphinx. Perhaps he was biassed by the opinion the fair Maria had expressed. Jack did not altogether like to hear her talked about, especially by the master and purser, or the lieutenant of marines, who called her a monstrously fine woman. The colonel was fair game. No one could make out who he was, what brought him out to that part of the world, or why the captain was so polite to him. Perhaps it was for his daughter’s sake. He was stiff and donnish, and had scarcely condescended to speak to any one. Jack and Terence defended him on this point, but still he did not appear to have made a favourable impression during the day he had been on board.

With a leading wind and on the brightest of bright mornings, the frigate was standing towards the Boca de Huevos, one of the dragon’s mouths, which lead out of the Gulf of Paria into the open ocean. Everything looked brilliant—the ship herself, the sea, the sky, the land. The passage seemed broad enough for a dozen ships to sail out abreast, between the lofty tree-covered crags which formed the shores of the islands on either side. Still every precaution was taken; the lead was kept going, the crew were at their stations. Stella and her father stood on the deck watching the shore as the ship glided rapidly on. Lieutenant Jennings was the only person at liberty to attend to them, and he was doing his best to make himself agreeable; but he found, after a few attempts, that he succeeded better with the colonel than with his daughter. “Grand cliffs those,” he observed; “awkward for a ship to run against. No chance of our doing so, however.”

“Not so certain of that,” answered the colonel. “The wind is scant and has fallen.”

The yards were braced sharp up, and the quartermaster was keeping the ship as close to the wind as possible.

“Why we are almost through the passage; a few hundred yards more, and we shall be in the open sea,” remarked the lieutenant.

“Without a breeze those few hundred yards will be too much for us,” said the colonel.

As he spoke the sails gave a loud flap; now they filled, and the countenance of the captain brightened; now they flapped again, and it soon became evident that the frigate was drifting, stern first, away from the line of the open sea so nearly reached, towards the cliffs on the starboard hand, driven by a fierce current, which set in diagonally from the northward through the passage. Slowly but certainly she floated back. Had it been directly through the passage, it would not have mattered; but having no steerage way, she was at the mercy of the current, and that was taking her directly towards the cliffs. Many an eye was turned aloft to the canvas on which their safety depended. Just then the most coal-begrimed steamer would not have been despised. The captain gave the order for all the boats to be got ready for lowering; still he had hopes that the breeze would again freshen, but he could not hide from himself the danger the ship was in. All the boats towing ahead could not stem that fierce current. Ever and anon, too, the swell from the sea came rolling in smooth as glass, setting the ship towards the rocks. Not the faintest zephyr filled even the royals. Even should her head be got round to the southward, she would still be drifted bodily to destruction. Stella clearly comprehended the danger, and watched with admiration the cool and calm bearing of the officers. A cable was ranged for letting go as a last resource, but the depth of water where they then were precluded any hope of an anchor holding. Nearer and nearer the ship drew to the towering cliffs.

“Lower the boats,” cried the captain.

Their active crews sprang into them, and tow-ropes being passed they began to pull, as English seamen are wont to pull, against the hot current; but all their efforts seemed of no avail in retarding the sternward progress of the frigate. It appeared at length as if in another minute her spanker-boom would be driven against the cliffs, while the outer branches of the tall trees which towered on their summits seemed almost to hang over the mast heads. Smooth as was the water, an angry surf broke against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, too clearly indicating what must be the fate of the proud frigate should she drive against them. The lead kept going, showed the depth of water still to be great. Suddenly the ship seemed to be brought to a standstill; the lead-line remained up and down. The hand in the chains announced the fact. It was evident that she had got into dead water, but she still felt the influence of the rollers; for although the boat’s crews pulled as hard as ever, they could not move her ahead. It would be impossible for them also to continue their exertions much longer, while but a slight puff of wind from the opposite shore would hasten her fate.

“Well, I never thought there could be danger in smooth water and a calm, and the land close to us,” said Tom, who observed the anxious faces of those around him.

“There are many things not dreamed of in your philosophy, youngster, which you’ll learn in time,” answered Higson. “Before many minutes are over we may chance to have the masts come tumbling about our ears, and I would advise you, and the rest not wanted on deck, to get below out of the way in good time.”

“What, you don’t mean to say that the ship is likely to be wrecked?” said Tom.

“Ay, but I do, if one of two things don’t happen,” answered Higson. “Let’s hope that they may that the anchor may hold, or that a breeze may come from off the cliffs aboard of us.”

“Let go,” sang out the captain.

“All gone!” shouted Adair from forward.

At that moment Master Spider, having managed to get clear of his chain, seeing the green trees so near him, was off up the rigging with the evident intention of having a ramble among them. Tom and Gerald caught sight of their new pet at the same moment, and forgetting danger or discipline up the shrouds they sprang in chase.

“Might as well try to catch greased lightning as that long-armed beast,” observed Higson, who did not, however, attempt to stop them. Spider quickly reached the main-topsail-yard-arm, but finding that the tempting trees were still utterly beyond his reach, up the topping-lift he swarmed, and in another instant was on the royal-yard. Thither the midshipmen followed, but Spider showed an inclination to defend his position, and sat grinning at them from the end of the yard, round which his prehensile tail was firmly curled. He had an advantage they did not possess, being able to hold on tightly, and yet have both his hands at liberty. As Tom, who led the way, put out his hand to catch the creature, he received so severe a bite that he almost let go. Still he was not to be defeated by a monkey. The two midshipmen, now getting out their handkerchiefs, formed nooses, in which they hoped to catch Master Spider’s paws, and advanced together, forgetting that snake-like tail of his, with which he could keep at anchor, let them haul ever so hard. Apparently, however, not liking their threatening front, before they could seize him he made a spring over their heads, and was in an instant calmly seated on the main-truck. They were about to follow, when Jack, catching sight of them, called them down instantly.

“What, all three of us, sir?” asked Gerald, unable to resist the joke, which set the men grinning fore-and-aft, in spite of the perilous position of the ship.

“No; the two biggest of you; let the smaller monkey take his own time to come down,” answered Jack.

Tom and Gerald descended, looking rather foolish, and the former had to go to the doctor to have his finger dressed, for Spider had given it a severe nip.

The lead-line betokened fifty fathoms where the frigate had cast anchor. The sails hung in the brails. Captain Hemming was on the watch for the slightest flaw of wind which might enable him to get out of his dangerous position. The boats were still kept ahead; the rest of the crew were at their stations, the marines and idlers ready to pull and haul. It was a time of breathless anxiety. No one could tell what might next happen. Spider might have fancied that the eyes turned aloft were directed at him, instead of towards the sluggish royals. Wistfully he gazed at the green branches, but he was too wise a monkey to suppose that he could reach them. Still, with his tail curled under it, he sat on the truck, as comfortably posted as he could desire.

Scarcely a word was uttered only occasionally Stella and her father exchanged observations. The colonel seemed positively to enjoy the anxiety.

“Ah! now we have an example of what strict discipline can accomplish,” he said. “Spaniards or Frenchmen would have given way to despair and lost their ship. These fine fellows will save theirs, though they would have been wiser to have taken the wider passage. Would that I had a thousand or two of such: there might be better hope for the regeneration of South America.”

“You will succeed in spite of all difficulties,” said Stella, looking up into her father’s face with a proud, fond glance; “you will conquer them.”

Ten, twenty minutes went slowly by, the bright sun beating down fiercely on deck, and on the heads of the people in the boats, till they felt as if their brains were frying. Mr Cherry sent the dingy ahead with a breaker of water to them. It was drained to the last drop. Suddenly the royals were seen slowly to bulge out; the topgallant-sails followed their example.

“Let fall! sheet home!” cried the captain, and on the word the whole crew were set in motion, those on deck tramping along at headlong speed with the sheets in their hands.

“Slip the cable, starboard the helm!” were the next orders. Adair shouted to those in the boats to pull ahead. The chain ran out as the ship slowly gathered way with her head across the channel, and she began to move off from the threatening cliffs. In the course of a few minutes she had gained the centre of the passage, when steering south she re-entered the gulf, and came to anchor. Here she remained, the boats having been sent to recover the anchor, till a favourable breeze carried her through the Boca de Navios, and clear away from the land.

Chapter Five.

Grenada—Fall in with the Tudor—Murray’s first meeting with Stella—Master Spider introduced to Mr Scrofton—Arrival at Antigua—Scenery and adventures on shore—Alick Murray in love—A boat excursion—A capsize—A long swim—Anxiety on board—A search—The missing ones found.

Early the next morning the frigate made that lovely gem of the ocean, Grenada, and just as the fortifications crowning Richmond heights came in view, and the slopes of the surrounding hills, covered with orange groves and palm-trees, plantations, and fields, amid which sparkling streams rushed downward to the sea, a ship was seen standing out of the harbour. She was at once known by her number to be the Tudor. The frigate was immediately hove-to, and the corvette having approached, imitated her example. A boat was forthwith lowered from the latter, and Alick Murray, accompanied by Archy Gordon, came on board the Plantagenet. Alick having delivered the despatches of which he was the bearer to the captain, was warmly greeted by his old friends, whom he accompanied into the gunroom, while Archy was hurried down into the midshipmen’s berth.

Both parties were eager to hear each other’s adventures. The corvette had been detained longer than was expected at Madeira, and had been three days in the magnificent harbour of Grenada.

“Oh, it’s a braw place, there’s ne’er doot about that,” said Archy. “They say it’s just like Italy, and if so, Italy must be a beautiful country. Hills and dales, covered with plantations, sic fruits and flowers, and a plenty of Scotsmen. It has only one fault; there are no ladies, unless they call the black lassies who gang wi’ blue silk parasols and na shoes to their feet so.”

Archy’s description of the island made all hands eager to visit it, and much disappointment was felt when the sails were filled, and, in company with the Tudor, a course was steered for Saint Vincent.

Stella had been on deck, watching the approaching corvette, and she could not help remarking the young and handsome lieutenant who came from her on board the frigate. Alick was not introduced, but he stood for some time talking to Captain Hemming not far off, and occasionally his eyes glanced towards her lovely countenance, while he wondered who she could be. It was one of the first questions he put when he reached the gunroom. Every one had plenty to say about her and her father. He did not express his own opinion; had he admired her less he might have done so. Alick Murray returned on board the corvette with the image of Stella impressed on his heart. Like a wise man he tried to banish it, but go it would not. Again and again that sweet countenance rose up before him, and he longed for an opportunity of meeting her again—of hearing her voice, of ascertaining her opinions, of learning her history.

The ships visited Saint Vincent, Saint Lucia, Dominica, and other islands in succession, the one vying with the other in beauty, though the palm was given to the few first seen. As to the blacks, they all appeared sufficiently quiet, so that only two or three days were spent at each island.

The midshipmen had not forgotten their object in purchasing Spider, and every day they had him into their berth to give him instructions in polite knowledge, as they took care to tell Mr Scrofton. With all the pains they took, however, he made no perceptible progress, though he had no objection to eat the nuts and fruits offered him, provided they were ripe and sweet, or to sit with a stick in his paws, and shoulder it at the word of command. Still he infinitely preferred frolicking about on deck, or swinging by his tail to a horizontal spar, slung for his accommodation. He appeared altogether perfectly reconciled to his lot, except when the ship was in harbour, when he would go aloft and sit on the main-truck, gazing towards the green trees, while he chattered away, evidently, as Gerald said, meditating on the pleasures of his youth, spent amid his native forests.

At last, one day, the midshipmen conducted Spider in due form, dressed in a coat and trousers, with a tarpaulin hat they had manufactured for him, to the boatswain’s cabin.

“We have done our best, Mr Scrofton, to bring up this monkey in the way he should go, in order to become a civilised being,” said Tom, with perfect gravity. “Notwithstanding all our pains he doesn’t know A from Z; and though we have tried to make him understand how to light the lamp, he can no more use the matches than at first, and puts them in his mouth, or throws them away if given to him; and when it has been lighted he pokes his paws into the flame to see what the curious red thing is just sprung out of the wick.”

“I don’t expect that you ever will teach him, young gentlemen,” answered the boatswain seriously. “It would take centuries to produce the change. After many generations of domestic life that long tail of his, having become useless, would disappear; his hinder paws would take the form of human feet; his forehead would expand; his arms would become shorter, his body stouter—till at length all outward trace of his monkey origin would be lost. That’s what my books say, and I believe them.”

“Very good; I won’t dispute the point,” said Tom. “But I want to know boxy the first monkeys who turned into men got their education, by which the change was produced. As long as they had got their tails they never would have thought of leaving their native forests, so well suited to them.”

“I haven’t quite arrived at that part of the subject,” answered the boatswain; “but I’ll consult my books and tell you.”

“Suppose we teach him seamanship, how long do you think it will be before he’s fit to be boatswain of a ten-gun brig, Mr Scrofton?” asked Gerald, in the most innocent tone he could assume.

Just then some one gave Master Spider a sly pinch on the tail, which made him grin and chatter, and of course set all the midshipmen laughing. Mr Scrofton, not perceiving the cause, thought that they were laughing at him, and casting an angry glance from his ferrety eyes at Gerald, he answered, “I’ll tell you what, young gentlemen, it would be in my opinion about the same time that it would take to fit you for the post, unless you mend your manners. The boatswain even of a ten-gun brig must be a man of character, and no jackanapes can ever become one; and the boatswain of a frigate, you’ll understand, is not to be sneered at with impunity.”

“That’s the very point at issue!” exclaimed Tom, clapping his hands, and in no ways daunted by the boatswain’s anger. “You acknowledge, then, that a monkey never can become a boatswain, and that Lord Monboddo is altogether in the wrong?”

“I don’t acknowledge anything of the sort, because I know nothing about the matter,” answered the boatswain, not intending to say what he did. “But let me inform you, if you bring that monkey of yours here again to mock me, I shall be compelled to take measures for putting a stop to such audacious proceedings.”

The midshipmen fearing, from the vengeful look Mr Scrofton cast at poor Spider, that their pet’s life was in danger, endeavoured to calm his anger by assuring him that they had no intention of being disrespectful, and that they begged he would retain his own opinion, notwithstanding anything they had said on the subject. They had a hearty laugh when they got back to the berth, fully resolved to bait the boatswain again on the first opportunity.

At length the two ships lay snugly moored off the Royal Dockyard, English harbour, in the island of Antigua, the prettiest of all pretty harbours. Their arrival caused no small commotion among the inhabitants, especially of the softer sex, when it was known that they were to remain some time, and that a ball was to be given to the officers at Government House. Colonel O’Regan and his daughter went on shore to stay with their friends, Mr and Mrs Houghton, who had a pretty cottage residence in the neighbourhood. A deputation came soon afterwards to invite them to the ball. At first Stella was disposed to decline the honour, as it involved a drive of eleven miles across the island to Saint John’s, the capital; but Lieutenant Murray, who happened to be calling at the house, adding his solicitations, she accepted the invitation. The colonel was much disconcerted by the delay. He had expected to be at Jamaica some time before, where, as he told Captain Hemming, he intended to leave his daughter with some friends while he made an excursion to the Spanish Main. The object he had in view he did not explain. As there was no help for it he was obliged to submit, and the captain assured him that after leaving Antigua his intention was to proceed direct to Jamaica. Antigua, although not so lovely as other islands to the south, possesses a beauty of its own, and several trips to enjoy its scenery were made by the officers into the interior. On two occasions, Alick and Jack accompanied Stella and her father. While Jack took charge of the colonel, Alick rode by Stella’s side. Each time he met her the more he was attracted, and yet he could not say that she gave him any encouragement. She was interested in his conversation, for he was better informed and talked better than his brother officers, but had she discovered his devoted admiration? They reached a spot near the coast almost on the summit of one of the lofty cliffs which form ramparts in most parts around the island, and from whence the ground slopes inwards in gradual declivities towards the green and grassy centre. The whole island, which is of a rough circular form, lay in sight. A line of fortifications crowned an opposite height overlooking the sea on one side, and a wide extent of country, consisting of undulating downs and verdant fields, in which countless cattle were feeding, with the numerous houses of the planters embosomed in trees on the other. In the north-west the town of Saint John’s was clearly seen; while here and there, some of the many deep creeks and bays which indent the coastline could be distinguished running far inland, several swelling into estuaries and others forming commodious harbours. Isles and islets of all shapes and sizes lay scattered off the shore, and far away towards the west the islands of Guadaloupe, Montserrat, Nevis, and Saint Kitt’s, rose out of the blue ocean.

“What a perfect Arcadian scene!” said Alick, as he and his companion gazed over the smiling landscape.

“And the Arcadians are kept in proper order by yonder frowning batteries,” remarked Stella, pointing to the line of fortifications. “Until free and enlightened governments are established throughout the globe, we cannot hope to find a true Arcadia. How many a lovely region such as that now spread out before us has suddenly become the scene of rapine and bloodshed!”

“But those batteries are intended to defend not to overawe the inhabitants, and wherever the glorious flag of England waves, there, at all events, we may hope to find true liberty and peace,” answered Alick.

“I would, then, that the flag of England were waving now over the whole world,” said Stella, with an involuntary sigh; “I long for peace and rest, but since those who have the power are supine or indifferent to the sufferings of their fellow-creatures, it must be left to individuals to attempt the task of redressing the wronged, and restoring freedom to the oppressed.”

Alick was puzzled what to answer. He guessed that Stella was alluding to her father’s schemes for regenerating the world. As far as he understood them, from the few remarks the colonel had let drop, they were, he considered, utterly hopeless, but he could not tell Stella so. One thing, however, he discovered that though her enthusiasm and love for her father had made her warmly enter into his views, she was a true woman at heart, and as really feminine as he could desire. Alick changed the subject, and soon interested her with a description of his Highland home and the Western islands of Scotland. He fancied as they rode back that her manner had become softer when she addressed him than at first, and that she listened more willingly to him than to any of the other officers. At all events, he enjoyed a happiness in her company he had never before known, though he could not at times forget that in a few days they must be parted, and that the chances of meeting again were very small.

English Harbour is not so much liked by midshipmen as by gunroom officers and captains, the former having shorter leave and smaller purses, not being able to get away so often to amuse themselves in the capital on the other side of the island as their superiors.

Mr Houghton, a friend of Colonel O’Regan, had come on board to take luncheon with the midshipmen, as had Alick Gordon.

“I vote we take a cruise this afternoon,” exclaimed Tom. “Mr Houghton, you were saying that you wished to go down to Falmouth Harbour, and Mr Cherry will, I daresay, lend us the pinnace. It is only about two miles to leeward, and we can beat back again in time to land you for your dinner-hour.”

Mr Houghton accepted the invitation. Tom forthwith went to the first lieutenant, with whom he was a favourite, to ask for the boat.

“You may have her, youngster,” was the answer; “but keep a look-out for squalls; they are apt to come off the shore without warning, and you may be capsized in a moment if you are not on your guard.”

“Thank you, sir, we will take great care,” answered Tom, returning to the berth to report the success of his mission.

Mr Jennings, the lieutenant of marines, hearing that they were going, begged to accompany them. Desmond, Archy, and Norris, McTavish, the assistant-surgeon, and the captain’s clerk, made up the party, with two men to look after the boat while they were on shore.

The wind was light, the sea smooth, and with all sail set before the breeze they ran down the coast. In a short time they arrived at their destination, and, as the weather was hot and they had not much time to spare, they amused themselves on the beach while Mr Houghton went up to pay his visit. He was not long absent, and on his return they at once shoved off and stood to the southward, hoping to find more wind at a distance from the shore. They were a merry party, and as usual stories were told and songs sung. They had made several tacks, but as yet had got not more than half way back to the ship.

“We will go about again,” said Norris, who was at the helm. “At all events inshore we shall feel less of the current which drifts us to leeward almost as fast as we beat to windward.”

The boat was put about, and once more headed in towards the land, which was about two miles distant.

“Now McTavish, give us one of your Scotch songs,” exclaimed Lieutenant Jennings; “the ‘Laird of Cockpen,’ or something of that sort.”

McTavish, who though he had not much of a voice, contrived to make his songs popular by the humour he threw into his tone, had sung about a stave or so, and Norris and the rest of the party, with laughing countenances, while listening to his song, forgot Mr Cherry’s caution.

The boat had been gliding smoothly on, when suddenly over she heeled. Norris, putting down the helm, shouted out—

“Let go the halyards!” but before a hand could reach the cleats her gunwale was under water.

“We are going over,” cried Norris. “Up to windward all of you.” Saying this he sprang to the weather side, and the rest followed his example: though they could not right her, yet she went over so slowly that they all had time to scramble up on her side before her canvas touched the water. The sails being flattened aft assisted to support her, and prevent her from going right over. For the first moment all believed that she would sink and leave them alone on the surface. Fortunately, however, her ballast consisted of breakers of water which, not being secured, floated out.

“Come, at all events we have something to hold on to,” said Tom, “and now we must try and right the boat.”

“Who has got a knife?”

Every person felt in his pockets, but no knife could be found. The seamen, strange to say, had come away without theirs; they and the midshipmen attempted to cast off the sheets, but the side of the boat to which they were made fast being under water could not be reached. For some time no one spoke; at the distance they were from the ship they could not hope to have been seen.

“Is there no chance of our drifting on shore?” asked Norris at length.

“I am afraid not,” answered Mr Houghton. “The current sets away from the land, and we shall be carried farther and farther from it.”

They looked anxiously around for a sail, on the chance that she might pass near them. Not one was to be seen standing towards the land. Again a desperate attempt was made to right the boat.

“If we had but a knife we could do it,” cried Tom. “I will never again step into a boat without one.”

“We shall be fortunate if we have the opportunity,” observed McTavish. “There is but little chance of our being picked up, and as to any of us reaching the shore that seems impossible.”

No answer was made to his remark. The squall which had capsized the boat was succeeded by others. The weather was evidently changing for the worse, and the boat drifting farther and farther from the land. Their prospects were dreary in the extreme, indeed almost hopeless. The gunwale of the boat on which they were seated was only six inches out of the water, so that should a sea get up they might all quickly be washed away.

Norris felt very unhappy, as he had been at the helm. “I hope that you fellows will forgive me,” he said. “I little expected the boat to capsize so suddenly, though I ought to have kept a better look-out.”

“Don’t talk about it,” answered Tom. “It was as much our fault as yours. We have each of us much to ask forgiveness for if we were to count up old scores.”

“Mr Jennings, I hope you will forgive me for capsizing you in the gale when we were coming out from England.”

“Of course, youngster,” he answered gravely; “I have not thought about it since.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tom, as if his mind had been relieved of a burden.

“I hope old Scrofton won’t be thinking about the tricks we have played him.”

“I was just after thinking that I wish he may not ill-treat Spider,” cried Desmond; “I don’t know what the poor baste will do without us.”

“What we have to do is to forgive all others from the bottom of our hearts,” remarked Archy. “We need not trouble ourselves what they will think or say of us.”

Archy, who was a true Christian, made several other fitting remarks, clearly pointing out to his companions the only way by which they could be prepared for the new existence into which there seemed every probability they would soon have to enter.

“It’s a grievous thought, my friends, that we do not all so live that we may be fit at any moment to die,” he observed calmly.

Few of those present failed to agree with him, and for the time, at all events, to wish that they were as well prepared as he appeared to be.

Again they were all silent for some minutes.

“Something must be done!” exclaimed Tom, who had been thinking over the matter, and in his own mind had resolved what to do.

“It’s too far for any of us to swim to shore,” observed Mr Jennings; “I would try it, but I never could keep afloat five minutes together.”

“I, too, am a miserable swimmer,” sighed Mr Houghton. “Besides which, the sharks would take good care not to allow one of us to reach the shore,” he added, in a whisper.

Neither of the seamen could swim, and McTavish, the only other grown man of the party, had had very little practice either.

“Well, then,” exclaimed Tom, “I will try it! My brother Jack swam on shore when the Racer was wrecked in the Mediterranean, and was the means of saving the lives of many of the people; I am not a much worse swimmer than he was then; I feel sure that I could do it if I had a companion. It’s a long way to go alone through the silent water.”

“Faith! I would go with you,” cried Desmond, “but I am afraid that I should keep you back rather than help you forward.”

Archy Gordon, who had sat silent during the discussion, suddenly exclaimed, “I am not so good a swimmer as you are, Tom, but I see no other way of saving our lives, and if I go down I shall at all events be doing my duty.”

“Thank you, Archy,” said Tom; “I accept your offer, and will do my best to help you along.”

Had any other means offered, the rest of the party would not have allowed the young midshipmen to run so fearful a hazard of their lives. Mr Houghton, especially, knew well the danger they would encounter from the sharks, but he said nothing to damp their courage.

Archy at once began to get ready. Taking off his shoes and jacket, he gave them to McTavish, and begged him to preserve them for him.

Tom followed his example, though not, indeed, with the same careful spirit as his friend; he threw his jacket and shoes into the water. They both kept on their socks, which were providentially coloured, as well as the rest of their clothes.

“Good-bye, old fellows,” said Tom; “we must lose no more time.” And he and Archy shook hands with all round. “Now, Archy, we will start, and strike out bravely.” Tom suiting the action to the word slipped into the water, Archy did the same. On they went, keeping alongside each other. Archy found that he could swim better than he had expected, and he and Tom cheered up each other.

“I wish Gerald had been with us,” said Tom. “Our chances of escape are better than those on the wreck.”

Now and then they turned on their backs, resting for a little; striking out, however, with their arms and legs, so that they still made headway.

Tom, under his brother’s instructions, had become a first-rate swimmer, and for his age was wonderfully muscular; so that he was able to go on steadily without feeling exhausted. Archy, though taller and bigger, from having had less practice, more quickly began to feel fatigued. The shore seemed a long way off; still they had already, they saw, not a considerable distance from the boat, for they could scarcely distinguish her as she floated just above the surface. Tom thought that they must be a mile from the shore. Again they threw themselves on their backs, pushing on with their feet and keeping their arms moving round and round. When Tom looked back, he could no longer see the boat; he did not, however, tell Archy of this, he could not help fearing that she had sunk.

“Are you rested, Archy?” he asked.

“Yes!” was the answer, though not in quite so confident a tone as Tom would have liked.

“Well, then, on we go again,” said Tom, and they swam steadily forward as before. Scarcely a minute after this, as Tom cast his eye on one side, what was his horror to observe the fin and back of a huge shark, scarcely more than a fathom from him. The monster shot by. “I only hope it is steering a different course to ours,” thought Tom. Just then he caught sight of the wicked eye of another at the same distance, following in the wake of the first. He did not tell Archy what he had seen, for fear of unnerving him, while he kept striking out with might and main, letting his feet rise higher than he would otherwise have done for the sake of creating a splash, and shouting as he swam on—

“Strike away, Archy. Bravo! We are getting on famously.”

Archy in the meantime was doing his best, though his legs and arms began to ache; still he resolved, as long as his strength would hold out, to persevere. At length he felt that he could do no more.

“Go on, Tom,” said he faintly. “Make the best of your way on shore and get help for the poor fellows, I will follow as fast as I can.”

“No! no!” answered Tom, “I am not going to desert you, come rest your head on my chest. It will help you wonderfully, just consider me a piece of cork, you know I float like one, only keep your legs kicking and your arms moving smartly.”

Tom did not tell Archy why he gave this advice, but he knew very well that if they were to remain quiet for an instant the cowardly sharks would make a dart at them, and that only by splashing vigorously could they keep off the monsters. He himself did so with his legs and one hand, while he placed the other under his friend’s back. Archy felt his strength much restored after this rest, and declared himself ready to go on again. On they went once more. Though they were certain that they had made good way, still the shore appeared fearfully far off, as they gazed at it with eyes growing somewhat dim from fatigue.

Archy exerted himself more than he would before have considered possible, but once more a faintness came over him.

“Oh! Tom, I am sinking, don’t wait for me, you will soon reach the shore now,” he cried out.

Tom, however, approaching with a couple of strokes, seized him, and once more placed his head on his chest, striking furiously with his own feet; for the instant before he had seen another shark, and the monster seemed eyeing him as if about to make a grab at his arms and legs.

“Keep your feet kicking out, as I told you before,” he exclaimed. “You will not sink, and it will keep them from getting the cramp. Kick, Archy! Kick!”

Archy could with difficulty do so, still he felt a great relief to his arms, and suddenly his strength again seemed to return.

“I will go on now,” he said, turning once more round, and he and Tom swam on together as before, with their eyes fixed on the shore. Each time that Archy felt faint he was aroused by Tom’s encouraging cries, and nerved himself to fresh exertions. How anxiously they strained their eyes ahead! the shore grew more and more distinct, and yet it seemed a long way off. At length they could distinguish the sandy beach and the green herbage beyond. Again Archy’s strength began to fail him. Near as was the shore, he felt that he might not, after all, be able to reach it. His sensations were those of a person in a dreadful dream. Even Tom began to feel his strength almost exhausted. Archy once more cried out that he was sinking. That moment Tom felt his feet touch something; a horror for an instant seized him. It might be the back of a shark; still on he struck, towing Archy. Again his feet touched something below him; it did not yield. He tried again. Yes, he was, sure; it was firm ground.

“Hurrah, Archy! we are on shore at last,” he cried out. “Let your feet fall, and you will find I am right.”

“Thank God!” answered Archy, as his feet also touched the sand.

Happily the sea was smooth, and there was no outdrift. Even then Archy felt that he could scarcely reach the beach. Tom gave him his hand, exclaiming—

“Come on; we have not far to go now, at all events.”

They waded on. Gradually the water shoaled as they made their way up the shelving sand. Tom felt his strength returning, hot Archy could with difficulty make headway. Now the water reached only to their middles; now it was scarcely knee-deep, and they were able to get on faster. Tom breathed more freely, for he expected to see Archy drop every instant. Scarcely, indeed, had they reached the dry sand than down he sank. Toot threw himself by his side.

“Cheer up, Archy; we are safe,” he exclaimed. “Don’t give way now.”

“I shall be better soon,” said Archy; “but oh! Tom, let us return thanks to Him who has preserved us. Don’t let us fancy it was our own strength. I never otherwise could have done it, I know.”

“I am thankful—indeed I am; but we must not forget our companions.”

“Go, and try to get a boat, and put off to them; I will follow you as soon as I am able to.”

It was already getting dusk, and the gloom was increased by thick clouds gathering in the sky, betokening a blowing night. Tom saw, indeed, that no time was to be lost, and, finding that Archy could not yet move, he unwillingly left him, and hurried off to obtain assistance.

We must now return on board the Plantagenet. When Mr Cherry found that the boat did not make her appearance, as it was long past the time the midshipmen promised to be back, he felt somewhat annoyed, and made up his mind that the next time they asked for the boat they should not have her.

He was walking the deck, when the quartermaster announced that a boat had come off from the shore with a black in her, who had something to say about a pinnace, but what it was he could not exactly make out.

“Let him come on deck at once,” said Mr Cherry, hurrying to the gangway.

“What is it you have to say, my man?” he asked.

The negro doffed his hat, twisting and wriggling about, apparently either from nervousness at finding himself on board a man-of-war, or from his anxiety to deliver his message properly.

Mr Cherry, however, managed to make out that a boat had been capsized, that two midshipmen had swum on shore, and that they had gone off again in two boats to search for the wreck.

Just then Jack and Terence, who had been on shore, returned, and, on cross-questioning the black, they felt satisfied that Tom and Archy Gordon were the two midshipmen who had reached the shore, and that those remaining on the wreck were in extreme peril.

The report of what had happened quickly spread through the ship, and every one felt anxious about their shipmates.

Four boats were immediately manned, Jack and Terence each taking command of one, Higson going in a third, and Mr Scrofton having charge of the fourth. The first ready having called alongside the Tudor to give the information, two of her boats were immediately despatched to aid in the search. The weather in the meantime, as night advanced, grew worse and worse. Down came a deluge of rain, while vivid lightning darted from the sky; the wind, too, had been rising, and as they got outside the harbour they found a considerable sea running.

Each officer was to take the direction he judged best. Before shoving off the boatswain got the black, who brought the information, into his boat, and pumping him learnt exactly whereabouts the pinnace had capsized, while he also ascertained the direction in which the current ran.

It might seem an easy thing to fall in with a boat which had capsized scarcely a mile off; but some hours had elapsed since the accident had occurred, and during all that time she must have drifted for a considerable distance. The direction in which she had gone also could be calculated only by those who knew exactly the set and rate of the current. Jack and Terence went away fully believing that they should before long fall in with the wreck; their only fear was that those left on it might have been washed off, or, succumbing to fatigue, have dropped into the water. The thunder rattled and the lightning flashed over head. Between the intervals they often fancied they could hear the voices of their shipmates hailing them; sometimes, too, through the gloom they imagined that they could see the boat on her side, with a few still clinging to her; but when they got up to the spot, she was not there. Though Terence hoped to find all the party, he naturally felt most anxious on account of Gerald Desmond.

“I ought to have thought of the risks he would have had to run,” he said to himself. “To be sure I got into a good many scrapes and tumbled out of them, and I hope he may. I cannot bear the thoughts of having to write to my poor sister, and to tell her that her boy is lost.”

Still the boats continued searching in every direction; the wind blowing fresh, and the foaming seas hissing round them. There was little hope, indeed, that they should find those they were looking for, though the boat herself might by chance be fallen in with some time or other.

Mr Scrofton, meantime, who, though a bad philosopher, was a thorough seaman, had run down at about the distance from the shore he understood the pinnace had been when capsized. He had, however, passed the spot, according to his calculations, some way, no sign of the wreck having been seen, when a hail was heard.

“There they are! hurrah!” cried some of the men.

“No, no; that came from a boat. I see her.”

“What boat is that?” asked Mr Scrofton.

“A shore-boat, and I am Tom Rogers,” was the answer.

The boats were soon alongside each other. Tom said that as soon as he could procure a boat he had shoved off, and that Archy Gordon had done the same—he was at no great distance in another boat.

“You don’t expect to find her hereabouts,” said Mr Scrofton. “She will have been carried according to my calculation, four or it may be five miles more to the southward by this time, and it will take us the best part of an hour before we are up to her. My plan is to run down that distance, or more than that, and then to beat back. It’s better to go rather beyond her than a little short, and if she is still floating we shall fall in with her.”

Tom saw the wisdom of this plan, and the two boats stood on in company, a bright look-out being kept on either side. They had run on for some time when Tom thought that they must have gone far enough, but the boatswain persevered. Tom’s boat being manned by blacks he had nothing to do but look out. Fully half-an-hour had passed, when he thought he saw an object ahead. He hailed Mr Scrofton’s boat.

“All right!” was the answer, “I see her.”

“Let go the halyards,” cried the boatswain, and the sails were lowered, but as they approached great was Tom’s sorrow to see only five people clinging to the boat. Mr Houghton and Lieutenant Jennings were among them, but he could not distinguish Gerald Desmond.

“Poor fellow, he must have gone,” he murmured.

“Where are the rest?” asked Mr Scrofton, as the boat ran alongside, and eager hands were stretched out to lift the sufferers on board, for they could with difficulty help themselves. “We are glad to see you, though.”

“They had not left us five minutes before we saw you,” answered Mr Jennings; “they cannot as yet be many hundred yards off.”

Tom immediately pulled away towards the shore in the direction the swimmers must have taken. He knew that though the time was short they might have all sunk, or that the ravenous sharks might have got hold of them. Nothing but despair, indeed, would have induced them to make the attempt.

Great was his relief on seeing at length four heads above the surface, with their faces directed landward. So intent were they, indeed, that they were not aware of his approach. Each one had lashed himself to an oar with the faint hope, though they had but little notion, of swimming, of gaining the shore. Tom’s shout was the first intimation they had of his escape, for they all had given him and Archy up as lost.

Desmond was the first helped on board, and great was their delight at meeting. Highly satisfied with the success of his expedition, Mr Scrofton received all the party on board, promising the blacks in the shore-boat a further reward if they would tow the pinnace towards the shore. He then, with the rescued party, made the best of his way back to the ship, happily soon afterwards falling in with Archy Gordon; whose boat, while he was taken on board, was sent to assist the other shore-boat.

Captain Hemming, who felt very anxious on their account, was too glad to get them back to find fault. Tom and Archy received the praise which was their due for their gallant act, while Mr Scrofton was properly complimented by the captain for his sagacity and judgment, and the midshipmen resolved never more to attempt to quiz him about his philosophical notions.

Jack and Terence did not get back till daylight, when they found that Tom and Gerald had been snug in their hammocks for several hours. They felt somewhat inclined to quarrel with them for the trouble they had given, though in reality heartily thankful that they had escaped.

Chapter Six.

The cruise of the drogher—Barbuda field-sports—Hospitably entertained—Sail again—Captain Quasho—A drunken crew—Reach Saba—The island explored—The black crew take French leave—Higson and others go in search of them—The three midshipmen and Needham driven off the land by a hurricane—The drogher disappears in the darkness of night.

Although all the gunroom officers who could get leave were anxious to go to the ball, old Higson, who was not a dancing man, and some of the youngsters from both ships declared that it would be a great bore. Notwithstanding the fearful danger so many of them had lately escaped, they took it into their heads that it would be far pleasanter to make a trip somewhere by sea. After due discussion they hired a drogher, a country vessel employed in running between the surrounding islands and islets. She was sloop-rigged, of about thirty tons, with a small cabin aft, a capacious hold, and a forecastle for the black crew—honest fellows, but not pleasant neighbours in a close atmosphere. Higson went in command. Tom, and Gerald, and Norris, with Archy Gordon, and another midshipman, and a master’s-assistant from the corvette, with Dick Needham, formed the party, including, of course, Master Spider, who was taken to make fun. The mids also had their doubts as to the treatment he might receive from Mr Scrofton during their absence.

It was settled that they should first steer for Barbuda, where snipes were to be shot, fish caught, and deer hunted, and that then, wind and weather permitting, they should visit other islands in the neighbourhood. Provisions enough to last them twice the time they were likely to be away were shipped, and liquors in proportion. They fully expected to enjoy themselves amazingly.

After beating out of the harbour, and rounding the east end of the island, under the pilotage of the regular skipper, Captain Quasho, they had a fair wind for Barbuda, where they arrived early in the day, and cast anchor in a small harbour. They were cordially received by the overseer, who happened to be close at hand, and who, with one assistant, constituted the white population of the island. He gave them leave to kill as many birds as they could hit, promised them horses to ride in chase of deer, and, what was more to the purpose, invited them to dinner at his residence, the castle, an ancient fortalice on the shores of a lagoon some distance off. They agreed to shoot till the arrival of the steeds, which the overseer rode back to order.

After a considerable expenditure of powder to little purpose, for Tom, the best shot among them, had only killed one snipe, a troop of horses, led by several black cavaliers, dressed in leathern caps and high hoots, with belts round their waists, and duck-guns slung over their shoulders, and followed by a pack of hounds, made their appearance. Their leader announced that they were the huntsmen, and invited the officers to mount the steeds they had brought. Tom inspected the horses with no favourable eye. They were sorry animals, but the rest of the party were not particular, and all were soon mounted. As to going, that was another thing—four miles an hour was the utmost their riders were likely to get out of them. The midshipmen kicked their heels with might and main, and whacked the poor beasts’ backs till their arms ached, but not a foot faster would they move.

“I say, Sambo, how shall we ever run down the deer with these brutes?” asked Higson, perspiring at every pore from his exertions. The black huntsman grinned at the notion of overtaking the deer.

“No, no, massa, we get round dem, and shoot with guns. Surer way to kill dem.”

“At all events let’s go and see the style of sport,” said Higson, and the party set forward. The island is mostly flat, and so covered with high bushes that they could see neither to the right hand nor to the left. They reached a forest of considerable extent, when, after some time, the dogs started a deer, which Sambo’s huge duck-gun, loaded with slugs, brought to the ground. Scarcely was the venison bagged than down came such torrents of rain that the party were speedily wet to the skin, and were glad to make the best of their way towards the castle, keeping close together not to lose each other. The wardrobe of their host furnished them with dry clothing—the elders with shirts and trousers, the younger having to dispense with the latter garments, and in somewhat masquerading guise her Majesty’s officers sat down to a sumptuous repast of turtle and venison, several varieties of fish, and land-crabs of exquisite flavour. Bottled beer and wine in abundance made them all very jolly, but there was a drawback. Flights of mosquitoes came buzzing and biting them, unmercifully revelling in the youngster’s fresh blood, till some oakum set on fire, with fresh leaves thrown on it, put the miscreant insects to the rout. Cigars and pipes were produced, and the midshipmen thought not of troubles, past or future. Sofas and chairs served them for couches. Old Higson sat up lustily puffing away at his pipe, and thereby escaped the countless punctures and furious itching, of which every one else complained when they got up in the morning. After breakfast their host sent them across the lagoon in two clumsy fishing-boats to see a seine drawn.

The opposite shore gained, the black fishermen having landed their passengers, plunging into the water, carried out their net in a semicircle, and soon began dragging the ends towards the strand. The mids of course lent a hand, hauling at one end, while some of the negroes took the other, and the rest tumbled about outside, laughing and shouting, and beating the water to frighten their prisoners. In spite of them some fifty or more of the biggest fish, dreading the cauldron or frying-pan, making a bold dash for liberty, fairly leaped over the net, most of them, as they rose three or four feet out of the water, clearing the heads of the negroes, while several sprang right into their faces, capsizing one stout fellow, and making two or three others howl and caper in a way which set the midshipmen roaring with laughter. They had, notwithstanding this, a capital haul, consisting of baracoutas, snappers, gold and silver fish, Spanish mackerel, king-fish, and others. Tom and Gerald, in their eagerness, rushed into the water to catch hold of some of their prey, when a monster gave a grab at Paddy’s fingers, which made him spring back with alarm. The blacks directly after hauled out a shark big enough to have bitten off his arm, if not to have swallowed him. The same afternoon the adventurers got back to their drogher, the overseer having liberally supplied them with as much venison and fish as they could possibly consume. The chart was got out, and a consultation held as to the place they should next visit. Captain Quasho was called in.

“Take my ’vice, gent’men; wind fair for Saba—cur’us place—den call at Saint Kitts—fine oranges dere. See Mount Misery—big craig up to de sky, ten tousand feet high,” (Quasho was a little over the mark), “and so on to Nevis—lubly isle, and we get back to English Harbour in good time. Yes; I forgot dere one more isle we go see. Me got broder dere. Only one buckra, massa, and him family berry glad see officers; plenty fun, oh yes! Den we stop a day or two and catch fish. Plenty fine fish in dees seas, massa. Great big baracouta and glouper—him fifty pound weight; and mauget, and hedgehog, and jew-fish; him wonderful good to eat, fit for de Queen of England,” and Quasho smacked his lips. “Den dere is de snapper and flatfork, and squerrel and parot-fish, wid just all de colours like de bird; and de abacore, almost as big as de glouper; and, let me see, de doctor—him got lance in de tail, and so him called doctor, ho! ho! and den dere is de king-fish, and de wattee, de kind, de comaree, de convalby, de old wife, de cobbler, de ten pounder, de garr, bolalwe, reay, de shew, and me don’t saby how many more.” Quasho here ceased enumerating for want of breath, declaring that he had not mentioned half the delicious and curious fish the buckra officers were sure to catch if they tried; and that he would undertake to procure hooks and lines should they wish it.

Quasho was not disinterested in giving this advice. The drogher was hired by the day, and the longer she was out the more he pocketed. The midshipmen did not reflect on this, and thought his advice good. Old Higson also was in no hurry to get back to the ship to attend to the unpleasant duties of the mate of the lower deck. He was captain for the nonce, and command is sweet, even over a black crew and a set of boisterous youngsters. The anchor was got up, and sail made accordingly for Saba.

A moonlight night on the Caribbean Sea in fine weather is very enjoyable, provided a person does not go to sleep with his eyes gazing at the pale luminary, for if he escapes being moon-stricken he will certainly get a stiff neck or suffer in some other way. The youngsters enjoyed themselves to their hearts’ content, and when tired of skylarking with Spider, piped to supper, after which those not on watch turned in. What were the rats, cockroaches, and centipedes swarming in the little confined cabin, redolent of tobacco smoke and spirits, to them? Not one-thousandth part as bad as the detestable mosquitoes on the shores of the Barbuda lagoon, they agreed. So some occupied the bunks—regular ovens—others the lockers, and Tom took possession of the cabin-table, the least stifling spot, but tenable only—and that by no human being but a midshipman—in moderate weather. Old Higson took the first watch. Timmins, the master’s-assistant was far too eloquent just then to be trusted, and Norris was to have the middle watch. He at all events was steady. Quasho, however, had taken more Montserrat rum on board than was good for his intellects such as they were, and Higson suspected that he was as likely to steer north as west, or to box the compass if left in charge. Needham was perfectly sober; he was never otherwise when at sea, for he had a strong head, and took but little liquor. It might be too much to answer for him when the ship was paid off. He preferred sleeping on deck to occupying a locker in the cabin; and of course it would not have done to have sent him to sleep forward with the blacks. He did once put his nose through the fore hatchway, and as quickly withdrew it, coughing and spitting to get rid of the disagreeable odour which ascended from below.

“To my mind, Mr Higson, them niggers are all as drunk as sows,” he said, coming aft, and touching his hat as he spoke. “Quasho and the whole lot of them have turned in, and are snoring away like grampusses, except Sambo here at the helm, and he’s pretty well two sheets in the wind.”

Higson had not observed this when he came on deck after supper, for Sambo, a big, powerful negro, was keeping the vessel’s head the right way, and steering a straight course.

“Well, Sambo, how is it with you?” he asked, to ascertain the condition of the man.

“Me sober as judge,” answered the helmsman, in a husky voice. “If de oder black fellers for’ard take too mush rum, no fault o’ mine. I mate of de Snapper, and got character to lose.”

“Take care you don’t lose it then, my friend,” said Higson. “I see how it is. I shall have to put all hands on an allowance, and if you’ve got any rum stowed away I must have it brought aft or hove overboard. You understand me.”

“Yez, massa ossifer, berry right,” answered the black, with a grin.

“You can lie down, Needham, and be ready to keep watch with Mr Norris,” said Higson. “If there isn’t another nigger to relieve Sambo you can take the helm, and as the weather promises to hold fine we shall do very well.”

In less than a minute Dick was asleep with a sail over his head, and Higson paced the deck till past midnight. He then roused up Needham, and sent him down to call Norris. Tom also awaking sprang on deck. As soon as Higson had turned in, Sambo declared that he could no longer stand at the helm, and Needham taking it the black dived into the forepeak. A growling and chattering sound ascended, but no one appeared. It was evident that the negroes considered the buckra officers competent to manage the vessel, and had resolved to take their ease. At daylight the occupants of the cabin came on deck well-baked. They talked of heaving-to and bathing, but the fin of a shark appearing above the surface made them change their minds, and they refreshed themselves by heaving buckets of water over each other. The lazy crew had not yet appeared.

“We’ll soon make them show themselves,” said Higson; and he, Timmins, and Norris, each taking a bucket full to the brim, hove the contents simultaneously down the forepeak. A chorus of shrieks and shouts instantly followed.

“Oh, ki! what happen! Oh lud—oh lud—we all go to be drowned!” exclaimed the blacks, as springing from their berths they tried to make their way on deck. Quasho, with eyes only half-open, bolted right against Higson, sending him sprawling on the deck; the next man capsized Timmins, and would have bolted overboard in his fright had not Tom and Gerald caught him and hauled him back. The head of the big mate next appeared, when those below catching him by the legs pulled him down again, on which he began belabouring them with head and fists and heels till one by one they made their escape, leaving him knocking his skull against the deck, under the belief that he had some of them still under him.

“A pretty set of fellows you are!” exclaimed Higson, rising to his feet. “What would have become of us if we had been caught in a squall and thrown on our beam-ends? No more grog for any of you this cruise—you’ll understand that?”

As soon as the big mate, now the most tipsy of the party, had been got on deck, Higson and Timmins went below, but not a bottle of rum could they find. There were a few cocoa-nuts and gourds in the lockers, and other provisions, but that was all. As the place was horribly unsavoury, they were glad to get on deck again.

“Buckra ossifer no find rum—rum all gone!” said Quasho, with a well-feigned sigh. The other negroes grinned, and the big mate looked highly amused, but said nothing. The fire in the caboose having been lighted, the black skipper acting as cook, the midshipmen sat down to breakfast. Everything now went smoothly enough. Spider afforded a fund of amusement. As the wind was aft, it was too hot to do anything else than play with him. The black crew, with the exception of the man at the helm, lay down forward, and were soon fast asleep. When it was time to relieve him, Captain Quasho kicked up one of the sleepers and sent him aft, expediting his movements by a pretty sharp bang on the head with a frying-pan, observing, “Me know how to keep discipline aboard de Snapper, I tink.” Thus the day wore on—luncheon and dinner occupying a good deal of time, for, in spite of the heat, the midshipmen retained their appetites. The heat increased as the sun rose. If it was hot on deck it was hotter still in the cabin, which the stifling air and the cockroaches rendered almost insupportable. Towards evening they came in sight of the curious island of Saba, having the appearance of a high, barren, conical-shaped rock rising directly out of the ocean. As they got nearer, a few huts were seen at the base of the mountain, and in front a flight of steps hewn out of the solid rock leading to the very summit. They ran in and anchored close to the shore in a little cove. As there was still an hour or more of daylight they agreed to land at once, and explore the place that evening, so that they might sail again next morning. Up the steps they climbed, for it was evident that they must lead somewhere. On reaching the top, what was their surprise to find themselves on the rim of a large circular basin, and looking down on a small town standing in its midst surrounded by vegetable gardens and orchards. The inhabitants received them very cordially not often being troubled by visitors, and offered them the best the island could supply, chiefly vegetables and fish, with the promise of a kid if they would stay till the next day. An unsophisticated race were these Saba islanders. “The world forgetting—by the world forgot.” As there would be no little risk of breaking their necks should they attempt to descend the steps at night, the adventurers wished their hospitable entertainers good-bye and returned to the shore. It was hot on the top of the hill, it was hot everywhere; so they agreed that it would be as well to sail at once, so as to have a longer time to spend at Saint Kitts and Nevis.

On hailing the Snapper, Needham came on shore in the boat. He was in a state of great indignation. A fishing-boat had come alongside, when Quasho with his mate and crew had gone away in her, carrying with them a number of cocoa-nuts and gourds, which they said were to sell to the people on shore; and they had coolly left word that they should not be back till the next morning. “On this, sir,” continued Dick, “I smelt a rat; and on hunting about in the forepeak, I found a cocoa-nut half full of rum. Thinks I to myself, that’s just what they’re going to fill the others with; and when they come back they’ll be as drunk as they were last night, and we shall have to look after the craft instead of them.”

“The rascals!” exclaimed Higson. “We’ll go and kick them up before they’ve had time to do that same. What do you say, boys?”

All were ready to accompany him, but Higson insisted that Tom and Gerald and Archy should go on board and wait till he and the rest returned with the runaways. “You can loose the sails and get ready for weighing as the wind is off-shore. We shan’t be long, depend on that,” he said, as he and the rest turned to make their way towards one of the huts, where they hoped to learn what had become of Quasho and his crew.

Needham and the three youngsters returned on board, and busied themselves as they had been directed. The heat was greater than they had yet experienced since they had been in the West Indies, and they were thankful to see the sun set, albeit, in an unusually ruddy glow, hoping that it would be cooler at night. The wind had dropped completely. There was little prospect of putting to sea that night.

“I don’t half like the look of the weather, Mr Rogers,” said Needham to Tom, who had remained with him on deck, while Gerald and Archy were making preparations for supper below. “I wish we were in a snugger berth, where we could moor ship—that I do.”

“Why the water is as calm as a millpond. I don’t see how we can come to any harm,” answered Tom. The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when, with the suddenness of a clap of thunder a fearfully loud rushing sound was heard, as if the top of the mountain was hurtling down on their heads. The next instant they were lifted almost off their legs, and had they not clutched the shrouds they would have been carried overboard. The breath of the hurricane was upon them. The loosened canvas blew out and flapped wildly—the little vessel strained desperately at her anchor, while the water hissed and foamed round her bows. Gerald and Archy wondering what had happened, came rushing up from below.

“What’s to be done?” they both asked.

“The first thing is to get the mainsail and foresail stowed, and then to strike the topmast,” answered Needham.

With their united strength it was no easy matter to secure the mainsail. It was done, however, in a way, when Needham casting his eyes towards the shore, exclaimed—

“The drogher is drifting—we must veer out more cable!”

There were not many fathoms to spare. The fury of the blast, however, had somewhat decreased, and the vessel appeared to be stationary. Needham hurried aloft, and while the midshipmen hauled on the heel-rope of the topmast—the shrouds and stays being slacked—he tugged away at the fid. He had just got it out, when a second blast as furious as the first burst on them—a loud report was heard. Ned slid down like lightning from aloft, and sprang aft to the helm. Tom, who had run forward, exclaimed—

“The cable has parted!”

“I know it,” answered Ned. “Hoist a foot of the foresail, Mr Rogers.”

The drogher spun round like a top, and off she flew before the hurricane.

“Hadn’t we better jump into the boat, and let the vessel go?” asked Archy.

“We could never pull to shore in the teeth of this wind, sir,” answered Needham. “We can’t get her on board, or tow her either—we must let her go.”

Meantime, Tom and Gerald had been busy in stowing the fore-sail and securing the topmast shrouds and stays. As they looked aft for an instant, they could just distinguish some figures on the shore; but amid the wild tumult, no voices could be heard had they shouted ever so loudly. Needham now called Tom and Gerald to take the helm while he tried to find a storm staysail, hoping with a couple of feet of it set to be able to scud before the hurricane.

“It’s our only chance,” he said, “we’ve no hope of beating back till it’s over—and the wider berth we give the island the better; for if the wind shifts we may be blown right on it, and lose the craft and our own lives too.”

The prospect was an appalling one—but the midshipmen did not lose heart. Away flew the drogher amid the roaring seas into the pitchy darkness, which now settled down over the ocean.

Chapter Seven.

A ball at Antigua—A hurricane puts a stop to the dancing—A ride through the storm—Murray’s ride with Stella, and a declaration—Colonel O’Regan and his daughter sail in the Sarah Jane.

The inhabitants of Antigua are noted for their hospitality. The officers of the two ships received as many invitations as they could accept, with the loan of horses whenever they chose to ride. They lived on shore in airy barracks—far pleasanter quarters than the close cabins of the ships afforded. The colonel and his daughter were living at a cottage in the neighbourhood. Murray was Stella’s constant attendant when she rode, and a frequent visitor at the cottage. If her father remarked the attention paid her by the young lieutenant, he did not consider it necessary to interfere. Perhaps he had ascertained that Murray was well off, and thought it best to let matters take their course; or, perhaps, absorbed in his own schemes, it did not occur to him that his daughter, who seemed so devoted to the cause he advocated, could do so weak a thing as fall in love. At all events, Alick lived in an elysium partly created by his imagination, and did not allow the future to interfere with his present happiness. Jack and Adair still thought Stella very charming, but, observing Alick’s devotion to her, they would have considered it a gross breach of friendship to attempt cutting him out. She had other admirers, but she certainly gave them no encouragement. The midshipmen of the frigate thought their captain spoony, and the captain’s clerk of the Tudor was guilty of a most reprehensible breach of confidence, if he spoke the truth, in whispering that he had one day discovered on the commander’s desk a sonnet addressed to Stella’s eyebrow. The fact, however, was doubted, as Captain Babbicome had never been suspected of possessing the slightest poetical talent, nor had a book of poetry ever been seen in his cabin.

“Still,” insisted the clerk, “love can work wonders. It must have been poetry, for the lines all began with capitals, and were written in the middle of the page.”

At length the ball took place. The Antiguan young ladies were full of life and spirit, and danced to perfection, never getting tired, so that the officers had no lack of partners, and voted it great fun. There were many very pretty girls among them, and several with much more of the rose on their cheeks than usually falls to the share of West Indian damsels. Some censorious critic even ventured to hint that it was added by the hand of art. That this was false was evident, for the weather was so hot that had rouge been used it would have inevitably been detected; but the island damsels trusted to their good figures and features, and their lively manners and conversation, rather than to any meretricious charms, to win admiration. Stella was generally considered the most charming of the maidens present, as undoubtedly she was the most blooming, and she seemed to enjoy the ball as much as any one. She danced with Captain Hemming, and went through a quadrille with Commander Babbicome. He then entreated her to perform a valse with him. Laughing heartily, she advised him not to make the attempt. Even the quiet dance had reduced him to a melting mood.

“Why, you have valsed twice with my second lieutenant,” he remarked, his choler rising.

Stella gave him a look which might have shown him that he had better have held his tongue. The ball, which began at a primitively early hour, had been going on for some time, when a fierce blast which shook the building to its very foundations swept over it.

“A hurricane has burst on the island,” was the general exclamation. “Will it be a heavy one?”

The increasing tempest gave the response.

The naval captains thought of their ships, the residents of their plantations. Not that there was much risk for the former, as they were snugly moored; but still it was impossible to say what might happen. Preparations were made by all the officers and several of the gentlemen for instant departure; but, of course, the ladies could not face the tempest. Most of them, however, had not much heart for dancing, when, possibly, before morning their houses would be roofless and their fathers’ plantations laid low. A few persevered, in spite of the whirlwind raging over their heads, but even they had at length to give up. Their host insisted on all his female guests remaining. Cloaks and shawls were collected, and sofas and chairs brought into the ball-room, which was turned into a dormitory for those who could not be accommodated in the other rooms. Stella wanted to accompany her father, and was with difficulty persuaded to remain. Murray offered to ride back as soon as the gale was over to escort her, and she smiled her consent. The colonel declared that he must go to look after his friends and their cottage, for he had no other excuse to offer. The officers started on horseback, but they could with difficulty sit their steeds or keep their naval cloaks around them as they faced the hurricane. Poor Commander Babbicome had a hard task to perform, as his struggling steed plunged forward in the darkness; and Jack and Adair, who in compassion rode up to his assistance, found him clutching tightly by the animal’s mane, as he shouted out—

“Steady, now—steady, you brute! What is the wind about that it cannot let a man sit his horse in quiet?”

It was no easy matter, however, for the best of horsemen to keep their seats, and in the more exposed situations it seemed as if rider and steed would be blown over together. Leaves, dust, stones, branches of trees, and even heavier objects, came rushing through the air in dense clouds, striking the travellers and obscuring their sight, so that it was often impossible to see where they were going. The colonel seemed to revel in the wild uproar of the elements, and led the way through the darkness, shouting to his companions to follow. They were passing along a part of the road with tall trees on either side. The dark branches above their heads could be seen waving wildly to and fro, the tops bending before the blast. Ever and anon huge boughs were torn off, and several fell, sometimes in front, sometimes directly behind them, but no one had been struck. Then there came a fearful crash. A large tree had fallen directly in front of them. Jack thought that the colonel had been crushed; but no, there he was, sitting his horse as upright as ever. He had had a narrow escape, though.

“On, friends, on,” he shouted. “It is more hazardous to stop than to push forward.”

And he leapt his steed over the trunk. Captain Hemming and Murray followed, their horses scrambling rather than leaping over the impediment. Jack and Adair might have done the same, but they would not desert the commander of the Tudor, by this time well-nigh frightened out of his wits. Several of the rest who made the attempt toppled over with their beasts on their heads.

“Leap, my good fellows? I could no more do it than fly!” exclaimed Commander Babbicome, when he came to the tree.

“You had better climb over, and I’ll bring your horse after you,” said Jack.

“If I get off, I shall never get on again,” cried the commander. “Bless my heart, what shall I do?”

“Better try than run the chance of being crushed here,” said Jack.

At that moment another of the waving trees came crashing down close behind them, cutting off all retreat had it been contemplated. At the sound off tumbled Commander Babbicome; and in another instant, with more agility than he generally displayed, he had scrambled over the trunk, and pitched right in among the men and horses, struggling to get on their legs on the other side. Happily no one was much hurt, and some of his officers having assisted to place him on his feet, he set off running as fast as his legs could carry him. His steed, relieved of its burden, urged by Jack and Terence, got over better than the rest; and when they at length overtook him, they managed to hoist him again into his saddle. Though he cut a somewhat undignified figure on this occasion they had no inclination to laugh at him, for they believed him to be as brave as most men under ordinary circumstances on the deck of his ship. They were both, too, very anxious about Tom and Gerald, and they could only hope that if the drogher had not returned she was safe in some other port. Battered and bruised, though they had escaped any serious accident, the party at length reached the harbour. The officers who had remained behind and all the men to be found had hurried on board the ships directly the hurricane burst; additional hawsers had been got out; the topmasts had been struck, and everything necessary had been done. It was rather provoking to find that they might have remained on at the ball, but satisfactory to feel that all was right, and that they had done their duty. In almost any other harbour in the West Indies the case might have been very different. They, of course, spent the rest of the night on board.

Nothing had been seen of the drogher, and Jack and Adair agreed that should she not appear in two or three days they would get leave to go in search of her. She might have been wrecked on one of the neighbouring islands, and the party on board be unable to obtain the means of returning. By noon the next day the hurricane had ceased, and Murray accompanied Colonel O’Regan to Saint John’s, followed by a servant leading Stella’s horse, and carrying her riding-habit. In every direction the havoc caused by the storm was visible; cottages blown down or unroofed, sugar-canes laid low, fruit-trees upturned or stripped of their fruit; in many places the road was almost impassable; but labourers were at work with saws and axes clearing away the trunks which lay across it. In the evening, when the air was comparatively cool and refreshing, Murray rode back with Stella. The colonel was detained by a person on business just as they were setting off, and begged that they would ride on, saying that he would overtake them. Alick said more than he had ever before ventured to do. Stella turned away her head while he was speaking; then, lifting her eyes to his face with an expression in hers certainly not of annoyance or anger, she answered—

“You have your profession, Mr Murray. You assuredly do not contemplate quitting that, and I am the daughter of one the world calls an adventurer. I cannot desert him while he allows me to bear him company, and I know not in what direction his fate may lead him. Perchance your regard for me may prove but a passing fancy, and you would regret having bound yourself to one whom, after we part on this occasion, you may not meet again for years, when she may be so changed, as everything we see around us changes, that you would not recognise her. I know too well that this has been the case with others—why not with us?”

Her voice trembled as she uttered the last sentences. Murray urged every plea which his honest affection prompted. He had no fears of what she dreaded. He trusted that before long he should obtain his promotion, and then, in these piping times of peace, he might expect to remain for some time on shore, and be able to occupy his Highland home.

“I dare not pledge my troth, but there is no one for whose happiness I can more earnestly pray,” said Stella, looking at him with her bright eyes beaming as the most ardent lover could desire. Will that satisfy you?

“Yes, dearest Stella because I know that you would not trifle with one who has given you a true and faithful heart,” answered Alick. He had never before uttered such words, and the tone of his voice showed the deep feeling which prompted them.

“I believe you,” she said simply.

Alick would rather have had a more demonstrative reply. A rough road strewn with branches, and other impediments to their progress, was not favourable for such a conversation. Still, as Stella had not objected to the terms he had applied to her, he had no reason to complain. They rode on for some time in silence. Stella was the first to break it.

“Mr Murray, you need not feel yourself bound to speak to my father on the subject, indeed I would rather you should not,” she said. “He pays me the compliment of putting full confidence in my discretion, and leaves me to act as I consider right. I suspect that his affection prevents him from believing me otherwise than perfect, and he thinks, consequently, that I am incapable of doing anything of which he would not approve.”

“In my eyes, too, you are perfect, Stella,” said Alick. “That by your own reasoning is the best proof of affection.”

“I do not doubt yours, Mr Murray, I am sure of it, and I am more than grateful,” answered Stella, looking up at him. “Still affection should not blind us to the faults of those we love, as in time the tinsel must wear off our idols, and disappointment, if not a painful reaction, will be the result.”

“But all idols are not tinselled,” said Alick. “The spotless Parian marble—”

“I object altogether to idol worship,” interrupted Stella. “I desire to be loved for myself, I own, but I would be so with all my faults and failings known. Could I be sure of them I would tell them to you, but I cannot boast of having attained to the height of wisdom, and learnt to know myself. I must leave to you the task of discovering them, and the means for their correction; only let me entreat you to believe that they exist, and perhaps are more numerous than you will think possible.”

Of course Alick very sincerely protested that Stella and imperfection could not be named together, except as contrasts, for he truly thought so. She sighed, and then smiled, and the colonel cantering up cut short the interesting conversation—interesting to the two persons concerned, at all events.

“Stella, I find that we must start for Jamaica immediately,” he said. “If Captain Hemming cannot proceed there, we shall be compelled to go by another vessel. A brig now in the harbour, I understand, sails for Port Royal to-morrow; and though I would defer our departure for three days longer, unless either of the men-of-war is to sail by the end of that time, we must not lose the present opportunity.”

“So soon!” ejaculated Stella. She said no more, for she no more thought of inquiring the motive of her father’s actions than of opposing his wishes. Alick watched her countenance. It was graver and more sad than he had ever seen it. Her lip quivered, but with a strong effort she recovered herself, though she did not venture to trust her voice. Alick knew that Captain Hemming would not sail before the return of the drogher with his midshipmen, or should she not appear until he had endeavoured to ascertain their fate. The colonel asked Murray’s opinion. Alick gave it, but advised him to apply to Captain Hemming on the possibility of his sending the Tudor on to Jamaica before the frigate. His heart beat with hope that this might be done, and Stella’s countenance brightened when he spoke of it.

Their friends, the Houghtons, with whom Stella and her father were staying, were much concerned when they heard of his determination.

“But must your daughter accompany you, colonel?” asked Mrs Houghton, a good-natured, motherly dame, whose daughters were all married. “We shall be delighted if Stella will remain with us, and we will find her an escort when the frigate sails; though, for my part, I would not hesitate to send a daughter of mine and a female attendant without one.”

Stella did not express her thanks for this proposal with the warmth which might have been expected. The colonel accompanied Murray to the barracks, where they found the two captains. The colonel stated his wishes. Captain Hemming regretted that he could not sail in time to suit his convenience, but if Miss O’Regan would remain with the Houghtons he should be delighted to give her and her attendant a passage, and any lady who might be able to accompany her. He would, however, consult Commander Babbicome and ascertain whether the Tudor could be got ready for sea in time. Commander Babbicome was mute. When the colonel had gone, he expressed himself somewhat strongly to his superior.

“He had heard reports concerning Colonel O’Regan’s schemes, and he had no wish to commit himself by carrying such a person on board his ship—charming as Miss O’Regan might be considered by some. He did not always go with the herd.”

The captain of the frigate could send the Tudor to sea, but he could not compel her commander to give up his cabin to passengers, so he did not press the point. It would have been better for Commander Babbicome had he been more courteous, but no more than other mortals could he foresee what the future was to bring forth.

Colonel O’Regan went on board the brig Sarah Jane. Though of so unwarlike a name, she was a large rakish craft, evidently very fast, with square yards and taunt masts, well fitted for a blockade-runner or any work of that description; and her skipper, a dark, big-whiskered fellow, looked the man fit to command her. He and the colonel shook hands as if they had before been acquainted, and had a long conversation.

“Under the circumstances, colonel, we’ll clear out for Portobello instead of Port Royal,” he said, laughing; “for as you know we have a roving commission, and we may find a better market for our goods on the Spanish Main than at a British port. I expect to fall in with the sloop to the westward of Saint Kitt’s, when we may get some stores from her and proceed in company.”

The colonel having concluded his arrangements, returned to the cottage. Stella evinced no surprise when he communicated his change of plan.

“Am I to accompany you?” she asked in a faltering voice, while her cheek became paler than usual. At one time she would have entreated to be allowed to go without asking whither.

“As the cabins of the brig are commodious, and the frigate is not likely to sail for some time, I shall be glad of your society,” answered the colonel, not remarking her increasing agitation.

“Should the state of affairs not be more propitious than of late, I intend returning forthwith to Jamaica, where I will leave you with your relatives, the Bradshaws, while I go back once more to await the course of events. You will thus, probably, reach Jamaica sooner than you would have done had you waited for these laggard men-of-war.”

Stella had become calm again while her father uttered the last sentences. She expressed her readiness to do as he wished, and said, truly, that she wished ever to be with him; though she might have added, that she pined for the time when he would be content to abandon his schemes, and settle in some quiet home either in Britain or one of her colonies, as he had at times talked of doing when his restless spirit was for a time quelled by weariness or disappointment.

Kind Mr and Mrs Houghton pressed her to remain with them, and to go on to Jamaica in the frigate. They feared, with good reason, that Stella would be exposed to all sorts of dangers if she accompanied the colonel; they had no confidence in his schemes, and they thought him very wrong in wishing to take her with him, though they did not tell her so.

“I will assist you, my dear, to get over one of your difficulties, for I dare say you do not think it quite the thing to be alone on board the frigate without a chaperone,” exclaimed Mrs Houghton, coming into Stella’s room. “I have long promised to pay a visit to my daughter Julia and her husband, whose estate is next to the Bradshaws, and I intend to ask Captain Hemming to give me a passage. What do you say, Stella? Your father cannot object to my plan—it is so evidently the right one. Shall I tell him that you agree to it?”

It was a severe trial for Stella, but she was resolute in doing what she believed to be her duty. She thanked Mrs Houghton warmly for her kindness. She was, however, under orders. As a soldier’s daughter she had learnt obedience. Unless her father commanded her to remain at Antigua, she must embark in the brig. What effect the arguments of Alick Murray might have produced, it is impossible to say. He, unfortunately, was detained by duty on board the corvette, and did not reach the cottage till late in the evening, not aware of Colonel O’Regan’s altered plans. He was thunderstruck when he heard of them, and very much inclined to quarrel with the colonel, who did not seem to be aware that he was inducing his daughter to make any unusual sacrifice.

Thanks to Mrs Houghton’s management, Alick and Stella were alone for a short time. She did not disguise from him how much the parting cost her, but entreated him to keep up his spirits in the hope that they might soon again meet in Jamaica. Alick, with Rogers and Adair, accompanied Stella and the colonel on board the brig the next morning. The two latter knew that they were not intruding on their friend. They warmly entered into his feelings, though they might have doubted that Stella’s affection for him was as deep as he supposed, especially when they observed her tearless eye and calm manner when she parted from him. Their boat remained alongside till the brig was well out of the harbour. As long as any one could be discerned on board, a figure was seen standing at the stern watching them as they pulled back. Alick did not speak. All seemed a dream to him; but yesterday, he thought himself the happiest of mortals. Now Stella was gone, and to what fearful dangers might she not be exposed! Rogers and Adair wished to divert his thoughts, and began to talk of the missing midshipmen. “The captain gives them three days more, and if the drogher does not appear at the end of that time, he intends to send the Tudor to look for them,” said Jack. “I regret allowing Tom to go, for when a number of youngsters are together they are sure to get into mischief.”

“We found it so occasionally in our younger days to be sure,” observed Adair. “I, too, am sorry I let Gerald go; however, Higson is a steady fellow, and I hope has taken good care of them.”

“When Houghton heard that we were becoming anxious about the youngsters, he offered to send his schooner, the Swordfish, to look for them,” observed Murray, rousing himself up. “If I can get leave from Babbicome, and I am sure he will give it to escape having to take the Tudor to sea, I will go in the schooner. She is far better fitted for cruising among the islands than the corvette, and will be more likely to find the drogher.”

“A good idea of yours, Alick, and I will go with you, as I am sure to get leave,” said Jack.

Adair wished that he could go also, but he and Rogers could not be away from the ship together for any length of time. Jack and Terence, like true friends, stuck close to Alick for the remainder of the day, doing their utmost to keep him from brooding over his unhappiness. His feelings, they knew, were too deep to allow them to banter him, as they would probably have done under ordinary circumstances.

Chapter Eight.

Cruise in the schooner in search of the missing midshipmen—Call at Saba and find Higson—Discover the wreck of the drogher deserted—Return unsuccessful—The midshipmen mourned as lost—The frigate and corvette sail for Jamaica—A boy overboard—A hurricane at sea—The corvette dismasted—Man lost—Dangerous position of corvette—The frigate prepared weathers the hurricane—Anxiety about the corvette—The frigate’s search for her.

The next day and the next passed—the drogher did not appear, and the two captains became as anxious as were the three lieutenants to ascertain the fate of their midshipmen.

“If you wish to go I will spare you for a few days,” said Captain Hemming to Adair.

Accordingly all three sailed in the Swordfish. Having ascertained that the midshipmen intended visiting Barbuda, they first steered for that island. There was a good stiff breeze, and as the Swordfish was a fast craft, she rapidly ran over the thirty miles of water which intervenes between Antigua and its small dependency. It was not, however, all plain sailing, as numerous shoals, reefs, and rocks surround the island mostly below the surface, some only showing their black pates, while from its slight elevation above the ocean at the distance of less than four miles it was scarcely visible. A negro standing on the bowsprit end, and holding on by the stay, piloted the schooner, giving his directions to the man at the helm in a sharp, loud voice—

“Lub ou may—all ou can! steady! starboard. Keep her away! steady! lub, lub, lub, for ou life!” he screamed out, waving his hand to enforce his orders. The schooner just scraped clear of a rock, round which the water hissed and bubbled, and the pilot once more subsided into his ordinary calmness.

“Not a pleasant spot to find under one’s lee in a gale of wind on a dark night,” observed Terence. “It proves, however, that the crew of the drogher must have been sober, or they could not have found their way clear of it.”

The schooner at length came to an anchor, and a messenger was sent off to the overseer, who kindly came down at once and told them that he had seen the drogher outside the reefs, and standing to the westward. He pressed them to remain and partake of such hospitality as he could offer; but eager to pursue their search they declined his invitation, and the schooner was quickly again threading her way amid the shoals out to sea. It was a question whether the drogher had continued her course due west, or had steered northward to Saint Barts, or southward to Saint Eustatia, or Saint Kitts. They finally decided after examining the chart, to stand to the westward, and call off Saba. As they approached the island a fishing-boat was seen standing out towards the schooner, which was therefore hove to, to let her come alongside.

“I see Higson, and some of the others, but all I fear are not there,” said Jack, who had been watching the boat through his glass, in a tone which showed his anxiety. Higson was soon on board. He gave a full account of what had happened.

“I would sooner have lost my own life than allowed any harm to happen to the youngsters,” he added. “Still I have hopes that they may have escaped. Needham is a prime seaman, and he will have done what was possible to keep the drogher afloat, though they were sadly short-handed, I own. Still if the craft has not foundered, as they had plenty of provisions and water aboard we may expect to see them again, not the worse for their cruise. We have all been on the look-out, hoping to see her beating up to the island. You’ll not blame me, Mr Rogers, more than I deserve, and I couldn’t help it, you may depend on that.”

The old mate as he spoke well-nigh burst into tears. Jack and the other lieutenants assured him that they did not see how he could be blamed, and they then set to work to consider what was best to be done. They first compared notes, and agreed as to the course of the hurricane, and calculated the direction in which the drogher must have been driven, and the distance she had probably gone, recollecting that as she had been carried with the wind she must have been exposed to its fury for a much longer time than those on shore.

“If it had not been for that they ought to have made their way back long before this,” observed Jack.

“Perhaps they have gone to Saint Eustatia or Saint Kitts,” remarked Murray.

“I am very sure, sir, that for our sakes they would have done their best to make Saba,” said Higson. “If they could have helped it they would not have deserted us.”

Jack, as senior officer, had to decide, and he determined, therefore, to steer to the south-west for a couple of days, keeping a bright look-out on either hand, and then to beat back to Antigua, thus going over a wide extent of sea. It would occupy them a week or more, but Captain Hemming they knew would not object to the delay. Captain Quasho and his crew as a punishment were left to find their way back as best they could, and the schooner stood away in the direction proposed. During the day Higson or one of the midshipmen was at the masthead, keeping a look-out on every side. At night sail was shortened, and the schooner stood backwards and forwards, now to the northward, now to the southward, so that no risk might be run of passing the drogher in the dark. Three or four vessels were fallen in with, but the same answer was received from all. They had seen nothing of the missing craft. Under other circumstances they would have been very jolly, for they had a good supply of West Indian delicacies, put on board by the owner of the vessel, and had nothing to do but to eat and smoke when they felt inclined; but they were much too anxious to enjoy themselves.

For another whole day they stood on. Still not a sign of the drogher. Jack felt greatly inclined to continue the search for a third day. He reflected, however, on the risk of doing so. It would take very much longer beating back, and should light winds prevail they might run short of water and provisions; and though he was ready to undergo any dangers himself, with the prospect of recovering his brother, he had no right, he felt, to expose others to them. There was also the possibility of having to encounter another hurricane, which might try the schooner, capital sea-boat as she appeared to be. The weather had again become threatening—dark clouds collected overhead—the wind fell, and as the little vessel lay roiling her sides under the glass, like swell, down came the rain, not a mere sprinkling, like that of northern latitudes, but in a perfect deluge, the huge drops leaping up as they fell, and flooding the deck. Those who could took refuge below; the rest were wet to the skin before they could get on their great coats. Just before sunset a breeze sprang up, and the clouds clearing away left the horizon more defined and distinct even than usual. Jack himself went aloft to take a look round, and consider whether he should haul up at once, and commence the long beat to Antigua, or stand on for a few hours longer. He had already swept his glass round on every side when, as he turned it once more towards the south-west, just clear of the setting sun, his eye fell on a dark object almost on the very verge of the horizon. It seemed a mere speck, though it might, he thought, be a dead whale, or a piece of wreck, or only a mass of floating seaweed. His directions to the man at the helm to steer for it called all hands on deck, and several came aloft—various opinions were expressed. Old Higson was positive that it was part of a wreck of some unfortunate vessel lost in the late hurricane, or the whole hull of a small craft dismasted. The breeze freshened, and hopes were entertained that they might get up to it before darkness settled down over the deep. It could soon be seen from the deck.

“I knew that I was right, and I wish from my soul I wasn’t,” exclaimed Higson, as he looked steadily through his glass. “That’s a small craft on her beam ends, and it’s my belief that she’s the Snapper!”

“I trust not,” said Rogers, who overheard him. “If she is the Snapper, what has become of the poor youngsters?”

“Perhaps they are still clinging to her, sir,” answered Higson. “I have known men hold out on board a craft in as bad a position as she is in.”

“But they are boys, and must have succumbed to hunger and thirst, even if they escaped being washed overboard when the craft capsized,” observed Murray, who was not inclined just then to take a hopeful view of matters.

“I’d trust to my nephew holding out as long as any youngster ever did,” said Adair. “The others have not less pluck in them.”

“I see no signal, and as they must have made us out long ago if they were aboard I fear they are gone,” sighed Jack.

“Faith, it’s likely enough they have nothing to make one with,” observed Adair. “I’ll not believe they are lost.”

Every glass on board was continually kept turned towards the object ahead. As the schooner approached, however, no one could be discovered on board. It was nearly dark by the time she got up with it. Several voices on board the schooner hailed, but no reply came. She hove to, and a boat was lowered. Jack, Terence, and Higson jumped into her.

“Hand a lantern here,” cried Higson, as they were shoving off. They were quickly alongside the hapless craft. It was then seen that she had been capsized with her sails set, which, with the mast and rigging, assisted to keep her in her present position. Probably also her ballast having shifted contributed to do so, as she was only partially filled with water. Not a human being, however, was visible. Higson, seizing the lantern, leaped on board, and climbed up to the companion hatch. Jack and Adair were about to follow, but they, observing that even his weight made the water flow over the bulwarks, saw that it would be more prudent to let him search alone. They waited for him anxiously. He quickly put his head up the hatchway.

“She’s the Snapper—no doubt about that; but there’s not a soul aft,” he exclaimed. “At all events, however, they were not starved, for there are plenty of provisions in the locker.”

Having let himself down into the hold, holding on to the coaming with one hand, he stretched out the other with the lantern, so as to let its light fall on every side. No one was there. He then made his way into the fore-peak. It seemed to Jack that he was a long time absent, though in reality scarcely a minute passed before he scrambled out again.

“What has become of the youngsters I can’t say, but on board this craft they are not; nor is their monkey Spider, who with his long tail to hold on by was not likely to be washed overboard,” he exclaimed, as he sprang back into the boat. “The sooner we shove off the better, for she is filling fast, and may go to the bottom at any moment.”

“I can’t bear to leave her though without having a look round,” said Jack, taking the lantern from Higson.

He made his way into the little cabin, and was soon convinced that Higson was right. Not a trace of the midshipmen could he see. He searched the hold and the fore-peak. They were not there, dead or alive. Jack came back to the boat and sat down, feeling very sorrowful.

“Let me go in again,” said the old mate, as he took the lantern.

He was back very soon with three small carpet-bags in his hand.

“Be sharp,” cried Adair. “She is going down!”

He spoke truly. Higson made a leap into the boat, which shoved off just as the drogher, giving a slight roll, sank from sight. The crew pulled away from her.

“I could only find my own and two other fellows’ bags,” said Higson. “The others must have slipped down into the water.”

The boat at once returned to the schooner with the sad intelligence. Norris and the master’s-assistant were very glad to get back their carpet-bags. Their recovery, it is possible, somewhat consoled them for the loss of their young messmates. They, at all events, congratulated themselves that they had not been on board the drogher when she was blown away from Saba.

Jack, who loved his brother dearly, was very much grieved at his loss; so was Terence for Gerald, though he thought most of the sorrow his sister would suffer when she heard of her boy’s death.

“Arrah now; I wish that I’d let him stay at home and turn farmer; but then, to be sure, he might have been after breaking his neck out hunting, so it comes to the same thing in the end,” he exclaimed, with as near an approach to a sigh as he ever uttered. “Och, ahone, poor Nora, the sweet cratur! and I not able to bring her back the boy.”

Murray was less demonstrative, but he knew that young Archy would be truly mourned for in his distant highland home.

The schooner now commenced her long beat back to Antigua. There was every prospect of its being a tedious business; but there was a fresh breeze, and by carrying on, though the top-masts bent like willow-wands, English Harbour was gained at length. Captain Hemming felt the loss of his midshipmen; but when the matter was explained to him, he acquitted old Higson of all blame.

“Only I will never, as long as I command a ship, allow my midshipmen to go away for their amusement by themselves,” he observed. “They run risks enough as it is in the course of duty.”

This being reported in the berth made Norris and others very angry, and they were much inclined to abuse poor Tom and Gerald for getting drowned, and thus being the cause of the restriction likely to be placed on their liberty.

The two ships were now ready for sea. Murray went to pay a farewell visit to the Houghtons. Kind Mrs Houghton—who, for Stella’s sake as well as his own, took a warm interest in him, for she having keener eyes than the colonel, knew perfectly well that they were engaged—had letters of introduction ready to her daughter Mrs Raven, to the Bradshaws, Stella’s relatives, and to other friends.

“You’ll receive a hearty welcome, and I have just hinted how matters stand. They agree with us that the colonel has no right to be dragging his daughter about in the way he does, and will be thankful to see her placed under the guardianship of one who will take better care of her than, in my humble opinion, her father does.”

Alick was duly grateful, and said all that was proper, though he wished that his friend had not mentioned the matter she alluded to, as he felt somewhat nervous at the thought of appearing before strangers in the character of a melancholy lover.

“However, if there are any young ladies among them, they’ll not expect me to pay them attentions,” he thought.

The frigate and corvette were at sea, with the prospect of a quick run to Port Royal. During his quiet night-watches Alick’s thoughts were ever occupied with Stella. Hitherto the weather since she sailed had been unusually fine, and she might, he hoped, have escaped the dangers of the sea; but there were others to which she was too likely to be exposed on board a vessel engaged, as he understood the brig was, in landing arms and ammunition, and in running contraband goods. The colonel himself, Murray fully believed, had nothing to do with such proceedings; but he would, notwithstanding, be placed in a dangerous position should the vessel be captured while so employed, and then to what a fearful risk might not Stella be exposed. He shuddered at the thought. Again and again it occurred to him. The two ships had got to the southward of Saint Domingo.

In those piping times of peace there was very little excitement at sea—no enemy to be encountered, no vessels to be chased, except perhaps a slaver from the coast of Africa. There had, however, been a steady breeze, all sail being carried, and the officers were congratulating themselves on making a quick passage, when about noon it suddenly fell calm. The sun struck down from the cloudless sky with intense heat, making the pitch in the seams of the deck bubble up and run over the white planks, while every particle of iron or brass felt as hot as if just come out of a furnace. The chips from the carpenter’s bench floated alongside, and the slush from the cook’s pots scarcely mingled with the clear water, till a huge mouth rising to the surface swallowed the mass down with a gulp, creating a ripple which extended far away from the ship’s side. The atmosphere was sultry and oppressive in the extreme, for air there was none. It was a question whether it was hotter on deck in the shade or below. In the sun there was not much doubt about the matter. The sails hung motionless against the masts; even the dog-vanes refused to move. The smoke ascending from the galley fire rose in a thin column, till, gradually spreading out, it hung like a canopy above the ship. The men moved sluggishly about their duties, with no elasticity in their steps; and even Jack and Adair, the briskest of the brisk, felt scarcely able to drag their feet after them. The ocean was like a sheet of burnished silver, so dazzling that it pained the eye to gaze at it. Ever and anon its polished surface would be broken by a covey of flying-fish rising into the air in a vain effort to escape some hungry foe. A nautilus, or Portuguese-man-of-war, would glide by, proving that the wind had nothing to do with its movement; or the dark, triangular fin of a shark might be seen, as the monster, with savage eye, moved slowly round the ship, watching for anything hove overboard.

Woe betide the careless seaman who might lose his balance aloft, and drop within reach of the creature’s jaws. In spite of the heat several of the ship’s boys, rather than remain stewing below or roasting on deck, were sky-larking in the fore-rigging, chasing each other into the top or up to the cross-trees and along the yards, now swarming up by a lift, now sliding down a stay. The most active of the boys, and generally their leader, though one of the smallest, was Jerry Nott. He had been over the mast-head several times, keeping well before the rest, when he made his way out to the end of the starboard fore-yard-arm. At that moment Mr Scrofton, the boatswain, coming on deck, and reflecting probably that having been deprived of their tails, they were not as fit as their ancestral monkeys to amuse themselves as they were doing, and might come to grief, called the youngsters down. Jerry, startled by the boatswain’s voice, cast his eye on deck, instead of fixing it on the topping-lift. A small body was seen falling, and a splash was heard.

“Man overboard!” shouted numerous voices.

“Lower the starboard quarter boat!” cried Jack Rogers, who was officer of the watch, and having given the order he rushed forward and had sprung into the main-chains, intending to jump overboard and support the boy till the boat could pick them up; when he saw the youngster throw up his arms—a piercing shriek rent the air. That bright face a moment before turned towards him had disappeared, a ruddy circle marking the spot where it had been. With difficulty he restrained the impulse which had prompted him to leap into the water, to which had he given way, he knew that he would probably have shared the fate of the poor boy. The boat, notwithstanding, was lowered, and the men rowed round and round the spot hoping to get a blow at their foe with the boat-hook and an axe with which one of them had armed himself; but neither the shark nor his hapless victim again appeared. The only thing which came to the surface was Jerry’s straw hat—crushed and blood-stained.

The heat increased—the sun itself seemed to grow larger—the sky became of a metallic tint, the sea lost its silvery brilliancy, and gradually assumed the hue of molten lead. The captain, having several times examined his barometer, came on deck. “All hands, shorten sail!” he shouted out, and while the boatswain was turning up the crew he ordered a signal to be made to the corvette to follow his example.

The topmen swarmed on the yards, the idlers were at their stations.

“Be smart about it, lads!” he shouted. In a few minutes every sail was furled, with the exception of a closely-reefed fore-topsail, braced sharp up. Royal and top-gallant yards were sent down, and the masts struck.

The captain made another signal to the corvette to hasten her proceedings, but her commander showed but little disposition to do so.

“What’s Hemming making such a fuss about?” he was reported to have said. “Why, the sea is as smooth as a mill-pond, and if a strong breeze does spring up on a sudden, which I have my doubts about, we shall have plenty of time to trim sails I should think. I ought to know how to take care of my own ship, and don’t require to be dictated to by a young fellow who wore long clothes when I was a lieutenant.”

Captain Hemming, in the meantime, as he walked the deck of the frigate, ever and anon cast a vexed glance at the corvette.

“Babbicome will be having his sticks about his ears if he does not look sharp,” he muttered. “Obstinate old donkey, were it not for those with him I should be glad to see him receive the lesson he’ll get to a certainty.”

Still, not a breath of air stirred the dog-vanes—the ocean remained as glass-like as before, but thick clouds appeared in the north, and in a short time rain began to fall. It soon ceased, and a stillness like death succeeded the pattering sound of the falling drops. On a sudden the dark clouds seen before in the distance covered the sky, except in the zenith, where an obscure circle of imperfect light was visible, while a dismal darkness gathered round the ships. The midshipmen of the frigate, and several others, had begun to think the captain over-cautious.

“One would suppose that he had changed places with old Babbicome,” observed Norris. “See, they are letting all stand on board the corvette.”

“No; they are not, though. See! there’s hands aloft, shorten sail!” exclaimed Higson. “Good reason, too—they must be smart about it. Look there!” He pointed to the north-east, where a long, white line was seen sweeping on towards the ship, and rapidly increasing in height and thickness, while a roar like that of distant thunder was heard—yet more shrill than thunder—the sound every instant becoming louder and shriller, till it seemed like that of countless voices screaming at their highest pitch. On came the breath of the mighty hurricane, not seen except by its effect on the ocean, which now began to leap and foam, rising into huge rolling billows, sweeping along in threatening array; the foam which flew from them forming one vast sheet covering the ocean, while vivid lightning bursting from the clouds flashed in all directions with dazzling brilliancy. The furious wind struck the frigate on her broadside. In a moment over she heeled, and the close-reefed fore-topsail, blown out of the bolt-ropes, fluttered wildly in shreds, which speedily lashed and twisted themselves round the yard. The helm was put up. After a struggle the frigate answered to it, and off she flew before the wind, passing close under the stern of the corvette, which lay with her masts gone, on her beam-ends, the sheets of foam sweeping over her, almost concealing her from sight. The crew of the corvette had been swarming aloft, and some had already laid out on the yards when the hurricane struck her. Over she heeled—the tall masts bending like willow-wands. The sheets were let fly, but it was too late. The men called down by the officers endeavoured to spring back into the tops, and those who could descended on deck, but many had no time to escape. In one instant, it seemed, the three masts, with a fearful crash, went by the board, carrying all on them into the seething ocean; and the lately trim corvette lay a helpless meek, exposed to the fury of the raging—which dashed with relentless fury over her. Efforts were made by those on deck to rescue their drowning shipmates, whose piercing shrieks for help rose even above the loud uproar of the tempest, whose shrill voice seemed to mock their cries. Some few were hauled on board, but many were swept away before aid could be rendered to them. The masts, also, were thundering with terrific force against the side, threatening every moment to stave in the stout planks, and to send the ship and all on board to the bottom. To clear the wreck was the first imperative work to be performed. Murray, followed by a party of men armed with axes, sprang into the main-chains to cut away the main rigging, while other officers were similarly engaged on that of the fore and mizen masts. He saw at that instant the captain of the maintop, a fine young seaman, who was at his station when the mast went, still clinging to it. A cask with a line was hove into the sea, in the hopes that it might reach him, but this the mass of spars and sails rendered impossible. Murray shouted to him to try and make his way along the mast.

“No, no!” he answered in return, knowing that he would be washed off should he venture on the attempt. “Cut—cut!”

The reiterated blows of the butt-ends of the masts allowed of no alternative. The bright axes gleamed while the seamen rapidly cut the ropes. As the last shroud was severed the gallant topman waved his hand a farewell to his shipmates, and a faint cheer reached their ears as the tangled mass of spars, rigging, and sails, floated away clear of the ship. They had already, however, committed fearful damage. The carpenter sounded the well; he reported six feet of water. The pumps were rigged, and the hands set to work to try and overcome the leak, while he and his mates went below to ascertain the locality of the injury the ship had received. Meantime the hatches were battened down to prevent the water from the seas, which broke on board, increasing the mischief.

Before long the carpenter returned, his countenance showing the anxiety he vainly endeavoured to conceal.

“There are more leaks than one, sir, through which the water is rushing in like a mill-sluice; and it’s more than man can do to stop them from within-board,” he said, coming aft to the commander. “You’ll pardon me, sir, but it’s my duty to say that unless we heave the guns overboard, with everything else to lighten the ship, and can get a thrummed sail under her bottom, she’ll founder before the world is many minutes older.”

“Very well, Mr Auger, I’ll consider what you say,” answered Commander Babbicome; who, though obstinate and irritable under ordinary circumstances, was cool enough in moments of danger. Murray, who had been below, confirmed the carpenter’s report. The boatswain was ordered to get a sail up and prepare it as proposed, while the drummer beat to quarters. Gladly would the crew have mustered had it been to meet an enemy, but it was to perform a task the most painful of all to a man-of-war’s man, and one of no small danger.

“Heave the guns overboard!” shouted the commander. “Watch the right time now.”

As the dismasted ship rolled in the foaming seas raging around her, first the guns on one side were allowed to slip through the ports, then those on the other went plunging into the deep. The anchors were next cut away from the bows, and now the attempt was made to get the thrummed sail under the ship’s bottom. It seemed well-nigh hopeless, with the ship rolling and the heavy seas breaking over her. Murray and the other officers laboured as hard as any one, setting an example, by their energy and courage, to the men dispirited by the loss of so many of their shipmates. Two hawsers were at length got under the ship’s bottom, when the sail filled with oakum was hauled over the part where the worst leaks were supposed to exist. Still the water rushed in. The efforts of the hands at the pumps were redoubled, and anxious eyes were turned towards the frigate, which could still be dimly seen to leeward, but too far off to render them any assistance should the sea overcome all their efforts, and carry the ship to the bottom. That this would be her fate before long seemed too probable; the bulwarks in many places had been crushed in—the boats stove or carried away, scarcely a spare spar remained—everything on deck had been swept off it; indeed, it seemed a wonder that she should still be afloat.

A short jury-mast was got up, fixed to the stump of the fore-mast, and a spare royal was bent to a yard and hoisted in the hopes of getting the ship before the wind; but scarcely had the sail been sheeted home, before it had produced the slightest effect, than away went the canvas, mast, and spar to leeward. A second attempt to set a sail was made with similar want of success, and now not an available spar remained on which another could be hoisted.

“Spell, ho!” was cried more frequently than at first, as the exhausted hands at the pumps summoned their shipmates to relieve them, when they staggered to the stumps of the masts or the remaining stanchions and bulwarks, to which they clung to save themselves from being borne away by the wild surges as they broke on board. Thus the disastrous day wore on, to be followed by a still more fearful night. Even the most hopeful had no expectation of seeing another sunrise, as the increasing darkness told them that it had sunk into the storm-tossed ocean.

Alick Murray had endeavoured to maintain that calmness of mind, one of the characteristics for which he was noted. Thought, however, was busy. He, like the rest, believed that ere long the fierce waves would sweep over the foundering ship, and his life, with the lives of all on board, would be brought to a close; for who could hope to escape with not a boat remaining uninjured, and scarcely a spar to afford support? One thought, however, afforded him consolation; the brig, with his beloved Stella on board, had long ere this got well to the southward of the latitude the hurricane was likely to reach, and she, at all events, would escape its fury. Earnestly he prayed that she might be protected from the many dangers she might have to encounter, and though he knew she would mourn his loss, that she might find comfort and he restored in time to happiness.

The rage of the hurricane was unabated—a dreadful darkness settled down over the deep; the only objects to be seen beyond the deck of the labouring ship being the black mountainous seas, crested with hissing foam, which rose up on either beam, threatening every instant to overwhelm her.

In the meantime the frigate, well prepared as she had been to encounter the first onslaught of the hurricane, flew before it unharmed. As she passed the corvette, Captain Hemming, seeing her perilous condition, hailed, promising to heave-to if possible, and lay by her, but the wild uproar of the elements drowned his voice. To bring the ship to the wind under the full force of the hurricane was, indeed, a difficult and dangerous operation, which only the urgent necessity of the case rendered allowable. The captain of the Plantagenet was not the man to desert a consort in distress, and notwithstanding the risk to be run he determined to make the attempt. Still some time elapsed before the trysails could be set, and during it the frigate had run considerably to leeward of the corvette. The ports were closed, the hatches secured, preventer stays set up; every device, indeed, which good seamanship could suggest, was adopted to provide for the safety of the ship. The boats were secured by additional lashings, as was everything that could be washed away on deck. Relieving tackles were also rove, and four of the best hands were sent to the helm. The crew were at their stations, ready to carry out the intended operation. All was ready, but it was necessary to wait for an opportunity to avoid the fury of the mountain foam-crested billows, rolling in quick succession across the ocean, one of which, striking her bows as she came up to the wind, would have treated the proud frigate with little less ceremony than they would a mere cock-boat. Even during the fiercest gale there are spots on the surface of the sea which are less agitated than elsewhere, while at times there comes a lull of the wind, often the precursor, however, of a more furious blast. For such a lull the captain waited. It came.

“Helm’s a lee!” he shouted.

With a mighty struggle the frigate came to the wind, the main and mizen trysails were sheeted home, the fore-topsail was braced sharp up. Every one looked with anxiety towards the next huge sea which came roaring towards the frigate, to observe how she would behave. Most gallantly she breasted it, though its hissing crest burst over the bulwarks, and came rushing furiously aft along the deck, but the lee ports being opened, the water made its way out again, without committing any serious damage. To bring the ship to the wind and heave-to was one thing, to beat her up to her hapless consort was another, and that it was found impossible to do without the certainty of meeting with serious disaster. In the attempt she would probably have missed stays, and making a stern board would have gone down into the yawning gulf which the next passing sea would have left. As it was, though she rose buoyantly over most of the seas, ever and anon the summit of one broke on board, and all hands had to hold on fast to save themselves from being carried into the lee-scuppers, or washed overboard, while at the same time it was evident that she must be making very considerable leeway, and thus be drifting farther and farther from her consort. Jack and Adair could not help feeling very anxious about the corvette, for the sake, of course, of all on board, but more especially on account of Murray. They had last seen her through a dense mass of spray, with her masts gone, and many of her crew struggling in the waves, while the savage seas were breaking completely over her. Commander Babbicome was very naturally not spoken of, either by them or any one else, in the most complimentary manner.

“His stupid obstinacy has got his ship into this mess, and, as far as he is concerned, he richly deserves it,” observed Jack, trying to catch a glimpse through his glass of the wreck, as she rose, in the far distance, on the summit of a billow, quickly again to disappear. “It’s a sad fate for those poor fellows who have lost their lives, and I am very much afraid that they will not be the only ones. It’s a question whether the corvette will weather out the hurricane.”

“I am very much afraid that she will not,” said Adair. “If there was a prospect of a boat living I would volunteer to board her, and try and save some of the people.”

“The best-manned boat wouldn’t live a minute in such a sea as this, so there’s no use thinking about it,” answered Jack. “I have tried to persuade myself that it might be possible, but I know it is not. All we can hope is that should she go down, poor Alick may manage to get hold of a plank or spar, or into one of the boats, and that when the gale moderates we may pick him up. There is but a poor chance of that, I own.”

“I’ll hope that the corvette won’t go down,” said Adair. “She is a new ship, and, unless abominably managed, she ought to weather out the hurricane.”

“She ought to have been put before the wind by this time, and have followed us; and see, she has not altered her position since she was dismasted,” said Jack, with a sigh. “Poor Alick!”

“Poor Alick! and poor Stella,” echoed Adair.

Night came on. Few of the watch below—officers or men—turned in, for every one knew that at any moment all hands might be piped on deck to save ship.

The hurricane continued to rage with unabated fury. Hour after hour went by without a sign of its ceasing. The vivid lightning darted around; the whole upper regions of the sky being illuminated by incessant flashes, while darts of electric fire exploded with surpassing brilliancy in every direction, threatening each instant the destruction of the ship. Jack and Terence were standing together, holding on to a stanchion, when the latter gave a loud cry, and some heavy object fell at their feet.

“Hillo! what’s that?” exclaimed Paddy, as he put up his hand to his cap. “Faith, I thought a round shot had taken my head off. Catch it, Jack, or it will be away.”

“What, your head, Terence?” asked Jack, unable to restrain a joke even then.

“No, but that big bird there; see it’s scuttling away along the deck.”

Jack sprang forward and caught the bird, which proved to be a large sea-fowl, but he had not the heart to injure it. Presently another dropped on the deck near them, and in a short time a flash of lightning, spreading a bright glare around, showed that the launch and booms, and all the more sheltered spots, were tenanted by sea-birds, which, unable to breast the storm, could find no other resting-place for their weary wings. Some unfortunate ones were caught and carried captives below, but the men generally showed compassion to the strangers, and allowed them to enjoy such shelter as they could find undisturbed.

“Well, I do hope that the hurricane is at its height,” observed Jack, as six bells in the middle watch were struck. “I doubt if the canvas will stand much more.”

“If it isn’t it will be after blowing the ship herself clean out of the water,” answered Adair. “We ought to be thankful that our sticks are sound, and the rigging well set up.”

“Yes; Cherry deserves full credit, and we should give old Scrofton his due, for, though his theories are nonsensical, he is an excellent boatswain,” observed Jack. “I am convinced that every accident on board a ship occurs from the carelessness, and often from the culpable neglect, of some one concerned in fitting her out, or from bad seamanship.”

While they were speaking there came a sudden lull of the wind, and the lightning ceased, leaving the ship enveloped in a blackness which could be felt. The two lieutenants, though close together, could not even distinguish the outlines of each other’s figures.

“This is awful,” exclaimed Adair.

Jack felt that it was so, but said nothing. Suddenly the whole heavens appeared ablaze with fiery meteors, which fell in showers on every side.

“Look look! mercy—what can that be?” cried Adair.

A mass of fire, of a globular form and deep red hue, appeared high up in the sky, when downward it fell, perpendicularly, not a cable’s length from the ship, it seemed, assuming an elongated shape of dazzling whiteness ere it plunged, hissing, into the ocean.

“We may be thankful that ball did not strike us,” observed Jack. “It would have sent us to the bottom more certainly than Fulton’s torpedo, or any similar invention, could have done.”

“I hope that there are no others like it ready to fall on us,” said Terence.

Scarcely a minute had elapsed when the wind fell almost to a calm, its strength being scarcely sufficient to steady the ship. At the same moment the heavens seemed to open and shower down fire, so numberless and rapid were the flashes of the most vivid lightning which played between the clouds and ocean, filling the whole atmosphere with their brilliancy. The captain had put his hand to his mouth to order more sail to be set, when again the hurricane burst forth with renewed fury, howling and shrieking, as Terence declared, like ten legions of demons in the rigging, while the mountain seas, as they clashed with each other, created a roar which almost overpowered the yelling voice of the hurricane. For nearly an hour the hideous uproar continued, until, as if wearied by its last mighty effort, the storm began evidently to abate, although the darkness was even denser than before, while the seas continued tumbling and rolling in so confused a manner that any attempt to steer the ship, so as to avoid them, would have been impossible. Daylight was looked for with anxiety by all on board, to ascertain the fate of the corvette, the captain eagerly waiting for the moment when he could venture to make sail, that he might stand towards her. Just as the cold grey dawn broke over the leaden-tinted, still tumbling ocean, the wind shifted to the southward. The light increased. The eyes of all on deck were turned towards the spot where it was supposed the corvette would be seen. In vain they looked. She was nowhere visible. A groan of disappointment escaped their breasts. Jack and Adair hurried aloft with their glasses, still in the hopes of discovering her. They swept the whole horizon to the northward from east to west, and every intermediate space, but not a speck on the troubled waters could they discover which might prove to be the hull of the corvette. “Poor Alick! poor Alick!” they both again ejaculated, and descended with sad hearts on deck.

The captain now gave the order to make sail, and under her topsails and courses the frigate began to force her way amid the still rolling billows to the northward. Mr Cherry, and several of the other officers, were speaking of the loss of the corvette as a certainty. Jack, who could not bear the thought that Murray was indeed gone, declared that he still had some hopes of finding her above water.

“I agree with Rogers,” said the captain, joining them. “We have made scarcely sufficient allowance for the distance the frigate has drifted during the hurricane. Though I allow that the corvette will have had a hard struggle for it, and that it is too probable she has foundered; yet, as I think that there is a possibility of her being still afloat, I intend to pass over every part of the sea to which she can have been driven, or any boats or rafts escaping from her can have reached.”

The remarks made by the captain considerably raised the spirits of Jack and Terence. A look-out was sent to the masthead, and they themselves frequently went aloft with their telescopes, in the hopes of catching sight of the missing ship. As the day advanced the light increased, and the wind gradually fell to a moderate breeze. The captain and Mr Cherry, having been on deck during the whole night, had turned in, as had all who could do so. Jack had charge of the watch, and Terence remained with him.

“A lump of something floating away on the starboard bow,” cried the look-out from aloft.

Jack kept the ship towards it. In a short time the object seen was discovered to be a tangled mass of spars and rigging, evidently belonging to the corvette. As the frigate passed close to it the figure of a seaman was perceived in its midst floating, partly in the water and partly supported by a spar, with his face turned upwards, as if gazing at her. Several on board shouted, but no voice replied, no sign was made. Jack, notwithstanding, was about to shorten sail and heave the ship to, that a boat might be lowered to rescue the man, when the corpse—for such it was—turned slowly round and disappeared beneath the waves.

“There goes poor Bill Dawson. He was captain of the main-top aboard the Tudor,” observed one of the men. “I knowed him well, and a better fellow never stepped!”

Jack’s heart sank as he saw the wreck of the corvette’s masts.

“Surely they could not have floated to any distance from her, and as she is not in sight she must have gone down,” he thought.

The sea was still too rough to attempt taking any of the spars on board, so the frigate stood on as the captain had directed. Ten minutes or more passed by, when again the look-out hailed the deck in a cheery voice,—“A sail on the port bow!”

The announcement raised the spirits of every one. Terence hurried aloft, and a midshipman was sent to call the captain, who quickly appeared.

“I thought so,” he exclaimed. “Depend on it, that is the Tudor.”

Some time passed before Terence returned on deck. His report confirmed the captain’s opinion. He could clearly make out the hull with a small sail set forward. The last reef was shaken out of the topsails, the starboard studding-sails were set, and the frigate dashed after the corvette. The news spread below, the sleepers were awakened, and all hands turned out. The frigate speedily came up with the lately trim little ship, now reduced to a mere battered hulk. From her appearance it was surprising that she should be still afloat. A mast and yard, composed of numerous pieces, had been rigged forward with a royal or some other small sail set on it. The whole of the bulwarks on one side were stove in; not a gun remained, the boats were gone. Many of the crew lay about the deck exhausted with fatigue, and scarcely able to raise themselves, and utter a faint cheer, as the frigate, now shortening sail, approached, while the remainder were labouring hard at the pumps; and by the gush of water flowing from the scuppers, it was evident that they found it a hard matter to keep the ship afloat.

“Shorten sail, Commander Babbicome, and I’ll send you assistance, for I see you require it,” shouted Captain Hemming, with a touch of irony in his tone, as the frigate ranged up alongside.

A hawser had been got ready and passed aft; a long line secured to the end was hove on board the corvette, and those who just before seemed scarcely able to stand on their feet hauling on it with right good will; the hawser was passed forward, and quickly secured. In the meantime two boats had been lowered, and fifty fresh hands sent from the frigate relieved the worn-out crew of the corvette. Adair had gone in charge of the men, and Murray was the first person he greeted on deck.

“We had given you up for lost, but, thank Heaven, you are safe!” exclaimed Terence, as he warmly wrung his friend’s hand.

“It isn’t the first time either that we’ve had cause to be frightened about each other’s safety; and for my part I intend in future, should you or Jack disappear, never to despair of seeing you turn up again alive somewhere or other.”

“We have indeed been very mercifully preserved,” answered Murray, gravely. “But, my dear Adair, unless we take the greatest care, I very much doubt that the ship can be kept afloat till we reach Port Royal.”

And he briefly told Terence all that had occurred. There was but little time, however, for conversation. While most of the fresh hands went to the pumps the rest got up another sail, which, having been thrummed like the first, was passed under the ship’s bottom. The result was satisfactory. Though the frigate was towing the corvette at the rate of four knots an hour, instead of the leak increasing, as had been feared would be the case, the pumps rapidly gained on it. Higson, with additional hands, came on board; the hatches were taken off, and buckets being brought into play, passed rapidly up from below by a line of men, the depth of water in the hold was sensibly decreased, the corvette in consequence towing the lighter. Poor Commander Babbicome, who looked as unhappy as a man could do, went to his cabin; and even Murray, with most of the officers, was glad to turn in and leave the ship in charge of Adair and Fligson. Happily the wind remained fair and moderate, and in three days the frigate and her battered consort came safely to an anchor in the magnificent harbour of Port Royal. Their arrival was officially notified to the admiral, living at the Pen above Kingston, and he, shortly after coming down in his barge, having inspected the ships, ordered the corvette into dock to be repaired, while he gave a gentle hint to Commander Babbicome that, as he was not a good subject for resisting an attack of yellow fever, it would be wise in him to return by the first opportunity to England.

Chapter Nine.

Jamaica—Murray appointed to the Supplejack brig—Pull up to Kingston—Port Royal Jack—Johnny Ferong’s store—Visit to the Bradshaws—Kind reception—Return—The Supplejack sails for the southward.

Jamaica, a hundred and sixty miles long, by forty-five broad, is, as everybody knows, a very magnificent island; but, alas! its ancient glory has departed for a time, though it is to be hoped that one of the many panaceas proposed for its renovation may, ere long, restore it to its pristine state of prosperity. Port Royal, or Kingston Harbour, capable of holding a thousand tall ships, lies on its southern side, towards its eastern end. The harbour has for its sea boundary a low, narrow, sandy strip of land, several miles in length, called the Palisades, running from the east towards the west; at which end is seen the town of Port Royal standing a few feet above the water, and looking complacently down on its predecessor, buried eight fathoms below the surface by the earthquake of 1692. Here, too, is the Royal Naval Yard, hospital, barracks, and the works of Fort Charles defending the entrance, which is rendered still more difficult of access to an enemy by the Apostles’ Battery erected on the opposite side, with a fine range of mountains rising directly above it. Kingston, that not over delectable of sea-ports, stands on the northern shore of the harbour towards its eastern end, and is thus a considerable distance from Port Royal; the only communication between the two places being by water, except by a circuitous route along the burning sands of the Palisades, which adventurous mids and juvenile subs, have alone of mortals been known to attempt on horseback. The land rises rapidly beyond the flat on which Kingston stands, the Admiral’s Pen being some way above it, while Up Hill Barracks appear beautifully situated very much higher up the mountain.

The frigate lay at anchor off Port Royal, the crippled corvette had just been towed into dock. Jack and Terence were walking the deck under the awning, having got ready to go on shore.

“Faith, now, this is a fine place!” exclaimed Terence, as he gazed over the wide expanse of the harbour, the plain of Liguania covered with plantations, and dotted with white farm-houses quivering in the beams of a tropical sun. Beyond it rose the magnificent amphitheatre of the Blue Mountains, one piled upon another, reaching to the clouds, and intersected by numerous deep, irregular valleys; one of their spurs, with Rock Fort at its base, appearing directly over the ship’s port-quarter; while before the beam was seen, at the end of a narrow spit of sand, Fort Augusta, its guns ready to sweep to destruction any hostile fleet which might attempt to enter; and over the bow in the far distance could dimly be distinguished the town of Kingston, at the head of the lagoon.

“Not equal to Trinidad, though,” observed Jack. “I don’t know what your fair cousin Maria would say if she heard you expatiate so warmly on its beauties.”

“I’d just invite her to come with me, and judge for herself,” answered Terence. “But why did you speak of her now? I was beginning to fancy that I was getting the sweet creature out of my head, for it’s bothering me she has been ever since we left the island. Oh, Jack! you’re a hardhearted fellow. I thought that you would have fallen head over ears in love with Stella.”

“I saw that Miss O’Regan was not likely to fall in love with me, and, besides, for other reasons, when I found how completely Murray was captivated by her, I soon conquered the admiration I felt,” said Jack. “I wish for his sake that they had never met. Dragged about as she is by her enthusiast of a father into all sorts of dangers, it is impossible to say what may be her fate; and it would go nigh to break his heart should her life be lost, or any other misfortune happen to her. Here comes a shore-boat—we’ll secure her to take us to Kingston.”

Jack going to the gangway met the very person they had just been speaking of.

“Why, Murray, my dear fellow, we expected to meet you on shore!” he exclaimed. “What brings you back?”

“To look after my traps, settle my mess accounts, bid farewell to my late shipmates, and take command of HM Brig Supplejack, fitting out at the Dockyard, and nearly ready for sea, I am told,” answered Murray. “I don’t know whether to ask you to congratulate me or not. I had hoped to make the acquaintance of some families on shore to whom I have letters of introduction, but as they live some way from Kingston I fear that I shall not have time to call on them. One family, the Ravens, are related to my Antigua friends, the Houghtons; and another, the Bradshaws, to Colonel O’Regan and his daughter, of whom I hoped to hear from them. I feel anxious on the subject, I confess, for there are rumours on shore about the character of the brig they sailed in, which I do not like. I wish that she was safe back again.”

“The brig, or the young lady!” exclaimed Terence. “Ah, yes, I understand; the brig with the young lady aboard. I’d like to give her a royal salute as she comes in, which I dare say will be before long; and as to hearing about her, Jack and I will make a pilgrimage to the Ravens and Bradshaws, and bring you back all the intelligence we can collect, if you haven’t time to go yourself.”

“You may depend on us for that,” said Jack. “But I say, Alick, you haven’t told us by what good fortune you have been appointed to the Supplejack; for good fortune, I call it, to get an independent command, whatever you may think.”

“By no unusual means; through what I suspect the invidious will call Nepotism. When I went to pay my respects to the admiral, he at once hailed me as a cousin, told me he was glad to make my acquaintance, expressed his regret at the loss of poor Archy, who was also related to him, and wound up by saying that he should be very happy to forward my interests. I was taking my leave, wishing to get on to the Bradshaws, when he stopped me, inviting me to dinner, and observing that he should by that time have something to say to me; and wished, besides, to hear about old friends in bonnie Scotland. This, of course, was equivalent to a royal command; so I wrote to Mrs Bradshaw, enclosing my letter of introduction, and expressing my intention of calling on her and Mrs Raven as soon as I was at liberty. You and Terence will, I have no doubt, be welcomed if you can ride over to Saint David’s. You can explain more clearly than I could by letter how I am situated, and you will not fail to inquire what has been heard about the O’Regans. After dinner, the admiral, who spoke in the kindest way possible, said that Macleod, who he had intended should have command of the Supplejack having been invalided, as the corvette could not be refitted under three or four months, he had appointed me in his stead, and that he intended to transfer thirty of the corvette’s crew to the brig, with any officers I might name. Though I must consider my command but temporary, I may possibly, he hinted, be confirmed in it.”

“Congratulate you! Of course I do, and though I’m not jealous, it’s just the sort of command I should jump at,” exclaimed Terence.

“I am not quite so certain; it is said that if a lieutenant is placed in command of a small craft, he is never likely to get anything better,” observed Jack. “However, in your case it is different, as the admiral will look after your interests. Did he tell you how and where you are to be employed?”

“My duty will be chiefly to look after slaves and pirates, of whom a few occasionally appear sailing under the flags of some of the smaller South American States; he mentioned also, that I might probably be sent to the Spanish Main to protect British interests on that coast. My thoughts at once, I confess, flew to Colonel O’Regan and his daughter, and the possibility of meeting them; though I trust that they may have returned safely to Jamaica before I can get to the coast.”

“Who knows! By my faith, I should be after wishing the contrary!” exclaimed Terence. “What a romantic incident it would be now some morning just as day breaks, to make out away to leeward a brig which you have no doubt is the Sarah Jane, with a black, rakish, wicked-looking schooner close to, just opening fire. The brig fights bravely; she had, I think, a couple of two or three-pounders on board, but she will to a certainty be captured. You make all sail to her assistance, for the pirate, supposing you to be a merchantman, doesn’t up stick and run for it—but the wind drops, you take to your boats, the black schooner has ranged up alongside the brig, you arrive at the moment the brig’s crew have been overpowered—the colonel brought to the deck, and the pirate-captain, a huge ugly negro, is bearing off a fair lady in his arms. You cut him down, rescue the lady, drive the pirates overboard, place the colonel on his legs, blow up the schooner, and are duly rewarded for your gallantry.”

“Avast, Terence, with your nonsense!” exclaimed Murray, who had before been vainly endeavouring to stop the imaginative Irishman. “You make me miserable in suggesting the bare possibility of such an occurrence. The brig may be attacked, but I might not arrive in time to save my friends.”

“Now, Alick dear, you remind me mightily of Tim Doolan, the cowboy at Ballymacree,” said Terence. “I found Tim, one bright morning, looking as unhappy as his twinkling eyes and cocked-up nose would let him. ‘Tim, my beauty—what’s the matter?’ I asked.

“‘It’s a throubled drame, Mr Terence, that I have had,’ answered Tim, twisting his nose and mouth about in a curious manner, and giving a peculiar wink with his right eye.

“‘What is it, man?’ I asked. ‘Out with your dream.’

“‘Well, your honour, it was just this. I dreamt that I went to pay a visit to his holiness the Pope, and a civil old gentleman he was, for he axed me if I’d take some whisky and water, and on course I said yes. “Hot or cold, Tim?” asked the Pope. “Hot, your reverence,” says I, and bad luck to me, for by dad, while the Pope went down to the kitchen to get the kettle I awoke; and now, if I’d said cold, I’d have had time to toss off a noggin-full at laste, and it’s that throubles me.’

“Now it strikes me, Alick, that your waking imagination is as vivid as Tim’s; but don’t let it run away with you in this instance. You’ll see the Sarah Jane come safe into harbour before you leave it, and have time to wish the young lady the top of the morning, at all events.”

“You are incorrigible, Paddy,” answered Murray, laughing in spite of himself. “As I have stood all your bantering, I have the right to insist on your coming with me to inspect the Supplejack before you go up to Kingston.”

His two friends of course agreed to the proposal, and their carpet-bags being put into Murray’s boat they pulled for the Dockyard at Port Royal. The Supplejack had her lower yards across, and most of her stores on board. In three or four days she might, by an efficient crew, be got ready for sea. Though Murray would gladly have had a longer delay, duty with him was paramount to every other consideration, and he resolved to use every exertion to expedite her outfit. She was not much of a beauty, they were of opinion; but she looked like a good sea-boat, and Jack thought that she would prove a fast craft, which was of the most consequence. Though rated as a six-gun brig she carried only two carronades, and a third long heavy gun amidships, which they agreed, under some circumstances, would be of more avail than the four short guns it had replaced. Terence advised Alick to ask for two more carronades.

“I might not get them if I did ask, so I will make good use, if I have the chance, of those on board,” was the answer.

Captain Hemming had been requested to spare Murray five hands from the frigate. He chose Ben Snatchblock, the boatswain’s-mate, to act as boatswain, a great promotion for Ben, and four others; these, with a dozen hands before belonging to the brig, the rest having died of yellow fever, sent home invalided, or deserted, made up his complement. He had applied for, and obtained old Higson, a former shipmate who had so taken to heart the loss of the three midshipmen that he was anxious for more stirring employment than he could find on board the frigate, likely to be detained for some time at Jamaica, or not to go much farther than Cuba. The other officers were selected from the corvette. The old mate was highly pleased. He had the duty of a first lieutenant, and was one in all respects, except in name, though not to be sure over a very large ship’s company. Hard drinker and careless as he had been sometimes on shore, Murray knew that he could trust him thoroughly when responsibility was thrown on his shoulders, and hoped that by being raised in his own estimation he might altogether be weaned of his bad habits.

Jack and Terence sailed up to Kingston with a fresh sea breeze a-beam blowing over the sandy shore of the Palisades.

“Take care you don’t capsize us,” said Jack to the black skipper, who carried on till the boat’s gunwale was almost under water.

“Neber tink I do dat, massa leetenant. Not pleasant place to take swim,” answered the man, with a broad grin on his ebon features, showing his white teeth.

“I think not, indeed,” exclaimed Terence. “Look there.”

He pointed to a huge shark, its triangular fin just above the surface, keeping two or three fathoms off, even with the boat, at which the monster every now and then, as he declared, gave a wicked leer.

“What do you call that fellow?”

“Dat, massa, dat is Port Royal Jack,” answered the negro. “He keep watch ober de harbour—case buckra sailors swim ashore. He no come up much fader when he find out we boat from de shore. See he go away now.”

The shark gave a whisk with his tail, and disappeared in an instant. The young officers breathed more freely when their ill-omened companion had gone. Almost immediately afterwards a boat belonging to a large merchantman, lying at the mouth of the harbour, ready for sea, passed them under all sail. Her crew of eight hands had evidently taken a parting glass with their friends.

“Dey carry too much canvas wid de grog dey hab aboard,” observed the black. “Better look out for squalls.”

He hailed, but received only a taunting jeer in return, and the boat sped on her course. Not a minute had passed when Jack and Terence heard the negro mate, who was watching the boat, sing out—

“Dere dey go, Jack shark get dem now—eh?”

Looking in the direction the black’s chin was pointing, to their horror they saw that the boat had capsized, her masts and sails appearing for an instant as she rapidly went to the bottom, while the people were writhing and struggling on the surface, shrieking out loudly for help. Jack and Terence ordered the black to put the boat about instantly, and go to their rescue. Nearly two minutes passed before they reached the spot. Five men only were floating. The ensanguined hue of the water told too plainly what had been the fate of the others.

“Help! help. For God’s sake, help!” shrieked out a man near them, in an agony of fear. At that instant a white object was seen rising, it seemed, from the bottom. The hapless man threw up his arms, and, uttering a piercing shriek, disappeared beneath the water.

The other four men could swim, but almost paralysed with fear kept crying out for help, without making any effort to save themselves, striking out wildly, round and round, as if they did not see the approaching boat. First one was hauled on board, then another and another. Jack had got hold of the fourth, and was dragging him in when a shark rose from the bottom. The negro boatman’s quick eye had espied the monster. He darted down his boat-hook into the open mouth of the shark, which, closing its jaws, bit off the iron and a part of the stock, while, by a violent effort, Jack and Terence jerked the man inboard, thus saving his legs, and probably his life.

They were now directly over the spot where the boat went down, and so clear was the water, the ruddy stains having disappeared, that they could see her as she lay at the bottom. Jack was standing up, when he exclaimed—

“There is a poor fellow entangled in the rigging—he seems alive. I think that I could bring him up.”

Influenced by a generous impulse, and forgetting the fearful monsters in the neighbourhood, he was on the point of leaping overboard, when the black boatman seized his arm, crying out—

“No, no, massa, dat one shark, hisself.”

Jack looked again, and the object he had mistaken for a seaman’s white shirt resolved itself into the white belly of a shark, the creature being employed in gnawing the throat of its victim.

“Dat is what dey always do,” observed the black coolly. “Dey drag down by de feet, and den dey begin to eat at de trote.”

Probably because the throat is the part of the body most exposed. Jack and Terence carried the survivors up to Kingston. Except that they uttered a few expressions of regret at the sad fate of their shipmates, the men seemed very little concerned, or grateful to Heaven for their own preservation; and immediately on landing they went into a grog-shop, where they probably soon forgot all about the matter. Such is the force of habit. Jack and Terence were not enchanted with the silent, half-deserted streets of Kingston, through which, having lost their way, they paraded for half an hour or more; but after eating a pink-coloured shaddock, and half-a-dozen juicy oranges, obtained from a smiling-faced negress market-woman, their spirits rose.

“Things begin to wear a more roseate hue, maybe tinged with the juice of the fruit we’ve swallowed,” said Terence, laughing, “and here’s Johnny Ferong’s store we were looking for, I’ve no doubt.”

They entered, and received a hearty welcome from that most loquacious and facetious of Frenchmen, who offered to supply them with every possible article they could require in any quantity, from a needle to an anchor. They wanted something—it was information—how best to get out to Saint David’s, not a profitable article to supply them with, but Johnny Ferong afforded it, with apparently infinite pleasure, and further assisted to raise their spirits, and confirm their resolution of becoming customers, by handing them each a glass of cool, sparkling champagne, and immediately replenishing it when empty.

“And you want to pay visit to Madame Bradsaw? Charmante lady—den I vill order one voiture for vous, vich vill take vous dere, let me see, in two hours and one half; and vous stay dere, and come back in de cool of de morning, or in de evening, or de next day as vous please,” said Mr Ferong, bowing, and smiling, as he spoke, in the mode habitual to him.

“It will never do to take people by storm in that fashion,” exclaimed Jack. “Unless we can get back to-night we had better put off our visit till to-morrow morning.”

Terence, who was modesty itself in such a case, agreed with him. Mr Ferong, however, laughed at their scruples, assuring them that Mr and Mrs Bradshaw would be delighted to see them, whether strangers or not, that he would be answerable for all consequences, and settled the matter by sending off a black boy to order the carriage forthwith, and to fetch their carpet-bags from the inn, where they had been deposited on landing. In the meantime Jack and Terence found several acquaintances among the visitors, chiefly naval and military officers, assembled in Johnny Ferong’s reception-room, forming the lower storey of his store or warehouse. There were also a few merchant-skippers, and civilian agents of estates, clerics and others. Countless glass cases, exhibiting wares of all sorts, and goods of every description in bales, packages, boxes, and casks, were piled up, or scattered about the place, serving for seats for the guests, most of whom were smoking and sipping sangaree. While Jack was talking to an old shipmate he unexpectedly met, a skipper and a merchant were engaged in an earnest conversation near him, and he could not help overhearing some of the remarks which dropped from them.

“If Captain Crowhurst can manage to run his cargo before the brig’s character is suspected it will be an easy affair for him, but if not he will find it a difficult job. They have got half-a-dozen armed craft, which will watch her pretty sharply, and I know those mongrel Spaniards well. If they catch her they’ll not scruple to sink her, and shoot every man on board.”

These remarks were made by the skipper.

“But the Sarah Jane is a fast craft, and will, I should hope, be able to keep out of their way,” said the merchant, in an anxious voice. “We should be unable to recover her insurance should she be sunk, I fear.”

“As certainly as the poor fellows who may be shot would be unable to come to life again,” observed the skipper dryly. “To my mind it’s not fair to send men on such an adventure.”

“They are aware of what they are about, and know the risk they run,” said the merchant.

“The captain and supercargo may, but not the rest of the people, and that’s what I find fault with,” observed the skipper.

Jack heartily agreed with the last speaker, and was on the point of turning round to make inquiries about the Sarah Jane, when the merchant, suspecting that they must have been overheard, drew his companion aside and left the store. Jack asked Mr Ferong if he could give him the information he desired; but the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders, replied that he knew nothing of the affairs of his customers; his business was to obtain “his littel wares of de best quality and to sell dem at de lowest price possible.”

In a shore time the carriage appeared, with their carpet-bags strapped on behind, and covered with a tarpaulin. It was a species of gig, with a seat in front for the driver, and had two horses, one in the shafts and the other prancing in comparative freedom, secured by traces to an outrigger. Away they started at furious speed, and before long were ascending the side of the magnificent Liguania mountains; now proceeding along a romantic valley, with a babbling stream on one side; now passing over a height; now along a level, or but slightly sloping spot for half a mile or so, but gradually getting higher and higher above the plain. Sometimes, when exposed to the sun’s rays, they found it hot enough; but frequently they travelled under the long shadow of some gigantic cotton tree, shooting up into the blue heavens; or beneath a grove of graceful palms, the tendrils of the yam and granadillos climbing up them, with fences on either side, covered by numberless creepers, passion-flowers of varied sizes, and convolvuli of countless descriptions. The whole country seemed like an assemblage of orchards, composed of orange-trees in fruit and flower, lemon and citron trees, glossy-leaved star apples; the avocada, with its huge pear, and the bread fruit-tree bearing still vaster fruit, and leaves of proportionate size; while beneath them were seen in abundance the unfailing food of man in tropical climes, the ever cool, fresh, green plantain; indeed, the strangers felt bewildered amid the variety of trees, shrubs, and plants which surrounded them.

“A perfect paradise, this,” exclaimed Jack, who was not much addicted, however, thus to express his feelings. “See, the vegetation reaches to the very summit of the highest mountains.”

“Inhabited by no small number of ebon-hued Adams and Eves,” observed Terence, pointing to several palm-thatched, white-washed huts, a little way off, before which was collected a group of negroes, men, and women, and children, laughing, shouting, and talking, looking wonderfully happy; the former all neatly habited, and though the smaller members of the community were not overburdened with clothing, they looked as plump and jolly as need be. “I only wish that our peasantry in old Ireland were as well off as these people seem to be.”

“And those of England, also,” said Jack. “Still slavery is an abomination, and I pray that it may some day cease throughout the world.”

The lieutenants scarcely believed that the time they expected to be on the road had elapsed, when their driver pointed to a wide-spreading, low mansion, with verandahs all round it, and extensive outbuildings, and said—

“Dere, dat Saint David’s.”

Somehow or other they had expected to see only a Mr and Mrs Bradshaw. Their surprise was considerable when they met with a reception not unlike that at Trinidad, from a matronly dame and a number of young damsels; except that they did not claim Adair as a relation.

“We were expecting Mr Murray, and regret not seeing him, but his brother officers are most welcome,” said Mrs Bradshaw, when she had glanced at Alick’s letter.

She then introduced the two lieutenants by name to her eldest daughter Fanny, and to her three little girls, as she called them, but though the youngest was barely thirteen, they all looked like grown women. Adair was quickly at home with them, answering the questions they showered on him. Jack remained talking to Mrs Bradshaw and Fanny. He mentioned Murray’s anxiety about the O’Regans.

“I fear that he has good reason to be anxious,” answered Mrs Bradshaw. “The colonel promised to bring his daughter here long ago, and we were expecting to see her, when we heard that he had carried her off on another of his wild expeditions. He wrote word from Antigua that he intended to be but a short time away, so that they may possibly arrive in a day or two. We long to have her safe with us, for though Fanny is the only one who knows her, as they were at a finishing school together in England, from the account she gives we are all prepared to love her.”

“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed Fanny. “She was a delightful creature, the pet and darling of the school, one of the youngest among us; and I should never have supposed that she would have been able to go through what she has done since.”

While they were speaking Mr Bradshaw arrived—a stout, bald-headed, middle-aged gentleman, with ruddy countenance, dressed in nankin trousers, white jacket, and broad-brimmed straw hat, which he doffed as he approached the strangers, glancing from one to the other; and then, having settled in his mind that Jack Rogers was Alick Murray, shook his hand, which he grasped with the greatest warmth.

“Happy to welcome you to Saint David’s, my dear sir; only wish that our expected friends were here also. A great disappointment to us, and to you likewise, I feel sure, eh!” and he gave a facetious look at Jack, as much as to say. “I know all about it.”

“My dear, this gentleman is Lieutenant Rogers. Mr Murray has been unable to come up,” said Mrs Bradshaw; and she explained how matters stood.

Jack thought that he ought to speak of going back. Mr Bradshaw laughed at the notion.

“Utterly out of the question. Stay a week, or as long as you have leave. Send your shanredan back to-morrow morning, and I’ll drive you down in my buggy when you have to go.”

Thus pressed, Jack confessed that he and Adair had brought their carpet-bags, not knowing where they might have to put up, and accepted the invitation for the night; but said that, on Murray’s account, they must return the next day to see him before he sailed, and to tell him what they had heard respecting Colonel and Miss O’Regan.

“You may assure your friend that he will ever be welcome here, and I hope that we shall have the young lady with us when he returns,” answered Mr Bradshaw. “I will not say the same with regard to her impracticable father, for, between you and I, the farther he is away from her the better. I am no admirer of his wild, harum-scarum schemes, though he is individually a brave and honourable man; and had he not foolishly quarrelled with the authorities at home, he would never have lacked employment under the flag of England, instead of knocking his head against stone walls in quarrels not his own.”

These remarks of the worthy planter explained Colonel O’Regan’s character to Jack more clearly than anything he had before heard. He had before entertained some unpleasant suspicions on the subject. They were confirmed, and he now only hoped that Murray would not, should he marry Stella, be induced to join any of her father’s schemes. Of that, however, if cautioned, he did not think there was much risk. Had Terence been the favoured lover the case would have been different, for, enthusiastic himself, he might easily have been won over by the colonel’s persuasive powers. Dinner was soon announced. Jack and Terence, who were very hungry, did ample justice to the solids as well as to the numerous West Indian delicacies and rich fruits pressed on them by their fair hostesses—the shaddocks, the mangos, and, above all, the granadillos, which were pronounced like strawberries and cream, but superior to any such mixture ever tasted in Europe. They enjoyed, too, a most pleasant evening, several friends having come in, among them Mr and Mrs Raven, nice young people, full of life and spirits. Mrs Raven was glad, she said, to make the acquaintance of Lieutenant Murray’s brother officers, of whom she had heard from her mother, Mrs Houghton, and only regretted that he himself was unable to come.

“However,” she added, “we may hope to see him frequently by-and-by, on his return from his cruise.”

They had dancing, of course, as young people never think of meeting in the West Indies without it; and some delightful music, for the younger girls had been taught by Fanny, who was highly accomplished. Mr Bradshaw observed that they did pretty well considering that they had not the advantages of their elder sister. Times were changed in Jamaica, and he could not afford to pay three hundred a year for the education of each of them, as he had done for her.

“No; but they are better housekeepers, and understand far more about preserving and pickling than she does, and there is not a bird or a flower on the estate, or, indeed, in any part of the island, with which they are not acquainted,” remarked Mrs Bradshaw, with motherly pride. “Thanks to Fanny, too, they are really, considering their ages, not so very much behind her in book knowledge. We need not regret having kept them with us.”

“I agree in all you say, Mrs B,” rejoined her husband, rubbing his hands and laughing; “and as I am eighteen hundred pounds the richer, or, let me see, in three years, with the addition of their voyages and dress, the cost of sending them home would have amounted to three thousand or more. I do not complain, I assure you.”

The young officers listened with surprise, and not a little amusement, at this eulogium on the young ladies, and the accompanying remarks—uttered they believed correctly without any ulterior object. It gave them some idea of the expense to which West Indian parents were put for the education of their girls, of which they before had no conception.

“Faith! more than double a lieutenant’s pay,” ejaculated Terence, as he was turning in at night. “If he would make that allowance to Fanny, the eldest of the three, I’d do my best to win her before the ship sails. I can’t stand it, Jack. I must either stay aboard and do duty for Cherry, or never set eyes on these houris again, or knock under to one or the other.”

“‘There’s luck in odd numbers, says Rory O’More,’” answered Jack, from his side of the room. “You divided your attention very fairly among the young ladies, and depend on it they will as easily forget us as we shall get them out of our heads, by the time we have been a few days at sea; so don’t bother yourself about the matter, Paddy, but go to sleep.”

Whether or not Terence followed his advice Jack could not tell, for he himself very soon went off into a sound slumber. The house was astir at daybreak, and not long after the white dresses and broad-brimmed straw hats of the young ladies were seen in the garden amid the fragrant flowers, with glittering humming-birds and gorgeous butterflies, flitting about in all directions. The lieutenants speedily joined them. Jack’s wise resolutions were almost overcome. He had made up his mind to take leave after breakfast. They looked so bright and happy; the air was so fresh, the flowers so sweet. He and Terence could not fail to spend a pleasant day, but then he remembered Murray, who would be anxiously looking for their return.

“Then you’ll come again soon, Mr Adair, if Mr Rogers thinks you must go now,” said Fanny, with a strong emphasis on the must, and a gentle sigh.

“You will always be welcome at Saint David’s,” added Mr Bradshaw. “And tell Lieutenant Murray that I will let him know should I hear anything about the Sarah Jane. I may possibly get information which might not reach him.”

Their own vehicle not having started they returned to Kingston in it, well baked by the burning rays of the sun. With a case of champagne, and a few other articles obtained of Johnny Ferong, as presents to Murray, they returned in the evening to Port Royal. Alick thanked them heartily. He had so zealously pushed forward the brig’s equipment that she would be ready for sea the next day. That very evening he received orders from the admiral to sail immediately he could. A despatch had just arrived from the British consul at Carthagena, stating that disturbances had broken out in the country, and requesting to have a man-of-war sent immediately, for the protection of British subjects residing there, and elsewhere along the coast.

Captain Hemming had been directed to send fifty hands from the frigate, and with the assistance of Rogers and Adair, by working all night, the sails were bent, and early next morning the brig glided out into the harbour.

The land-wind still blew strong, smelling of the hot earth, albeit mixed with spicy odours. Murray was eager to be away. His duty required him to use all speed. He had also a feeling that he might be of service to those in whom he was so deeply interested. He spoke of it to his friends.

“Second-sight, eh, Alick!” said Rogers. “I have no great faith in that, but I am very sure that whatever has to be done you will do it thoroughly.”

“I wish that I could accompany you,” exclaimed Adair. “If Hemming would spare me I’d have my traps on board in a jiffy.”

“I should be glad of your company; the admiral, however, in a private note, says that he shall probably despatch the frigate in a few days, but he remarks that the brig will be of greater service, by being able to enter the rivers and harbours, which she cannot,” answered Murray.

Rogers and Adair watched the Supplejack as she glided out of the harbour under all sail to the southward before the wind, till she met the sea breeze, when, hauling her tacks aboard, she heeled over to it, and stood away to the south-west, her canvas gradually disappearing below the horizon.

Jack and Terence spent their time pleasantly enough on shore, Johnny Ferong’s store being one of their favourite places of resort, as it was of officers of all ranks. Captain Hemming had made a rule that his midshipmen, when they returned on board after leave, should send in a written statement of the places and people they had visited. He was much amused at the frequency of such entries as the following:—

“Called on J Ferong’s, Esquire;” “spent the evening at J Ferong’s, Esquire,” music and a hop sometimes added; “lunched at J Ferong’s, Esquire.” In those days Jamaica flourished, but alas! her time came, and so did that of the well-known highly-esteemed Johnny Ferong. As the island went down he ceased to flourish, and at length Kingston knew him no more, except as one of her departed worthies.

Chapter Ten.

Cruise of the Supplejack—Calms and heat—A shark caught—Exercising at the guns—A boat seen—Needham and one of the missing midshipmen found, nearly dying from thirst—They bring alarming information.

The Supplejack was making the best of her way across the Caribbean sea. Murray, or one of his subordinates, Higson, or Jos Green usually so called, the second master of the corvette, was ever on deck, with watchful eyes on the bending topmasts, carrying on as much sail as the brig could bear. Gallantly she slashed through the blue, heaving seas, a mass of white foam rising up round her bows, and sheets of sparkling spray flying over her forecastle. A bright look-out was kept on every side, not in the expectation of meeting either with a slaver or pirate; but the young commander could not help secretly hoping that he might fall in with the Sarah Jane, and be relieved of his chief cause of anxiety. His patience, however, on several occasions was sorely tried when the wind fell light. One day, too, a perfect calm came on, and the brig lay, her sides lapping the glassy sea, as she rolled in the slowly-heaving, sluggish swell, and her sails flapped lazily against the masts. In vain old Higson whistled for a wind till his cheeks were ready to crack; not that he really believed the proceeding would produce a breeze, or that he had any notion of the origin of the custom; but he had always done so when there was a calm; and he wanted a wind, and the wind, if he whistled long enough, always came. The heat was oppressive, as it always is under such circumstances in those latitudes; the spirits of all fell, except those of Jos Green, who was ever merry, blow high or blow low, in sunshine or cold. The grumblers grumbled, of course, but in lower tones than usual, like the mutterings of distant thunder; the phlegmatic became more supine; the quarrelsome had not the energy to dispute; the talkative were silent; and even Pat Blathermouth, who could usually spin a yarn which lasted from the beginning to eight bells in a watch, and then wasn’t half finished, could scarcely drawl out an oft-told tale, which was wont to make his hearers burst their sides with laughter, but now only sent them to sleep.

“Of course it’s hot,” answered jolly Jos to a remark of Higson’s. “What else would you have it here in the tropics, with the bright sun striking down from the cloudless sky? It has its advantages, and it is better than cold, and saves one the trouble of putting on more clothing than decency requires.”

“But it may be the harbinger of another hurricane, and that wouldn’t be pleasant,” observed Fligson.

“No fear of a hurricane. They seldom reach so far south,” answered Jos. “Wait patiently, and we shall get the breeze before long. If not, what’s the odds? we are very happy as we are.”

“You’re a salamander, or you wouldn’t say that,” growled Higson.

“Just the very thing of all others it’s most convenient to be just now,” answered jolly Jos, laughing. “It really isn’t hotter than it has been often before, only there are fewer hands to divide it amongst, eh? Just do your turn in, Hig, and forget your troubles in sleep.”

“I shall be stewed if I do,” moaned Higson. “I’ve a great mind to have a swim.”

“It will be the last you’ll ever take, old fellow, depend on that,” said Green. “Look there!”

He pointed to the black fin of a huge shark, which the next instant, turning up its white belly, opened its huge mouth to swallow the contents of the cook’s slush bucket.

“See, Jack has had his soup, and will be ready for the next course, which you proposed offering him.”

“Thank you, Jos; I’ve changed my mind,” said Higson. “But I should not object to catch the fellow, and take a slice out of him instead.”

A stout hook, with a bit of chain to the end of a strong line, and baited with a piece of pork, was quickly got ready. Even the most apathetic of the seamen were aroused with the hopes of capturing their hated foe. A couple of running bowlines were prepared. Higson dropped the tempting morsel, and let it sink down deep, then rapidly drew it up again. Quick as lightning the shark darted at it, and down his throat it went, his jaws closing with a snap which made Higson draw up his leg. The monster’s sharp teeth, however, could not bite through the chain.

“Haul away, lads!” cried the old mate.

While Ben Snatchblock slipped a running bowline over the creature’s head, its tail coming to the surface, he dexterously got another round it, and, in spite of its violent struggles, it was hoisted on board.

“Stand clear of him, lads,” shouted Higson, though the men did not need the warning.

The crew seizing axes, capstan-bars, and boarding pikes, attacked the captive monster, as it lay writhing on deck, lashing out furiously with its tail, and every now and then opening its huge jaws, as if even then it had hopes of catching one of its assailants. It showed what it could do by biting off the head of a boarding-pike, which Ben thrust into its mouth. With wild shouts the men sprang round it, rushing in, every now and then, to give it a blow with an axe or capstan-bar, and leaping back again to avoid its tail; for even though its head was nearly smashed in, that continued striking out, and lashing the deck as furiously as at first, till Higson came down on it with a well-aimed blow of his axe, which instantly paralysed it, and it lay motionless.

“We’ll make sure, lads, he don’t come to life again,” exclaimed Ben, as he set to work to chop off the tail.

The head was treated in the same way; and a number of slices being cut off the body, the remainder was thrown overboard. Murray, wondering what the hubbub was about, had come on deck, and was an amused spectator of the scene. The men no longer thought of the heat, and, in spite of it, regaled themselves heartily on shark-steaks at dinner. The capture of the shark, too, brought them good luck, they declared; for a favourable breeze shortly afterwards sprang up, and held till the northern coast of the South American continent was sighted. Before, however, Carthagena, the port at which Murray had been directed to call, first could be made, it again fell calm. He felt the delay very trying. He had been eagerly hoping to get in by the evening, to ascertain if anything had been heard of the Sarah Jane, and now another whole day or more might pass before he could gain any information. The coast lay in sight, its ranges of light-blue mountains looking like clouds, rising above the horizon but proving that they were mountains by never altering their shape or position. Higson whistled as energetically as usual, but not a catspaw played over the surface of the mirror-like sea, and not an inch nearer the shore did the brig move during the day. The night passed by, and the hot sun rose once more out of the still slumbering ocean. The day wore on, but no breeze came. The men, of course, were not idle. Murray had from the first exercised them at their guns, and especially in the use of the long one. He remembered the advice Admiral Triton had given to Jack Rogers, and which Jack had repeated to him—

“Don’t mind throwing a few rounds of shot away; you’ll make the better use of those you have remaining.”

He, accordingly, had a floating target rigged and carried out to a distance, and each day during a calm he exercised the men at it for some hours, till they learnt to handle their long gun with as much ease as the carronades.

“Though we miss that mark sometimes, we shall manage to hit a larger one without fail if it comes in our way, my lads!” he sang out, to encourage the crew as they were working away at it during the morning.

After dinner the men were allowed some time to rest, and all was quiet. An observation showed that the brig’s position had not altered since the previous noon.

“What do you make that out to be, Green?” asked Higson, the officer of the watch, who had been looking through his telescope towards the shore. Green turned his glass in the same direction.

“A boat! and she must be coming towards us,” he answered, after the delay of a minute or so.

Higson sent him to report the circumstance to the commander, who at once came on deck. Various were the surmises as to what could bring the boat off to them.

“She must have had a long pull of it, at all events,” observed Higson.

“Perhaps she had the land wind, which we don’t feel out here?” said Green.

“Little doubt about that. She must have some urgent cause for coming out thus far to us,” remarked Murray. “Lower the gig, Mr Higson, and go and meet her,” he added immediately afterwards. “The people in the boat are evidently tired with their long pull, and make but slow progress.”

The gig’s crew called away—she was lowered, and Higson pulled off towards the approaching boat. Meantime, Murray walked the deck with impatient steps. Several times he stopped, and raised his glass to his eye, watching her eagerly. At length he saw that the gig had reached her. The two boats were alongside each other for a minute, and then the gig came rowing rapidly back, leaving the other behind. Murray watched her.

“There must be something of importance to make Higson hurry back at that rate,” he said to himself. “He has brought the people from the boat, I see.”

As the gig drew nearer, he saw Higson stand up and wave his handkerchief. In a few minutes more she was near enough for him to distinguish those in her.

“Is it possible, or do my eyes deceive me?” he exclaimed. “There’s a lad in a midshipman’s uniform. If he is not Gerald Desmond, he is wonderfully like him.”

“There can be little doubt who he is, sir,” said Green, who was standing near his commander. “If that is not Desmond I’m a Dutchman, and the man sitting just abaft the stroke-oar is Dick Needham, who went with the youngsters in the drogher. As they are safe, it is to be hoped the rest escaped, too. I’ve often heard that midshipmen have as many lives as cats.”

“I trust, indeed, that all have been saved,” said Murray, in a grave tone. He felt too anxious to joke with Jos just then.

The gig was soon alongside, and Gerald Desmond, looking pale and exhausted, was lifted on deck; Needham, with some help, managing to follow him.

“I am truly thankful to see you, Desmond,” said Murray, as he took the hand of the young midshipman, who was being carried aft in the arms of two of the sailors. “Have Tom and Archy also been saved?”

Gerald tried to reply, but no sound came from his parched throat. He had barely strength to point with a finger to his lips. Needham was in but little better plight, though he managed to murmur, “water—water.” Several cans-full were instantly brought by eager hands.

“Stop, lads, you’ll suffocate the poor fellows if you pour all that water down their throats!” exclaimed McTavish, the Assistant Surgeon of the corvette, who had been lent to the Supplejack. “Just a wine-glassful at a time, with a few drops of brandy in it, will be the best thing for them.”

While the surgeon was attending to his patients, Higson made his report to the commander. He had found them both still trying to pull, but so exhausted that they could scarcely move their oars. No sooner did he get alongside than Desmond sank down in the bottom of the boat, unable to speak. Needham, however, had had strength sufficient to tell him that both the other midshipmen were alive, but prisoners on shore; though how they got into prison he had not said.

“From what I could make out, sir, I am afraid they are not the only English in the hands of the Spaniards, or Carthagenans, or whatever the rascals call themselves,” continued Higson. “I caught the words, ‘the colonel and a young lady—and no time to be lost!’ but what he wished to say more I couldn’t make out, only I cannot help thinking that he must have alluded to the colonel and his daughter, who sailed the other day in the brig from Antigua.”

“I fear that there is no doubt about it!” exclaimed Murray, greatly agitated. “When Needham has sufficiently recovered to speak we shall learn more about the matter, and be able to decide what to do. Stay. That no time may be lost, let the boats be got ready with water-casks and provisions, and see that the crews have their cutlasses sharpened and pistols in order. Should the calm continue I will lead an expedition on shore, and insist on the liberation of the prisoners. The sight of the British flag will probably put the Dons on their good behaviour, and, if not, we must try what force can do. I will leave you, Higson, in charge of the brig with twenty hands, and as soon as a breeze springs up you will stand in after me, and act according to circumstances.”

“I am afraid, sir, that if the Carthagenans, or whatever they call themselves, are threatened with force, they will retaliate on their prisoners,” observed Higson.

“Mongrels as they are, if they have a drop of Spanish blood running in their veins, they would not surely injure a lady!” exclaimed Murray.

“Not so sure of that. Whether whole or half-blooded, Spaniards are savage fellows when their temper’s up,” answered Higson. “However, let us hope for the best. All I can make out is that our friends are prisoners, but the why and the wherefore I don’t understand; only as Desmond and Needham were evidently in a great hurry to get off to us, I’m afraid that they must be in some danger.”

Higson’s remarks contributed to make Murray feel more anxious even than at first. The forebodings which had oppressed him since Stella and her father left Antigua had, too, probably been realised. While Higson issued the orders he had just received, Murray went up to where the young midshipman and Needham had been placed under an awning, attended by the surgeon. The cook had, meantime, been preparing some broth, a few spoonsful of which as soon as they could swallow them, were poured down their throats. This treatment had an almost magical effect Needham was soon able to sit up and speak, and even Gerald, though his strength had been more completely prostrated, recovered sufficiently soon afterwards to give a clear account of the way they had been saved, and of what had afterwards happened. In consequence, however, of Murray’s anxiety, they narrated the latter part of their adventures first; though they will be better understood if they are described in their proper sequence.

Chapter Eleven.

Needham’s Narrative—The drogher driven off from Saba—Capsized—The midshipmen save themselves on her side—Taken off by the Sarah Jane—Steer for Carthagena—The Colonel on shore—Look out for his return.

“You remember that night at Saba, Mr Higson, when the three young gentlemen and I were left aboard the drogher, and you and the other gentlemen went ashore to look after Captain Quasho, as he called himself, and his rascally black crew,” began Needham, who having recovered his voice, was inclined to make good use of it by spinning a long yarn.

“I should think I did, indeed,” said Higson; “but go ahead, Dick: we want to hear how you and they were saved, for I had little hope that you would be, when I saw the drogher driven away from her anchorage by the hurricane.”

“Nor had I, sir, I can tell you; but I’ve always held that there’s nothing like trying to do one’s best, in however bad a way one may seem to be,” continued Needham. “I saw that there was only one thing we could do, and that was to run before the wind, and to try and keep the craft above water. As to beating back, I knew that the old drogher would either have capsized, or been driven on the rocks, if we had made the attempt so I took the helm, got a foot of the foresail hoisted, the hatches battened down, told the young gentlemen to lash themselves to the rigging, if they didn’t wish to be washed overboard, and let the craft scud. It was precious dark, except every now and then, when the flashes of lightning darted from the clouds and went zigzagging along on either side of us, casting a red glare on the tops of the black seas, from which the foam was blown off just for all the world as if a huge white sheet had been drawn over them. The spoondrift, too, came straight along our deck, over the taffrail, as if it would cut our legs off; for, though we flew at a pretty good rate, it flew faster. As every now and then I turned my head I couldn’t help thinking that one of thy big seas which came roaring on astern just for all the world like one of the savage monsters I’ve heard tell of, eager to swallow us up, would break down on the deck, and send us in a jiffy to the bottom. I didn’t care so much about it for myself as for the brave young lads, likely to be admirals one of these days; but not a cry nor a word of complaint did I hear from them. Mr Rogers, maybe, was the most plucky, as he seemed to feel that it was his duty to set an example to his messmates; and I could hear his voice every now and then, as they all stood close together, lashed to the starboard rigging, and when the lightning flashed I could just get a glimpse of their faces, looking pale as death—not from fear, though, but contrasted, as it were, with the darkness around. I had made myself fast you may be sure; for I shouldn’t have been long on the deck if I hadn’t, as not once, but many a time a sea came tumbling over first one quarter, then the other; and, though it was but just the top of it, we should all of us have been swept overboard, and if the hatches hadn’t been battened down, the old drogher would have gone to the bottom. We had managed to light the binnacle lamp before we got from under the land, and I saw by the compass that we were driving about south-east, so that I had no fear of being cast on the shore of any other island, and I hoped, if we could weather out the gale, that we might beat back to Saba. On we ran hour after hour. It seemed to me the longest night I’d ever passed since I came to sea. The wonder was that the drogher still kept afloat; but she was tight and light as a cork—now she was on the top of one sea, now climbing up the side of another. One comfort was that the longest night must come to an end, and that the hurricane could not last for ever. We were, I judged, too, on the skirts of it, and that if we stood on we should in time get beyond its power. It required pretty careful steering to keep the wind right aft, for if I had brought it ever so little abeam the vessel would have gone clean over in a moment. I was thankful, you may be sure, when daylight came at last—not that the prospect round us was a pleasant one. The big seas were rolling and leaping, and tumbling about like mad, on every side hissing and roaring, and knocking their white heads together, as if they didn’t know what they would be at. It was a hard job to steer clear of the worst; it was often Dobson’s choice, and many came with such a plump down on the deck that I thought after all we should be sent to Davy Jones’s locker; but the lively little craft managed to run her nose up the next mountain sea, and to shake herself clear of the water, just as a Newfoundland dog does when he gets ashore after a swim. The only pleasant sight was to see the young gentlemen standing where they had been all night, and keeping up their spirits.

“‘We are getting precious hungry, Dick,’ sung out Mr Rogers, ‘I’m thinking of going below to find some grub.’

“‘No, no; just stay safe where you are, sir,’ I answered. ‘If you let go your hold, maybe that moment we shall have a sea come aboard us and carry you away with it, or if the companion hatch is lifted it may make its way below and swamp us.’

“‘All right, Dick; we can manage to hold out for a few hours more,’ cried the other two. ‘Don’t think of going, Tom; we wouldn’t have you run the risk for our sakes.’

“From the gnawings in my own stomach I knew that the poor youngsters must be very sharp set. However, it seemed to me that the wind was somewhat less than it had been, and I hoped that in a few hours more the hurricane would be over, or that we should be out of it. I told them so, and I soon heard them laughing and talking as if nothing particular out of the way was happening. Well, in a couple of hours or so the wind fell, and I saw that we must have the foresail set, or run the chance of being pooped. I told them what I wanted, and casting off their lashings they all sprang together to the halyards, and soon had the sail hoisted and the sheet belayed. They then made their way aft.

“‘Now I think we’ve earned our breakfasts,’ says Mr Rogers, and slipping off the companion hatch he dived below, while the other two stood ready to draw it over again, in case a sea should come aboard us. He quickly returned with some bread, meat, a bottle of wine, and a basket of fruit. They wouldn’t touch anything till they had fed me, for they said I had had the hardest work, and saved their lives. My hands, you see, had still enough to do in working the tiller, and my eyes, too, for that matter, in keeping a watch on the seas; so all I could do was just to open my mouth and let them put the food into it. All I wanted was enough to keep body and soul together, and I then advised them to get back to the shrouds, and to make themselves fast as before, as there was no saying what might happen while the sea was tumbling about in its present fashion. ‘You must take a swig of the wine first,’ says Mr Rogers, in his cheery way, just like the lieutenant, his brother, holding the bottle to my mouth. I’d got a gulp or two of the liquor, keeping my weather eye open all the time, when I saw an ugly big sea come rolling up on our quarter. I sung out to the other two to hold fast to the companion hatch for their lives, while I got a grip of Mr Tom between one of my arms and the tiller. I couldn’t avoid the sea. Right over us it came, pouring down the still open hatchway, and sweeping across the deck. I had Mr Tom safe enough, though the breath was half squeezed out of his body; but I was afraid the others would have been torn from their hold. Like brave-hearted youngsters as they are they had held fast, though over head and ears in water. ‘Och, but the venison has gone on a cruise,’ sung out Mr Desmond, as soon as the sea had passed clear of us, ‘and some big brute of a shark will be making his breakfast of it.’

“‘Better that he should eat that than us, Paddy,’ said Mr Rogers; ‘don’t let’s fret about it, for, to say the truth, it was rather too high to be pleasant.’ He was right as to that; for the bits he put into my mouth had a very curious taste; but it wasn’t a time to be particular, so I had taken what was given me, and said nothing. I was thankful when I saw that the three lads had safely lashed themselves to the starboard shrouds as before. The day was wearing on, and I was beginning to feel that I’d rather not have to stand on my legs much longer, though the hope that the hurricane would quickly blow itself out kept me up. At last, I calculated about seven bells in the afternoon watch, it fell almost a dead calm, though we happily kept steerage way on the craft, for the sea tumbled about almost as madly as before, and it was a difficult job to prevent its breaking aboard. However we managed to set the mainsail, and I hoped we should soon have smoother water.

“One never can tell what tricks the wind will play. Suddenly, as you may see sometimes a hulking giant knock down a little chap with a blow of his fist, a sea struck the drogher on the starboard beam; and before a sheet could be let fly over she went. It was a mercy that the three young gentlemen were holding on at the time to the weather rigging. They all scrambled in a moment on to the chains, where I, making my way along the bulwarks, quickly joined them. I can’t say that they were frightened exactly, but they didn’t like it, which was but natural; no more did I.

“‘What’s going to happen next?’ asked Mr Rogers quite calmly.

“‘The hatches being on, the craft won’t fill, and maybe when the squall has passed over another sea may right her,’ I answered, as I saw that there was a chance of that happening.

“The squall didn’t last ten minutes, and directly afterwards there was a flat calm, and the sea went down wonderfully fast. Still the drogher lay over on her side and gave no signs of righting. Mr Desmond proposed cutting away the mast.

“‘That mightn’t help us,’ I answered; ‘I’ve an idea that the ballast has shifted over to port, and that with the water in her keeps the craft down. We must wait till the sea is smooth, and then we’ll get the companion hatch off and have a look below; we may be able to bale the water out, and shift enough of the ballast to right her; but as long as the sea is running it’s safer to trust to Providence, and to hold on with hands and teeth where we are, and—

“‘Poor Spider, I’m afraid he’ll have an uncomfortable time of it, left all alone in the dark below, and not knowing what can have happened to the vessel,’ said Mr Rogers, as if he thought the monkey more to be pitied than himself or us.

“The poor brute had been made fast below, to keep him out of mischief, when they went on shore, and had remained there since. I had an idea that he was very likely drowned if he was over on the lee side, but I didn’t say so for fear of grieving his young masters. Thinks I to myself, if we are hard up for grub, whether dead or alive, he’ll serve us for a meal or two at all events.

“Having no longer the steering of the craft to attend to, as evening drew on I began to feel very drowsy, and it made me fear that the youngsters, who would be getting sleepy, likewise, to a certainty might drop off into the water and be drowned, or be grabbed by a shark. The thought had no sooner come into my head than I saw one of the brutes swimming by and casting his two wicked eyes up at us. I roused myself up in a moment, and getting hold of some lashings, pointed him out to the young gentlemen. When I told them what I feared, they did not object to my making them all fast to the chains with their legs along the shrouds. I afterwards secured myself close to them on the bulwarks. I hadn’t been there many minutes before I went off into a sort of sleep, though it wasn’t exactly sleep, because I knew where I was, and never forgot what had happened. I could hear, too, the voices of my young companions, trying by talking to keep each other awake, though it was a hard job for them, poor lads. The seas, do ye see, had been washing over us all the time, and even now, though they broke less heavily than before, pretty often nearly smothered us, but even they could not make me keep my eyes open. Darkness soon came down upon the ocean, but it was growing calmer and calmer, and I could feel that the vessel was no longer tossed and tumbled about, while the voices of the midshipmen ceased to sound in my ears. I tried to rouse myself up. That was, however, more than I could do, and at last I dropped off into a real sound sleep. When I awoke the vessel lay as quietly as in a mill-pond, and not a sound was to be heard except the soft lap of the water against the hull. I couldn’t even hear the breathing of the midshipmen, and for a moment the dreadful thought came to me that they were dead, or had got loose somehow or other, and had slipped into the sea. I lifted myself up so that I could reach the shrouds. There they were safe enough, and all as fast asleep as they could have been in their hammocks. I wouldn’t awake them, as I thought the sleep would do them good. I myself had no wish to go to sleep again, so I sat up watching the bright stars shining out of the clear sky, and thinking whether it would be possible to get the vessel righted; and if not, what chance there was if we could form a raft of reaching one of the islands, or falling in with a passing vessel. To my mind a man’s a coward who cries die while there’s life in him, and I determined, with the help of Him who I knew right well looks after poor Jack, to do my best to save myself and the young midshipmen. These things gave me enough to think about for the rest of that long night. At last the light of day came back, the stars grew dim, and presently the sun, like a huge ball of fire, with a blaze of red all around him over the sky, rose out of the glass-like sea. I knew that it was going to be blazing hot, and that we should feel it terribly. The midshipmen awaking, were much surprised to find that it was light again already, and couldn’t believe that they had slept through the night. Having cast off their lashings they began to move about to stretch their cramped limbs, not that there was much space for that.

“‘Now, messmates,’ said Mr Rogers, ‘there’s one thing we ought to do before we think of anything else, and that is, to thank God for having preserved us through the night, and to pray to Him to protect us, and to take us ashore in safety. Needham, you’ll join us, I know.’

“‘Of course, I will, sir,’ says I, and well pleased I was to hear the youngster speak in that way without any shamefacedness. It was just what I’d been thinking, for if a man dare not ask God to help him, he must be in a bad way indeed.

“Without another word we all knelt on the side of the vessel, and a right good honest prayer did Mr Rogers offer up. No parson or bishop either could have prayed a better, though he might have put more words into it. The young gentleman, do ye see, knew exactly what we all wanted, and that’s just what he asked God to give us, and no more.

“‘And now, Needham, what do you consider is the first thing we ought to do?’ said Mr Rogers, as soon as he had finished.

“‘Let us try and get some water,’ sang out Mr Desmond. ‘I’m terribly thirsty, I could drink a bucketful if I had it.

“‘So could I, for my thrapple is as dry as a dustbin,’ added Mr Gordon.

“‘As to that, I am not better than either of you,’ says Mr Rogers, ‘but I thought that I’d try to hold out as long as I could.’

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I’ll make my way below and see what I can bring up. Water will be better than wine or spirits, and if I can find any you shall have it.’

“‘No, no, Needham, you stay where you are,’ says Mr Rogers. ‘Just pass a rope aft and I’ll make it fast round my waist till I can get the hatch off. The water is pretty well up to the coamings already, and my weight won’t make the difference which yours might.’

“He seemed to think that there was more danger than I did—that the weight of a single man might capsize the craft altogether. I believed that if we had all gone below together it wouldn’t have mattered. However, I did as he ordered me. It was a sliding-hatch, you remember, and he soon got it off far enough to let himself down into the cabin. We all sat watching for him to come back again. At last I heard his voice singing out to me to hoist away. Looking down I saw him seated on the companion hatch with Master Spider, the monkey clinging to his neck while he was making fast the end of the rope to a basket full of all sorts of things which he had collected below. I hauled it up, and he followed with Spider.

“‘Water! water!’ cried the others.

“‘I couldn’t find a drop,’ he answered, ‘but I’ve brought some oranges and a bottle of wine. It’s the last in the locker, so we must take care how we use it.’ There was just one orange apiece, and for my part I’d have given a five-pound note for mine rather than go without it. As to the wine we couldn’t touch it, though we were glad of some before long. The only solid food we had was biscuit, for the fish and venison had gone bad, and we were not sharp set enough to eat it; but then we had, besides the oranges, several sorts of fruit; their outlandish names I never can remember. Though they didn’t put much strength into us they were what we wanted, seeing that we had no water to moisten our throats. Still, while they and the biscuits lasted, and the monkey Spider to fall back on, I wasn’t afraid of starving, though I didn’t say anything to the young gentlemen about him, as I knew they wouldn’t like the thoughts of feeding on their pet. When we had finished our breakfasts we began to talk of what we had best do. We had the choice of three things, to try and right the drogher, to make a raft out of her spars and upper works, or to sit quietly where we were till some vessel should come by and take us off. At last I got leave from Mr Rogers to go below, and judge what chance there was of righting the craft. I soon saw that without buckets we should never be able to bale her out. There wasn’t one to be found, nor would the pump work, while, as I had guessed, the ballast had shifted over to the port side, so till we could free her of water we couldn’t reach that; besides, it would have been a difficult matter to get it back to its place. As I was groping about in the hold I came upon two water-casks. Here is a prize I thought, but the bungs were out, and the only water in them was salt. At last I went back with my report.

“‘Then we must set to and build a raft,’ said Mr Rogers, nothing daunted.

“‘How are we to cut away the spars and bulwarks without axes?’ asked Mr Gordon. ‘It would be a hard job to do it with our knives and hands.’

“‘You are right, my boy, and faith, the only thing we can do that I can see is to sit quiet, and wait till Providence sends us help,’ says Mr Desmond, quite calmly. ‘We should be thankful that the old tub keeps above water.

“We were all agreed as to this. When I came to think of it, I saw that without a single axe or tool of any sort there was no hope of making a raft fit to carry tins, though it had seemed possible to me in the night-time, when I was half asleep. The midshipman was right, all we could do was to sit quiet, and look out for a sail. I made another trip below, and got up some more biscuit and fruit and three pots of preserves, which were very welcome, and some nuts for Spider. These we put into the basket, which was secured to the rigging. I then shut to the companion hatch, and sat down on the bulwarks. The sun soon dried out clothes, but we shouldn’t have minded having them wet to have escaped the heat. As the sun rose in the sky it grew hotter and hotter, but not a word of complaint did the young gentlemen utter. All day long they sat talking to each other, or amusing themselves with Spider. They kept him fast by his chain for fear of his slipping off the vessel’s side. If he had done so he would have been down the throat of a shark in an instant, for the brutes had found us out, and I saw half a score at a time cruising round the wreck as if they expected a feast before long. It wasn’t pleasant, and I couldn’t help sometimes thinking that they would not be disappointed. I kept my eye turning round the horizon in the hopes of seeing the signs of a breeze which might bring up a vessel to our help. I looked in vain. The ocean shone like a sheet of glass—not a cat’s-paw even for a moment played over its surface. We ate but little, even the fruit did not take away our thirst. It was water we wanted, and without it the rum, of which we had plenty, was of no use. It tasted like fire when we put it to our lips, so the young gentlemen would not touch it.

“The scorching day came to an end at last. The night gave us some relief, and then Mr Rogers served out half a glass of wine to each of us with our biscuit and fruit. We made ourselves fast to the rigging as we had done the night before, and the midshipmen went to sleep with Spider nestling down among them, just as if they had been accustomed to it all their lives. Before I could close my eyes I made certain that they were secure—I don’t mean to say that they slept all the night through. I several times heard them talking, and even joking, trying to keep up each other’s spirits, and then they would get drowsy and go to sleep, and then rouse up again and have another yarn. I couldn’t sleep many minutes together, for I couldn’t help thinking of what might befall the poor young gentlemen if the calm was to continue, for the fruit was spoiling, we had only an orange apiece for the next morning, and the wine and dry biscuit without water wouldn’t keep life in them many hours, while another day’s sun was striking down on their heads—I might hold out long after they were gone. This was the thing that troubled me. I couldn’t lie quiet, and I was every ten minutes getting up and looking round, though I knew well enough that without wind no vessel could come near us. Towards morning I fell asleep for a longer spell. I was awoke by the sun coming into my eyes, and looking round what should I see but Master Spider sitting close to the basket of provisions, sucking away at an orange in his paws. I shouted out to the rascal, who only looked up and grinned and chattered as much as to say, ‘I want my breakfast as much as you do.’ My voice awoke his masters, who starting up, saw what their friend was about. The rascal had already eaten two of our precious oranges, and had just begun a third. When Mr Rogers took it from him, Master Spider seemed to think he was very hardly treated, and grinned, and chattered, and tried to get hold of it again.

“‘There’s no use punishing the poor brute,’ said the young gentleman; ‘he only acted according to his nature, and of course he thinks that he has as much right to the fruit as we have, only he ought not to have taken more than his proper share.’

“Those two oranges, with some biscuit, served us for breakfast, and after that, except the remainder of the wine and some rum, we hadn’t a drop of liquid to drink. The sea was as calm and the sun as hot as the day before, and we all soon became fearfully thirsty. Unable to bear it longer I again went below to have another search for water. I looked into every locker; I hunted through the hold, and examined every hole and corner in the forepeak, but to no purpose. I discovered, however, what made me more uneasy than ever—that the water was leaking in through the deck. It came in very slowly, but I had marked a line when I was down before, and I found since then that it had risen nearly half an inch. I couldn’t hide from myself that the vessel was sinking. I said nothing about it to the young gentlemen when, having shut the hatch, I climbed back to my place. It went to my heart to hear them still joking and laughing, in spite of their hunger and thirst, when I thought that in two or three days at furthest their merry voices would be silenced by death. They didn’t keep up their joking long, for as the sun got higher the heat became greater, and roasted out their spirits, as it were, poor fellows, in spite of what each one in turn did to keep them up. Spider was the only one of the party who was as merry as ever, for the heat didn’t hurt him, and he kept frisking about to the end of his chain, trying, when he thought he was not watched, to get at the basket to see if there were any more oranges or any other fruit to his taste in it.

“‘Well, Needham, don’t you think matters will mend soon?’ says Mr Rogers to me, seeing that I had been sitting silent and downcast for a long time. ‘We surely shall have a breeze before the evening, and some craft or other coming to look for us.’ For the life of me I couldn’t say ‘yes.’ I shook my head—I was beginning to lose all hope. At noon Mr Rogers served out half a glass of wine to each of us and some biscuit. This put a little more life into me, and I again took to thinking whether we could form a raft with the bulkheads and lining of the cabin, which we might tear away by main strength, and the two empty water-casks, and the hatches, and the gaff and boom. The job would be to lash them together; for though we might stand on the bulwarks which were under water, there would be no small danger of being carried off by the sharks swarming round us. At all events, if the craft was to sink, as I made no doubt she would, we should have a struggle for life, instead of going down with her and being eaten up by the sharks. It cost me a good deal to say it, but at last I told the young gentlemen that I was sure the vessel wouldn’t float much longer, and what I proposed doing.

“‘Don’t let us lose any time about doing it, then,’ says Mr Rogers, jumping up as brisk as possible; ‘we’ll get the two casks from below, and lash the stoutest pieces of board we can tear from the bulkheads on the top of them. This will make a small raft, and I will go out on it and cut away the gaff and get out the topmast.’

“While he was speaking I saw him turn his eye to the eastward.

“‘See! see there comes the breeze; and look—yes, I am sure of it—a sail! a sail!’

“He was right. Just rising above the dark blue line which marked the coming breeze were the royals of a vessel, standing directly towards us; her topgallant-sails quickly appeared, and in a short time we could see half-way down her topsails. We were so eagerly watching her that we forgot all about the raft we had intended putting together. The young gentlemen made no doubt that the stranger would pass close to us, but I had my fears that, low down as we were, we might not be seen. This made me sorry that we had not built the small raft, that one of us might paddle off to the stranger should she seem as if about to pass at any moderate distance from us. As there was still time I made my way below to bring up the casks. As I was feeling for them in the hold my legs struck against a pretty long spar. I hauled it out and handed it up to the midshipmen. ‘This will serve as a signal-staff,’ I said; ‘it will give us a good chance of being seen by the stranger, and I’ll try to find a flag.’ The drogher’s ensign was in an after-locker. We soon made it fast to the spar, which we then set up. By this time we could see that the stranger was a brig, and unless she altered her course that she would not pass very far from us. On she quickly came; cat’s-paws were already playing over the smooth water; presently the breeze itself struck our cheeks. How cool and pleasant it felt; hunger and thirst were forgotten. The midshipmen tried to shout—their hollow voices showed how much they had suffered. I wasn’t quite so happy as they were, for it seemed to me that the brig would pass not much short of a mile from us, and that we might not after all be seen. I couldn’t help saying so.

“‘Sooner than that I’ll swim off to her,’ says Mr Rogers.

“‘You forget the sharks, sir,’ I answered.

“Just then the brig, altering her course, stood directly for us. We were seen; of that there could be no doubt. We all stood up, and waved and shouted at the top of our voices; even Spider, who sprang up on the shoulders of Mr Rogers, seemed to understand that there was something in the wind, and chattered and grinned with delight.

“The brig was a large, rakish craft, with a black hull, and as I looked at her I had some doubts about her character. It struck me, indeed, that she was the same wicked-looking vessel I had seen come into English Harbour the day we sailed in the drogher. However, we couldn’t be worse off aboard her than we were, and I couldn’t suppose that any human beings would leave us to perish. Before long she let fly her topgallant-sails and royals, clewed up her topsails and courses, and a boat was lowered, which pulled towards us.

“‘We must not leave our change of clothes behind us,’ says Mr Gordon. ‘My carpet-bag is in the starboard berth.’

“‘I’ll get the bags for you, young gentlemen,’ says I, for I did not like to trust any of them below again, for fear of accidents. I jumped down as I said this, and by the time, after groping about for them, I had got hold of the three bags, the boat was alongside.

“‘Jump in, my lads,’ sung out the mate in charge of her; ‘we have no time to stop.’

“The young gentlemen and Master Spider had scrambled down into her. ‘We are not going without Needham, though,’ they all sang out together, just as I got my head up the companion hatch.

“‘What, is there another of you?’ said the mate. ‘Be smart, my man, or I must leave you behind.’

“‘Thank you, sir, but I would rather go,’ says I, as I made a leap into the boat, with the carpet-bags, just as the bow-man was shoving off. While we were pulling for the brig the mate asked how we came to be there. Mr Rogers told him in a few words.

“‘I heard say in English Harbour that you were supposed to be lost,’ he observed.

“I was then sure that the brig was the craft I had seen there. We were soon alongside. Who should we see as we stepped on deck but the old colonel and his daughter, and the little black girl Polly, who came with us from Trinidad. They seemed mightily pleased at finding that we were not drowned; especially the young lady, who told the midshipmen how anxious every one on board the frigate had been about them. Mr Rogers had to go over the whole story again.

“‘It’s pleasant to find that we are of some account in the world,’ says Mr Desmond, in his offhand Irish way; ‘but if you please, Miss O’Regan, we are as hungry as hounds, and as thirsty as hippopotami, and I’m sure you’ll say a good word to get us something to eat and drink.’

“‘Bless my heart,’ exclaimed the colonel, ‘I forgot, my boys, that you had been hanging on to the drogher’s bottom for the last three days, on short allowance.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ says I, thinking it was as well to speak on my own account, for he didn’t seem to understand that I had been with them; ‘the young gentlemen and I had nothing to stow away in our insides all that time but hard tack and rotten fruit.’

“‘You shall have supper, then, this moment, my lads,’ says the colonel, and having shouted to the steward to put some food on the table, he invited the midshipmen to go below.

“‘And I hope this poor man, who has suffered as much as they have, may come too,’ says the young lady, and I blessed her sweet face as she spoke.

“‘Of course,’ says the colonel, ‘he might fare but badly forward.’

“The skipper, a dark-looking chap, who had been walking the deck all the time, scarcely stopping to welcome us aboard, looked daggers at me, but I didn’t mind him.

“‘Come along, Needham, you saved our lives, and should be the first attended to,’ says Mr Rogers kindly to me; I, of course, know my place, and that it isn’t for the likes of me to sit down to table with my betters; but just then, if the Queen herself had asked me to take a snack with her, I’d have said, ‘Yes, marm, please your ladyship, with the greatest pleasure in the world.’

“The steward soon had all sorts of good things on the table, but there was one above all others I wanted most, and that was a big jug of water; I could have put it to my mouth and drained it dry. The young gentlemen filled up their tumblers, and passed on the jug to me.

“‘Stop,’ says the colonel, ‘you shall temper the water with claret.’ But before he could finish speaking, the glasses were drained dry. We held them out again, however, and the colonel and the young lady filled them up, half-and-half, with wine and water. This brought back our appetites, and we turned to with a will, the colonel’s daughter filling up our plates with a smile, to watch how we ate. When I’d had enough I got up and made my bow, and the colonel told the steward to get me a berth somewhere, as he was sure I should be glad to turn in and take a snooze. He was right, for my eyes were winking, and the young gentlemen were pretty nigh asleep in their chairs. There were two spare cabins, and they were in them, with their eyes shut, before I had made my last scrape and bow at the cuddy-door. The steward told me to turn into his cot, and it didn’t take me long before I was as sound asleep as I ever was in my life. When I turned out the next morning, I found that the young gentlemen were still snoozing away. They didn’t turn out till noon, and even then they kept rubbing their eyes as if they hadn’t had enough sleep yet. Otherwise, they seemed in no way the worse for what they had gone through. In the meantime, the young lady had sent for me aft, and asked all sorts of questions about our cruise, which Mr Rogers hadn’t told her, and spoke ever so kindly to me. I thought as she was talking that there wasn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for her. The colonel also had his say, and after telling me that he was sure I was a brave, trustworthy fellow, asked me should I like to go ashore with him, and assist him in an adventure he had in hand. I answered, that though I liked a spree on shore as well as others, that it was my duty to stick by the three young gentlemen to look after them, and to see them safe aboard the frigate again by the first opportunity. He seemed somewhat taken aback, and said nothing more.

“The dark-looking skipper, Captain Crowhurst they called him, hadn’t as much as spoken to me, nor had the mate, and it’s my belief that if it hadn’t been for the colonel and his daughter they would have left us to perish on the wreck. There was something I didn’t like in either of them, and I made sure that they were about no good. After I had spoken my mind to the colonel, he didn’t seem quite as friendly as at first, though his daughter was just the same. The young gentlemen made themselves happy, as they were sure to do, with plenty of grub, and no watch to keep. The skipper, however, told me that as I couldn’t be kept for nothing, I must go forward and do duty. Of course I said, ‘Yes, sir; it’s what I’m always ready for.’ I managed to make friends with the ship’s company, though they were a rough lot of blacks, browns, and whites, and while I remained aboard I worked as hard as any of them.

“We had fine weather, with light winds, and in about a fortnight we sighted this here coast. All the time we hadn’t fallen in with any vessel bound for Jamaica, or indeed any English craft. Instead of steering for Carthagena, or one of the larger places, we put into a small harbour, called Sapote, some miles away from the chief town. I forgot to say that the day after we were taken off the wreck we had fallen in with a sloop, the Billy, which kept company with us, and now anchored astern of the brig. The skipper of the Billy came aboard, and from the way he and the colonel and Captain Crowhurst talked, I guessed that there was something in the wind. As soon as it was dark, a boat from the shore came off, bringing an officer-like looking Spaniard, who shook hands with the colonel as if they were old friends. The colonel introduced the skipper to the stranger, and after another long talk we were ordered to get up a number of cases from the hold, and to lower them into the boat alongside. Two of our boats, with one from the sloop, were then got ready, with their crews all armed. The colonel and the stranger went in one of them, and the two skippers in the other, leaving the mate in charge. Just as they were ready to shove off, the colonel and his daughter came on deck, followed by the three midshipmen.”

“‘Oh, father, may Heaven protect you, but I cannot help trembling for the danger you run,’ I heard the young lady say.

“‘No danger at all,’ he answered, in a cheery tone; ‘and I am sure that my three young friends here will take very good care of you.’

“‘That we will, that we will;’ they all cried out together, and thinks I to myself, ‘and so will I as long as I’ve an arm to strike with, or a head to think what to do.’

“Away the boats pulled into the darkness; there wasn’t a light to be seen on shore; indeed, there didn’t appear to be many houses thereabouts. Mr Rogers came on deck again after the young lady and they had gone below.

“‘I am sorry to find the brig engaged in this sort of work,’ he said; ‘there is to be a rebellion or something of that sort on shore, and if the colonel is caught it will be a serious matter for him, and, what is worse still, for his daughter. What do you think of it, Needham?’

“‘What you do, sir,’ says I; ‘I wish that he was safe aboard again, and that we were on our way back to Jamaica; but I don’t think the skipper is likely to steer northward, till he has landed the whole of his cargo, and a good portion of it consists of arms and warlike stores.’

“While we were talking the mate came aft, and asked Mr Rogers, somewhat rudely, if he was going to take charge of the deck, while he ordered me forward.

“‘I shall be very happy, if you wish it,’ said Mr Rogers.

“‘Maybe if you do the ship will run away with you, my lad,’ said the mate, with a sneer.

“I didn’t hear more, but I saw Mr Rogers walking the deck quite as if he didn’t mind what the mate had said, and was officer of the watch. It was my opinion, from the way the skipper and first mate behaved to the young gentlemen and me, that they wanted us to leave the ship, so that we might not be spies on their actions. I waited till I saw the first mate go below and the second mate come on deck. He was a quiet sort of young man, and he and Mr Rogers were on friendly terms. I then went aft. They seemed anxious, from what they were saying, about the colonel not coming back by that time. While they were talking, the young lady, with Polly, came on deck, and heard some of their remarks before they knew she was near them.

“‘Oh, Mr Rogers, do you really think the people on shore will interfere with my father?’ she asked. ‘He surely ought to have returned by this time.’

“‘We are expecting him every moment, Miss O’Regan,’ answered Mr Rogers, putting her off as it were, and not wishing to say what he thought. ‘All seems perfectly quiet on shore.’

“The other young gentlemen had followed her on deck, and they all three tried to persuade her to go below again, telling her that they were afraid she might suffer from the night air. Still she stood looking out towards the shore; but no lights were seen, and no sound of oars could we hear. At last Mr Rogers said, just as if he was a grown man,—‘You know, Miss O’Regan, that the colonel put you under our charge, and we must respectfully insist on your going below. You may suffer from the night air coming off the shore, and you cannot hasten the colonel’s return by remaining on deck. We will let you know immediately he appears or that we can get tidings of him.’

“If it had been Lieutenant Rogers or the captain himself saying this, neither of them could have spoken more firmly.

“‘I will do as you advise, and trust to your promise,’ said the young lady, and she and her maid went below, helped down the companion ladder by Mr Gordon and Mr Desmond.

“After this one or the other was constantly coming on deck, sent by Miss O’Regan, to learn if the boats were returning. I felt somehow as if all was not right, and I could not bring myself to leave Mr Rogers, who didn’t go below all night, except for a few minutes to get supper.”

Chapter Twelve.

Needham’s Narrative (continued)—The Sarah Jane captured by Carthagenan fleet—The Colonel and his daughter, with the midshipmen, conveyed on board the enemy’s corvette—Carried to prison in Carthagena—The Colonel separated from his daughter—Stella, and the midshipmen, with Needham, placed in an upper room—The gaoler’s wife—Plans for escaping—Desmond and Needham get out—Reach the Consulate—Alarm in the household—Obtain a boat, and go in search of the Consul—Driven out to sea.

“The night I was speaking of seemed almost as long as those we spent on the wreck. Just at dawn the first mate came on deck.

“‘No sign of the boats yet?’ he asked, in an anxious tone.

“‘Yes, I hear them!’ exclaimed Mr Rogers, and after listening for a minute or so to be sure that he was right, he went below to tell Miss O’Regan. She and the three midshipmen were presently on deck.

“‘The boats are pulling very fast; you’ll soon have the colonel on board,’ said Mr Rogers to the young lady, as she stood eagerly looking towards the shore, where we could as yet see nothing on account of the mist which still hung over it.

“‘Good reason they have for coming fast, I suspect,’ suddenly cried the first mate, who was turning an eye to the offing. The darkness of night had then pretty nearly rolled away. ‘What do any of you fancy those craft are out there?’

“‘Why,’ says I, ‘I make out a ship, and a brig, and a couple of schooners. The first are men-of-war, I judge, by the squareness of their yards, and they are standing for the harbour. They have been creeping along shore with the land-wind during the night, or they wouldn’t be where they are.’

“The second mate agreed with me.

“‘I don’t see what cause we have to fear them, seeing that England is at peace with all the world,’ says I to him.

“‘I do though, if they belong to the Carthagenan government,’ he answered. ‘I wish we were well out of the harbour, that I do.’

“While we were watching the strangers, Captain Crowhurst came alongside in his gig, and almost before he was on deck he shouted out,—‘Hands aloft! Loose sails! Stand by to slip the cable!’

“No time for weighing!

“‘Oh, where is my father?’ I heard the young lady ask him. ‘He’ll be here soon, I suppose,’ he answered gruffly, and turning away, he muttered, ‘If it hadn’t been for his obstinacy we should have been well out at sea by this time.’

“The few hands sprang aloft to loose sails, the skipper went to the helm, and the mates stood ready to unshackle the cable, while the gig’s crew hoisted up their boat. I really thought that Captain Crowhurst was going to sail without waiting for the colonel. I heard him order the midshipmen, who were talking together, to lend a hand in getting the ship under weigh if they didn’t wish to be run up to the yard-arm. The poor young lady was in a state of great agitation at seeing what was happening.

“‘We’ll not touch a rope till the colonel is on board,’ says Mr Rogers; ‘he is our friend, and we’ll not allow him to be basely deserted. We are not under your command either, if it comes to that.’

“At this the skipper swore fearfully, and, seizing a rope’s end, seemed as if he would have given a taste of it to the midshipmen all round, when the young lady, stepping before him, told him that he was a coward, and dared him to strike them. He went back to the wheel without answering. I had been keeping a look-out for the boats. Daylight was increasing, and I now saw them coming off, the men bending to their oars as if they were in chase of an enemy. They soon dashed up alongside, and the colonel came on deck, looking as cool as if nothing particular had happened, though by the way the men sprang on board and hauled away at the falls, and then turned to at loosing sails, I judged that they knew there was no time to be lost. The cable was let run out, the sails were sheeted home, and, with a light breeze off the land, we stood out of the harbour, followed by the sloop. I saw the colonel talking to his daughter, who seemed terribly alarmed; but he laughed and looked at the strangers about two miles off on the starboard bow, and then he pointed ahead as if he expected to get out of the harbour before they were up to us; I had my doubts, however, whether we should. The midshipmen then came up to him, as I supposed, to say how glad they were that he had got safe on board. He answered them very shortly, and taking the young lady by the hand led her below. Soon afterwards Mr Rogers came for’ard to where I was standing.

“‘I suspect, Needham, that the colonel has got into some scrape on shore,’ said he. ‘It is clear from that officer coming off to her that the brig was expected on the coast, and probably those men-of-war are sent to overhaul her. Do you think that we shall get out to sea before they come up with us? and if we don’t, can we beat them off?’

“‘To be honest with you, Mr Rogers, I don’t think that there’s much chance of our escaping them, and as to beating them off, even if the fellows aboard here would fight, we couldn’t do it, unless they take fright at the sound of our pop-guns,’ I answered.

“‘We must try to frighten them, at all events,’ he said. ‘It won’t do to let a band of ruffians come aboard and frighten Miss O’Regan, and perhaps carry off the colonel, if they have any accusation against him.’

“I told him that must depend on what the Spaniards knew about the brig. It wasn’t likely that two men-of-war could be frightened off by a merchantman, though we had four guns and might put a bold face on the matter.

“The other midshipmen now came forward, and stood with us watching the strangers. There was a chance, but only just a chance, that we should escape them. The skipper and the mates seemed to be in a great taking. The corvette was coming up fast, and the brig of war not far astern of her, carrying all the sail they could set.

“The breeze still held, the corvette by this time was about a mile and a half away on our starboard bow; the skipper began to look as if we should do it, and I thought so too, when, just then, our sails began to hang down, and presently flapped loudly against the masts; the skipper gave a stamp with his foot on the deck, and swore a loud oath. There we lay becalmed, while the corvette and brig still felt the wind off the land.

“‘It’s all up with us, I’m afraid,’ said I to Mr Rogers.

“‘It’s high time to show our teeth,’ he answered.

“‘Captain Crowhurst, you’ll fight those fellows if they attempt to board us, won’t you?’ he said, going up to the skipper. ‘If you will run all the guns over to starboard we can give them a broadside which ten to one will make them sheer off rather than get a further taste of our quality.’

“The skipper smiled grimly. ‘But suppose they don’t sheer off; depend on it they will cut the throats of every one of us when they come aboard. What do you say to that, my young gentleman?’

“‘I’d run the risk rather than let the ruffians take the vessel from us,’ answered Mr Rogers, turning away to speak to the colonel, who had that moment come on deck. He looked up at the canvas hanging idly down against the masts, and then at the strangers still creeping up towards us.

“The wind was leaving them as it had us, and he saw in a moment how matters stood.

“Mr Rogers told him that he and the other midshipmen were ready to fight and defend the brig to the last.

“‘You’re brave lads,’ he answered. ‘I thank you heartily. If Captain Crowhurst thinks there’s a chance of beating them off we’ll risk it, but otherwise, for the sake of my daughter, it would be dangerous to make the attempt.’

“‘It’s for her sake, sir, that we are anxious to fight,’ answered Mr Rogers.

“‘Captain Crowhurst, will your crew support you?’ asked the colonel of the skipper, who had just gone up to him.

“‘I doubt it,’ he answered. ‘The fellows are brave enough, but the odds are fearfully against us. I’ll speak to them, and learn what humour they are in.’

“You’ll understand I’d gone aft with the midshipmen. The skipper went forward, and we saw him speaking to the crew, who were clustered together, talking among each other.

“In my opinion the skipper himself hadn’t much fighting in him, bold and blustering as he seemed. While he was forward the young lady came on deck. She judged by the midshipmen’s countenances that something was wrong, though her father looked as stern and determined as usual.

“‘I fear that you will be put to some inconvenience,’ he said; ‘those men-of-war I suspect are sent to overhaul the brig, and, becalmed as we are, we cannot escape them, but I am very sure that our young friends here will defend you from insult, and our enemies may be satisfied if they can get hold of the captain and me.’

“‘That we will,’ said all the midshipmen together.

“‘Oh, my father, do not let me be separated from you. Where you go I will accompany you,’ said Miss O’Regan.

“‘But I hope that the colonel will not have to go anywhere,’ exclaimed Mr Rogers. ‘We must drive the fellows off if they attempt to board the brig.’

“‘I thank you for your zeal and courage, young gentlemen,’ said the colonel. ‘You see, Stella, that you have brave defenders. I wish you to go below, and rest assured that we will do all that possibly can be done to secure your safety.’

“‘But I am thinking about your safety, father,’ said Miss O’Regan.

“‘I have been too often in danger to be anxious about that,’ he answered. ‘Go below, and we’ll let you know as soon as possible what is likely to happen.’

“Without saying another word the young lady did as the colonel told her. I had been watching the men forward, and I soon saw by their looks that there was no fighting in them; presently three or four of them slipped below, the others, after saying a few more words to the skipper, followed, and I then knew that they had made up their minds not to fight; they had gone to put on their best clothes, and to stow their money away in their pockets, guessing that if the Spaniards boarded us they would to a certainty plunder the vessel.

“The skipper came aft, looking very downcast. ‘The men won’t fight, and we must make the best of a bad bargain,’ he said to the colonel. ‘There’s no chance of a breeze, and see, the corvette and brig are lowering their boats, and we shall have the fellows aboard us in a few minutes.’

“The sloop lay becalmed close to us; her skipper, Captain Judson, came aboard, and walked about the deck like a madman.

“‘Those fellows will hang every mother’s son of us!’ he cried out, pulling off his hat, and tearing away at his hair. ‘What a fool I was to engage in this sort of work! Colonel O’Regan, can’t you advise us what we are to do?’

“‘You knew the risk, and you and I must take the consequences,’ answered the colonel quite coolly. ‘I can only advise you to act like brave men, whatever our enemies chance to do with us; don’t let them have cause to treat us with contempt.’

“As neither the young gentlemen nor I had more clothes than those on our backs, we weren’t troubled at what we should lose; but for the colonel and the skipper and mates, it was a very different matter. They might not only lose their property and the cargo, but their lives were in no little danger, I guessed, from what I heard them say.

“The boats came towards us, five from the corvette and three from the brig. As they got near I saw that the men were laying on their oars, as if they expected we should fight—you see we had the English flag flying at our peak, and they knew pretty well that Englishmen are not inclined to give in without striking a blow—I thought that the colonel and the skipper would have acted very differently; but they knew that they were not altogether right, and that made them knock under in the way they would not otherwise have done. When the boats came within musket-shot, the men lay on their oars as if they expected should they come nearer that we should fire on them—the officers seemed to be consulting together—and then they made up their minds to attack us, and came on altogether in a line. If our crew had consented to fight it would have been pretty tough work, I must own that, and maybe we should have got the worst of it. In a few minutes the boats were alongside, and their crews were clambering up on deck, some on our quarters and some amidships and for’ard, shouting and jabbering, and waving their cutlasses as if we had been defending ourselves, whereas there was not a man among us had a weapon in his hand. I thought, in truth, they were going to cut down every one of us; so they would have done if the colonel hadn’t shouted out in their own lingo, and told them if they came as friends they should be received as friends, and that we did not wish to oppose them.

“One of the officers who had been longer getting up the side than the rest (seeing that he was too fat to move quickly) now stepped up to the colonel and told him to give up his sword, and consider himself a prisoner. The colonel answered that he didn’t wear a sword at sea, that he was an Englishman sailing aboard an English vessel, and that if they took him or any one else prisoners they must stand the consequence. The Spaniard stamped and swore, and looked very big, and called him a pirate, and then pointed at the midshipmen, and told him that he was bringing up young pirates, and that they should all be hung together; the colonel, instead of getting into a rage, was very polite, and said that he was mistaken, that the midshipmen belonged to a British man-of-war, had been picked up off a wreck, and that if any harm was done to them, their ships would come and punish him and all concerned. I was told this afterwards, for though the Spanish officer spoke a little English, I didn’t understand all they were talking about.

“The officer, however, didn’t mind what the colonel said; but calling his men, they made a rush at him, and taking him unawares, seized him and held him fast. Others in the meantime had got hold of the skipper and mates, as you see the enemy were five to one of us, but still it’s my opinion, if our men had been staunch, we could have beat them off. They didn’t touch either of the midshipmen or me, for they believed what the colonel had told them. Having got the colonel down, they lashed his arms behind him and made him sit upon the deck. He took things very calmly, and calling Mr Rogers to him, he said, ‘I’ll thank you now to go and look after my daughter; I know that I can trust you, my young friend. Don’t alarm her more than is necessary, and beg her to remain below until you think she will be safe on deck.’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said Mr Rogers, and he and his messmates dived into the cabin. I remained on deck for a few minutes longer to see what was likely to happen.

“The people who boarded us were of all colours, Spaniards, mulattoes, and blacks and browns of every hue, though they spoke the same lingo, and were as savage-looking villains as I ever set eyes on, with their sharp knives stuck in their belts, which they seemed only too eager to use. Finding themselves masters of the brig, they made their way below, and laid hands on everything to which they took a fancy.

“Thinking that I might help the young gentlemen, I slipped down the companion hatch and found them standing before Miss O’Regan’s cabin; they had armed themselves with pistols and cutlasses. ‘Glad to see you, Needham,’ said Mr Rogers; ‘you’ll find a brace of pistols in the captain’s cabin, and here’s a cutlass; we have made up our minds to fight as long as there’s fight in us, if the ruffians attempt to hurt the young lady.’

“‘I’m one with you, young gentlemen,’ said I, and I went and got the pistols. Miss O’Regan heard what he said and opened the door, begging them not to fight, as there would be no use in doing so. Scarcely had she spoken when down came a gang of rough-looking villains with those long knives of theirs in their hands looking very ferocious, and ready to kill any who might dare to stop them. Mr Rogers had just time to push the young lady back into the cabin, and shut the door before the fellows could see her. They didn’t take much notice of the midshipmen, but set about hunting through the other cabins. At last, they came to the one in which Miss O’Regan and Polly were.

“‘No! no! my fine fellows, you’re not to go in there,’ said Mr Rogers, standing in front of the door, and holding his pistols ready to fire. The other midshipmen did the same, and I held a firm grip of my cutlass, determined to cut down the first of the ruffians who attempted to pass, should the midshipmen’s pistols miss fire.

“The Spaniards flourished their long knives and swore all sorts of strange oaths in their own lingo, but didn’t like to advance a step, knowing that two or three of them would get a bullet through their heads; we had the best of it as long as we had pistols and they had only knives. Three or four fellows who had been hunting in the other cabins, now, however, came up with pistols in their belts, and drawing them swore that they would shoot us if we didn’t drop our arms. It would have gone hard with us, as there were but three boys and one grown man opposed to a dozen or more of the Spaniards, when just at that moment down came the fat officer who commanded the boats. We had heard him, as I said, speak a little English to the colonel, and so Mr Rogers told him that we were only wishing to protect the young lady from insult.

“‘I appeal to your honour, sir, as a Spaniard and an officer, to assist us in defending her, and I feel sure, sir, that you will do so,’ said he.

“‘You are not mistaken, young sir,’ answered the officer. ‘I will take care that the lady is not insulted if she will remain in her cabin.’

“He then turned to the men and ordered them on deck. They went after a little grumbling, each fellow laden with as much booty as he could carry. He then told Mr Rogers to inform the young lady to prepare with the rest of the passengers to go on board the corvette, as the brig and sloop were to be sent back into the harbour.

“‘Pray tell the officer, that if my father is to go I will gladly accompany him,’ she answered.

“In a few minutes Miss O’Regan and her black servant-girl, Polly, had got ready and packed up a few things they thought they would be allowed to carry.

“In a short time the officer who had gone on deck returned, and, making a polite bow, said that he was sorry to inconvenience her, but that the boats were manned and about to shove off for the corvette, then turning to the midshipmen and me, ordered us to follow him on deck. We found that the colonel had already been lowered into one of the boats with the two skippers and mates; the officer handed Miss O’Regan and Polly down into the boat, and placed her alongside her father, we kept close to them; the Spanish crew, who were now in charge of the vessel, turned no very friendly glances at us, and I saw several of the villains clutch their knives as if they would like to stick them into our backs as we passed. In a few minutes we were alongside the corvette.

“The commanding officer, who seemed to consider himself a very great man indeed, received us on the quarter-deck. He bowed politely to the young lady, but spoke roughly to the colonel and the rest of us. After hearing the account the fat officer gave of the midshipmen, he told us we might remain with Miss O’Regan if we pleased, but the rest of the party were made to sit down between the guns with a guard over them. The boats now brought the crews of the brig and sloop on board with their arms lashed behind their backs. The men growled and grumbled as may be supposed, but the Spaniards showed them the points of their knives, and told them to keep silent.

“Poor Miss O’Regan looked very downcast, though the midshipmen did their best to keep up her spirits by telling her that they were sure the Spaniards would not dare to hurt her or any of us, let them bluster and threaten as they might.

“The Spanish officers were polite enough, and begged her to go into the cabin and take some refreshment, but she refused to leave the deck unless her father was allowed to accompany her; they, however, brought her a chair which she was thankful to sit down on, while the midshipmen, who looked upon themselves as her guard, stood around her.

“As soon as the sea-breeze set in, sail was made, and the corvette, followed by the brig and schooners, stood away for the harbour of Carthagena, while the Sarah Jane and sloop put back into the bay.

“We reached Carthagena in the afternoon, and brought up before the town. As soon as the anchor was dropped, the commodore went on shore to communicate with the government, and to learn what he was to do with his prisoners; some time before nightfall he came back, and he gave orders that we were all to be landed forthwith and marched up to the common gaol; so I made this out from what the fat officer said to the young gentlemen.

“No one was allowed to speak to the colonel, not even his own daughter; as soon as she found that her father was to be taken on shore, she begged to accompany him, and the midshipmen said they would go too. Of course I went with them.

“The brig and schooners in the meantime had run higher up the harbour. The boats were at once manned, the fat officer, who was, I have a notion, the first lieutenant of the corvette, took charge of the young lady and us. She begged so hard that the colonel might come in the same boat, that our friend, who wasn’t a bad sort of chap after all, said he would speak to the commodore: he pressed the point, and the colonel was placed in our boat. He didn’t speak much; in truth, I suspect he had but little to say that was likely to comfort his daughter, while he knew that the officer was listening all the time. She asked him in a trembling voice if he thought that his life was in danger, and said that she would go and plead for him with General Carmona, who commanded the troops in the city.

“‘On no account,’ answered the colonel, ‘it would be useless, and you would only be exposing yourself to insult.’

“Speaking very low, so that he could not be overheard, he told her to get one of the midshipmen to escape if possible to the British Consul, as he would be better able than any one else to help him.

“As soon as we landed we were marched up together to the prison, the young lady being compelled to walk with the midshipmen and me alongside her; the colonel and skippers followed, and then came the crew, while the people rushed out of their houses and gathered in the streets to stare at us, some shouting and abusing us, and calling us pirates and all sorts of names in their lingo. I didn’t care what they said, but walked along with my head upright, looking on every side as if I was there for my own pleasure.

“The prison was a dirty tumbled-down-looking sort of a place, and says I, ‘I hope they are not going to put the young lady in there;’ but they were, though they allowed her a room to herself, with one close to it for the midshipmen and me. I was allowed to be with them, because they said I was their attendant and that they required my services, though not exactly as the Spaniard fancied. The colonel, though they saw he was a thorough gentleman, was thrust in with the skippers and the crew into a low dirty room paved with stone, with stout iron bars to the small windows. There were already a score or more of rough-looking ruffians in it; this we saw as we passed by before we were taken to our own room in an upper story. As many as could get to the windows, which looked out into the street, hung out old caps or baskets at the end of sticks, to receive money or food which the people outside might give them. The window of our room was strongly barred, and so was that of Miss O’Regan; but there was a door between the two, which we found we could open, and so she and the young gentlemen were able to consult what to do. The furniture of our room hadn’t much to boast of. Our beds were only heaps of straw, with bits of sacking on the top; there was no table, and only some rough benches to sit on. Miss O’Regan was very little better off. She had a sort of bed and chair, and a heap of straw for Polly; but after a time the gaoler’s wife, I suppose she was, brought her a basin of water and a few other things; but that was all the Spaniards’ boasted politeness made them think of providing her. She tried to interest the old woman to see if anything could be done for the colonel; but the dame said that it was as much as her place was worth to interfere, and she couldn’t say a word to give the young lady any hope that he would be better treated.

“When it was light we made an examination of the bars in the windows to see if we could by any means get through them. Those in our room were too strongly fixed to be moved in a hurry, though we might have done it in time. Miss O’Regan found one in hers which was looser than the rest, and Mr Rogers and I on examining it discovered that it was so eaten away with rust, that by hauling at it together we might wrench it out. What we wanted was to get free, and to go and find the British consul. The window looked into a yard surrounded by a high wall; but what was behind we couldn’t tell. The bar once out we could, we thought, lower ourselves into the yard; the wall we might easily scale, as it was full of big holes worn by time, and it would not cost us much to climb over it.

“‘I have a file in my knife,’ said Mr Gordon; ‘it’s a small one, but if we use it carefully it will cut through the bar in time.’

“The lower part of the bar we found was almost eaten away with rust. We agreed that the first thing was to scrape it clear of the rust with the blades of our knives and let the file do the rest. We were afraid, however, to begin till all in the prison was quiet. We could hear the warders walking about and talking loudly, and one now and then passed our door, so that we could not tell if one was going to look in on us or not. At last a fellow came bringing a jug of water and a bowl of greasy rice with some bits of meat in it, and a loaf of brown bread; he made us understand that it was for us.

“‘I hope you’re going to give the young lady something better than this,’ said Mr Rogers, pointing to Miss O’Regan’s room.

“You’ll understand that when we heard him coming we had got back into our own room and had shut the door. ‘Si! Si!’ he said, nodding his head, and so we hoped that it was all right. Though the food was coarse we were not sorry to get it, as we had had nothing to eat all day, and at first we thought they were going to starve us outright. There was only one wooden spoon for all of us; the young gentlemen laughed, and said that didn’t matter, as it was given us so that we might each get our fair allowance.

“We heard the old woman come back into the young lady’s room, and when she was gone Mr Rogers knocked and asked if he might come in, and he found, when Polly opened the door, that the dame had brought them some pastry and fruit, and some white bread and a bottle of wine, and we knew from that that they were not going to ill-treat them at all events.

“In the meantime we talked over what was to be done; at last it was agreed that Mr Desmond should go with me, and that we should try to find our way to the British Consul’s the first night we could get out. We concluded that it would take some time to file through the bar, and we did not expect to get free for at least several nights to come. The young lady told us that she and Polly would keep watch, and would let us know when we might come in to do the work. In the meantime we lay down on our beds of straw, for as we hadn’t been to sleep the night before we could with difficulty keep our eyes open. Nor had she for that matter; but her anxiety on account of her father made her wakeful. At last she knocked at the door, and I stood up and awoke Mr Rogers. We went in as softly as we could and began working away at the bar, Polly and Miss O’Regan watching at the door to listen if any one was coming. We soon got the rust off; but Mr Gordon’s file made very slow progress. We worked while they watched. When daylight came at last we found that we had not got through more than the tenth of an inch; still that was something. To prevent what we had been doing being discovered we covered the marks of the file with rust, stuck on by some grease which we got from our bowl. I must cut my yarn short. One day was much like another; still we could not learn anything about the poor colonel and the rest of the prisoners, except that they were kept shut up below. What the Carthagenans were going to do with them and us we could not tell. There was one advantage in the delay, for if we had got away the first night the guard would have been on the look-out, and we should have probably been caught. It was bad enough for us, but much worse for the poor young lady. We worked on and on, night after night, till at last we had got almost through the bar, and I felt sure that with a good haul I could wrench it on one side wide enough to get through.

“The old woman, who came up every day to see Miss O’Regan, spoke more kindly than usual to her, and called her a poor girl in her own lingo, and seemed to pity her. This made the young lady ask her why she spoke thus, and at last she confessed that she was afraid that General Carmona was going to shoot some of the English prisoners, and very likely the old colonel among them. This made the young lady cry out, and we could hear her speaking in such woeful tones that at last Mr Rogers went in and asked what was the matter; he then learnt all what I have just told you.

“‘Oh! can nothing be done to save my father?’ she exclaimed, as she clasped her hands together.

“The old woman then said that the only way would be to send a letter to the British consul, but it would be dangerous for her to do so as it might cost her her life, or at all events her husband his place, if it was discovered that she had carried it. At last she agreed to try and let Polly out, and at the same time told her which way she was to take to find the consul’s house—it was not more than ten minutes’ walk from the prison—first she was to turn to the right, and then cross a large square, and to turn down the first street on the left, at the end of which was the house; she was to look for the arms of England painted over the door.

“‘At all events, if Polly does not find it, we shall; the old woman has helped us more than she thinks,’ observed Mr Rogers.

“Polly was ready to run every risk to serve her mistress, the difficulty was to get a letter written as we had no paper, pens, nor ink; but I have a pocket-book, said Mr Gordon, and a few words on a leaf explained our situation. We of course didn’t tell the old woman our own plan, and we thought that by letting her do as she proposed that we might throw her husband off his guard. At last she went away, saying that she would try and see what she could do. Polly got ready to start; after some time the old woman came back saying that her husband would not consent to anything of the sort. We all pretended on this to be very downcast, Miss O’Regan was really so, as she thought the old woman’s plan was the safest. At last all was quiet; Polly, as usual, took her post at the door. Mr Rogers and I worked away at the bar: ‘Now one strong pull and we’ll have it out,’ I whispered; and hauling away with all my strength, I broke it off at the bottom and wrenched it on one side. We made a rope of the rugs which covered our beds long enough to let me lower myself into the yard. Mr Desmond was dawn directly after me, and I caught him in my arms and bolted away to the opposite side of the wall as quick as lightning, then I lifted him on my shoulders and he soon scrambled on to the top of the wall; it was a harder job for me to follow, seeing that he put his hands and feet into holes which were not big enough for mine. We had hit the very place we should have chosen, for just below us was a heap of rubbish which came some way up the wall, and we were now on the outside of the prison. Mr Desmond scrambled down in the same way that he got up. ‘Keep still,’ he said in a low voice, ‘don’t drop? don’t drop! there are broken pots and pans of all sorts, you may cut yourself.’ He spoke just in time, for it would have been a queer place to fall on. The night was pretty dark, and no one was about. We stopped to listen, and not a sound was to be heard, so we crept along the wall till we turned the corner, and found ourselves in front of the prison. If there was a sentry, he was fast asleep in his box, for we were not challenged. We soon had crossed the square the old woman had told us of, then we ran on as fast as our legs could carry us till we reached the consul’s house, which we knew by a big board over the door, though we couldn’t see the arms. Mr Desmond went up to the door and pulled the bell. ‘It’s no time to stand on ceremony, though it’s not the hour that the consul generally receives visitors, I fancy,’ he said, with a laugh. He pulled and pulled again. ‘I must climb in at the window if we can’t awake them any other way, though maybe I shall be shot if I do,’ he added, looking up to see if there was one he could reach. ‘Do you, Needham, just lift me up on your shoulders, and I am sure I can reach that balcony, and it will be hard if I don’t get a window open, and once in the house I’ll go round and knock at all the doors till I rouse up some one.’ No sooner said than done; the midshipman disappeared over my head, and I was left standing below wondering what next would happen. I knew from the sounds which reached me that he was trying one window after another, at last I heard a loud crash, which showed that he had got through some way or other. Again all was silent. Presently there came cries, and squealing, and shouts, through the lattice which there always is in Spanish doors, so that the people from within may talk to any one outside without opening them; then there came a man’s gruff voice, and Mr Desmond’s, talking away as fast as his tongue could move, trying to explain what it all meant. This went on for some time, till the gruff voice grew calmer, and Mr Desmond began to talk slower, and I heard women’s and girls’ voices uttering all sorts of exclamations. Says I to myself, ‘It’s all right now.’

“At last the door opened, and Mr Desmond told me to come in, that he was thankful to say that the vice-consul would do all he could, and that the consul himself had gone away to a place a mile or two along the coast. ‘Then the best thing we can do is to go after him,’ said Mr Desmond. ‘Can you find us a boat and crew, sir?’ he asked of the vice-consul.

“‘That will be a difficult thing, young sir,’ he answered. ‘A boat may be found, but no crew would go without the permission of the general.’

“‘Well, then, if you will find us a boat we will go alone,’ said Mr Desmond; ‘and if the place is only a mile or two off, and you’ll instruct us how to find it, we can have no difficulty in doing so.’

“This idea seemed to please the vice-consul, who, though he spoke English, was not an Englishman; he would have acted, I’ve a notion, very differently if he had been. His wife and the young ladies, his daughters, whose voices I had heard when Mr Desmond roused them out of their sleep, seemed much interested at hearing about Miss O’Regan, and they all urged the old gentleman to help us, and told him that he must go in the morning and see what could be done for the young lady at least. He called up a black servant somewhere from the bottom of the house, and told him to lead us down to the harbour and show us a boat we might take.

“The old lady pressed us to stop and have some supper, but Mr Desmond was in a hurry to get off, and the vice-consul, I have a notion, wanted to be rid of us.

“‘Why, my dears,’ he exclaimed, ‘I wonder you like to be seen by the young officer and the sailor, such figures as you are.’

“In truth, both the old lady and the young ones, as well as two or three black girls, were dressed, I must say, in a funny fashion, with such things as they had clapped on when Mr Desmond roused them up. The old gentleman had put on his breeches hind part before, while she had got into his dress-coat with the tails in front, and little else on beside her night-gown, and a big shawl over her shoulders. I won’t say how the young ladies looked, only I couldn’t help remarking that they were not over-dressed, so that when their father made this remark, away they all scuttled in a desperate hurry, each trying not to be last, and I’ve a notion that they had forgotten what might be thought of them. We could hear them giggling and laughing at each other as they reached their rooms. We were, you may suppose, not much in a mood to laugh just then, and, as soon as the old black was ready we started off. He seemed in a desperate fright, expecting every moment that he should be seen, and carried off to prison. We met no one, however, and soon reached the water’s edge. The black who was sent with us, I forgot to say because he could speak English, showed us a boat hauled up on a slip, and, going to a shed near, brought out a pair of oars, a mast and sail.

“‘Dare; you steer for de point up dare,’ he said. ‘When you round it, pull on for about three miles, when you come to anoder harbour, then you pull up it, and in de biggest house in de place you find de consul.’

“‘Why,’ says Mr Desmond, ‘the vice-consul told us it was not more than a mile or so away.’

“‘Massa not know, den,’ answered the old black, as soon as he had helped us to launch the boat; and without stopping a moment to watch us while we shoved off, he ran away as fast as his old legs could carry him. We had to pull along-shore some distance to keep clear of the corvette, then the night-breeze freshening we stepped our mast and made sail, steering as the black had told us to do.

“The boat was somewhat crank, and I had to keep my weather-eye open, and to hold the sheet in my hand to escape being capsized. However, the boat sailed fast, and soon weathering the point we found our way at last into the harbour. We hauled up the boat on the beach, and ran along till we came to the big house the vice-consul had told us of.

“‘This must be the place,’ said Mr Desmond, giving a pull at the door-bell.

“Again we had to ring and shout as before. No one coming to the door, Mr Desmond proposed trying the old dodge, and getting in at the window. We went round the house, and knocked at all the windows we could reach. At last an old gentleman poked out his head from an upper window, and threatened in Spanish to blow out our brains with a blunderbuss, if we didn’t take ourselves off. Mr Desmond understood what he said, and that he meant it was clear, for I caught sight of the muzzle of his piece resting on the window-sill.

“‘Don’t do that same, if you please, sir,’ answered Mr Desmond. ‘I am an officer of her Majesty’s sloop of war, the Tudor, and my companion is one of her crew, and we have come to get the assistance of the consul, who, I presume, you are.’

“I can’t say that he looked much like one in his white night-cap. The old gentleman then asked a number of questions of Mr Desmond, who told him all about what had happened, and at last, having taken some time, however, to dress himself, he came down and let us in. He was polite enough then, for he showed us into a room and begged us to sit down, while he listened to what Mr Desmond had further to say to him.

“He told us in reply that he had but little influence with General Carmona, and that he had, therefore, some time back written to Jamaica, begging that a ship of war might be sent to protect the English on the coast, as their position was far from pleasant. He promised, however, to return to Carthagena the next morning, and to try what he could do to save the colonel’s life, and obtain the liberation of the other prisoners. He advised us to wait till the morning, but Mr Desmond was in a hurry to go back and report to Miss O’Regan and his messmates what we had done; he thought that we could get into the prison before daylight by the way we had come. The consul seemed very much astonished at his determination, but he was firm, and I was ready to do whatever he proposed.

“‘After all you may be right, if you manage to do so without being discovered,’ answered the old gentleman. ‘It will save me also from being accused of assisting in the escape of the prisoners.’

“Having wished the consul good-bye we hastened back to the boat, and once more making sail, stood out of the harbour. The wind, however, shifting shortly afterwards, we made a stretch out to sea, thinking to fetch Carthagena the next tack, when, suddenly, it again shifted, and blew directly off the land; not a foot would the boat sail to windward, and as to pulling against it, that was more than we could do. When daylight broke, we found ourselves five or six miles off the shore, and drifting farther and farther away. Mr Desmond was in a great taking at not getting back to the shore; we lowered our sail, and I took to the oars, but it was all of no use. There was a good deal of sea on, and we did not even hold our own. The sea-breeze was longer than usual coming, and it was pretty well mid-day already. We had nothing to eat or drink since our supper in the prison. All we could hope was that the consul would get back and help our friends. At last it fell a dead calm; we then got the oars out again, and were about to pull back when we heard guns in the offing, and I guessed that they must be fired by the ship of war the consul had told us of. Mr Desmond thought I was right, and we agreed that we should serve our friends better by pulling off towards her. We had a long pull as you know, sir, and I am thankful that I was right; and I am certain it won’t be Mr Murray’s fault if he don’t give the Dons a lesson which will teach them not to play tricks with Englishmen in future.”

Chapter Thirteen.

Prepared for action—A message sent to the Carthagenan Commodore—His contemptuous reply—The Supplejack brings the corvette to action and takes her—Sinks a brig and captures three schooners—Murray visits the Carthagenan General, and demands the liberation of the prisoners—An ominous reply.

The boats were manned, and every preparation made for the intended expedition. The danger was great, but Lieutenant Murray determined to risk everything for the sake of the object. Even had he not been deeply interested, he would not have allowed the insult to the British flag to pass unquestioned. His small crew were in high spirits, determined to dare and do everything to rescue the young lady and the midshipmen. They, at all events, the Carthagenans had no right to detain whatever might have been the case with regard to the colonel, and the officers and the crews of the merchant vessels.

Just then some cat’s-paws were seen playing over the mirror-like surface of the ocean, the sails bulged out, and the Supplejack began to slip through the water. She soon reached the boat, which was picked up, and then, making all sail, she sped onwards towards Carthagena. The glory of Carthagena, like that of many another place in those regions, has departed, though in appearance picturesque as in days of yore, situated on several islets, with green trees rising amid its towers and spires—backed by its citadel and curiously-shaped hill, with the Popa convent like the high stern of a ship on the top. The town itself is surrounded by walls and batteries which look not a little formidable at a distance. Formidable though they might be, Murray resolved that they should not prevent him from carrying out his intentions.

In a short time the corvette was seen at anchor in the outer harbour. Desmond and Needham had completely recovered, and begged to be allowed to land and act as guides, should the boats be sent on shore.

“I scarcely think that they will attempt to interfere with us,” said Lieutenant Murray, “but it is as well to be ready. Have all clear for action, Mr Higson.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered Higson, giving the necessary orders with no little satisfaction. “I only hope that they will dare to set up their backs; we’ll show them what our long gun and two short bull-dogs can do,” he said, as he went along the deck. The men were eager for a fight, as British sailors always are, though they mustered all told only sixty men, officers and crew included.

The breeze was somewhat light, but sufficient to give the brig good steerage way. Before, however, attempting to use force, Lieutenant Murray determined to try pacific measures. He accordingly hove the brig to outside the mouth of the harbour, a boat was lowered and manned, and he directed Higson, accompanied by Desmond, to go on board the corvette, and demand of the Carthagenan commodore the instant liberation of the prisoners. “Should he refuse, you are to go on shore and communicate with the consul, and then return on board as soon as possible,” he added. Higson replied that he perfectly understood his instructions, and with no small satisfaction at the prospect of something to do, shoved off from the brig’s side. Needham, who went as one of the crew, had described how they had been treated; and it was the general belief that the commodore would give them an opportunity of teaching him and his countrymen better manners. “The commodore seems a mighty proud sort of fellow, and when he sees only our small brig he’ll not be inclined to accede to Mr Murray’s demand, I’ve a notion,” said Desmond.

“Then I’ll just give him a hint, my boy, that he may chance to receive a visit from the rest of the squadron,” answered Higson. “Those sort of fellows are apt to bluster and boast, and, like mongrels, bark loud enough when they see another cur run from them, but they seldom dare to bite when they are attacked.”

“The corvette, however, carries sixteen guns, though I cannot say how she is manned,” observed Desmond.

“She may carry twenty guns for what I care,” answered Higson, laughing. “The question is, how will they be fought? Our Long Tom will be a match for all of them, depend on that. We shall do our best to get ahead or astern of her, where her shot will find it difficult to reach us.”

“But then there is the brig, and there are two or three schooners in addition,” observed Desmond. “Though we don’t see them as they are some way up the harbour, they’re sure to come down to help their consort.”

“We must settle her first, and then tackle them,” said Higson. “It is probable, however, that the commodore will knock under, and not give us the opportunity of showing what we can do.”

“I would rather see Miss O’Regan, and Rogers, and Gordon, with the old colonel safe first,” said Desmond. “I am afraid that the commodore will be ill-treating them in revenge should we give his vessels a drubbing. The consul seems somewhat of a slow coach, or he would have found out what had happened long ago, and applied for our liberation.” The breeze carried the boat which was standing in under sail swiftly on.

“She’s a fine craft, and has eight guns on a side,” observed Higson, as they got close to the corvette.

The sail was lowered, and a voice hailed in Spanish to know what they wanted. Higson, who guessed the meaning of the hail, standing up, pointed to the British ensign astern, and said that he had despatches to deliver. No rope was however hove to them, nor was the side manned; so, followed by Desmond and Needham in no very dignified fashion, he scrambled on board.

“There’s the commodore,” said Desmond, pointing to a middle-aged, gaunt-looking Don who was walking the deck with his cocked hat stuck ferociously on one side, “and that fat officer is our friend the first lieutenant. If they don’t know how to be civil, we’ll show them,” and stepping aft, he made them both a profound bow, and introduced Higson. The Dons instinctively took off their hats, unable to withstand the influence of the young midshipman’s politeness. Higson handed his despatches to the commodore who opened the envelope, but, unable to read English, he turned to his first lieutenant, and asked him the meaning of the paper. The latter confessed his inability to make it out; for though he spoke a little English he was unable to read it, as was possibly the case with regard to his own language. Higson therefore explained that the despatches came from the commander of the man-of-war outside the harbour, who requested that the British subjects now held in captivity by the Carthagenans might at once be delivered up to him. The commodore, to whom the lieutenant interpreted what Higson said, replied that he could not give an immediate reply; that the despatch being written in English he could not comprehend it; and as to delivering up the prisoners, that was a matter on which his Government must decide.—He had therefore no reply to make to the English officer, who must take the consequences should he venture into the harbour. This was the sum total of the answer given by the commodore, through his first lieutenant, though it took a considerable time to deliver.

“Tell the commodore, then,” said Higson, “that as this is a friendly port my commander will certainly come into it as he wishes to communicate with our consul, to whom he intends rendering assistance in obtaining the liberation of the prisoners.”

“What does he mean by that?” exclaimed the commodore, when the answer was interpreted to him. “If he attempts to use force, he will find that the honour of those in whose veins flows the pure blood of Castille is not to be trifled with;” and the Don stamped, and fumed, and strutted about the deck, drawing his sword and flourishing it over his head as if his ship was about that moment to be boarded by the English.

Desmond, reckless of the consequences which might have ensued, burst into a fit of laughter.

“What does the boy mean?” exclaimed the commodore, advancing with threatening gestures towards him.

“Just tell your captain that my companion is an Irish midshipman. It’s a curious habit he’s got of laughing at anything which tickles his fancy, and he cannot mean to be disrespectful to so great a hero.”

The first lieutenant explained what Higson had said, and possibly saved the midshipman from being then and there run through the body by the irate Don.

“Then I am to understand that this is the message I am to carry back to my commander,” said Higson, to the fat officer.

“Yes, and I hope your commander is a wise man, and will not venture into the harbour,” was the reply.

“I’ll answer that he will though,” exclaimed Higson, making a profound bow; “so good morning, Don Whiskerandos!”

As the commodore, turning his back, strutted aft, fuming as before, Higson, shaking hands with the first lieutenant, exclaimed—

“I wish that we may have the chance of meeting as friends another time; for you’re a good fellow, that you are.”

He and Desmond then beat a retreat to the gangway. The lieutenant was so pleased with the last remark, that he ordered side-ropes to be shipped and the side to be manned, and the English officers took their departure in a rather more dignified manner than they had arrived.

“There seems a good chance of our having a brush with the Dons,” observed Desmond, as soon as they had shoved off and were pulling for the shore.

“Perhaps the consul will settle matters, but if not I’m very certain that Mr Murray will stand no nonsense,” answered Higson.

No opposition was made to their landing, and Desmond and Needham easily found their way to the British consulate. For some reason the consul had not returned, and their friend, the vice-consul, said that he had used every effort to obtain the liberation of the prisoners, but in vain. He was evidently in a great state of alarm, and confessed that he feared the worst. He had, however, been assured that the young lady and the two midshipmen should be properly treated, although the authorities were very angry at hearing of the escape of Desmond and his companion, and he advised them to get back to the boat as fast as possible, feeling assured that if recognised they would be recaptured.

“The fellows had better not attempt it with the English flag over their heads,” exclaimed Higson; “however, we will get back and make our report to our commander. If you can manage the matter, and let them know that we are in earnest, he may possibly draw in his horns.”

The vice-consul shrugged his shoulders, and Higson and his party got back to the boat and pulled out as fast as the crew could bend to their oars towards the Supplejack. Higson was anxious to be on board, for he was very sure that no time was to be lost.

Murray, on hearing his report, was not long in determining what to do.

“We must go in and insist on the liberation of our friends,” he said. “I’m sure, my lads, you’ll stand by me.”

A cheer from the crew showed that they were in the right spirit to dare and do anything that he might require. The head-yards were braced round, the helm put up, and the brig stood boldly into the harbour. Murray intended to pass the corvette, and bring up as near the town as the water would allow.

The corvette in the meantime had got a spring on her cable, her ports were open and her guns run out.

The little Supplejack stood on, nothing daunted.

“I don’t think that Don Whiskerandos will dare to stop us, though he boasted so much when we were on board,” observed Desmond to Higson.

“You’re mistaken, my boy.”

Higson had just time to reply when a broadside from the corvette came hissing through the air; one shot only, however, struck the brig and shot away her forestay.

“We must not allow this to pass unnoticed,” exclaimed Murray. “Reserve your fire, however, my lads, till I give the order.”

The long gun was pointed at the corvette, the port carronade was run over to the starboard side. Murray waited till the brig had got directly ahead of the enemy.

“Blaze away, now, my lads,” he shouted, and a raking fire from his three guns was poured into the corvette, sweeping her deck fore and aft.

The wind being light and the brig’s courses being clewed up, she glided slowly through the water, and the guns were again loaded and fired into the bows of the corvette before the latter could return another shot. The brig had just way enough on her to go about. The long gun was slewed round, and the others run over to the port side, and fired, greatly to the astonishment of the corvette’s crew, before they had managed to bring their guns to bear on her; when they did their shot flew wide or through her rigging, and not one hit her. The brig was now almost stationary, her crew working with a will, fired all their guns twice before the Spaniards had returned another shot.

“Well done, my lads,” cried Higson, “we have given them as many shots as they have sent at us.”

Such was the case, and every shot from the brig had told with good effect.

“A few more as well aimed, and the Dons, depend on it, will cry, ‘peccavi,’” he added.

The crew, stripped to the waist, were indeed working their guns with right good will. All hands on board were employed, some loading and firing, others bringing up powder and shot from below, and the rest attending to the sails. The smoke, which there was scarcely sufficient air to blow away, enveloped the combatants, and prevented those at a distance from being able to discern which was likely to be the victor. Murray and his crew, however, very well knew how matters went. The splinters which flew from the corvette’s side, and the shrieks and cries which came from her deck showed the fearful effect their fire was producing on their antagonist. At last one gun was silent, and then another, and then only three replied to them.

Murray cheered on his men, who although perspiring at every pore, ran their guns in and out with as good a will as at first. By this time the brig had drifted still closer to her foe.

Once more Long Tom was fired, loaded with langrage, which swept with fearful effect across the deck of the corvette. Not a shot came from her in return. The brig’s guns were, however, again loaded; but just before the triggers were pulled, down came the corvette’s ensign! A loud cheer burst from the throats of the British crew. Murray was on the point of anchoring, intending to send a boat on board to take possession, when a brig was seen dropping down the harbour, and followed by three schooners, favoured by a light breeze off shore.

“See, my lads, here come more of them!” he cried, in a cheery voice. “We will settle them, however, as we have done the corvette!”

“Ay, ay, sir, that we will!” shouted the voices of his gallant fellows.

“You wouldn’t say so if you didn’t intend it,” he answered.

“Well, try and see how quickly we can finish them off.”

The brig was some way ahead of the schooners, and Murray, anxious to engage her before their arrival, put the brig about, assisted by the light breeze, which just then filled her sails. Her commander, not aware that the corvette had struck her colours, was little prepared for the reception he was to meet with. As soon as Murray had got this fresh foe within range of his long gun he opened fire. The shot, well aimed, went crashing through her side; the second shot was fired before she got near enough for the carronades to reach her. The belief that the English brig had only one long gun prevented the Carthagenans from attempting to escape. The next time Long Tom was fired, his shot was attended by two from the carronades. The enemy replied with her broadside, but most of her shot went flying over the Supplejack, while others fell ahead or astern of her, wide of their mark. Not one of Long Tom’s shot missed, most of them striking between wind and water; and as she drew nearer they told with still greater effect. At last the enemy put about and attempted to run up the harbour. Vain were her efforts to escape; the last shot striking her gave her her death-blow. With her canvas all set and colours flying, gradually she sank till the water washed over her decks, and her crew were seen scrambling aloft, leaving the wounded to their fate. Within ten minutes of the time she got into action her topmasts alone appeared above the surface. Just before this the three schooners had come up and had opened their fire, but none of their shot had struck the Supplejack; and their commanders, seeing the fate of their consorts, came to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour, and hauled down their flags amid the cheers of the British crew. Murray lowered his boats and sent them to pick up any of the brig’s crew who might have been unable to escape aloft. The lives of several were thus saved. The schooners also sent their boats and took off the men from the rigging. The Supplejack then stood back for the corvette. Murray directed Higson and Desmond to take possession. Their fat friend, the first lieutenant, received them at the gangway, with his hat in one hand and his sword in the other. There was no bluster in him now.

“Where is the commodore?” asked Higson, looking round the deck, which was strewed with dead men.

“There!” answered the lieutenant, pointing to the mangled form of a man which lay on the quarter-deck, his uniform alone showing that it was that of the commodore. He had been almost cut in two by a shot from Long Tom.

“How many men have you lost?” asked Higson.

“Twenty-five,” answered the lieutenant. “Our crew declared that they were fighting with devils and not men, and refused to fire another shot.”

“If they had handled their guns as our fellows did theirs, we shouldn’t have taken you so easily,” answered Higson. “You deserve a better ship’s company.”

“Many thanks for your compliment,” answered the crestfallen lieutenant. “It is the fortune of war.”

The schooners being brought up close to the corvette, the Supplejack anchored near them, with Long Tom so trained that, should the Carthagenans attempt to recapture their vessels, they might quickly be sent to the bottom. The brig’s boarding-nettings were also triced up, a vigilant watch was kept, and pistols, pikes, and cutlasses placed in readiness for immediate use to resist any attack which might be made on her.

Murray, while he thus kept watch over the captured vessels, felt himself in a delicate and trying position. The Carthagenan government had hostages in their hands on whom they might wreak their vengeance. Had they, indeed, known how dear one of the prisoners was to the young commander, they would probably have made use of the advantage they possessed. He felt sure that a bold course was the only safe one. He might have led his crew on shore and endeavoured to rescue the captives, but the attempt he knew would have been sheer madness, as a piece of artillery at the end of one of the streets might have sent him and his men to destruction. Murray, like a wise man, had retired to his cabin to consider what was best to be done. He speedily made up his mind, and sent for his second in command.

“Higson,” he said, “I have resolved to go on shore myself, and demand the release of the prisoners. I leave you in charge of the brig. Keep an eye on the corvette and schooners, and sink them rather than allow them to escape.”

“You may depend on it that we will, sir,” was the answer. “I only wish that we could get our friends on board, that we might stand in and batter their town about the ears of the rascals.”

“They have had a pretty severe lesson already,” said Murray, “and I have hopes that they will not refuse to accede to my demands. Get the gig ready, with an ensign and a flag of truce. There’s no time to be lost.”

Higson went on deck, and the gig’s crew were piped away.

“I say, Higson, do ask the captain if I may accompany him, there’s a good fellow!” said Desmond. “Perhaps I may be of some use in getting Miss O’Regan and our fellows out of the prison.”

“I don’t know how you’ll do that,” answered Higson.

“Nor do I,” said Desmond; “but at all events I know the way into it, and I think, if Mr Murray will take Needham as well, he and I would manage somehow or other to get our friends out, if they are still in the room in which we left them.”

Murray, to Gerald’s great satisfaction, consented to take him and Needham. He had borrowed a new uniform from one of the midshipmen on board, and no one was likely to recognise him, so different did he look from what he had done in the dirty worn-out clothes in which he had escaped from the prison.

Murray steered directly for the landing-place, and boldly stepped on shore, regardless of the crowd collected to gaze at the commander of the dare-devil Englishmen, who had so quickly beaten their fleet. They, however, treated him with respect, drawing back on either side to allow him a free passage, as he marched with his flag and attendants towards the consul’s house. He found that functionary and the vice-consul in a state of great agitation.

“You have indeed, captain, taught the Government here a lesson which they will not easily forget, but I’m afraid that you have overdone it. General Carmona sent to warn me that on the first shot fired he would shoot all his prisoners, and I greatly fear that he has carried out his threat.”

“Surely he would not dare to murder Colonel O’Regan and his daughter, and the English midshipmen,” exclaimed Murray, his voice trembling with agitation.

“I scarcely dare to say what he may have done,” answered the consul; “he is a villain of the first water, and would shoot his own father and mother if they offended him.”

Murray could scarcely speak for some time, so overpowering were his feelings. By a great effort he recovered himself, and said, “I must beg you to accompany me at once to the general, and I will insist on seeing him.”

It was evident that neither the consul nor vice-consul liked the duty imposed on them, but they could not refuse to comply with the young commander’s request.

The ladies of the latter’s family evidently thought that he was going on a dangerous expedition, as they clung round him, weeping, as if they were parting from him for ever.

“Pray don’t be alarmed,” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, who did not see anything so very hazardous in the undertaking; “depend on it, your respected papa will come back with a whole skin, and if not, we shall have the satisfaction of knocking the city down over the ears of its inhabitants.”

The young ladies, who had not before recognised Paddy, now knew him by the sound of his voice.

“What!” they all cried out together; “are you the young officer who got out of prison in such a wonderful way? The people affirmed that you got out with the help of a magician, as they have never discovered how you made your escape; and the gaoler, who declares that you were safely shut up when he last visited you, swears that it is impossible you should have done so, either by the door or windows.”

“How we escaped I’ll tell you by-and-by, but pray excuse me for the present, as your papa and the consul are ready to start,” answered Gerald.

This conversation took place while the vice-consul was putting on his uniform coat, and, with the aid of his wife, buckling his sword-belt round the wide circuit of his waist.

Murray and the two officials then set forth, Desmond carrying the flag of truce, and Needham the British ensign, that flag which every nation of the earth has learnt to respect, though some may regard it with no very friendly feelings. After a walk of about twenty minutes they reached General Carmona’s residence. In front of the building was drawn up a guard of soldiers, who cast scowling glances at the party as they advanced. In a short time an officer appeared, who promised to announce their arrival to the general. They were then conducted into a courtyard, and told to wait. The officer soon returned and led the way to a large hall, with a long table in the centre, at the end of which sat a personage in military uniform, with several officers collected round him, some seated, and others standing about talking eagerly together.

“To what cause am I indebted for the honour of this visit?” asked the general, who rose with his officers as Murray and the consuls entered.

“This officer, the commander of the British man-of-war, now in the harbour, comes to demand the liberation of certain subjects of the Queen of England, detained by your government as prisoners,” answered the consul, introducing Lieutenant Murray.

The general, a tall, cadaverous personage, with long moustaches sticking out on either side of his face, tried to look very fierce and important, but ill succeeded in concealing his trepidation and annoyance.

“I might rather ask why the English brig-of-war has sunk one of my vessels, and captured the remainder of my fleet; though it seems a miracle to me how it should have happened.”

“Tell him,” said Murray, as this answer was interpreted, “that as his corvette fired into the Queen of England’s brig, it was my duty to punish her for her audacity, and that if my demands are not complied with, I intend to blow up the remainder of his squadron, and then to bombard the town.”

As the consul interpreted this speech, the general and his officers exhibited the most unfeigned astonishment at the bold threat which the commander of the three-gun brig had made.

“Tell him that I mean what I say,” added Murray, observing the evident consternation of the mongrel Spaniards, and seeing that now was the time to carry matters with a high hand.

“What prisoners are they you wish us to liberate?” asked the general.

“All the British subjects you lately captured on board two merchantmen in the harbour of Sapote, two of them being officers of the Queen of England’s navy, with other passengers, the rest being officers and crews of the two vessels.”

“The vessels were captured while engaged in illegal practices, and some of the prisoners you speak of it is beyond my power to deliver into your hands,” answered General Carmona; “the vessels and those on board them were legally condemned.”

“We must settle about the equity of their seizure afterwards,” said Murray; “my duty, in the meantime, is to obtain the restoration of the vessels, and the liberation of those of whom I have spoken.”

“I regret to inform you that some of them have met the fate they deserve, of traitors and rebels, and have been shot,” answered the general, mustering up his courage to make this announcement.

“Shot!” exclaimed Murray, in a tone of deep anxiety, as the consul interpreted the general’s last remark; “inquire who they are that have been thus treated,” said Murray.

“The officers and others found on board the two vessels. The common seamen were not worth the powder and shot, or they would have met the same fate,” answered the general, with as much sang-froid as he could command.

Murray could hardly restrain his indignation on hearing this, for he could not doubt that Colonel O’Regan was among the sufferers; he thought, especially, of the grief into which Stella would be plunged, and he was more than ever resolved to carry matters with a high hand.

“Tell the general that his ships are under the guns of my brig, and that I have left orders with the officers in command to blow them up should I not return with the prisoners within two hours.”

“You speak very boldly, sir!” exclaimed the general; “suppose I were to treat you as I have done your countrymen—shoot you.”

“Then my countrymen would very soon arrive with their ships of war, and not only knock your town about your ears, but hang up you and every officer they may catch at their yard-arms,” answered Murray.

The Spaniards, so they may be called, pulled their moustaches, and the remark had, evidently, its due effect.

“I must insist, also, that the two vessels captured by your squadron be brought into this harbour and anchored astern of my brig before to-morrow evening. I give you until then as the winds are light, but there must be no delay. Now, general, I must have your answer, as time is passing, or, before long, we shall have your vessels blown into the air. I require the immediate liberation of all the prisoners still alive. With regard to the rest, my government will settle with you by-and-by,” and Murray took out his watch, and carelessly held it up, so that the general and his officers might see the time.

The action had an electric effect on all present; the general held a brief consultation with his officers, and, though he attempted to bluster a little, they agreed forthwith to give up the prisoners.

“You have got on admirably, captain,” observed the consul, as he and his companions left the hall. “Your mode of proceeding will always be successful when practised on people like those with whom we have at present to deal, and on a larger scale, probably, with most of the nations of the earth.”

Chapter Fourteen.

Tom and Archy in prison—Their trick on the gaoler—Soldiers appear—Taken from prison—Meet Colonel O’Regan—Marched through the town—Prisoners going to execution—Distant cannonading heard—The firing-party—Death of Colonel O’Regan—The midshipmen try to help him—Carried back to prison—They and Stella liberated by Murray.

We must return to the night when Gerald Desmond and Needham made their escape from the prison.

As soon as they were gone, Tom Rogers and Archy Gordon set to work on the bar, and by hauling and pulling gradually worked it back into its former position. They then stuck on the rust as before, and swept the windows clear of the filings and remaining bits of rust, which might have betrayed them.

“Now, Miss O’Regan, do lie down and take some rest,” said Tom, ever thoughtful of others. “You need it much already, and you cannot tell what fatigue you may have shortly to go through. I have hopes that before long we shall get out of prison, and in the meantime it will puzzle the gaoler to know how our friends have escaped, unless he happens to hit upon this bar, and that I hope he will not do.”

Tom and Archy returned to their own room.

“The longer the gaolers remain ignorant of the escape of Desmond and Needham the better,” observed Tom. “I think that I can contrive to rig up two figures which may help to do so. Fortunately, Needham has left his red handkerchief behind him, that must serve as his night-cap. I will make the head of straw, and cover it with my handkerchief, the body we must form by heaping up the straw and then throwing a rug over it. Now, Archy, your handkerchief must serve as Desmond’s head, and we will put your cap on the top of it.”

Gordon, of course, agreed to the proposal. They set to work at once and as far as the pale light of the moon, which came through tie windows, could enable them to judge, they were well satisfied with their performance. They then laid down to sleep with clear consciences, on their own somewhat diminished heaps of straw.

The gaoler who brought their breakfast seldom did more than put it in at the door, being satisfied with a glance round the room at its four inmates. He looked in, as was his custom, the following morning, and seeing two figures in the dark corners of the room, supposed that the seaman and one of the midshipmen were indulging in a longer sleep than usual. Tom and Archy put their hands to their heads, and shook them, as much as to say that their friends were suffering from head-ache. This seemed to satisfy the gaoler, who departed, much to the satisfaction of the midshipmen, without making a closer inspection.

“At all events, it shows that our friends have not been caught, or we should have had the room searched,” observed Tom. “I hope that they have found the Consulate, and if so, we shall probably be liberated before the day is over. I wish, however, we could hear something about the colonel, for the sake of his poor daughter.”

The midshipmen naturally had got very weary at being so long shut up. Their spirits, however, now rose at the thoughts of their speedy liberation, and they made a hearty meal off their somewhat coarse fare.

A couple of hours or more passed, when Polly knocked at the door, and said that Miss O’Regan would be glad to see them.

“I have been thinking more than ever about my poor father,” she said, “and I cannot help fearing from the remarks let drop by the gaoler’s wife, that he must be very ill. I have in vain begged her to let me go and see him—can you think of any plan by which I may do so? If the old lady would take me down into the common cell, I would gladly consent to be shut up with him.”

“Perhaps by putting our heads together we may hit upon some plan for getting the colonel up here to see you,” answered Tom. “That would be much better, for you can have no idea of the set of ruffians you would have to meet in the lower prison, and I am very sure that the colonel would not allow you to be among them.”

All sorts of schemes were discussed. The chief hope was that they might work on the feelings of the gaoler’s wife, who was evidently well disposed towards them. They had been talking for some time when, hearing footsteps coming along the passage, the midshipmen hurried back to their own room. Instead of the gaoler, however, as the door opened, a party of soldiers with fixed bayonets appeared.

“What can these fellows want?” exclaimed Archy.

The soldiers forthwith marched into the room, and, without speaking, began to fasten the midshipmen’s arms behind them.

“This doesn’t look pleasant,” cried Tom. “I say, you fellows, what are you about?”

The soldiers made no reply, but continued lashing their aims.

Four, in the meantime, had walked up to the corner where they expected to find the other prisoners; their astonishment was very great when they found instead only some heaps of straw. They talked for a minute together, casting looks at Tom and Archy which betokened no good-will. One of them having gone out came back with the gaoler, who began questioning them, though, as they scarcely understood a word he said, they were not very well able to give lucid replies. They, of course, guessed, however, that he was making inquiries as to what had become of their companions.

“They will be back soon, I dare say,” said Tom. “If you will let us wait till then we shall be much obliged to you.”

“Non intende,” answered the gaoler.

“Not in ten days!” exclaimed Tom, even at that moment unable to refrain from a joke.

The gaoler, not being a bit the wiser for Tom’s reply, began to stamp and rave, and then repeated his questions in a louder voice, expecting that by so doing he should elicit an answer. At last, he and four of the soldiers went into Miss O’Regan’s room, and while two of them cross-questioned her and Polly as to what had become of the missing prisoners, the others searched the room in the hopes of discovering them. Their answers did not satisfy the men, for, like true women, having determined that they would not say what had become of their friends, nothing could induce them to acknowledge that they knew anything about the matter. Fortunately, the soldiers did not think of examining the bars, as it did not occur to them that the fugitives had escaped by the window; at last they came back, looking very disheartened. Four of the soldiers, roughly dragging the midshipmen into the passage, led them downstairs. They were then conducted into a courtyard, where a number of other prisoners were collected, some heavily-manacled, and others with their arms secured as theirs were, by ropes. They looked round, and, before long, recognised Colonel O’Regan, as also the masters, mates, and men of the two merchantmen. There were, besides, a number of prisoners in military uniform, whose countenances all wore an agitated and anxious expression, though some tried to hold up their heads and to look indifferent as to the fate awaiting them. All the Englishmen were manacled, as though their captors supposed that they would make an attempt to escape. The midshipmen would scarcely have known Colonel O’Regan had it not been for his dress and his tall, commanding figure, so pale and haggard had he become; their guards not stopping them, they made their way up to him. He recognised them with a smile of satisfaction.

“What are they going to do with us, Colonel O’Regan?” asked Tom, naturally beginning to feel more nervous than at first.

“To murder us, I fear,” answered the colonel, in a low voice; “for myself, I care not, but for her and for you my heart bleeds. Tell me, young gentlemen, where is she? How does she bear up against the cruel fate which has overtaken her? I have been unable to learn anything about her since I was shut up in that horrid den with these ruffians.”

The poor colonel was somewhat relieved at hearing that his daughter was not ill-treated, and that her black maid was allowed to remain with her. Tom told him also of the kindness of the gaoler’s wife.

“She is not ungrateful, then, for a slight service I once did her, little thinking at the time how it would be repaid,” he remarked. “Poor girl, these barbarians would not allow me even a last parting farewell with her.”

“But do you really suppose that there is no hope for us, Colonel O’Regan?” exclaimed Tom. “Surely they will not dare to shoot us!”

“For myself I certainly expect no mercy,” answered the colonel, gloomily. “I have, however, hopes that though they may not be influenced by pity for you and your companion, they will hesitate before they injure those clad in the uniform of the British navy. I do not, therefore, despair of your lives; and though I cannot plead for myself I will for you.”

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of an officer, who gave orders to the guard to conduct the prisoners to the Campo outside the town.

Tom rejoined Archy Gordon and they followed the colonel, who was marched out with Captain Crowhurst as his companion. They were joined by several priests with crucifixes in their hands, who, addressing the prisoners as they walked alongside them, offered to afford them the consolations of their religion.

“We want none of their mummery,” exclaimed Captain Crowhurst, in a tone of indignant contempt. “Do tell the fellows, colonel, to let us alone.”

The colonel, instead of interpreting this speech, mildly addressed the priests, and assured them that he and his companions did not require their services, as they differed in creed. The friars now came to Tom and Archy, but soon finding that they did not understand a word they said they fell back to those in the rear. The master of the sloop and the mates spoke much in the same tone as Captain Crowhurst had done, and the priests observing that they were heretics devoted their attention to their own countrymen. Two of the priests, more persevering than the rest, returned again to the colonel; he motioned them aside with the same courteousness as before. Still they addressed him.

“My friends,” he said at length, “I give you full credit for the honesty of your intentions, but as I have lived so I hope to die, protesting against the false system and erroneous doctrines in which you appear to believe. I have no faith in them, and, therefore, you only interrupt a person who would ask strength from One in whose presence he is about shortly to appear, that he may go through the severe trial he is called upon to endure.”

The calm and dignified manner of the brave colonel rebuked the officious priests, and they returned without venturing to utter any of the contemptuous remarks which they had bestowed on his less polished fellow-sufferers.

Crowds collected in the streets to see the mournful procession pass: most of the Englishmen walked boldly on, with heads erect and undismayed countenances; many of them, indeed, scarcely believed that the government would venture to put them to death; the natives, on the contrary, fully aware of the sanguinary disposition of their countrymen, expected no mercy, but marched on with trembling knees and downcast countenances, expecting the fate which awaited them. They had been captured in open rebellion, attempting to overthrow the government, and were conscious how they themselves would have treated their enemies had they exchanged places.

The crowd gathered rapidly, eager to indulge themselves of the spectacle which was about to take place. Suddenly there came a booming sound of a gun across the harbour followed by the thunder of several others, one at short intervals much louder than the rest. The colonel and Captain Crowhurst turned their heads.

“Those guns come from vessels in action,” said Tom; “perhaps one is an English ship; if so she is sure to give the Dons a drubbing.”

Some of the crowd hastened to the harbour to see what had taken place. The soldiers advanced with their prisoners at a more rapid rate than before; they quickly reached an open place just outside the town. Here they stopped, and presently several officers came on the field. The prisoners were marched a short distance to the front of the troops, who extended their line on either side of them. An officer of rank with his staff now rode up. Colonel O’Regan on seeing him stepped forward.

“General Carmona,” he said, “I have been your enemy, and have no hope of mercy at our hands. I, therefore, do not ask it for myself; I speak for these men, who if they have broken your laws did so in ignorance; still more earnestly do I entreat you not to injure these two young English officers, who, as I informed your commodore, are entirely guiltless. They were saved at sea from a wreck by the brig on board which I was a passenger, and if you put them to death you will bring the vengeance of their countrymen on your head; you may have some excuse for shooting me, but you will have none if you murder them, for murder it will be, whatever you may call it.”

This address seemed to have some effect on the general, who, however, issued no counter-orders to the officers charged with the execution of the prisoners. The colonel, with the two masters and their four mates, together with the principal natives (all of whom appeared to be of the rank of officers) were placed in a row, when several soldiers came behind them for the purpose of binding handkerchiefs over their eyes. The colonel turned round to the men who were about to perform that office for him with a calm smile.

“I desire to gaze my last on the blue sky above us,” he said gently. “Let me at least die like a soldier—it is the only favour I ask.”

His companions followed the colonel’s example, and begged to be allowed to die with eyes unbound. The general now ordered the officer in command of the firing-party to hurry his preparations.

“As you have so many to dispose of, it would have made shorter work had you placed them all together,” he shouted out.

The rest of the prisoners had, in the meantime, been led on one side to await their turn. The firing-party now advanced—the doomed men gazed at them with pale, though undaunted countenances. The commanding officer, in a loud, harsh voice, gave the usual order, “Make ready,” “Present,” then came the fatal word—“Fire!” Some fell forward, shot dead; others were struggling and writhing on the ground; Colonel O’Regan alone was standing upright. It was but for a moment; he was seen to stagger forward, then to fall heavily on his face. Regardless of the danger they ran from the firing-party, who advanced to plunge their bayonets into the bodies of those who still had life in them, Tom and Archy dashed forward with the idea of helping their unfortunate friend. They attempted to raise him, but the expression of his countenance, and the blood oozing from a wound in his breast, told them but too truly that all was over; and had not their guards, who were alarmed on their own account at having allowed them to escape, dragged them back they would probably have been bayoneted on the spot. Just then an officer, who came galloping up with looks of consternation on his countenance, informed the general that his corvette, the chief vessel of his navy with which he believed that he could defy the world, had struck her flag to a British brig-of-war, and that his brig had been sent to the bottom. The news produced an electric effect on him and his officers. He at once gave orders that the surviving English prisoners should be conducted back to gaol under charge of a small body of troops, while the rest were marched off to the batteries.

“We have had a narrow escape,” said Tom to Archy, not at the time aware to what cause they were indebted for their preservation. “We ought indeed to be thankful; but I would have given anything to have saved the colonel. Poor Miss O’Regan, what will she do with no one to look after her?”

“But we will do our best!” answered Archy; “and as I have a notion that she will some day be my cousin, I have a sort of right, you know, to watch over her.”

“But in the meantime what shall we say to that poor young lady?” asked Tom.

“I haven’t the heart to tell her that her father has been shot,” answered Archy, “though, of course, something must be said; we must not tell her a falsehood, that’s certain.”

“Then we must just say that we were marched out into the country, when firing was heard which we have no doubt came from an English ship of war, and then we were marched back again,” said Tom. “If she asks any further questions we need not say anything more, and perhaps before long we shall all be on board, when she will be better able to bear her misfortune than she would be shut up in prison.”

Much to their satisfaction the midshipmen were taken back to the room they had before occupied. The great drawback, however, was the fear they felt of being cross-questioned by Miss O’Regan. They had not been there long before they heard the gaoler’s wife go into her room; and they guessed that she would tell the poor girl more than they themselves could venture to do.

There was a great deal of talking, and after some time the old woman went away. Scarcely had she gone than Miss O’Regan opened their door.

“I have important news for you,” she exclaimed, in an animated tone: and she gave them the information she had just heard, that an English brig-of-war had captured the whole of the Carthagenan fleet, and that the authorities as well as the people were in a state of the greatest possible alarm and agitation.

“We may expect therefore to be speedily liberated,” she added. “My poor father must also be set free.”

She had been so interested in describing what she had heard that she did not make the inquiries they expected, and the midshipmen were saved the pain of informing her of her father’s death.

They passed the next two hours in a state of great anxiety; at last footsteps were heard, and voices coming towards their room. Their door was thrown open and there stood Lieutenant Murray, Gerald Desmond, Needham, and several strangers, one of whom was in the consular uniform. The former giving them a smile of recognition, hurried into Miss O’Regan’s room, and Paddy Desmond, after warmly shaking hands, began recounting to them the adventures he and Needham had gone through. They in return had a sad tale to tell of the events which had lately occurred. It was cut short by the reappearance of Murray with Miss O’Regan leaning on his arm, followed by Polly carrying the box with her mistress’s wardrobe.

“Now, young gentlemen,” said the consul, “we have come to conduct you to my house, where no one will dare to molest you, and I daresay that you will be glad to get out of the prison.”

“Yes, indeed we shall, sir,” answered Tom, “but I should like to wish the gaoler’s wife good-bye.”

“I am sorry to tell you that she and her husband have been dismissed from their post, and are now themselves confined in one of the cells in which they have been accustomed to lock up others. However, I will do my best for them, and in a short time there will be another change of government, when they will probably be reinstated. They are accused of having connived at the escape of your companions, and I can probably help them by explaining how it occurred.”

Murray had thought it better not to tell Stella of her father’s death. Her suspicions, however, had been aroused, and she pathetically begged that she might see him.

“It is impossible,” answered Murray. “Let me entreat you not to inquire further at present, and you shall be informed of all that has happened as soon as we reach the consul’s house.”

Stella was silent. The dreadful truth began to dawn on her. She dare not ask another question.

With no small satisfaction the party found themselves outside the prison walls. They were not interfered with by the populace, who regarded the conqueror of their fleet rather with awe and respect than any vindictive feelings. The vice-consul’s Spanish wife received the young English lady with a kind welcome, and did her best to prepare her for the afflicting intelligence she was to hear. Murray undertook the task. Her grief was too great for tears.

“I was prepared for it,” she said, at length. “A fearful foreboding of evil has oppressed me since we sailed from Antigua. I cannot help thinking that he himself felt that such might too probably be his fate, yet he braved it under the belief that he was engaged in the cause of humanity.”

The consolation Murray offered was not without its due effect.

“There is one, at all events, who will take your father’s place, and joyfully devote his life to your service and to watching over you with the tenderest love,” he said, taking her hand.

“I know it,” she answered, “and my father often expressed his satisfaction at the thought that I might some day become your wife.”

Stella had another trial to undergo when receiving from Tom and Archy the last message which her father sent her.

Although the consul promised to protect her, and the ladies of the family treated her with the greatest sympathy and kindness, she was naturally anxious to join her friends in Jamaica, and Murray was also unwilling that she should remain longer on shore than possible.

There were few places at that time more disorganised and disturbed than Carthagena. The consul himself and his family, indeed, were frightened, and gladly accepted Murray’s invitation to take up their quarters on board the Supplejack, till matters were in a more settled state on shore. The consul’s boat was in readiness, and the whole party were soon assembled on the deck of the brig. Their departure showed the government that the commander intended to carry out his threat of sending for a fleet to bombard their town should his demands not be complied with. Another messenger was therefore despatched to hasten the departure of the captured merchantmen, which, the wind being favourable, within the time allowed were seen entering the harbour.

As his duty would not allow Murray to leave Carthagena until he had received instructions from the admiral, he determined forthwith to send the Sarah Jane with an account of the event which had occurred, and to ask for instructions.

As soon as she came to an anchor, Higson, Tom, and Archy, with a boat’s crew were sent on board. Great was the midshipmen’s delight when they stepped on deck to see “Master Spider” on the top of the caboose, apparently on excellent terms with his new associates; he knew his old friends, however, at once, and came hopping down to greet them with every demonstration of pleasure.

The brig was in a terribly dirty condition, and the furniture of the cabin was considerably damaged, while the greater part of her cargo and every article of value had been carried off.

The native crew was sent on shore, and Murray picked out the most respectable of her former ship’s company, with two or three of the best men out of the sloop to man her, promising them a handsome reward if they behaved well.

Though he could ill spare Higson, there was no one else to whom he could entrust the command of her.

He felt bound also to send the three midshipmen back to their ships, and the confidence he had in Needham made him resolve to send him, and in addition he picked out four good men from the Supplejack.

“I hope we have made up a tolerable ship’s company for you, Higson,” he said; “keep a watchful eye over them, and do not trust them too much; they have ample inducement to behave well, but they have been so long, I suspect, engaged in lawless pursuits, that it is impossible to say what tricks they may take it into their heads to play.”

Murray was constantly on board the Sarah Jane, endeavouring to restore her cabin to its former state of comfort. He felt that Stella could not stay on board the Supplejack with him, and painful as it was to part with her, his only course was to send her at once to her friends in Jamaica.

She herself saw the propriety of this, and made no demur. “I can trust you confidently to the care of Mr Higson and your former young protectors,” he said, as he made the proposal. “As soon as duty will allow me I hope to return to Jamaica, and then I trust that nothing will occur to prevent me from making you mine, and giving me the right to protect and watch over you.”

Scarcely half an hour had elapsed after this before Stella was once more on board the Sarah Jane. Sail was made, the anchor lifted, and the brig with a fair wind glided out of the harbour.

Murray continued on board her as far as he could venture to sea, but as he dared not be long absent from the Supplejack, he was at length compelled to return.

Chapter Fifteen.

Stella and the Midshipmen sail for Jamaica in the Sarah Jane—Voyage—Arrival—Jack’s delight at recovering Tom—Stella goes to the Bradshaws—Higson promoted—The Plantagenet and Tudor sail for Carthagena—They quickly settle all difficulties—Proceed to the Mosquito shore—Boat expedition up the San Juan de Nicaragua—Night encampment—Visit of a puma—A chase—Scenery of the river—Birds and monkeys—Voyage continued—An unpleasant bed on an anthill—Approaching the enemy—A sad accident—Alarm—The captain attempts to rescue the drowning men—Does not return.

The Sarah Jane meeting with fine weather and a fair wind glided rapidly across the Caribbean Sea. Higson felt proud of his first command, and soon gained that self-confidence which long years spent in a subordinate position had made him doubt that he possessed. The midshipmen supported him well, and Needham, who acted as boatswain,—and a more thorough man-of-war’s-man never stepped,—assisted to keep the rest of the crew in good order. Tom Rogers was declared “First Lieutenant,” and he walked the deck with all the air and consequence of one. He had already become a fair navigator, and Higson could depend on his calculations. Gordon was dubbed the “Master,” and it was voted that Desmond should be “Second Lieutenant.”

“I say,” exclaimed Tom, “we ought to have a doctor, and so I propose that we give Master Spider the rating, since we haven’t got a better one to fill the post; he at all events won’t drench his patients with physic, and if he has to bleed them he will do it artistically with his teeth.” So Spider was dubbed “Doctor” from henceforth. Higson appointed Archy Gordon also to do the duties of “Purser,” so that he had plenty of occupation.

It was impossible to be more attentive to poor Miss O’Regan than were the young midshipmen, or more thoughtful in all they did. Although she still looked pale, she endeavoured to show her gratitude whenever she came on deck by her cheerful conversation and her smile, which Desmond declared beat everything in the way of sunshine. The midshipmen enjoyed the voyage and quickly regained their strength, somewhat lost during their imprisonment; as to their spirits they were of too buoyant a nature to be kept down the moment the pressure was removed.

At length the Blue Mountains beyond the harbour of Port Royal appeared in sight, the sea breeze, which still blew fresh, wafting the brig rapidly towards the shore.

Miss O’Regan, with her faithful attendant by her side, seated on deck, watched with much interest the magnificent view which gradually rose before her eyes. The three midshipmen were standing near her.

“I cannot help hoping that the frigate and corvette have been sent to sea; if not, Higson will have pretty soon to give up his command, and we three, degraded from our rank, shall be ignominiously sent back into the midshipman’s berth,” said Tom, with a laughable grimace.

“Then the sooner we make up our minds to sink into insignificance the better,” observed Desmond, who had a telescope to his eye. “I make out clearly enough the frigate and corvette at anchor; however, we shall have a jolly time of it giving the other fellows an account of our adventures. I vote that we make old Scrofton believe that ‘Master Spider’ played a gallant part in the capture of the Carthagenan fleet, and led the boarders when we took the corvette.”

“But we didn’t board at all, in the first place,” said Tom, “so that won’t be true to begin with.”

“No, but when one’s about spinning a yarn it’s as well to spin a good one,” answered Desmond.

“To my mind a joke’s a joke, and a lie’s a lie,” observed Tom. “Although it would be very good fun to quiz old Scrofton, we certainly should not tell him what is not the truth, and I won’t vote for anything of the sort.”

“Nor will I,” observed Gordon, “and after all the adventures we have been preserved from, it’s time that we should knock off our midshipmen’s tricks. Where should we have been if my cousin Murray hadn’t come in at the moment he did, and so bravely captured the fleet? We should to a certainty have been shot, as was the poor colonel.”

“Hush!” said Tom, pointing to Miss O’Regan, “she may hear us.” Paddy Desmond looked rather vexed. “I don’t consider humbugging an old bo’sun telling a lie, as you choose to call it,” he said, turning away.

“Truth is truth, Paddy, though,” answered Tom; “I didn’t mean to offend you, and I dare say we shall get a rise out of old Scrofton without descending to falsehood.” Paddy’s anger was as usual quickly appeased, and he joined in the hearty laughter which “Master Spider” produced, as at that moment he came hopping aft rigged in a white shirt with blue turn-down collar, white trousers, a straw hat secured to the top of his head, and a wooden cutlass made fast to one of his paws, and which, in his efforts to free himself from it, he appeared to be flourishing about as if engaged in mortal combat.

“There!” exclaimed Paddy, “if he didn’t board the Dons he shows that he would have done so if we had run them alongside, and he would precious soon have driven them overboard.”

Even Stella could not help indulging in a smile such as had not for a long time lighted up her countenance, while Polly clapped her hands, and shrieked with laughter.

Gradually the fortifications and buildings of Port Royal and the long line of the Palisades appeared in sight, and the brig passing close round the works of Fort Charles steered in and anchored a short distance from the frigate. Blue Peter was flying from the mastheads of both ships, a signal that they were about to put to sea, so there was no time to be lost. Higson ordered a boat to be lowered, and leaving the brig in charge of Needham, accompanied by the three midshipmen, pulled alongside the frigate. Stella naturally preferred remaining on board the brig until she could be conveyed to Kingston.

Captain Hemming was on shore, but Mr Cherry and Jack Rogers were on board, while Adair was seen walking the deck of the corvette.

“A boat coming alongside, sir,” sang out Norris, addressing Jack, who was officer of the watch, “and if I can believe my eyes, there’s Higson, with your brother, and Gordon, and Paddy Desmond in her.” The announcement produced no small excitement on board, all who heard it hurrying to have a look at the three long-lost midshipmen.

Jack, his warm heart beating with joy, rushed to the gangway. He was soon shaking hands with Tom and his companions, who were warmly welcomed by their other shipmates. Spider, who had accompanied them, made his own way up the side, and seated on the hammock nettings, holding on by a backstay, was received with shouts of laughter by his old friends, he chattering away, seemingly as glad to see them as they were to greet him. Singling old Ben Snatchblock, with whom he had been a favourite, he sprang on his shoulders and was quickly carried in triumph forward, where he was lost to sight among the crew, who gathered round him as school girls are wont to do round a small child introduced amongst them.

Higson and the midshipmen were in the meantime relating their adventures as rapidly as their tongues could wag; as soon as they had given a brief outline of them, they inquired what had occurred during their absence. The corvette had been repaired. Commander Babbicome, though still as much afraid of the West India climate as at first, had not resigned, as it was thought he would do. Her complement had been made up of the crew of two merchant vessels wrecked on the coast, with other volunteers, and a few hands from the frigate, and they were now only waiting the return of Captain Hemming to proceed to the southward, application having been made by her Britannic Majesty’s consul at Bluefields on the Mosquito shore for the assistance of some ships of war, to protect British interests in that part of the world. A variety of outrages and insults of which he complained having been offered to Englishmen, work of some sort it was expected would be cut out for them, and all hands were delighted at the thoughts of having something in the way of fighting to do.

“Then the sooner I get up to Kingston the better,” exclaimed Higson. “It won’t do to be left behind. I can’t go, however, without delivering my despatches to the admiral.”

He accordingly hurried back with the three midshipmen to the brig, where Jack and Adair, who were anxious to pay their respects to Miss O’Regan, presently followed. They said all that was proper to her regarding her father’s death, and expressed their hopes that Murray would soon return to Jamaica and receive his well-earned honours.

“He is sure to be promoted,” said Jack. “When he is, I have great hopes that the admiral will appoint him to the command of the corvette, should Captain Babbicome resign her, as I think he is very likely to do, for he evidently wishes himself looking after his cows and pigs at home.”

Miss O’Regan and her attendant, with Higson and the three midshipmen, proceeded up at once to Kingston. Fortunately, on landing, they met the admiral, who was delighted to hear of Murray’s success. “I knew the lad would do something if he had the opportunity,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, “and very well he has done it, that all must allow. He will obtain his promotion, and you, Mr Higson, may depend on receiving yours.”

On being introduced to Miss O’Regan the old admiral exclaimed, “You must come up to the Pen, my dear young lady, and remain there till you can communicate with your friends. Mrs and Miss McAlpine will be delighted to see you on your own account, and also that of my kinsman Lieutenant Murray. He is an officer in whose welfare I am much interested, and I can assure you that he has not disappointed my expectations.” Then turning to the midshipmen, he added, “And you youngsters must come up too; the ladies will want you to spin them a yarn about your adventures, and I’ll take care that the frigate does not sail without you.”

Though Stella would have gladly set off at once for her relations the Bradshaws, she could not refuse the admiral’s kind invitation. He drove her up to the Pen, where Higson and the midshipmen followed.

Stella was kindly received, and as little as possible was said to recall the painful scenes she had gone through. The admiral, with Murray’s despatches before him, questioned Higson as to further particulars, and then made the midshipmen recount their adventures to his wife and daughters, being especially amused at the way Desmond roused up the vice-consul and his household.

Tom ever afterwards declared that he was the most jolly old officer he had ever met with—excepting, of course, Admiral Triton.

“I see, Mr Higson, that Lieutenant Murray speaks in the highest terms of your bravery and courage in this affair,” said the admiral. “I have great pleasure, therefore, in giving you an acting order as Third Lieutenant of the Plantagenet; and I have no doubt that when the affair is known at the Admiralty, it will be confirmed; and I can congratulate you on the step, which has been entirely gained by your own merits.”

Higson felt his heart jump nearly into his mouth; for often before as he had expected promotion he had been disappointed, and he had almost given up hopes of obtaining it.

He thanked the admiral warmly. “Say no more about it, mon,” he answered. “I wish that I could reward every one on board the Supplejack as they deserved. You may possibly before long have an opportunity of distinguishing yourself, and I am very sure that I shall hear a good account of you.”

Captain Hemming soon afterwards went up to the Pen, when he received fresh instruction as to his course of proceeding. Instead of going direct to Nicaragua as he had before been ordered to do, he was to touch Carthagena to settle the affair of the capture of the Carthagenan fleet, and the recapture of the merchantman; it being considered that a visit of two or three ships of war might somewhat assist in bringing the diplomatic part of the transaction to a satisfactory conclusion.

When the midshipmen went to wish goodbye to Stella, she had a letter for Murray, which she entrusted to Archy Gordon. “You may depend on me for delivering it safely; for I should otherwise never be able to look my cousin in the face,” he answered.

After an early dinner the admiral dismissed them. Higson wished to get several things in Kingston before they returned on board; he had also to deliver over the brig to the agent, who had to find a fresh crew in lieu of the men-of-war’s men, and some of the others who volunteered for the frigate. It was thus past midnight when they got on board.

Higson received the hearty congratulation of his old messmates as well as those of the midshipmen whose berth he was leaving.

“Pardon me, Mr Higson, I’m right glad that you’ve got this step,” exclaimed Dick Needham, “you deserve it, that you do; though it’s not always those who are most deserving that gets their due.”

By daybreak next morning the Plantagenet and Tudor sailed with the land breeze for the southward. About the usual length of time was occupied in the run across the Caribbean Sea to Carthagena. The Plantagenet hove-to outside, while Captain Hemming went on board the Tudor, which stood into the harbour. There lay the little Supplejack, like a bull-dog watching his charge, with Long Tom still pointed at her prize, while her young commander, ever vigilant, walked her deck.

Very great, as may be supposed, was his delight when he saw the corvette glide up to an anchorage, and when Captain Hemming came on board.

“Since the Sarah Jane sailed, I have not once set foot on shore,” said Murray, after the first greetings were over; “I acted, as I thought, for the best, and I hope that the admiral was not inclined to find fault with me for what I have done.”

“Find fault with you! On the contrary, my dear fellow, he is delighted,” answered Captain Hemming. “He also told me in confidence that you may depend on your promotion. By the bye, your young relative Gordon is the bearer of a despatch which will give you further information. I’ll leave you to read it while I have a talk with the consul who, I see, has just come off.”

The despatch which Archy delivered to his cousin need not be made public, though it afforded him intense satisfaction.

The consul, after a brief conversation with Captain Hemming, returned on shore to communicate with General Carmona. It was reported on board that the general had offered, as he could not restore the British subjects he had shot to life, to give up an equal number of natives to be dealt with in the same manner, should the English commander be so disposed.

Although he talked a little big about being compelled to give up the two merchant vessels which had been legally captured, he was glad enough to drop the subject on condition that his corvette and schooners were restored to him, while he promised in future never to shoot, hang, or imprison any British subject without a legal trial; thus the matter being settled, “Long Tom” was once more housed, and the Supplejack sailed out of the harbour.

Murray, not supposing that anything of consequence was likely to take place, was much disappointed when, instead of proceeding to Jamaica, he was ordered to join the other ships on their way to Nicaragua.

Both the three lieutenants and the three midshipmen, though on the same service, were now separated, Gordon having remained on board the frigate, Desmond having joined the corvette, while Tom continued with his brother.

Various were the surmises as to the sort of service in which they were to be engaged. All they knew was that the President of an insignificant republic having ventured to “beard the English,” he was to be punished accordingly, and brought to reason. How this was to be done was the question, as the ships could not get near enough to the shore to batter down any of his towns.

Captain Hemming had, however, received sufficient information regarding the interior of the country to be enabled to form his plans.

The ships having reached the neighbourhood of Bluefields on the Mosquito shore, a pilot-vessel from one of the numerous keys situated off that dangerous coast came out. The pilot being taken on board, they proceeded with the lead going, to the anchorage off the town, which is situated on the border of a wide extending plain, out of which several volcanoes could be seen continually puffing forth smoke.

The British consul at once came on board, and expressed his satisfaction at their arrival.

“There will be some work for you to do, Captain Hemming,” he observed. “A certain Colonel Salas, belonging to the precious Republic of Nicaragua, who is at the head of a band of ruffians, has carried off two persons from San Juan, falsely accused of breaking the laws of the country, and he has, besides, offered numerous other insults to the British flag.”

A short time only was spent in making the necessary preparations, the consul, Mr Wilmot, being a man of action, was eager himself to proceed with the expedition, accompanied by a spirited young man, Mr Halliday, who also begged leave to join the party. They offered the use of their own boat, manned by natives, which was at once accepted.

The following morning the vessels got under weigh, and proceeded towards the mouth of the San Juan river. Bluefields, it should be understood, is one of the chief towns belonging to the dark-skinned monarchs of the Mosquito shore, and Graytown, at the entrance of the last-mentioned river, is the capital.

At noon-time the following day the expedition arrived off that not over-delightful spot. It contains about 2000 inhabitants, and is situated on perfectly level ground, so completely closed in by impassable forests or water, that a walk in any direction is impossible, unless along the sea-beach. The inhabitants consist of a few Englishmen, and a greater number of Germans and Americans, employed in the engrossing work of dollar-getting.

The grog-shops, however, drive a most flourishing trade. But few natives live in the town, and from the colour of those seen paddling about in their canoes, it is evident that they are a mixture of the mulatto and Indian. They came alongside the ships, eager to dispose of the turtle which they are chiefly engaged in catching, and to sell a few eggs and chickens.

They were merry fellows, most of them speaking English; as they were ready to take any price offered, they soon got rid of their merchandise. The Consul advised Captain Hemming to be prepared for hostilities, and as he was too wise an officer to despise a foe, he ordered all the boats of the squadron to be got ready for the expedition. No one was allowed to go on shore; indeed, scarcely a place on the face of the globe can have fewer attractions than Graytown.

The seamen were busily employed in sharpening cutlasses and examining their pistols, and the soldiers in furbishing up their arms ready for active service.

Not a breath of wind stirred the glass-like surface of the water; the sun came down with intense heat, making the pitch in the seams of the decks bubble and squeak, so Paddy Desmond declared; even those most inured to tropical suns felt the heat, which even the awnings stretched over the quarterdeck could scarcely mitigate. Poor Captain Babbicome was seen pacing up and down with a large bandanna in his hand, puffing and blowing, and wiping the perspiration from his brow. He received but little consolation when he heard Terence remark that it would be hotter still up the river.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?” he exclaimed; “if this continues I shall be reduced to a skeleton.”

The doctor strongly advised him to remain on board. “A sunstroke would finish you, sir,” he observed, “and you would be a loss to the service.”

Still Commander Babbicome was too brave a man to give in willingly. Even when Captain Hemming directed him to remain in charge of the squadron during his absence, he begged to be allowed, should he feel better, to proceed up the river.

“Act as you think best. Should you recover sufficiently to stand the fatigue, of course I shall be glad to have your assistance,” answered his superior officer.

Murray, in the meantime, took his place as second in command. Twelve boats were prepared for the expedition, consisting of the ships’ launches and barges, the consul’s boat, a spare pinnace, and the captains’ gigs.

The next morning at daybreak the boats shoved off from the ships’ sides, saluted with loud cheers by those who remained on board. Captain Hemming and Murray went in their respective gigs, and Jack, who had command of the pinnace, took Tom with him, while Desmond accompanied Adair in one of the barges; the soldiers and the marines were distributed among the boats. The whole, including officers, bluejackets and soldiers, mustered upwards of 250 men. The two gigs, accompanied by the consul’s boat, went ahead. They had not proceeded far before they felt the strength of the current, for although the river was wide it was shallow, and so great was the mass of water coming down that it ran with the rapidity of a mill-stream. The men had to bend to their oars with might and main, and even then, the heavier boats in several places scarcely seemed, at times, to go ahead. Though the sun struck down with intense heat, the gallant bluejackets took no notice of it, nor relaxed their efforts, but hour after hour pulled on, encouraged by their officers. In some places, the water was so shallow that the boats could with difficulty move along, and frequently they had to shove off till another channel was found; undaunted, however, they laboured on till midday, when they landed at the most convenient spot to be found on the banks of the river to dine and recruit their exhausted strength.

An hour only was allowed for rest, and once more they embarked and toiled on as before.

The forest on both sides of the river came close down to the water’s edge, the lofty trees towering high above their heads, shutting out everything behind. Here and there a few clearings were seen, with huts and other buildings, tenanted by settlers, and now and then a native in his light canoe paddled by, but few inhabitants were seen; the views as they proceeded consisted chiefly of the tumbling waters and the forests as the hand of nature had left them. At length night approached; the captain gave the order to land, and the hardy crews, their strength taxed to the uttermost, pulled in quickly to a somewhat more open spot than was usually seen on the banks, where they might find room to bivouac for the night.

The boats were made fast, and all hands leaped on shore and began with their axes to cut away the underwood. A space sufficient for their object was soon cleared. The campfires were lighted, pots and pans brought on shore, and the men, told off to act as cooks, set to work to boil the coffee and cocoa and warm up the messes of turtle which had been prepared.

The only spots where they could rest with anything like comfort was round the fires, the thick clouds of smoke rising from which helped to keep off the myriads of mosquitoes which forthwith commenced an onslaught on them. The officers assembled in the neighbourhood of one of the fires, while the soldiers and sailors gathered round the others.

A person ignorant of the cause might have supposed that every man of the party had been seized with Saint Vitus’ dance—not a man could retain his seat or keep his hands quiet for a moment, for while he tried with one hand to get his food or a cup to his mouth, the other was employed in slapping right and left, now at his cheek, now at his other hand or at his feet, in vain endeavours to destroy his persevering foes; for the instant a wreath of smoke blew to one side, a whole host of ferocious insects darted forward to assail their victims on the other. Cigars and pipes were quickly lighted, in the hopes of driving off the pests, but in vain; the fumes of tobacco had but little effect, for if a puff drove them off a man’s nose, in an instant they attacked some other part of his body.

In spite of this inconvenience, Murray had again to give the account of his recent exploit, while the midshipmen recounted for the twentieth time their adventures and imprisonment in Carthagena.

No sooner had night closed down on the camp than cries of all descriptions came forth from the forest—the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets, the howling of monkeys, mingled with strange groans and shrieks, which made the seamen draw closer together, some, even among the stoutest-hearted, declaring that without doubt the place was haunted, while many a brave tar cast a glance over his shoulder, expecting to see some fierce creature stalk out from among the trees. At last Captain Hemming gave the order for all hands to turn in, with such shelter as they had provided, and to get some sleep to prepare themselves for the work of the next day. Some went on board the boats, hoping to be free of the bites of the mosquitoes, though hopeless were their efforts to escape from their tormentors.

The three lieutenants seated themselves side by side, while their young relatives, the three midshipmen, had collected not far off.

“Well, I suppose we must go to sleep,” said Tom Rogers, stretching himself out. He had rolled up his flushing coat to serve as a pillow, and prepared to enjoy as much comfort as circumstances would allow.

“Faith, we have music at all events to lull us to sleep,” exclaimed Gerald Desmond; “but I wish those beasts would put a stopper to their singing, though!”

“They may sing as long as they like, provided they don’t bite,” remarked Gordon, following his companions’ example.

In a short time the whole camp was at rest, with the exception of the few sentries, the only sounds being the mysterious ones which came at intervals from the forest, and the loud snoring of some of the soldiers and seamen. The fires still kept blazing, casting a lurid glare over the foaming waters as they rushed past, on the tall trees of the dark forest on the other side, and on the figures of the officers and men stretched in various attitudes on the ground.

Tom Rogers suddenly awoke; a mosquito had fixed its sharp proboscis in his nose. He had dreamed that a serpent had got hold of it. Starting up, he saw, between the trees near which he and his companions lay, a pair of bright eyes glaring at him. They were contained in the head of a creature which appeared crouching down, as if about to make a spring towards him. He knew it at once to be a puma, the so-called lion of South America. Leaping to his feet, he shouted to his companions to be on their guard; the next instant it seemed that the animal would be upon them. His voice awoke the lieutenants and the other officers who had been sleeping near at hand, and quickly brought a sentry to the spot. The man, catching sight of the puma, fired his musket; the report, of course, aroused the whole camp. “A lion! a lion!” shouted several voices, and in an instant the greater part of the bluejackets were in hot chase after the animal, which, of course, rapidly bounded away far out of sight.

They would have quickly lost themselves in the forest had not the captain and officers called them back, and ordered them to lie down and go to sleep again. The sentries were, in consequence of the visit they had received, doubled and cautioned to keep a better lookout, not only for human foes, but for any of the savage denizens of the forest which might attempt to pay them another visit. At early dawn the camp was again astir, and as Tom and the other midshipmen opened their eyes, they saw grinning at them from among the branches a number of little hairy faces chattering and grinning. They belonged to troops of monkeys who had come, attracted by curiosity, to look at the strangers invading their domains. As soon, however, as the men began to move about they took fright and scrambled off to a safer distance. Just then loud caws were heard, and several flights of magnificent-coloured macaws flew across the stream. Cocoa and other beverages having been served out and rapidly swallowed, the party embarked, and once more the toils of the day began. It was harder work than ever. The boats had frequently to pass right up rapids and among rocks and sandbanks; thus it was only by the greatest exertion that the heavier boats could be forced along.

Except that the toil was greater and the heat more intense, there was but little variation from the events of the preceding day. Whenever they neared the banks troops of monkeys appeared in the branches of the lofty trees, chattering and shaking their heads, or screaming in anger at this invasion of their territory; flights of macaws and other birds of gorgeous plumage flew overhead, generally in pairs; and here and there, perched on the lower branches, were seen huge white ducks, which nodded their heads and gabbled as the boats passed slowly by them. Among the monkeys, of which various species were seen, were several little Congo apes, who, in their anger, attempted to roar like lions, affording infinite amusement to the crews.

“I say, Paddy,” cried Tom Rogers to Desmond, their boats being at that time close to each other, “we must catch one of those fellows; he would make a good playmate to Spider. I suspect that old Scrofton will declare that he is embryo lion. I wonder how many thousand years it will take before he will turn into one?”

“Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, young gentlemen!” cried the boatswain, who was in charge of one of the launches with troops, and, being at the time close astern, overheard the question. “In my opinion, howsomedever, it doesn’t take half that time for a spider-tail to turn into a powder-monkey; but I’ll see what my book says about it when we get back to the ship.”

There was, of course, a general laugh among the boats’ crews. Jack did not think it necessary to interfere, though he suspected that had they not been on duty the boatswain would have used the word “midshipman” in lieu of “powder-monkey.”

Every now and then the boats grated against a snag, which reminded them of the danger which they would have to encounter when returning. The rocks and snags could not, as they were then steering, do them much injury, but it would be a very different matter when coming down.

Even the gigs’ crews found it trying work at best. Sometimes it appeared as if it would be impossible to get up the heavier boats unless they could be warped; still by the determination and perseverance of the crews all difficulties were overcome, and after an hour’s rest for dinner, under the shade of the trees, they pulled on again much in the same fashion till near nightfall. They then landed at a deserted clearing, and congratulated themselves at finding a place so well suited for their encampment. As they were getting nearer the territory of the enemy sentries were placed at the edge of the forest, and cautioned to be vigilant to prevent a surprise.

Jack and Terence, who had landed with their fowling-pieces, were fortunate in shooting a capybora, a rodent animal as large as a middling-sized pig. Soon afterwards they knocked over a couple of little peccaries, which furnished a welcome addition to the supper to all hands. The officers and men collected as before round their respective fires; the mosquitoes were somewhat less troublesome, or perhaps the people were more inured to their attacks. It was, however, necessary to sit within the limits of the clouds of smoke to enjoy any comfort.

Songs were sung, stories told, and all hands were apparently enjoying themselves. Mr Wilmot made himself very agreeable, and his companion became a great favourite, from his fund of humour and his frank and unassuming manners.

“Do you really think that this colonel and his men will give us anything to do?” asked Jack of Mr Wilmot.

“The fellows are ferocious enough when they fight among themselves, and brave as such fellows generally are, though, they would not venture to resist us with double our forces if they were on equal terms, but if they thought that they could take us at an advantage, they would probably hold out and afford us some trouble,” answered the consul.

“I some time ago visited the fort of Serapaqui, in which the colonel and his troops are posted, and it is a remarkably strong place, standing on a point of land about fifty feet in height, which projects directly into the river, while behind the fort is a dense forest, which completely defends the rear. In front is an abattis formed of large trees, with their trunks fixed in the ground, and their branches projecting into the river, so that it would be impossible for boats to reach the bank, or for men to land exposed to fire. The defences of the fort consist of six angular stockaded entrenchments, formed of exceedingly hard wood. They are eight feet high, and four feet thick; one side of each stockade looking towards the river, and the other down the reach. The only landing-place is commanded by the principal stockade, and guns have also been placed on it. This landing-place you will understand is above the stockades, and as the current there runs nearly five knots an hour, we shall have to pass the stockades, exposed all the time to the fire from the batteries, before we can descend to the landing-place. The reach, at the head of which the fort is situated, is about a mile and a half long, while the forest comes down on either side, close to the water, and affords an almost impenetrable shelter to a concealed foe. I tell you this that you may know what we have to encounter, but at the same time I am sure that the gallantry of British officers and men will overcome difficulties of far greater magnitude. Why I wished to accompany you was that I might render all the services in my power.”

Captain Hemming thanked the consul for his bold determination, adding, “I trust that we shall not disappoint you, Mr Wilmot, and that you will live to share such laurels as we may gain.”

“I hope so too, captain, but I do not shut my eyes to the dangers which we may have to meet,” was the answer.

“That consul is a brave fellow,” whispered Tom to Archy; “I look upon those as the bravest who know the full extent of the danger they may have to encounter, and with calm determination go into it.”

Mr Wilmot had an awning rigged to his boat, and had brought mattresses and pillows, so that he and his friend made it their sleeping-place. The other boats contained also a few occupants, but the larger number of the party preferred sleeping on shore, where they could stretch their limbs, they having discovered that the mosquitoes annoyed them as much on board the boats as on the banks of the river.

Tom and his companions had noticed a mound of no great height, at a little distance from their camp fire, and they agreed that the ground at its base would afford them a comfortable sleeping-place. As soon, therefore, as the order was given to cease talking and singing, and go to sleep, they carried their coats and blankets to the spot, and rolled themselves up, expecting to pass a quiet night.

As they could not be overheard they talked on for some time, as midshipmen are accustomed to do under similar circumstances, then first one and then the other began to feel drowsy, and lying down forgot all sublunary matters.

Tom had not, however, been long asleep before he dreamed that he was attacked by a host of stag-beetles, assailing every part of his body, and that though he slashed at them with his cutlass they came on in greater numbers than ever, till he felt ready to turn tail and bolt. Suddenly he awoke, and finding that the sensation he had experienced in his dreams were a dreadful reality, began to jump and beat himself furiously. His companions, just then, started up from the same cause, and also began jumping, twisting, turning, and striking their bodies and legs with their hands as if they had gone mad.

“I’ll be eaten up entirely if I don’t get rid of these beasts,” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, jumping and beating himself more violently than before.

Their cries awoke their nearest neighbours, while the sentries rushed forward, expecting to find that a band of Indians had secretly introduced themselves into the camp.

Jack and Terence were really alarmed, believing that the youngsters had been bitten by a snake, or attacked by another puma. Nothing, however, could be found on them till some brands brought from the fire threw a light on the subject, when it was discovered that they had chosen the neighbourhood of a nest of ants, of a species addicted to nocturnal rambles.

When they first lay down the ants were quiet in their abode, and remained so till their usual time for sallying forth in search of prey.

The first objects they had met with were the bodies of the three midshipmen, on whom they would have undoubtedly feasted till they had consumed them to their bones, had not their sharp pincers aroused their victims.

The midshipmen found it no easy job to rid themselves of the fearful little pests, even with the assistance of their friends, and they had literally to strip off their clothes, and capture each creature singly, and throw it into the fire, before they were got rid of.

One of the surgeons, taking compassion on them, produced some ointment, which allayed the irritation from which they were suffering.

They were not the only people whom the ants had attacked, and complaints, piteous and loud, came from all parts of the camp, of the attacks made by the fiery little pests. Many of the men, however, appeared bite proof, and only growled and swore at having their slumbers disturbed.

“We have, however, learnt a lesson, and I vote that in future we look out for ants’ nests, before settling on our camping-ground,” observed Archy Gordon, with his usual gravity, as they once more lay down on the other side of the fire, at a respectful distance from their former resting-place.

“I’d sooner face an electric eel, or a boa-constrictor, than an army of those diabolical little pests,” exclaimed Desmond, who had suffered even more than his companions; “you may tackle them, but I defy any one except perhaps Spider, to defeat their attacks, and he would have to keep his paws pretty active to catch them.”

“I wish that we had him with us,” groaned Tom; “I am still itching and smarting all over, and they are at me again, I am sure of it.”

“A big ant-eater would help us more effectually,” observed Gordon. “He is a curious creature, with a thick bushy tail and a pointed snout, in which he has a long tongue, to enable him to lick up an army of ants and swallow them down at a gulp.”

“I wonder that the ants are such fools as to come out of their castles, then,” remarked Desmond.

“The ant-eater does not wait for them to do that, for he has got powerful claws with which he pulls down their castles, and when they come out to repair the breaches, he sticks out his tongue and captures a whole army at once,” answered Gordon.

“Faith, then, I wish that we could have a few such creatures to inspect our camp in future before we lie down to rest,” said Desmond.

“Silence there, you youngsters,” cried an officer; “if you can’t go to sleep, take a round turn of your tongues.”

The hint was not neglected, and notwithstanding the irritation they were suffering, the midshipmen were very soon snoozing away as soundly as any one.

Every night similar scenes occurred; and during the day, except when stopping for dinner, the boats’ crews pulled on with as much vigour and resolution as at first.

At length, after a pull of not less than seventy-two hours, the boats’ crews had the satisfaction of hearing that they were only two or three miles from the fort in which the Nicaraguan forces were posted.

A somewhat limited space only could be found on the shore for their encampment, so that a greater number than usual took up their quarters in the boats.

As may be supposed, a careful search was made for ants’ nests, rattle-snakes’ holes, and the abodes of any other creatures likely to disturb them. A larger number of sentries than usual were also posted round the camp and directed to keep a vigilant watch, while one of the gigs under charge of Higson, with Needham as coxswain, was sent on some way ahead to keep a lookout for the enemy, should they take it into their heads to descend the stream, and make a night attack on the camp.

A pleasant supper was made on shore, though singing and loud talking were forbidden, lest any stragglers from the fort might hear them and give notice of their approach. The thick forest, however, effectually screened their fires, and the smoke could not be seen at night.

Mr Wilmot spoke hopefully of the work before them. He had little doubt that the Nicaraguan commander would yield immediately he saw the force brought against him, though he probably at present did not believe that such heavy boats as theirs could be forced up the stream. Mr Halliday was more silent than was his wont. Some of his friends inquired what was the matter. “I have felt the heat very great during the day,” he answered; “but I dare say that when our work is accomplished, and we are pulling down the stream, I shall recover my spirits.”

Mr Wilmot had kindly invited the three midshipmen to take up their quarters on board his boat, having fitted up a place amidships for them; here, at all events, they might be free from the ants; and as to the mosquitoes, they were nearly inured to them.

At an earlier hour than usual all hands not on the watch went to sleep, with the exception of those in Mr Wilmot’s boat. He and his friend sat up some time talking together, but what they said neither Tom nor his companions could hear, as they themselves were soon lulled to sleep by the loud rushing of the strong current which swept by the boat.

Tom was suddenly awakened by a loud cry and an exclamation from Mr Wilmot, “Where is Halliday?” and the next instant he exclaimed, “Good heavens! he is overboard! I must save him!” and before he could have had time for thought, he himself plunged into the boiling waters, and swam towards his friend, who was being carried rapidly down by the current. The midshipmen being aroused, Tom, who saw what had happened, was about to plunge into the stream to try and assist the consul, when Gordon, more prudent, held him back, exclaiming, “You will be drowned, my dear fellow, if you do.” Tom had happily thus more time than Mr Wilmot had taken, to reflect on the fearful danger he would run. Their cries awoke Captain Hemming, who, immediately arousing his men, slipped his cable and pulled down the river, in the hope of rescuing his drowning friends.

The whole camp and those in the boats were now awake, and on learning what had happened looked anxiously out for the return of the captain’s gig, the only hope being that he might discover and pick up the two gentlemen before the waters had overwhelmed them.

The time went by, and every one felt that their gallant leader and his crew were running great danger in venturing down the stream at night. Several of the officers indeed expressed their fears that his boat might strike against a snag, or be dashed on the rocks, and all on board lose their lives. Among those on shore several endeavoured to make their way along the bank, but were soon stopped by the impenetrable jungle, and compelled to return. No other boat could venture to slip her moorings. Adair had command of the sternmost one of the squadron. His old shipmate, Ben Snatchblock, who was with him, roused by the shouts of those ahead, as he sprung up caught sight of a person rapidly carried astern of the boat. “I’ll try and save him whoever he is,” he exclaimed; and before Adair could warn him of his danger, he plunged overboard into the boiling water. Though a powerful man and a bold swimmer, he in vain attempted to overtake the person he had seen passing and struggling for life. Whoever it might be it was the same to him. On he went, and just as he fancied that he was about to succeed, the person he had gone to save sank, drawn down by an eddy, which very nearly sucked him also into its vortex. “He’s gone, poor fellow, be’s gone!” his voice was heard exclaiming, though he could not be seen.

Directly afterwards the captain’s gig passed Adair’s boat. She was also soon lost to sight. Adair hailed and told them to look out for Ben; but whether or no they had succeeded in picking up the gallant fellow he could not tell, and with the rest was long left in doubt as to what had happened.

The accident had caused all caution to be forgotten, and Murray and the other officers expected that their cries and shouts must have been heard by any scouts which might have been sent out from the fort. He therefore warned the sentries to be on the alert, and ordered the men to keep their arms ready for immediate action.

The unaccountable and sad accident threw a gloom over the spirits both of officers and men, and but few went again to sleep during the remainder of the night. The next day they would probably be engaged with the enemy, and who could tell whose fate it might be to fall? To pass slowly up against the rapid stream with both its banks affording an almost impenetrable shelter to a concealed foe was likely to cost them many lives, and from the account they had heard of the strong position of the fort they were aware that it would give them severe work to capture. Still it was to be done, and no one doubted that it would be done, whatever might be the sacrifice. The more reflective had their minds fully occupied, and all were in a state of anxiety on account of their captain, and the persons he had risked his own safety to rescue from destruction. Adair, who heard what Ben had cried out, had little hopes that he would succeed, and was afraid also that his old shipmate had lost his life.

At dawn Murray had all hands roused up that they might get ready to start. Should the captain unfortunately have lost his life the command would devolve on him, and he resolved to do his best to secure the success of the expedition.

Chapter Sixteen.

The captain’s return—Boats approach the fort—Assailed on all sides—Hot fire—Passing the fort—Archy wounded—The landing—Fort attacked—Needham hauls down the flag—Enemy put to flight—The pursuit—Fall of Commander Babbicome—Prisoners captured—Fort destroyed—Re-embark—Passage down the river—Sail for Jamaica—Death of Commander Babbicome—Funeral—Murray promoted—Hastens to Saint David’s.

Alick Murray felt the full responsibility of the duty imposed on him, but he knew that he had trustworthy supporters in Jack and Terence, and that full reliance could be placed on the military officers and on the gallant marines and soldiers of the regiment.

As soon as day broke Higson dropped down the stream to rejoin the main body. He had heard the shouts and cries, and fancying that they had been caused by the appearance of another puma or jaguar in the camp, he had not thought it his duty to quit his post. As soon as he arrived, Murray, informing him of what had happened, ordered him to proceed down the river and ascertain, if possible, what had become of the captain and the two unfortunate gentlemen who had been carried away by the current. In the meantime every preparation was made for starting. The soldiers had re-embarked, the expedition was about to proceed, when two boats were seen rounding a point some way down the river. The seamen cheered heartily when they discovered that their captain’s gig was taking the lead: she having at length got near, Terence, who was looking out, with great satisfaction saw that his old shipmate, Ben Snatchblock was on board; as the gig came up alongside he inquired for the consul and his friend.

“They are lost,” answered the captain, “not a trace could we discover of them. They must both, poor fellows, have been drowned before they had been many minutes in the water, and this brave fellow here was nearly lost also in his attempt to save them. I cannot bear to think of their sad fate, while we shall much miss their assistance. We have, however, an unexpected addition to our force. I had gone some way down when I saw a fire on the shore, and putting in, found Commander Babbicome and his boat’s crew encamped, he having recovered sufficiently to enable him to come up and join us.”

“How was Snatchblock saved?” asked Terence.

“By catching hold of a big tree which rose out of the water when I was pretty nigh done for,” answered Ben. “Thanks also to Commander Babbicome and his boat’s crew, who hearing my shouts came and took me off.”

The corvette’s gig, with her perspiring commander (as Terence called him), soon afterwards came up. He was full of fight and valour, and burning with eagerness, as he said, to have a brush with the enemy. He looked but little able to undergo any exertion, and Captain Hemming, who thought him unfit for the work, regretted that he had joined the expedition, though he complimented him on his zeal and determination.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of being left behind, and though I knew that I should be reduced to a pancake, and bitten into one mass of blisters, I determined to follow you,” he answered, “but it has been trying work, I can assure you. I have lost three stone already, so Dick Spurling, my coxswain, who is a good judge of weight, declares, and I have made him hoist me up on his back every morning to try. And then those abominably greedy mosquitoes! I should have thought after feasting on the hides of two hundred fellows or more, they might have had the conscience to let me alone, the gluttons! I had to tell the men off into watches to wave branches over me at night, or there wouldn’t have been an ounce of blood left in the morning, even if they hadn’t carried me off bodily, and really, considering the size of their wings and the strength of their proboscises, I thought that more than probable. Now after all I have gone through, I only hope that the enemy will hold out and give us something to do.”

As Captain Hemming was unwilling to displace Murray, he directed the sorely-tried commander to take charge of the heavier boats, while he and the lieutenant proceeded on ahead with the lighter ones, to endeavour, before commencing hostilities, to try and settle matters by pacific measures. The order was now given to move ahead.

“Faith, it’s easy enough to say that same,” exclaimed Adair, “but it’s much harder to do it. However, give way, my lads; we shall see the noses of the Dons before long, if they stop to show them, and if not, we shall chance to get sight of their coat-tails.”

A hearty laugh from his boat’s crew, as they bent lustily to their oars, followed this sally.

As the crews of the heavier boats laboured with all their strength they made good way, and for some time kept the two light gigs in sight. They now entered a reach of a mile and a half in length, at the head of which, according to the consul’s description, the fort would be found.

The captain and Murray pulled on for some distance, though the mist which still hung over the river hid them from sight of the fort. Not a breath of air stirred the leaves of the forest; the monkeys, as before, chattered among the branches, and bright-coloured macaws flew screaming overhead. At length, far in the distance, on the summit of a bold point projecting into the river, the stockade they might have to attack came into sight.

The rays of the rising sun shining on the fort brought it into bold relief against the dark woods, and above the deep shadows cast across the stream.

No flag waved over it, and no sign of life appeared, not a canoe floated on the water, no sound was heard. Captain Hemming thought that had he not wished first to try pacific measures, he might have managed to surprise its garrison without resistance, but, like many another gallant man, he had no wish to fight if it could be avoided, and he only hoped to induce the Nicaraguans to yield without being compelled to resort to force.

The gigs proceeded but slowly as the current here ran even faster than in any part of the river. Still no notice was taken of the boats, and Murray, who shared his captain’s sentiments, had begun really to think that the matter would be settled without bloodshed, when two wreaths of smoke issued from the stockades, and a couple of shots whistled near them. At the same moment up went the flag of the Nicaraguan republic, and the next instant volleys of musketry came rattling by them from either side of the river.

“Colonel Salas evidently does not intend to receive us as friends,” observed Captain Hemming. “Order up the other boats, Murray, the sooner we give him and his followers the lesson they require the better. We will at once make a dash at the fort; it will not do to stop here and be shot down like dogs.”

As Dick Needham saw the flag run up he exclaimed—

“We’ll have that bit of bunting down before long, lads, and it won’t be my fault if I don’t get hold of the halliards.”

The crews cheered and pulled on with renewed vigour. Their strength, however, was taxed to the utmost, for the banks of the river closing in at this point, the water rushed down like a mill-stream, and at times the boats remained almost stationary. It was no easy task to urge even the light boats ahead. Though showers of shot came rattling about them from numerous concealed foes on either side, it would have been useless to return their fire, for not an enemy showed himself.

The marines and soldiers, however, got their muskets ready to pick off any more adventurous foes who might for an instant appear among the trees, but the enemy were too well accustomed to this sort of warfare to expose themselves, and kept well under cover. It was trying in the extreme, but their gallant leader had resolved not to be defeated in his object, and all hands willingly followed him. He and Murray took the lead in their respective gigs. Jack Rogers, with his brother Tom in the pinnace, which carried the lieutenant of the marines and a party of his men, were close astern. The frigate’s and corvette’s barges, with a detachment of the regiment and their captain, were not far off; the other boats were making the best of their way, but found it impossible to keep up with the lighter-built ones. Considering the showers of bullets which kept whizzing by them, it seemed wonderful that as yet no one had been wounded. They were not allowed, however, to proceed much farther with impunity. The boats had been repeatedly hit, and some of the oars had almost been cut in two. As the headmost boats neared the fort the fire became hotter.

The bowman of the pinnace was seen to relax his efforts, but still he pulled on, a red stream issuing from his breast showed that he had been hit; presently the oar slipped from his hands, and he sank down into the bottom of the boat. A marine immediately took his place. Directly afterwards another man was hit. Not a groan escaped him. Grasping his oar he attempted to make another stroke, but his eyes gazed wildly, blood issued from his mouth, the oar escaped from his hands, and he fell back on the thwart a lifeless corpse. Another man sprang to his place and with little ceremony, shoving the body aside, pulled lustily away. The crews of the other boats were treated in the same manner. Nothing daunted, other men took the places of those who were wounded; the gigs offering a smaller mark were less frequently hit, but the white splinters which flew from their gunwales and oars showed that the bullets of the enemy had found them out; one of the captain’s crew was hit, and directly afterwards Murray had another man hurt. It was a severe trial for the courage and patience of all, for eager as they were to get at the foe, they could do nothing but sit still and be fired at.

Short as the distance was, an hour passed by before they reached the fort. At length the leading gigs got up to it. As they did so the river appeared to decrease in width, while the stream, consequently, ran still faster, and the fire became even hotter than before. The gigs and pinnace, which kept well up with them, had now got close to the fort, the stockades rising on the projecting point, high above their heads. The marines, in the last-mentioned boat, took aim at any of the enemy who were seen for a moment on the fortifications, while the soldiers in the other boats did their best to clear the banks of their persevering foes. Still, however, they were exposed to a galling fire from all directions; from foes on the starboard hand, and other concealed enemies on the bows and quarter. Several more men were hit, but as long as they could pull a stroke they refused to quit their oars. The boats were almost riddled with shot; the gigs were struck several times between wind and water, the holes being filled up with handkerchiefs, or whatever first came to hand. Archy Gordon was employed in stopping one with his handkerchief, when Murray, to his dismay, saw him fall forward; steering with one hand he lifted the lad up with the other.

“Don’t mind me,” said Archy, in a faint voice, looking very pale; “a sharp blow made me topple over, but I don’t think that I am much hurt.”

“I trust not, my boy; but we will get a doctor to look to you as soon as possible,” answered Murray, placing him into the stern sheets by his side, so as to cover him as much as possible. Again and again the boats were hit, and half the oars were cut through. Some breaking off, others were immediately got out to supply their places.

The boats all this time were slowly working their way along against the stream. This was the most trying part of the whole voyage. Upwards of an hour they had been under fire, and for nearly forty minutes more they were passing the stockades exposed to it. At length the extreme point was neared; this they had to round, and then to pull some distance up the river, so as to be able to descend rapidly to the landing-place, which was on the other side of the point. The crews renewed their efforts, and the remainder of the flotilla now appeared, coming slowly up. As the leading gig at length rounded the point, her crew uttered a cheer; and as the river became wider, and the current ran with less force, they were able to make better way, and soon getting beyond the fire of the fort, they were exposed only occasionally to a shot from some of the more persevering of the enemy who had made their way along the banks.

Murray was thankful when he could at length examine poor Archy’s wound. The lad had fainted from loss of blood; the bullet, it appeared, had lodged in his side. McTavish, the assistant-surgeon, was fortunately in the pinnace, and when she came up he took the midshipman under his charge, as well as several other poor fellows severely wounded. Tom held him in his arms while the doctor probed his wound, and at length succeeded in extracting the bullet.

“He’ll not die, I hope,” said Tom, feeling very sick and sad.

“Not this time, I trust. He has a good constitution, and that’s everything in his favour,” answered McTavish.

There was no time, however, for sorrow or sentiment.

Most of the boats had now got up, and Captain Hemming not waiting for the rearmost ones, which he calculated would arrive in time to land the men after the first part had gained a footing on the banks, gave the order to attack.

With true British cheers the crews gave way, and the stream now being in their favour, the boats, still exposed to a warm fire, rapidly approached the landing-place.

In front of them was the principal stockade, guarding the landing-place, a gun on which opened fire. As the boats kept in line it did no damage, for missing one it missed all. Pulling quickly on, the leading boats of the flotilla soon reached the landing-place, when the captain, with Jack and Terence, were the first to leap on shore. Tom and Gerald, with Needham, came close behind them. The marines, led by their tall commander, followed, and formed quickly up. The bluejackets and soldiers immediately afterwards landed, and the captain, with his companions, again giving forth hearty cheers, rushed towards the stockade in which the gun was posted. The Nicaraguans, dark, stalwart fellows, stood their ground bravely, till they saw the cutlasses of the seamen waving about their heads, and the bayonets of the soldiers pointed at their breasts, when a well-directed volley of musketry laid many low, and as the seamen climbed over the stockade, the survivors abandoning their gun, fled for shelter within the fort. Here, rallied by their officers, they made another stand, but the English sailors, rushing forward, were soon climbing over the defences in spite of the showers of bullets which were flying past them.

The bluejackets and redcoats vied with each other as to who should be first over, and as they sprang down into the fort, the former began slashing and hewing away with their cutlasses, while the latter, forming as they got over, brought their weapons to the charge, and dashed forward against the main body of the enemy, who stood their ground.

Needham had not forgotten his resolve to haul down the Nicaraguan flag. Accompanied by the midshipmen and several men, having seen that it was flying at the further angle of the fort, he made a dash towards it. A dozen or twenty of the enemy, led by an officer, seeing him coming, and guessing his object, threw themselves in his way to cut him off. With a cheer, he and his companions dashed forward to the attack. The enemy withstood them for a few seconds, but a small party of marines made so vigorous a charge that they took to flight. Others of the garrison had, however, rallied in the neighbourhood of the flagstaff.

Still the dauntless seamen dashed on, and so well used their cutlasses that they forced their way through them, and Dick, with a loud shout, sprang up to the flagstaff. In another moment he had the halliards in his hand, and down came the Nicaraguan colours. Having tucked them under his arm, he again, with cutlass in hand, made a rush at the enemy. The fight, in the meantime, had been raging in all parts of the fort. Its issue was never for a moment doubtful, though the enemy, mustering nearly 200 strong, showed a bold front; but they could not withstand the charge now made by the gallant soldiers and bluejackets. Turning tail, off they scampered as fast as their legs could carry them, through the outlets in the rear of the fort.

“On lads! on!” was the cry, and after them dashed the whole body of their assailants uttering a ringing cheer which tended to increase the rapidity of their flight. Jack and Terence, and the other officers led the sailors. Captain Babbicome, though undoubtedly not as active as the rest, had managed to scramble into the fort, and now puffing and blowing was well in advance.

As soon as they gained the shelter of the wood, many of the fugitives turned and fired, but again fled as their pursuers came up with them. Tom and Gerald having assisted to capture the flag were somewhat behind the rest. As they ran on they saw the obese, though gallant, commander just before them, flourishing his sword and shouting, “On, lads, on! Tally ho! tally ho! We’ll have their brushes before long. Make mincemeat of the rascals! Tally ho, boys tally ho!”

His voice grew hoarser and hoarser. Some of the fugitives stopped, turned round, and fired. Suddenly, down he went on his face, his sword flying out of his hand.

“There’s old Babbicome knocked over,” cried Tom and Gerald in the same breath.

Though they would have preferred seeing the end of the “fun,” as they called it, they felt that it was their duty to stop and assist him. Having summoned some of the men near them to their aid, they lifted him up, but no wound could they discover.

“I’m done for,” he groaned out.

“Where are you hit, sir?” asked Tom.

“Nowhere that I know of, but I’m shaken to death. Running doesn’t suit my constitution. Carry me back to my boat.”

His groans and sighs showed that he was much hurt. His own men coming up obeyed his orders, and Tom and his companions continued the pursuit.

A Nicaraguan officer and several men had already been taken prisoners and sent down to the landing-place. Every now and then the pursuers caught sight of the enemy among the trees, who, as soon as they saw them coming, again darted off, easily finding concealment in the dense forest.

“I wish that Archy was here,” cried Gerald, “he would have enjoyed the fun.”

Needham, with several other sailors, were with the midshipmen. Just then they caught sight of a person trying to conceal himself behind a tree. By his uniform they knew that he was an officer.

“We must have that fellow,” cried Tom, dashing forward.

The officer, who had a sword in his hand, made a cut at Tom, which he parried with his cutlass. The Nicaraguan then seeing several of his enemies approaching, cried out for “quarter,” and presented the hilt of his sword.

“Come along,” cried Tom, highly delighted, “you’re my prisoner; no one shall hurt you now;” and he and Gerald, who was close at hand, grasping him by the arm, shouted to Needham and the rest to come and take charge of him.

Just at that moment the bugle echoing through the forest, sounded the “recall.” The summons was heard by the fugitives with more satisfaction probably than by the pursuers. The latter obeyed it, and bluejackets, marines, and soldiers began to assemble from all directions in which the flying enemy had led them.

Few prisoners only besides the officers had been taken, for the thickness of the forest favoured the flight of the Nicaraguans. Here and there the dead body of one of them was seen, shot in the pursuit, or who had fallen down after being wounded in the fort.

The midshipmen were excessively proud of their capture, and Needham not the less so at having the Nicaraguan flag to show as a trophy. At length the greater number of the pursuers returned to the fort. The remaining stragglers, who had been led by their ardour farther than the rest, came in soon afterwards, and the whole being mustered, it was found that not a man had been killed on shore and five only wounded.

Tom and Gerald now came up to the captain with their prisoner, and received due commendation for their zeal. Needham followed with the flag, which he had kept fast under his arm, and which he now produced in due form; the captain having heard the particulars, did not fail to promise that he should receive a reward for his bravery.

He then addressed the men, and expressed his satisfaction at the gallantry and good discipline they had displayed. “We have still some work to do, my lads, however, and the more quickly we set about it the sooner we shall get out of this broiling spot, and have our wounded men properly cared for on board ship,” he said. “We have to make the place untenable for some time to come by the rascals you have so soundly thrashed.”

All hands then set to work to spike the guns, to break the trunnions, and to gather together all the muskets and ammunition which the fugitives had left behind them. With many a cheer the sailors, who enjoyed the fun, then rolled the guns down the steep bank into the river. While one party was thus engaged, the other was employed in pulling up the posts of the stockades, and piling them in great heaps, with the muskets on the top. The heaps were then set on fire, and the place which a few hours before presented so formidable an appearance, was utterly destroyed.

The order was now given to embark. Murray had been directed by the captain to go over the ground and ascertain the number of the killed. Twenty dead bodies were found; several more having been seen in the forest, it was computed that twice that number had been wounded; the larger proportion of these had, however, been assisted off by their companions. Some of the prisoners proved to be boatmen, pressed into the service. Twelve of these were taken to act as pilots, a hint being given them that should they attempt to play tricks they would be forthwith shot.

The two officers looked very crestfallen. Jack had one of them in his boat, and Terence took charge of the other. They were not very attractive gentlemen, and did little else than bemoan their hard fate and smoke their cigarettes, which they assiduously employed themselves in rolling up. Jack’s prisoner, for most of the time, gave vent to his ill-humour by abusing the commandant who had been the cause of their misfortune. Jack knew but little of Spanish, but still he was able to make out what was said.

“What regular daredevils you English are, nothing can stop you,” cried the officer.

“You are right, my friend; trifles don’t hinder us when we have an object in view; and as we were going up with purely pacific intentions, merely to inquire why your colonel had carried off two of our countrymen, it was not pleasant to find ourselves fired at by you and your people, though you might have thought it good fun. We have made you pay pretty dearly, however, old fellow, for your amusement.”

“Yes, you have indeed,” replied the Don; “but you have not recovered the men you came to search for.”

“No; but still you are not likely to regain your liberty till you find them for us.”

“Then we shall be prisoners for ever,” sighed the Don.

“Why, what have become of the men?” asked Jack.

“They are ‘gastados,’ ‘expended,’” answered the Don.

“What would you say if we were to expend you and your brother officer, by running you up to the yardarm of one of our ships?” asked Jack.

The remark made the Don shake in his shoes.

The expedition remained for the night at the spot from which they had started in the morning. The wounded were as well cared for as circumstances would allow. Great anxiety was felt by all hands for Archy Gordon, the surgeon being unable to give a satisfactory report of his state. His two friends begged leave to assist in attending on him; he was frequently insensible, and when he returned to consciousness the groans which he uttered showed how severely he was suffering. The next morning the expedition got under way and, piloted by the boatmen, rapidly proceeded down the stream, performing the distance in a few hours which had taken them so many days of hard toil to accomplish in their ascent. Several men were also on the sick list from fatigue and exposure to the hot sun by day and the damps of night. None of the officers had suffered much except Commander Babbicome, who had remained unconscious from the time he had been carried on board his gig. The surgeon announced his case to be one of sunstroke; Captain Hemming, therefore, sent him down in his gig ahead that he might sooner obtain the assistance of his own doctor.

Archy Gordon was at once taken on board the frigate, that he might be under the care of the surgeon, who expressed great anxiety about him. Tom and Needham were his constant attendants; Tom, indeed, watched over him, when off duty, with the affection of a brother.

“Never fear, Rogers,” said the surgeon, observing how unhappy Tom looked, “Gordon will pull through if he keeps quiet, and is watched over with the care which you show him.”

Tom was somewhat consoled on hearing this; he sent off a despatch to Gerald, by the first opportunity, with a bulletin of their friend’s state.

The report from the corvette was not so favourable. The surgeon expressed his fears that the commander would not reach Jamaica alive.

For the sake of his wounded men Captain Hemming was anxious to return as soon as possible to Jamaica. Murray was walking the deck of the Supplejack, when a boat from the frigate came alongside, and Lieutenant Rogers stepped on board.

“Good news, Alick!” he exclaimed. “We are to get under weigh immediately the wind will allow us, and proceed at once to Jamaica, where the captain is anxious to land the sick and wounded. I knew you would be glad to hear this; you will receive, I hope on arrival, a due reward for your gallant deeds, for every one says that you are sure to be promoted.”

“I shall certainly prize that for many reasons,” answered Murray, “and thanks to you for cheering me up. Our energies have been taxed pretty severely for the last few days, and I feel more out of spirits than usual. What account do you bring me of poor Archy?”

“The doctor is more hopeful about him than at first. Young Highlander as he is, he thinks that there is every prospect of his getting round again in time by careful nursing, and I dare say your friends at Saint David’s will be happy to take charge of him when we get to Jamaica. He will afford an object of interest to Miss O’Regan, and draw her off from the thoughts of her own loss.”

“I trust that such may be the case,” said Murray. “But, my dear Jack, I have been oppressed with all sorts of evil forebodings about her. I cannot help dreading that she has been attacked by fever, or that she has met with some accident, or that—”

“Nonsense, Alick, that’s not like you,” interrupted Jack. “You say that your energies have been severely taxed: that alone is the cause of your forebodings of evil. After we have been at sea a day or two you will laugh at them. Good-bye, I must be off.”

Jack pulled on for the corvette, and delivered the welcome order to prepare for sea. The surgeon gave him a bad account of the commander. His mind was wandering, and he was every day becoming weaker. He was continually talking of his beloved beeves and his pigs, his orchard and his cabbage-garden, and sometimes he fancied that he was bestriding his trusty cob, setting off to market, and he would shout out to his old housekeeper, Martha, to have his dinner ready at his return.

“Poor fellow, he would have been wiser had he continued cultivating his little farm in Bedfordshire, instead of tempting again the treacherous deep,” thought Jack. “However, probably Alick will get the vacancy, so it’s all right.”

A short time afterwards a light breeze came off the land. The sails were let fall, and, the frigate leading the way, the small squadron shaped a course for Jamaica.

The Supplejack proved herself to be a fast craft, being well able to keep up with the frigate and corvette, so Murray considered that he could report favourably of her to the admiral.

When within about a day’s sail of Jamaica the corvette, which had separated during the night from her consort, was again seen approaching, with her flag halfmast high. The flags of the other two ships were lowered in compliment, and inquiries by signal were made as to when the melancholy event had occurred. The reply was, on the previous evening, and that the commander’s last request had been that he might be buried on shore.

The next day the squadron came to an anchor in Port Royal harbour.

Eager as Captain Hemming knew that Murray would be to proceed to Kingston, his first duty was to attend to the funeral of the late commander of the corvette, which could not be delayed.

The boats of the squadron being manned, followed the Tudor’s barge, which contained the coffin. On landing it was borne by a party of seamen to the burying ground of Port Royal, where the garrison chaplain performed the service, and the marines having fired a volley over the grave, the party returned on board.

The ceremony being over, the flags were hoisted up, and it must be confessed that very little more was thought of or said about poor Commander Babbicome and his eccentricities. Captain Hemming and Murray then proceeded up to Kingston, where they were received with warm congratulations and highly complimented by the admiral.

“I have already sent your despatch home,” he said, turning to Alick, “and I have secured your promotion, I hope. In the meantime I intend to give you an acting order to take command of the corvette, and I shall be glad, Captain Hemming, to appoint any officer you can recommend to the Supplejack.” The captain at once named Lieutenant Rogers. “I should have been glad to have suggested my first lieutenant, Mr Cherry, but I am unwilling to spare him, and I believe that he would rather continue as at present on board the frigate.”

On hearing that his young cousin was wounded, the admiral at once desired Murray to have him brought up to the Pen, if the doctor thought he could be moved, “and you, I suspect, will not object to a day or two’s leave to enjoy a trip into the country,” he added; “I shall be happy to see you on your return.”

Alick thanked the admiral, who advised him to set out forthwith, while he invited Captain Hemming to dinner. The boats were sent back, with directions that the wounded midshipman should be brought to the Pen the next day; and Murray, taking the admiral’s advice, set off for Saint David’s, hoping to arrive there before nightfall.

Chapter Seventeen.

Jack Rogers in command of the Supplejack—Alick’s letter to Jack—The Caymans—Shoal of turtle—Dolphins—Chases a slaver—Havannah—Scenes on shore—Slavers in harbour—Polite invitation from a slave-dealer—Jack accepts it—The Venus slips out of harbour.

Sometime after the events related in the last chapter, Jack Rogers walked the deck of the Supplejack as her commander, he having superseded Murray, who had been promoted, as every one acknowledged—a just reward for his gallantry at Carthagena.

Higson had been made a lieutenant, and appointed to the Tudor, while Terence Adair had rejoined the Plantagenet. The commander who had been appointed to the corvette in the place of poor Captain Babbicome had fallen sick, and as there was every probability of his having to return to England, Jack had hopes that the admiral would appoint Murray to the command.

“If I hadn’t the Supplejack I should have been delighted to serve under him,” said Jack to Adair, who had come on board to see him.

“I have no idea of a fellow being jealous of another’s good fortune, for no one deserved his more than Alick Murray. I only wish that I may get the chance of doing something in the Supplejack; I won’t throw it away if I can help it.”

“You will have more opportunity than I shall have aboard the frigate,” answered Terence; “and I only wish that I could be with you or Murray, if he gets the command of the Tudor.”

“I’m sure, at all events, to fall in with a slaver or two, or perhaps have some such work as that of Saint Juan cut out for me,” said Jack. “I am now, I believe, to be ordered to Havannah, so Johnny Ferong assured me yesterday, and as he is certain to be well informed, I expect every hour to receive my despatches from the admiral.”

While Jack was speaking, a boat was seen coming down the harbour, and in a short time he received from the officer who came in her an order to proceed at once to Havannah, and on his way to keep a sharp lookout for slavers, of which it was known there were a good many on the coast. He at the same time got a letter from Murray, who had been residing with his friends at Saint David’s since he gave up the command of the Supplejack. We may take a glance at its contents, which thus ran:—

“Dear Jack,—Since I cannot tear myself away from this Eden, though had I a pair of wings I would do so for a brief space, to see how you are getting on on board the little brig, I must beg you to be content with the few lines I have the time to write, before our sable ‘Mercury’ starts for Kingston. I am, as you may suspect, supremely happy. Stella has recovered her spirits, and every day becomes more attractive. It is beautiful to see her watch over my young kinsman Archy, who is slowly recovering from his dangerous wound. The doctor says that had it not been for her watchful care he would have succumbed to the fever, which attacked him after his arrival here.

“You ask me when our marriage is to take place. Stella will not hear of it; her father’s death is too recent; and she will not tempt me away from my duty, for she thinks that if I became a married man I shall wish to remain on shore; and I cannot help acknowledging that, in that respect, she is right. She wants me, at all events, to serve as a commander till I obtain a post-rank; and her kind friends here offer her a home till she has one of her own.

“I long for the time, however, when I may take her to Scotland as my bride and present her to my family. In truth, though I have often fancied that nothing would make me wish to leave the navy, I have begun to meditate doing so rather than be separated from her. Perhaps, however, I may be able to persuade her to yield to my wishes, and as the Tudor will probably remain on the station, I shall constantly be returning to port and be able to enjoy her society.

“I am sure, you say, to get command of the corvette, provided Grafton goes home; and the doctors say that there is no chance of his recovering out here.

“Stella desires to be kindly remembered to you, as do all your friends at Saint David’s. You have won their hearts, I assure you, and they will be happy to see you whenever you return to Jamaica.

“They press me to remain here till I am ordered to join the ship; and as you may suppose, I am perfectly happy to accept their hospitality.

“My cousin Archy desires to be remembered to those young reefers, your brother Tom and Desmond. I hope some day to be among them and assist in keeping them out of mischief. Give my kind regards to Terence, and believe me,

“Your very affectionate friend,

“Alexander Murray.”

Jack had no time to answer this letter, as, the breeze proving favourable, he was obliged to put to sea according to his instructions. During his run westward he kept a bright lookout for slavers in all directions. It was just daylight; a mist lay on the surface of the ocean, which completely shut out any object at a distance; while a light breeze from the South-east filled the brig’s sails and impelled her at the rate of two or three knots an hour through the water. Harry Bevan, who had joined from the frigate, was officer of the watch. The men, with trowsers tucked up and buckets in hand, were about to commence the operation of washing decks.

“I say,” exclaimed Tom, who had been sent forward on some duty, “I never believed in the great sea serpent, but, as sure as I’m alive, that must be the fellow right ahead, wriggling along at a tremendous rate! If you listen you’ll hear the noise he’s making!”

“Broken water ahead!” shouted the lookout forward.

“That I’m sure it cannot be!” said Bevan.

He, however, as a precaution, brought the brig to the wind, and directed Tom to call the commander. Jack was quickly on deck.

“Keep her away again!” he exclaimed, after he had examined the object which had so astonished Tom. “That is neither the head nor tail of the big sea serpent, but a shoal of turtles, which having come from the Bay of Honduras, are bound for the Cayman Islands, where they are going to lay their eggs?” he said, laughing heartily at Tom’s notion.

The brig was soon in the midst of them, their columns dividing to get out of her way. It was wonderful the noise they made, as their fins rapidly struck the water in their onward course. Soon afterwards the mist lifted, and the lofty trees which grew on the great Cayman could be seen rising out of the water some fifteen miles off, appearing like a grove of masts emerging from the ocean. Directly afterwards the mist, which still hung in the west, was swept away, exposing to view the sails of a square topsail schooner shining in the rays of the sun with snowy whiteness. Jack immediately ordered the brig to be kept away, and made all sail in chase. The schooner held her course for some time, but at length discovering that the brig had kept away, set also every stitch of canvas she could carry. This at once betrayed her character, for had she been an honest trader, she would have had no reason to run from an English brig.

The crew felt as eager to overtake her as did the commander. It was the first of this sort of work they had had, and they indulged with immense satisfaction in the idea of carrying back a prize full of slaves to Port Royal.

Long Tom was got ready for action, as it was not likely that the slaver, if such she was, would yield without making every effort to escape. The chase showed that she had a remarkably nimble pair of heels, for fast as the Supplejack was, after a couple of hours had passed by, she appeared to have gained little or nothing on her.

“Do you think we shall take her?” asked Tom of Needham, who had been appointed as gunner of the Supplejack.

“If the wind freshens, and we have the first of it before it reaches her, we may get her within range of Long Tom, and it then won’t be my fault if we don’t bring down some of her spars; but if night comes on before our shot can reach her, she may manage to slip out of our hands in the dark.”

“But we have most of the day before us, and we surely shall get up with her before then,” observed Tom.

“You see, we have run on already two hours, and are no nearer than at first,” said Needham. “If we were to chase her round the world, and she was to sail twelve knots to our ten, she would soon be out of sight, so I don’t feel very certain that we shall have her ladyship; but if we miss her this time we may fall in with her another.”

At the time the men were piped to dinner, the Supplejack had not gained more than at first on the chase. Still Jack persevered, trusting that something might happen to favour him.

The men in their eagerness to watch the chase hurried up on deck, and the officers remained below as short a time as possible. Every expedient that could be thought of was adopted to increase the speed of the brig. Every variation of the breeze was carefully watched by Jack’s vigilant eyes. Now he ordered a pull at the starboard, now at the larboard braces, while every inch of canvas that could be set was kept thoroughly wetted so that not a thimbleful of the precious wind could escape till it had done its duty.

The day wore on; it was tantalising in the extreme to see the stranger still keeping so far ahead. The breeze, however, at length freshened, and the stronger it blew the faster the brig sailed. She was evidently nearing the chase, but the sun, casting a ruddy glow over the western sky and across the laughing sea, was sinking rapidly towards the horizon, turning the sails of the schooner, which had hitherto appeared of snowy whiteness, into deep shadow. “Long Tom will reach her now, I’ve a hope, sir,” said Needham, “and if we can knock away some of her flying kites, she may be ours before the day is over.”

“Try, at all events,” answered Jack, and Needham, giving a friendly slap on the breech of the gun, while he cast his eye along the sight, brought it to a proper elevation, and the brig yawing slightly, he pulled the trigger. The shot flew straight for the chase, but as Jack watched its course, he saw that it fell into the water short of the mark.

“It was not far off, though, sir,” said Needham, “and if we hold on at the rate we are going, we shall soon have her within range.”

The gun was again loaded, and after another few minutes Jack ordered it once more to be fired, but with no better success than at first, and, as he saw, it would be useless to fire till he had gained still more on the chase.

The lower limb of the sun had now, however, reached the horizon, below which the glowing orb rapidly sank, and the shades of night came creeping over the ocean.

Still the shadowy outline of the schooner, like a dark phantom stalking over the deep, could be discerned ahead. A vigilant lookout was kept, but hour after hour went by and the brig appeared to have got no nearer to her than at first. Jack and most of his officers remained on deck. Towards morning the distance seemed somewhat lessened. He had his eyes on the chase, and could not help hoping that by daylight they might be near enough to try what Long Tom could do, when the sails of the schooner began to grow less and less distinct. He had a moment before seen her; he rubbed his eyes; she had disappeared! It was very provoking, still he could but hope that in the morning they would again get sight of her. Ordering the same course to be kept, he at length turned in, desiring to be immediately called should she be again seen.

When morning broke, a mist, similar to that which had risen the previous day, obscured all distant objects. A lookout was sent aloft, but he could see nothing; and when the sun rose in the sky, and the mist dispersed, the chase was nowhere visible.

“Better luck next time,” observed Jack, when he came on deck, and he ordered the brig to be kept on her proper course for Saint Antonio, the westernmost point of Cuba. Several vessels were sighted during the day, but they were too far off to make it worth while, Jack considered, to go out of his course to speak them.

The midshipmen employed themselves in a variety of ways. Tom had, of course, brought Spider, who assisted them to idle away many a spare hour.

Tom and Desmond one day amused themselves by making a target of a piece of canvas. It was painted in circles of different colours, with a yellow bull’s-eye in the usual fashion. This was suspended by a line at the end of a spar, rigged from the fore yardarm, on about a level with the bulwarks, and well answered the purpose intended. With half-a-dozen ship’s pistols they began blazing away, sometimes hitting the mark, though as often, it must be confessed, missing it. Tom proved himself decidedly the best shot. Desmond declared that his pistol somehow or other shot crooked whenever he failed to hit the target. They thus passed away many an hour in calm weather, and Jack considered that the powder was well expended, as it taught them how to handle their weapons.

McTavish and the purser in the meantime got out lines and hooks baited simply with pieces of canvas, the former wishing to obtain some dolphins for examination, which had been seen darting through the water on either side of the brig.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed McTavish, “I have got hold of a big fellow at last. Lend a hand to haul him in, Norris.” In another minute a good-sized fish was hauled on deck.

“Do you call that a dolphin?” said Tom. “I thought a dolphin was a fellow with a big head and large fins, of all the colours of the rainbow.”

“It is undoubtedly a dolphin,” answered McTavish. “If you haul it out of the shade of the bulwarks, you will see that it is of cerulean hue. There, it won’t retain that colour long; it’s changing already. Now it is purple, and before long, as its life ebbs, it will become black. But hurrah! I have another bite.”

Three other dolphins were hauled up in quick succession, and taken forward to be anatomised by the surgeon.

Several spectators watched the operation. “Hallo!” cried McTavish, as he cut open one of the fish. “This fellow has swallowed something very hard;” and to the astonishment of all, he pulled out two bullets. In another were found three, and inside a third a similar number. There could be no doubt that they had swallowed the bullets which fell into the water from the midshipmen’s pistols. The fact proved the rapidity with which dolphins are capable of swimming, as it could not be supposed that they had all been close to the spot where the bullets fell, nor could they have seen them till they reached the surface. As, however, many of the bullets had ricocheted for a considerable distance, the fish had probably caught sight of them as they first struck the water, and darting after them, caught them as they began to sink.

The brig continued her course, and having rounded Cape Saint Antonio sailed eastward for Havannah; keeping, however, at a respectful distance from the numerous low sandy islands, or keys as they are called, which lie off the northern shore of the island, and have brought many a tall ship to destruction. At length the irregular outline of the hills above the magnificent harbour of Havannah appeared in sight.

A fair and fresh breeze filled the sails of the brig, and carried her rapidly towards the mouth of the harbour. Presently a lateen-rigged craft, a pilot vessel, came sweeping out from behind the high, threatening rocks, on the summit of which the massive fortifications guarding the entrance of the port were now discernible.

The pilot vessel was soon close on board, but Jack waved her off, being very well able he considered to take in his small brig without assistance. The brig was now running through a channel between three or four hundred yards broad, and half a mile in length, which leads into the magnificent landlocked harbour.

High on the starboard side rose the massive fortress of El Moro and on the port, that of La Ponta extending from either side of which could be seen the encircling line of fortifications which protect the city and harbour.

The brig, passing through the narrow entrance, the whole panorama of the magnificent landlocked bay with its fleet of vessels, some at anchor, others moored with their heads to the quay, its numberless boats with lateen sails and hulls painted, some of a bright blue, others of a scarlet hue, and others again striped with green and white, darting about in all directions; its great square stone warehouses fronting the water; its many mansions, the residences of nobles and merchants; its beautiful-looking villas, and groves of palm-trees; the high-peaked roofs of its convents, and tall grey towers of its churches rising above the whole, now appeared in full view. The brig appeared in a complete lake, the fort of La Ponta high above, near which she had passed, completely shutting out the entrance of the harbour. On the shores around were seen numberless hamlets of every hue, the rich foliage of the tropical trees and shrubs, giving a cheerful aspect to the surrounding barren slopes, as did the bright green jalousies of most of the residences, and the flowering trees which rose among them, to the city. In every open space visible were seen slaves hurrying here and there with heavy loads, seamen of all nations strolling along intermixed with the far-famed volantes, brilliant with burnished metal, rolling in and out of gateways, the steed which drew it, bestrode by a postillion, six or eight feet from the body of the vehicle.

The brig was quickly surrounded by boats bringing off vegetables, fruit, and fish, some of them containing those persevering personages ever present in foreign ports, washerwomen and washermen, their laudable object being to solicit the honour of cleansing the dirty linen of the officers and crew.

Jack hoped to find some amusement on shore. Before, however, ordering his gig to be got ready, he was engaged for some time, not in examining the beauties of the harbour, but in casting searching glances around to discover such rakish, wicked-looking craft as were likely to be engaged in the slave-trade. He marked several of suspicious appearance.

“We must have some of these fellows, Bevan,” he observed, “keep a bright lookout on their movements; if we are off watch they will take the opportunity, depend on it, to slip out of the harbour; I have no doubt that the fellows cursed us in their hearts when they saw the little brig enter the harbour.”

Among the commercial cities of the western hemisphere, Havannah ranks next to New York; the harbour is the best in the West Indies, and is unequalled in beauty by any in the world. It is nearly three miles long, and a mile and a half in width. While completely sheltered from every wind by the surrounding heights, so great is the depth of water that the largest ships can come close up to the quays.

The city stands on the western shore of the bay. The streets of the old part within the walls are narrow and far from clean, but those of the suburbs, which cover a much larger space than the city itself, are broad and well laid out, many of them being handsome and tolerably free from dirt. Besides the two strong fortresses at the entrance, batteries run along both shores, while fortifications frown from all the surrounding heights.

The houses, which are in the Moorish style, have excessively thick walls, and are mostly of one storey. The windows, however, are unglazed, and, on account of the heat of the climate, always kept open.

The object of most interest in the city is the cathedral, not on account of its beauty, but because it contains the bones of Columbus, which were removed here from the church of Santa Domingo, in Hispaniola, at the end of the last century.

The chief attractions of the place are its paseos or public drives, of which it possesses three, two inside, and one outside the walls. Some of them are ornamented with statues of royal personages, more or less ugly, with rows of poplars on either side, and with fountains and gardens. Here, in the afternoon, the world of fashion resort, and they are thronged with young creoles in evening dress and round hats, employed in casting admiring glances at the fair dames, who drive slowly up and down the carriage-road in their wide and open volantes, their heads adorned as if for a ballroom, with natural flowers, and generally arrayed in costumes of all the colours of the rainbow.

Jack felt, at first, somewhat indignant as he observed the impudent glances, so he considered them, cast by the youths at the young ladies; but soon came to the conclusion that they had no objection to be so looked at, and would indeed have felt injured had they not received this style of homage from the opposite sex. As he passed through the streets, he could look with ease through the large open windows into the drawing-rooms of the houses, where in the evening, when not abroad, the ladies of the family are wont to assemble; the older dames seated in rocking-chairs, the younger in front of the iron bars, by which alone ingress from without is prevented. Here they can see every one passing and be seen in return.

The volante is as worthy of a description as the gondola of Venice. The dames of Cuba delight in it, for it is not only picturesque, but luxurious in the extreme. It is made to contain two sitters with comfort, but when a duenna is in attendance, she is seated on a middle seat between her charges. It has two enormous wheels, strong and thick; the body is supported on the axle-tree, and swings forward from it on springs; it is somewhat low down, and affords abundance of room for the feet, which are supported by a brightly polished metal bar, which runs across the footboard. It is most remarkable for the shafts, which are fourteen feet in length, the extreme ends resting on the saddle of the horse, who has thus entirely to support the whole weight of the vehicle; there is thus between the horse’s tail and the carriage a space of nearly seven feet. The postillion is generally a very heavy negro, who rides the unfortunate horse. Those used by people of fashion are drawn by two horses, one outside the shafts, on which the postillion sits. He is as remarkable an object as the vehicle itself. He wears a huge pair of footless boots, the top rising ten inches or so above his knees, so that they nearly touch his elbows, while, to the bottom are secured huge iron spurs, his breeches are white, and his jacket red, ornamented with gilt lace, while a broad-brimmed hat covering his woolly pate completes his costume. Still barbarous and awkward as the affair appears, it looks perfectly suitable to surrounding objects; the fair occupants seem also in their proper places, with their gaily-coloured costumes, and their dark hair fastened by a high comb, and ornamented generally with natural flowers. Jack did not consider their beauty so surpassing as he had been led to expect, while he thought the older dames perfectly hideous; but then the recollection of the lily and rose in the cheeks of his fair countrywomen was too recent to allow him to admire them as he might otherwise have done. He was highly amused at seeing in some of the dining-halls one of those silver ornamented vehicles placed at the farther end, its usual position when not in use.

As far as he could judge, the male portion of the population passed their evenings in smoking cigars and playing billiards, when not engaged in dancing or listening to music. Every evening, before the captain-general’s house in the Plaza, a military band played for an hour, when the men collected by hundreds, but a few ladies, however, appearing among them.

Gambling, in one form or another, appeared to be the occupation of all orders, encouraged considerably by the government, who had public lotteries, tickets and minute portions of tickets being daily vended in the streets.

Jack and his officers were overwhelmed with invitations, not only from English and Americans, but from Spaniards, some of whom, he was warned, might possibly have a motive in wishing to make their stay on shore agreeable, they being owners, or in some way interested in the rakish-looking craft in the harbour, and on which it was his special duty to keep an eye.

Picturesque and attractive as Havannah is in many respects, Jack came to the opinion that it would undoubtedly become a much finer place were it in the hands of the English or Americans.

Once upon a time it did become a British possession. When in the year 1762 the Spaniards and English went to war, as soon as hostilities had broken out, the British government despatched a fleet under Sir George Pocock, with an army of 1600 men, commanded by the Earl of Albemarle.

The fleet consisted of twenty-two sail of the line, four ships of fifty guns, ten frigates, and seventeen small vessels. That so powerful a force was sent out, showed the belief of the English in the strength of the fortifications. The Spaniards, however, had but little stomach for the fight.

While the fleet threatened them on the sea side, the troops landed to the east and west of the city, and attacking it in the rear quickly made themselves masters of the renowned fortifications. On the return of peace, a few months afterwards, it was once more placed under the fearful mismanagement of the Spaniards, and now only awaits a favourable opportunity to be taken possession of by the Yankees.

Whatever may be said of Havannah, Jack found it a very pleasant place, but he took good care never to sleep on shore, or indeed at any time to remain longer away from his ship than possible. He made several excursions round the harbour, not so much to enjoy its beauties, as to examine the before-mentioned rakish-looking craft which lay moored to the quays, apparently for the purpose of taking in cargo; he could never, however, observe anything going forward on board them during the daytime. Needham had, however, several times in the evening, taken a pull in the dinghy among the vessels. He reported that there was some bustle on board one of them in particular, and that he could hear the sound of hammering going on within her.

“It is my idea, sir, that they are fitting up slave-decks. Depend on it, before long some of them will be trying to get out, if they have the chance, without our seeing them. I marked a craft called the Venus which came in at sunset, when you were on shore, and if she is not the very schooner we chased, she is wonderfully like her. She is large, and to my mind faster than any of them; but if she can get whatever she wants, and her cargo shipped, we may be sure it won’t be long before she tries to slip out unknown to us.”

Jack thought that Needham was probably right in his conjectures, but one thing was certain, that while the commander of the Venus knew that he was watched and likely to be followed, he would not attempt to put to sea. Jack waited patiently. He knew that, at all events, he was of some service in thus locking up these traders in human flesh. If he could not catch them, he could, at all events, prevent them from doing harm. He had accepted several invitations, and had been seen at both English and Spaniards’ houses; at one of the latter, he had met a Spaniard, Don Matteo, who spoke English well, and paid him great attention. On inquiry, he found that he was a slave-merchant, the owner of a number of vessels employed in making frequent trips to the coast of Africa and back.

Jack had hitherto refused his invitations, though his parties were among the most brilliant, and his daughters the most attractive of the black-eyed damsels of Cuba. Jack, however, as every British officer engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade ought to be, was wide awake; and when Don Matteo, notwithstanding his former refusals, again invited him and as many of his officers as he could bring, to attend a dance to be given at his house the following evening, he accepted the invitation, and promised to bring all that could be spared from the ship; on making inquiries he found, as he suspected, that the Don was the owner of the Venus.

“He goes by the name of Don Matteo at present, but he was long known on the coast of Africa by that of Pepé the pirate,” added his informant. “Innumerable are the atrocities of which, there is not the slightest doubt, the fellow was guilty; but he managed to escape hanging, and having realised a large fortune, got whitewashed by the authorities, whom he still keeps in his pay, changed his name, and settled down in Havannah as a respectable merchant and shipowner; though to avoid the risk of personal inconvenience, he no more goes to sea, as was his wont formerly. He has a fleet of a dozen vessels or more employed in the middle passage. As he bribes the government officials, the captain of the port, and others, as well as the commanders of the Spanish ships of war, his vessels find no difficulty in getting in and out of harbour, even though completely fitted for the slave-trade, and the latter frequently convoy them till they are free from the risk of capture by the English cruisers on this station. On the other side of the Atlantic, they have to look after themselves, but they get pretty correct information, and three in four escape capture, so that his adventures pay him handsomely. Having, as I said, grown honest, he deals at present exclusively in blacks, but he is known to have committed not a few acts of piracy in his younger days, and the deaths of two or three British officers, and the crews of several merchantmen, are placed to his account.”

“The scoundrel!” exclaimed Jack. “I do not fancy partaking of his hospitality.”

“As you please, Mr Rogers; but I would advise you to put your feelings in your pocket,” was the answer. “Remember that you do not go to the fellow’s house for your own amusement, but for the good of the service in which you are engaged.”

“Yes, I see that you are right,” said Jack. “I will do my best to catch one of his craft, at all events.”

Accordingly, on his arrival on board, he sent Needham in the dinghy, as before, to take a quiet pull among the ships. The gunner came back about midnight, and reported that the people were as busy as bees on board the schooner, that the sails were being bent, and, according to his opinion, she was getting ready for sea.

“Then she intends to sail tomorrow night, while I am on shore,” observed Jack. “I’ll go, however, and try if we can play as good a game as she can.”

“That’s it, sir; you will have plenty of time to get on board after she slips out, and we can soon be after her.”

Jack accordingly ordered a boat to be in waiting for him and his officers, at one of the less-frequented landing-places, a couple of hours after dark, intending to remain at the party till that time, and then to return on board. He also gave directions to Needham to have the cable hove short, and everything to be ready for getting under weigh at a moment’s notice. He then told Bevan and the other officers who were to accompany him that they were to leave Don Matteo’s house, if possible, without being noticed, and that he himself would follow at the time he had fixed on.

It was still daylight when he and his officers, including three midshipmen in full rig, pulled on shore to attend the ball.

The sun was just setting as they arrived at the wide entrance of Don Matteo’s handsome mansion, to which numerous volantes, in rapid succession, were bringing up the fair dancers, while gentlemen were arriving either in various conveyances or on foot.

Passing through a courtyard, they were ushered upstairs into a spacious and well-lighted saloon, with enormous windows looking on one side into a courtyard, in the midst of which a fountain threw up jets of cooling water, and on the other, into a garden fragrant with sweet-scented flowers.

The dancing soon began. No people could be more polite and attentive than their host and hostess, to whose lovely daughters the English officers were immediately introduced. At first Jack found it somewhat difficult to get through the contradanza, the dance for which Havannah is especially celebrated, but his partner smiled graciously, and assured him that he performed it to perfection. When, however, he contrasted his own performance with that of the active-toed Spaniards, he could not help feeling that he was receiving undue flattery. As to his companions they soon had to give it up as a bad job, though they did their best to make themselves agreeable by tucking their partners’ arms under theirs, and chattering away in execrable Spanish. Tom noticed that their host and his spouse kept a bright lookout on them, and no sooner was a dance finished than they were taken up and introduced to other partners, who were quite ready to forgive their mistakes; the midshipmen, at all events, thought it very good fun, and Tom, on looking at his watch, felt very sorry that the hour was approaching at which Jack had directed them to leave; however, his orders were not to be disobeyed, so, giving a hint to Desmond and Morris, they made their way to the door, when, followed by Bevan, they slipped downstairs.

Jack, who watched them, hoped that their departure had not been observed, but Don Matteo begged to know why the midshipmen were gone. Jack replied that he considered early hours the best for such youngsters, as they had their duty to attend to in the morning, and that the elder one had gone to take care of them.

Soon afterwards the surgeon and purser made their bow: the former remarked that he must go on board and attend to his patients. Jack and Jos Green were the only officers remaining. The latter had very little notion of dancing, but that did not deter him from hauling his reluctant partner, shrieking with laughter, through the mazes of the dance; at length, losing his equilibrium, as might have been expected, down he came, dragging the lady with him. He managed, however, to save her from injury, though he himself was somewhat severely hurt. Jack, hastening up, apologised, explaining that the officer was but little accustomed to this sort of amusement, and, pretending to be very angry, ordered him forthwith to return on board. Green, who had received his instructions, putting on a sulky look, obeyed, and joined the surgeon and purser, who had been waiting for him outside.

Jack, who was in a hurry to be off, walked up to his host and hostess, and thanked them for their hospitality, observing that he felt it his duty to go and look after his officers. In vain Don Matteo pressed him to remain, and offered to send an escort with him to the harbour.

“It may be safer for you not to go alone, my dear friend,” observed the Don, with a bland smile. “There are villains of all sorts about in the streets at night, and you know that you English are not held in much love by those slaving gentry to whose business you are attempting to put a stop. They would not scruple to stick a knife into your back if they found you walking alone.”

“I am much obliged to you for the warning, and coming from you, who must be well acquainted with the proceedings of the rascals, it is of value; but I am not afraid of them,” answered Jack, laughing. “We are prepared for all the tricks they may attempt to play us. Good night, Don Matteo.”

Donna Isabella, the Don’s buxom wife, joined her solicitations to those of her husband and their fair daughters, who gathered round Jack, resolved to prevent him from leaving, but he was as determined as they were, and, making his best bow, hurried out of the room.

He found his officers, as had been agreed on, a short distance from the house, and, keeping their swords ready for defence should they be attacked, an event they were aware not at all unlikely to happen, they made their way down to the landing-place as quickly as possible. Bevan and the midshipmen had already reached the boat, and, jumping in, they pulled rapidly towards the Supplejack. As they did so, they caught sight of a vessel gliding across the harbour, which, having passed the brig, was soon lost to sight.

“She has slipped by us, sir, and is standing out to sea,” exclaimed Needham, as soon as they stepped on board. “She is the Venus, sir, I know, for I was not far from her in the dinghy as she began to haul out from the quay. I went away soon after dark to watch her, as I felt sure we were right in thinking that she was about to put to sea.”

The breeze was very light, and the schooner could still be discerned from the deck of the Supplejack. Jack waited till she had disappeared behind the rocks of the Moro: the anchor was then hove up, and sail being made on the brig, she slowly glided out of the harbour, the magnificent lighthouse on the west enabling her without difficulty to find her way through the narrow channel. The schooner could be dimly seen ahead, but it was doubtful whether she herself was aware that she was followed.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chase of the Venus—A tornado—Jack again sights her—Captures her and two more—Sails for Port Royal—A suspicious stranger—A prize despatched for assistance—Attacked—Hard pressed—Prisoners break loose—The corvette appears in the nick of time—Fall in with the frigate—Adair’s account of the way the slavers had done them.

The Supplejack, long after the chase had got out to sea, remained concealed under the dark shadow cast by the castle across the entrance. It then fell a dead calm, and the schooner was completely lost to sight. Boats were now sent ahead to tow. This was necessary, indeed, in order to keep the brig off the rocks. It was slow work, however, and Jack could only hope that with the rising sun the breeze would freshen, so that he might make chase after the schooner. The way in which she had crept out convinced him that she was a slaver; had he before entertained any doubt as to Don Matteo’s reasons for inviting him and his officers to the ball, they now completely vanished. It was evident that the old villain wanted to keep him and his officers on shore, that the slaver might take the opportunity of putting to sea and getting a good start, before it was discovered that she had gone. She must have got away, also, Jack very well knew with the connivance of the captain of the port, who had, of course, been bribed by her owner, as had likewise the officer in command at the Moro, who would not otherwise have allowed her to pass. Jack expected every instant to receive a shot from the castle, but probably the last-mentioned personage thought it prudent not to fire, lest he might have been asked why he allowed the schooner to pass.

When daylight returned, as Jack and Bevan swept their glasses round in every direction, several sail were seen dotting the horizon.

Jack handed his glass to Needham. “Which of them do you think is the Venus?” he asked.

“The centre one of those three vessels in the north-east, sir,” answered Needham promptly. “No doubt about that; I know her by the whiteness of her canvas. She must have had a pretty tidy breeze to get out so far while we lay becalmed.”

“You are right,” said Jack. “That is the one I take to be the Venus.”

“So do I,” observed Bevan. “Hurrah! here comes a breeze. We shall soon have the pleasure of making her better acquaintance, I hope!”

The boats were hoisted up, and every stitch of sail the brig could carry was packed on her. The breeze freshened, and away she flew over the blue ocean, leaving the white walls of the Moro far astern.

The question was whether the slaver would run for the Gulf of Florida, or attempt to make her way through the Bahama Channel.

“We must try, at all events, to get hold of her before nightfall,” observed Jack, “or she will be playing us another trick, and give us the go-bye in the dark.”

“We’ll try and do that same, sir,” said Needham; “if the wind holds with us as it does now, it won’t be a difficult job. She doesn’t seem to have much of it out there, and we are getting up fast with her.”

The Supplejack, indeed, was gaining rapidly on the schooner, but the treacherous wind soon gave indications of not being inclined to favour the British brig. Dark clouds gathering in the sky came sweeping rapidly over it.

“All hands, shorten sail,” shouted Jack, with startling energy; “be smart about it, lads.”

Every one saw that not a moment was to be lost. Royals and topgallant-sails were handed, two reefs taken in the topsails, the courses were clewed up, not an instant too soon, either—for over heeled the brig till the sills of her lee ports dipped into the water. One of those tornados, so frequent in the West Indies, had struck her, though on coming up to the wind she faced it bravely. Down came the rain, a real tropical torrent, the drops as they fell being of the size of marbles, leaping up again with a loud rattle, like that of hail, and literally deluging the deck.

In vain the sharpest eyes of those on the lookout endeavoured to pierce the watery veil. The rain completely hid the slaver and all the surrounding vessels. It was feared that she, taking advantage of the chance offered her, would do her best to escape. The question was, in what direction would she fly? She would have a clear passage through the Gulf of Florida, but then she well knew that she would be followed by the nimble Supplejack. Rogers, therefore, came to the conclusion that she would steer for the Bahama Channel, where, if she could not escape herself, she might hope to lead her pursuer to destruction. Needham was firmly of opinion that she would take that direction. Night was coming on, and she would have a long start, but Jack determined to chance it, and persevere.

“With the chart to help us, a bright look out, and the lead going, we may disappoint her ladyship,” he observed, laughing.

“It’s an ugly place, I’ll allow, sir,” said Needham; “but we must not be afraid of ugly places, or we shall not do much in catching these slaving gentry. It can’t be much worse than we have seen in the China Seas, and off the coast of Africa.”

The tornado having passed over, the brig’s head was again put to the south-west, and a bright lookout being of course kept, all hoped to fall in once more with the Venus. The night was an anxious one; the watch below turned in ready to spring on deck at a moment’s notice.

Neither Jack, Bevan, nor Needham lay down, the former constantly sweeping the horizon with their night-glasses, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the schooner. As the first streaks of dawn tinged the eastern sky, all hands were roused up to make sail, and just as the orb of day, like a mountain of fire appeared above the horizon, the sails of the schooner were discerned on the port bow, standing, as was conjectured, for one of the numerous intricate passages among the dangerous Bahama shoals. Every stitch of canvas the brig could carry was immediately packed on her.

“Keep her away a couple of points,” cried Rogers; “that will do. We must get hold of Madam Venus before the day is many hours older. Fortunately there is still a good space of clear water before she can get in among the shoals, and once up with the lady, it won’t be long before she is ours.”

The wind held steady, and the Supplejack, as Tom declared, skipped along more nimbly than she had ever yet moved. Long Tom was got ready for action, although the schooner was not likely to show much fight; still he might be useful in bringing down her spars, and so prevent her from getting in among the shoals before she could be captured.

Though a fresh breeze was blowing, the sea was tolerably smooth, but on the north and eastward a line of white breakers, and here and there an interval of blue water which marked the channels between them could be seen. Farther to the eastward were two suspicious-looking schooners, evidently bent on making their way through one or other of the before-named channels.

“We must have the big one first, and then get hold of the other two,” said Jack to Bevan, who stood by his side.

The lead was kept going, and showed that the water was rapidly shoaling.

“Try her with Long Tom, Needham,” cried out Jack; “he may chance to reach her.”

“It’s as much as Long Tom will do, sir, but we’ll see,” answered Needham, bringing the gun to bear on the chase.

Away sped the shot, but, though well aimed, it fell short of its mark.

“We must have her at all cost,” cried Jack eagerly, “or in less than five minutes she will be among the breakers; and we shall be on shore. Give Long Tom a larger charge of powder, and see what that will do.”

Needham did as he was ordered, though it occurred to him that the dose he rammed down might chance to be too much for Long Tom’s strength; if so it would have the effect of blowing him and not a few of his shipmates out of the world; still, as he had faith in the gun’s power of endurance, he risked it without remark, and taking good aim once more fired. Never had he made a better shot. The missile swept the deck of the schooner, carrying off the heads of three of her crew, and killing and wounding others—though this was unknown at the time. The instant effect was to make her skipper haul down his colours and put the schooner about with her head off the bank, and in a short time she was hove-to near the brig-of-war, which had also gone about. Jack, jumping into a boat, which was instantly lowered with a well-armed crew, pulled on board.

The Spanish captain, whom he recognised as Don Lopez, a polished-looking gentleman he had met soon after his arrival at Havannah, at the house of Don Matteo, made a polite bow, and asked with an injured air why the English man-of-war had chased and fired at him.

“I shall be able to give you an answer by and by, my friend,” answered Jack. “In the meantime, Don Lopez, I am anxious to get hold of those two schooners before they make their way through the channels to the north-east; and as I do not wish to run the risk of casting away my brig, I must trouble you to stand where you are and take me up alongside them.”

As Jack spoke he presented a double-barrelled pistol at the Don’s head, as a sign that he was not to trifled with.

“You will not shoot me, surely!” exclaimed the Don.

“Not if you obey me,” answered Jack; “but you will understand that I am in earnest. Now, order the helmsman to keep the vessel away; your men will do what you tell them, I am very certain.”

The Don saw that there was no help for it, and directed his motley and somewhat ruffian-like crew to do as Jack told them.

“We will have the nearest first; and understand, if she escapes us, I intend to blow out your brains. I shall regret it, but necessity has no law.”

The breeze was freshening. Away dashed the Venus, sending the water bubbling up around her bows, while the brig stood rather more to the southward, keeping in deeper water to be ready to cut off either of the schooners which might attempt to escape in that direction. At first they probably fancied that the Venus had by some lucky chance got away from the brig-of-war; but they were very soon mistaken, when the British ensign which Tom, who had accompanied Jack, found on board flew out at her peak.

Jack ordered a gun to be run through the bow port, and one well directed shot from it made the first schooner haul down her colours. The second, on seeing what had happened, having no stomach for a fight, followed her example, and in half an hour Jack had his three prizes standing out from the dangerous vicinity of the shoals. He then ordered them all to heave to, that he might examine them at leisure.

Don Lopez showed some anxiety to go into his cabin.

“No, no, my friend,” said Jack quietly, “you will allow me to accompany you. I am sorry to be so uncourteous, but I must have an examination of your papers.”

He had ordered Bevan and Norris, who had gone on board the other vessels, not to allow anything to be thrown overboard or destroyed.

Don Lopez pulled his moustaches and accompanied his captor into the cabin, where he most unwillingly produced his writing-case. In it were found several documents, one of them from no less a person than Don Matteo Laguna, directing him how to proceed on his arrival on the coast of Africa. There were several other papers very clearly implicating two or three persons of wealth in Havannah. It was pretty clearly shown how these gentlemen obtained the fortunes which enabled them to hold so distinguished a place among the rank and fashion of that far-famed city. On board, also, was found a large assortment of swords, muskets, and slave-irons, while a slave-deck had been fitted up, ready to receive the expected cargo of human beings.

Jack took possession of the papers. “Ah, my friend, here is another,” he observed, as Don Lopez was endeavouring to shuffle back a document which had at first been overlooked. Jack examined it.

“Ah! I see that fine large black brig, which lay in shore near us, was to join you shortly with the dollars, and provisions you would require. What is her name? I should like to know all about her.”

“The Caterina,” answered Don Lopez. “She is to sail under American colours, and will have American papers; a regular charter-party, the ship’s roll, and instructions from her reputed owners. Ten of her crew are American seamen, the other twenty-five, who are Spaniards, will be called passengers. She has obtained all her papers from the American vice-consul, and I very much doubt that any of you men-of-war would have ventured to interfere with her, unless,” and Don Lopez smiled, “it had been for the information I so freely give you. I hope you will take this into consideration in your further dealings with me.”

“I shall see about that,” answered Jack, despising the Don, who had been so ready to betray his associates in the nefarious traffic. “At present you will please to accompany me on board my brig, as we are bound for Jamaica.”

The Don, with a grimace, stepped into the brig-of-war’s boat followed by his officers. Jack afterwards conveyed also the greater part of the crew to the brig, where they were less likely to play tricks than if left on board their own vessel; he sent also for the greater portion of the crews and all the officers of the other schooners.

The difficulty now, however, was how to man his prizes. He gave the command of the Venus to Bevan, with Tom as his mate, and six hands. Norris, and another midshipman, had charge of one of the other schooners, with five hands; and Jos Green, with Desmond to assist him, had charge of the third, with the same number of men.

He could ill spare so many hands, but he hoped by vigilance to keep the Spaniards in awe, and to navigate the Supplejack.

These arrangements being completed, he made sail for Port Royal. Should the weather continue fine, the task might be an easy one; but should it come on to blow, shorthanded as he was, he would have no little difficulty in working the brig and looking after his numerous prisoners, many of whom were desperate ruffians, and might possibly try to capture the brig, and cut the throats of every one on board. His only alternative, therefore, to avoid the risk of this would be to treat them as they intended to treat the slaves—clap them in irons, and shut them down under hatches, or to place a sentry with orders to shoot the first who might attempt to regain his liberty.

Needham highly approved of this plan. “It would serve them right, sir, if we were to do it at once, it would save us a great deal of trouble in looking after the beggars,” he observed.

“But Don Lopez considers himself a perfect gentleman, and will complain that he was barbarously treated if we were to do so without sufficient cause,” remarked Jack.

“I’d let him complain then, sir,” answered Needham. “He may consider himself fortunate that we don’t heave him and his villainous crew overboard.”

Jack only hoped that the necessity would not arise, and as neither the officers nor men had arms of any sort—for the knives even of the latter had been taken from them—he had no fears about the matter.

He resolved to keep a bright look out for the Caterina, which he thought would probably slip out of the harbour soon after him, her captain not suspecting the fate of her consorts. The wind was however, light and contrary, and he was much longer in making Cape Saint Antonio than he had hoped. The necessity for treating the prisoners as Needham had suggested came, however, sooner than Jack expected. He had allowed Don Lopez and his companions to enjoy as much fresh air and exercise as they wished for every day, though he took the precaution to have a sentry on the quarterdeck, who had received instructions to keep a watchful eye on the prisoners. Evening was coming on, a fresh breeze was blowing, and the little squadron, under easy sail, was standing to the westward. Just at that time a sail was sighted on the weather-bow; she was soon made out to be a large brig standing towards the little fleet. Jack observed that the prisoners were talking eagerly together, and were evidently much interested in the appearance of the stranger. On she came, and though she was near enough for her colours to be seen she showed none.

“What do you make her out to be?” asked Jack of Needham.

“I should have taken her to be a Spanish man-of-war; but if she is she ought to have showed her bunting by this time,” he answered. “You’ll pardon me, sir,” he continued, “but I don’t like the looks of the Dons, and I shouldn’t be surprised if that craft is the Caterina herself; if so, she will be trying to take some of our prizes; and may be have a slap at us, and I think it will be best to get these gentlemen out of the way, as quickly as possible.”

Jack agreed with Needham, and going up to Don Lopez he observed—

“I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I have to request that you and your companions will go below, and not return on deck till you receive my permission.”

The Don and his friends looked somewhat angry at hearing this, and seemed inclined to disobey, but a dozen stout seamen coming aft showed them that Jack was in earnest, and they, uttering maledictions on his head, were hurried below.

The sun had now reached the horizon, when the stranger came within gunshot, still without showing her colours. Jack had ordered the three schooners to keep close together under his stern. He now fired a gun ahead of the stranger of which she took no notice, but continued her course, intending apparently to get to windward, so as to be able to bear down at any time she might think fit on the captured slavers.

“She has guessed what has happened, sir,” observed Needham, “and hopes during the night to have a chance of cutting off one of the prizes or all of them; but she can’t quite make up her mind to attempt it in daylight.”

“We must keep a bright lookout and prevent her doing that same,” answered Jack. “Give her another shot from Long Tom, and we will see if that has a better effect than the first.”

The stranger took no notice further than “hauling her wind,” so as to increase her distance from the brig-of-war. Jack guessed that her intention was to draw him away, if possible, from his prizes, so that she might have a better chance of taking off one of them during the night; he had no fears of the result of a fight should she venture to attack him; at the same time, under the circumstances, he doubted whether it would be wise for him to become the assailant.

As the sun went down the stranger was still seen holding her former position on the weatherbow of the Supplejack. It was very provoking to be thus bearded, and he earnestly wished for daylight that he might have a better chance of success in attacking the daring craft, for he had at length made up his mind to bring her to action, and of course to capture her. His greatest difficulty, however, would be, should he succeed, in manning her, as she would require as many hands as the Supplejack, and he could ill spare any of his own crew; he thought the matter over, and called Needham aft to consult with him.

“Well, sir, I was thinking that it would be a good plan to send the Venus on to Jamaica, to get the assistance of the corvette. She wouldn’t be long in joining us, and we might keep the stranger in play till then, or if any accident was to happen to us she might come up in time to take her; not that I doubt, for a moment, that if we can get her within range of our guns, we should soon make her our prize. It’s rather a tough job I’ll allow, as the chase has forty hands or more on board, and six or eight guns, though it’s not likely they are very heavy metal.”

“I like your plan,” said Jack; “I was considering that it might otherwise be necessary to sink one or two of our prizes rather than run the risk of losing the Caterina, for I make sure that that brig out there is her.”

Jack gave the matter a few more minutes’ consideration, and, signalling to the three schooners to heave to, he sent the purser on board the Venus, with directions to Bevan at once to clap on all sail for Port Royal, and to beg on his arrival there that the corvette, or some other man-of-war, might be immediately despatched to his assistance. As the night was dark he hoped that the stranger would not discover that the Venus had parted company till daylight, when she would have very little chance of overtaking her.

To prevent the risk of her doing so he hauled up close to the wind, believing that he should thus soon again get sight of the stranger. He was not mistaken, for in little more than half an hour he sighted her, standing the same course as before, but rather more abeam. Keeping away again, he shortened sail, but she held the same course as before. Thus the night passed, the stranger could be seen to the southward, while the coast of Cuba lay broad on the lee-beam, though undistinguishable in the darkness of night. At length, however, the stranger disappeared, but Jack felt satisfied that she had not gone in chase of the Venus, and he still hoped to see her again at daylight.

He and the two schooners kept on their course, under easy sail. The officers in command of the latter were as eager as Jack to bring the strange brig to action, hoping to take part in the light. Each vessel had a couple of six-pounders on board, which though not very heavy guns, might do good service, could they get near enough to the enemy to use them.

Thus the night passed slowly away. Dawn at length returned and as the first rays of the rising sun glanced across the ocean they fell on the sails of the stranger, about three miles off, broad on the beam of the Supplejack, whose commander at once resolved to bring her to action, while she on her part showed no disinclination for the fight.

“She must have plenty of hands on board, and pretty heavy metal, or she would long ago have been off,” observed Needham; “however, we will see what Long Tom can do.”

“We will give him every opportunity of showing his qualities,” said Jack, “and not let the slaver get too near us till we have knocked away some of his spars.”

The stranger now kept edging down towards the “brig-of-war,” which stood on under her topsails, mainsail, and headsails.

Jack calculated that he should have time to throw three or four shots into her from Long Tom, and then by making more sail, give her a raking fire from his carronades. He hailed the schooners, and ordered Norris and the master not to expose themselves more than necessary, and only to fire when they had a good opportunity, while by all means they were to avoid allowing the slaver brig to run aboard them.

The stranger, which had again hauled her wind, was still far beyond the range of Long Tom.

“I don’t think, sir, that they have got much stomach for the fight, after all,” observed Needham.

“Perhaps not,” answered Jack; “but I suspected from the fellow’s manoeuvres that he still hopes to cut off our prizes, and is only waiting the opportunity for doing so. We must also look out, not to let him run us aboard, for if he has plenty of men that is what he will try to do, and it will be his best chance too, though I doubt not that we shall beat them off, no matter how many there are.”

“No doubt about that, sir, whether they are Americans, Spaniards, or Negroes,” answered Needham, in a confident tone.

Nearly half an hour passed, and the relative positions of the vessels were not changed. At length the slaver’s crew, mustering up courage, more sail was made on her, and she came edging down boldly towards the “brig-of-war.”

“Now see what Long Tom can do,” cried Jack.

He had not miscalculated the distance this time. Needham pulled the trigger, and the shot was seen to strike the stranger’s bulwarks. She fired in return, but without effect. Long Tom was quickly loaded; two shots crashed into the slaver, and three went over her. She replied with a broadside of four guns, but one shot only struck the Supplejack, knocking away one of the after-stanchions.

Jack now ordered more sail to be set, and shooting across the bows of the enemy, his two carronades and Long Tom were fired simultaneously. This raking fire threw the slaver’s crew into considerable confusion, and before they had recovered from it, he again kept away. In the meantime the two schooners ranged up on the larboard quarter of the enemy, had begun blazing away with their popguns. Thus far, Jack had evidently the best of it, and he would have been wise had he kept at a distance, and fired away with Long Tom.

The slaver’s crew, encouraged by their officers, returned to their guns, and began blazing away with far greater effect than at first, but as they fired high, no one on deck was hurt. Their shot began to inflict considerable damage on the rigging, and at length the slings of the fore-topsail-yard being shot away, down came the topsail, while the other headsails were completely riddled. In vain Needham did his best to retaliate on the enemy. Jack saw him binding a handkerchief round his arm, though still working his gun. Three other men were wounded by shot or splinters, and one poor fellow sank on the deck to rise no more. Matters were indeed looking somewhat serious. Just then the slaver put up her helm; Jack saw what she was about, but was unable to avoid her.

“Repel boarders!” he sang out, and in another minute the bows of the black brig crashed against the side of the Supplejack, the flukes of the enemy’s anchors catching in the fore-rigging of the latter. Her crew, however, had just time to fire their carronades, sending several of the enemy to their last account, when nearly thirty fierce-looking ruffians, with cutlass in hand, came crowding to the bows of the brig, ready to spring on board. Jack and most of his people ran forward to repel them. The Spanish captain fought bravely, although driven back, again leading on his men, he made another desperate effort to get on board the Supplejack.

Bevan and the master, in the meantime, were not idle, but as they could bring one of their guns to bear without running the risk of hitting the Supplejack, they kept firing into the enemy. The effect of their fire was to lessen the number of the boarders, several of the slaver’s crew being occupied in working their after-guns, with the object of keeping the two schooners at bay. McTavish and the purser had, however, managed to run out one of the carronades from the aftermost port of the Supplejack, and having loaded it with grape, fired it directly at the men working at the guns. Had it been at a greater distance it might have done more damage; as it was it hit one of the Spaniards, blowing him almost to atoms, and wounding two others.

“Well done!” cried McTavish, whose Highland blood was up, “we’ll give them another dose.”

The gun was run in and loaded as before. The Spaniards, who had deserted their gun at the first discharge of the carronade, now returned to it, and brought it to bear on the Supplejack.

The boarding-party were, in the meantime, making desperate efforts to gain her decks, but were met by that determined courage which British seamen never fail to exhibit.

His brave crew well led by Jack and the boatswain, every time the Spaniards attempted to gain a footing on the forecastle of the English brig, those who succeeded were cut down, while the rest were driven back.

“Now, my lads! follow me, and we’ll board them,” cried Jack.

His proposal was replied to with a loud cheer, and he and Needham were on the point of leaping on to the brig’s forecastle, when a shout from aft made him turn his head, and he caught sight of Don Lopez and seven or eight of his companions, who had just made their way on deck by the companion-hatch. The Don had a musket in his hand with which he was fiercely attacking the surgeon, who had, however, the moment before seized one, and was warding off the blows aimed at him. Jack singing out to Needham to defend the forecastle, sprang aft with several of his men to the assistance of McTavish. Just then the bows of the slaver separated from the Supplejack, and at the same moment one of the officers of the former, who had been looking eagerly to windward, shouted to the captain. He instantly ran aft to the helm, which had been deserted; but instead of attempting to regain his former position, put it up, and allowing his vessel to shoot ahead as soon as she had gathered way, went about and stood off to the northward. Don Lopez and his companions, seeing themselves deserted, threw down their arms and hurried below again as fast as they had come up. Needham’s first impulse was to rush back to Long Tom, with which he began to pepper the retreating slaver as rapidly as the gun could be loaded, while the two carronades were worked with equal quickness.

Jack had been so busily employed in defending the brig, that he had had no time to attend to anything else. He now, for a moment, turned his glance to windward, when he immediately discovered the cause of the slaver’s flight.

Standing towards him and coming on at a rapid rate was a ship carrying a press of sail, and a schooner which was quickly recognised as the Venus, by the cut of her sails, as well as by their snowy whiteness. He could scarcely doubt that the large vessel was the corvette, yet it would have been impossible for the Venus to have gone to Port Royal, and to have returned in so short a time.

The slaver, without firing a shot, was doing her best to escape, by setting all the sail she could carry; her crew being actively employed in knotting and splicing the rigging, which Needham’s shot had already somewhat damaged.

“Try one more,” exclaimed Jack, “and good luck go with it.”

Needham took good aim: the shot, passing through the maintopsail, struck the foretopmast, which fell over the side. A loud cheer burst from the throats of the English crew, and all hands redoubled their efforts in repairing their own damages. They were soon able to set the foretopsail and jib, and get the brig about, and away they went in hot chase after their antagonist. The latter had not hitherto shown her colours; she now hoisted an American ensign, but that did not save her from another iron missile, thrown from Long Tom. She, on this, quickly exchanged the American colours for those of Spain, which, however, were treated in the same way, and finding at length that she had no chance of escaping from her active pursuer, she hauled them down and hove to.

Jack ordered a boat to be lowered, and directed Needham and the only midshipman remaining with him to board the prize; his other officers, the doctor and purser, being busily engaged with the wounded men. Needham was quickly alongside, and stepping on board he found that out of her crew of forty hands, six had been killed and eight or ten severely wounded, while her bulwarks and the companion-hatch had been considerably knocked about. Among the killed was her first officer, whilst the captain and several others were wounded.

Needham, as directed, inquired for her papers—

“And what is the name of this craft of yours?” he asked, when they were given to him.

“The Black Swan,” was the answer.

“Well now, I shouldn’t be surprised if you called her the Caterina, you would be somewhere nearer the truth.”

The captain started, but made no reply.

“Come, I am to take you on board our brig,” continued Needham, making a sign to the captain to get into the boat.

Jack, as soon as he could possibly be spared off the deck, went below to ascertain how Don Lopez and his companions had made their escape from the cabin. It was very evident that they had broken open the door, that the sentry had been surprised and overpowered before he could use his musket. Instead of murdering him, which it was a wonder they had not done, they had gagged and put him into the irons from which they had released one of their companions. He still sat in a corner of the gunroom, looking very much alarmed, and not a little ashamed of himself.

In a short time the schooner and corvette, brought up by the freshening breeze, were close to, and Murray at once came on board the Supplejack.

“I heartily congratulate you on having captured the brig before I came up,” he exclaimed, as he and Jack shook hands; “I should have been sorry to have deprived you of the honour which is your due.”

“Thank you,” answered Jack; “but I suspect that we should not have found it so easy a matter to capture her, had you not made your appearance in the nick of time. We were hard pressed I can assure you, for the Dons fought well, and it was all we could do to drive them back when they attempted to board us; besides which, our prisoners broke loose, and would have given us a good deal of trouble, before we had knocked them on the head. But how came you to arrive so opportunely?”

“I was sent by the admiral in quest of you, to direct you to return to Port Royal, from whence we are to sail immediately in company for Trinidad. We are not likely to remain there long, and are afterwards, the admiral tells me, not a usual proceeding, to be placed under the orders of the admiral on the South American station.”

“For your sake I am sorry that you are to leave the West Indies, though I shall not be sorry to visit fresh scenes, and get a little cooling after a two years broiling in these seas,” said Jack; “but how did you leave your friends at Saint David’s?”

Murray looked grave as he answered—

“Miss O’Regan has not recovered as rapidly as I trusted she would, from the trials she has gone through, and I think it probable that she will accompany some of her relatives to England, so that I cannot hope to meet her again till we return home; indeed, she is firm in her determination not to marry, at all events, till I pay off the corvette, and I suppose she is right, although I would rather make her mine at once. Archy Gordon, I am thankful to say, under her and her friends’ care, is gradually recovering, and will, I hope, in a few weeks, join the frigate. However, you must not forget your prize. Here comes your boat with her skipper.”

The Spanish captain now stepped on board, and protested loudly against the legality of his capture, and declared that the English brig-of-war had fired into him without provocation, and that he had been obliged to board her, as the only means of saving his vessel.

“Very probably,” answered Jack, “and you expected to take us and our prizes into the bargain. As to the legality of the affair, that will be decided when we arrive at Jamaica. In the meantime, as I am overcrowded, you and your officers will go on board the corvette, where your wounds will be attended to.”

Murray had agreed to relieve Jack of some of his prisoners, and to send a prize-crew on board the Caterina. All arrangements having been made, the two men-of-war and four prizes made sail for Port Royal.

Scarcely had they got their tacks aboard than a large ship was sighted from the masthead of the Tudor, standing off the land. She was soon made out to be the Plantagenet, which had sailed from Port Royal ten days before her. The frigate made the signal to close, and the small squadron was soon hove to at a short distance from her. As directly afterwards it fell calm, visits were exchanged between the officers of the different ships. Murray and Jack went on board the Plantagenet to make their report to Captain Hemming.

“You have had better fortune than we can boast of, Rogers,” he said, laughing in a tone which showed his vexation; “those rascally slave-dealers have contrived to do us, though, as we are up to their tricks, I hope that we shall turn the tables on them another time.”

When Jack went into the gunroom, Adair gave him an account of the circumstance to which the captain alluded.

“We were on our way from Jamaica to Havannah, to look after you, Jack, and to prevent you from getting into mischief or catching a Tartar, as it seems you nearly did, when the captain thought fit to stand into the Bay of Guantimo; it’s away there on the southern coast of Cuba, towards the east end. The admiral had received information that Don Pepé, the very rascal whose acquaintance we made on the coast of Africa, and who is now settled at Havannah, was fitting out a large and powerful craft, calculated to give a little pigmy, like you, some trouble.

“We came off Guantimo just before dark. It is, I should say, a beautiful and deep bay, with numerous small harbours in it, in which slavers may hide securely without any risk of being seen by our cruisers, unless expressly looked for. As we were standing in, intending to run up the bay, we made out a large brig at anchor with sails loose, ready for sea. She had a suspicious look about her, unusually square yards, taunt and raking masts, and low black hull. Though she might be well armed and disposed to show fight, had you for instance attempted to question her, she would not, of course, dare to resist the frigate; and as she could not escape us, we felt pretty sure that, should she be what we suspected, she would soon become our prize.

“We had got some little way up the bay, and within half a mile of her, when the wind fell. We were by this time more certain than ever, from her appearance, that she was a slaver, and the captain therefore ordered a shot to be fired close ahead of her, that we might see how she would take it. She made no reply, neither hoisted colours, nor attempted to get under weigh.

“‘At all events we will see what she is,’ said the captain. He then ordered me and Norris to take the pinnace and jollyboat, and board her. The men had just time to buckle on their cutlasses before they tumbled into the boats. I was sorry after we had shoved off that they were not better armed, for the Spaniards might very possibly try to play us some trick or other, such as heaving cold shot into our boat and knocking us on the head as we got alongside, though they were much more likely to blow up their vessel or to run her on shore and make their escape. As we pulled on, we observed numerous boats passing from the brig to the shore, and we felt pretty certain that the fellows were landing the unfortunate slaves, so that we should not be in time to rescue them. I ordered our men to give way, in the hopes of saving some of the poor wretches, and a single slave remaining on board would, of course, be enough to condemn her. It was now nearly dark, though we could still make out the brig with her white canvas loose, not far ahead. I was somewhat surprised as we approached to observe no sign of life aboard her; not a man could I make out on her deck, no boat alongside. We had got almost up to her when we observed a large schooner lying close in shore on the farther side of a high point which had hitherto concealed her from us. Almost at the same instant a shot came flying from the schooner towards us, so well aimed that, as it struck the surface, it threw the water right over us. The splash of our oars must have shown the schooner’s people where we were, for, although we could see her, they could not have made out in the dark such small objects as our boats.

“The first shot was followed by a second, which very nearly did for the jollyboat, as, after striking the water, it bounded over her, smashing one of her oars, and knocking in her gunwale, happily hitting no one. Not wishing to be exposed to this sort of peppering, as shot after shot came in quick succession, giving us not a most agreeable kind of shower-bath, we at once dashed at the brig, I boarding on the starboard side, and Norris on the port. We fully expected to have some hot work, but on reaching the deck, not a soul appeared, and we found ourselves masters and, as we supposed, possessors of as fine a brig as I have ever seen engaged in the slave-trade.

“I could not help feeling, however, a little uncomfortable on recollecting the tricks the rascals are apt to play, and I half expected to find myself and my men hoisted into the air by the explosion of the magazine, when, as I was about to send below to examine the vessel, I heard voices in the after-cabin, and presently a Spanish officer in full rig appeared, followed by half a dozen men-of-war’s men. He announced himself as a midshipman belonging to the Spanish man-of-war schooner which lay at anchor in shore, the same craft which had fired at us, and said that he had been put in charge of the brig, which had been captured by his vessel.

“‘And pray, then, why did your schooner fire at our boats?’ I asked, eyeing the young fellow narrowly, for I much doubted that he was really a midshipman.

“‘Your boats were seen approaching our prize under suspicious circumstances in the dusk of evening, and you probably were taken for pirates,’ he answered, quite coolly.

“‘There was light enough when we were first seen to make out our ensign,’ I answered. ‘If that schooner is a man-of-war, her commander shall be made to apologise for the insult he has offered to the British flag.’

“‘Of course he will, and if you choose to send on board you will find that what I have told you is the case,’ he answered, biting his lips, as if, so I supposed, he disliked having his honour doubted.

“‘Well, you will remain here, and I will send one of my boats on board the schooner. Should any treacherous trick be played, I shall make you answerable,’ I said, eyeing him sternly. He did not quail, and I was pretty well satisfied that he spoke the truth. I accordingly ordered Norris to go on board the schooner and ascertain the facts of the case, and to tell the captain that I wished to see him immediately on board the brig; after he was gone, I felt no little anxiety as to the reception he might meet with. The Spanish midshipman, however, appeared at his ease, and accompanied me over the brig; I found that she was a brand-new vessel, having never before been to sea; she was laden with cotton goods, and had the planking for a slave-deck, with leaguers, and a large cauldron for boiling farina; indeed, she was in every way fitted for a slaver, and would, I felt sure, if we could not stop her career, bring back some seven or eight hundred slaves in her capacious hold.

“‘She is a slaver, you will allow?’ I said, turning to the midshipman.

“‘A slaver!’ he said, ‘worse than that. She is a regular pirate; as such we captured her.’

“Notwithstanding what he said, I was convinced that she was simply a slaver, though the Spaniards are generally in no hurry to take such vessels. We returned on deck, and I kept my eye on my friend and his men.

“The brig’s crew had all been removed, he told me.

“‘We shall see them, then, hanging at your yardarm tomorrow morning,’ I observed.

“‘Oh no! we do not treat our prisoners in so summary a manner,’ he answered.

“We paced the deck for some time together, while I turned a somewhat anxious eye towards the schooner, hoping soon to see Norris return.

“Norris, as I afterwards learnt, as he got near the Spanish schooner observed her guns pointed down at his boat, ready to sink her in a moment. Undaunted, however, he pulled alongside. No opposition was offered to his coming on board. When he got on deck he found the fighting-lanterns ranged along it, sixty marines drawn up with muskets in their hands and swords by their sides, and fully two hundred men at their quarters. At the gangway stood the captain, a thin, short, wizen-faced man, with an immense moustache, who, as Norris appeared, began stamping with his feet, and swearing roundly in Spanish—

“‘Who are you? How dared you go on board yonder brig?’ he asked.

“‘I am an officer of her Britannic Majesty’s frigate Plantagenet,’ answered Norris, having a good notion of the proper way to meet such a fellow. ‘I obey the orders of my captain. He supposes her to be a slaver, and if she is not, all I can say is, she is very much like one.’

“‘She is not a slaver, but a pirate, and I have captured her under the same treaty that you English take slavers, and she is therefore mine and under my charge, and no one shall interfere with her.’

“‘In that case, why did you fire at us, I beg to know?’ asked Norris.

“‘Because it was dark, and I could not see your flag,’ answered the little Don.

“‘You could have seen our frigate, and you must have known perfectly well all the time that the boats you were firing at were English,’ replied Norris. ‘My superior officer, who has taken possession of the brig, wishes to see you on board her immediately.’

“While Norris was carrying on this conversation, the Spanish crew looked so bent on mischief, and the moustaches of the marines curled so fiercely that he expected every moment to be attacked, and he saw his own men put their hands on the hilts of their cutlasses as if they thought the same. They would have had to contend with fearful odds, but I have not the slightest doubt that they would have made a good fight of it, and perhaps have got off scot free, though they had not a pistol among them.

“The Spanish captain considered a moment, and Norris heard him order his gig to be manned.

“‘Well, remember that my superior officer expects you,’ he said, and having no inclination to remain longer on board than was necessary, ordering his men into the jollyboat, he came back as fast as they could pull to the brig.

“He had just time to give me an account of what had occurred, when we made out a Spanish boat coming towards us.

“I should have said by-the-bye that alongside the captain was an Englishman, or a man who spoke English perfectly, and interpreted for Norris—or at all events, helped him out with the conversation.

“I stood with my men ranged behind me, their shirt-sleeves tucked up and their cutlasses in their hands, ready to receive my visitor. I determined to show him that I was not to be trifled with. After his impudent behaviour, he had no right to expect any courtesy from me, so I let him find his own way on deck.

“‘Well, señor,’ I asked when he appeared, followed by his interpreter, ‘how did you dare to fire at my boats?’

“Instead of stamping and swearing as he had done when on board his own vessel, he was in a moment an altered being. Taking off his hat, he stood before me humbly bowing, and with his hand on his heart, declared that he much regretted what had occurred.

“‘Indeed, señor, I had no notion that the boats I fired at were English, and took you for pirates, about to attempt the recapture of the brig.’ This was said by means of the interpreter.

“‘That’s as big a bouncer as ever was spoken,’ I heard some one behind me growl out. I don’t know whether the interpreter thought fit to explain the polite remark to his superior.

“‘As to that I have no means of judging, but how comes it that I find one of your officers on board this vessel? She is evidently fitted for the slave-trade, and as such she will most certainly be condemned,’ I observed.

“‘Of course! no doubt about it,’ answered the Spanish captain, quite coolly, ‘she is not only a slaver but a pirate, and discovering such to be the case I captured her, and I give you my word of honour that I am about to take her into Saint Jago da Cuba for adjudication.’

“‘Of course I cannot doubt the word of honour of a Spanish officer,’ I replied. ‘I must consequently leave you in possession, and I only hope you will take care that she is condemned and her piratical career stopped.’

“‘Oh, of course, señor. I will take good care of that,’ he answered, again bowing, and putting his hand to his heart.

“I fancied that by the light of the lantern which fell on his countenance, I could see a twinkle in his eyes as he said this, and I felt strongly tempted to pitch him and his crew into their boat, cut the brig’s cable and make sail. However, as I was compelled to take his word for the truth of what he asserted, I had nothing to do but to trundle with my men into our boats, and pull back to the frigate. Hemming approved of what I had done, though he agreed with me that it was all humbug, and that the Spanish captain pretended to have captured the brig for the sake of saving her from our claws. He determined therefore to watch the two vessels, and we accordingly hove-to to see what they would do.

“It was not till nearly dawn that the breeze came off the land, when we saw the brig stealing out, followed by the man-of-war schooner. The latter, by the bye, was a magnificent vessel, one of the largest schooners I have come across, requiring the numerous crew she carried to handle her enormous canvas. We at once made sail and followed them into Saint Jago, which is about thirty miles west of Guantimo. We there found that the Spanish captain had actually brought the brig to trial as a pirate, though, as he well knew, there was not the slightest proof that she was one. As the trial was likely to last some weeks, or, at all events, till we were out of the port, Hemming considered that it would be useless to remain, so we sailed again, and were on our passage round to Havannah when we sighted you.”

Such was Adair’s account of his adventure.

A breeze soon afterwards springing up, the Plantagenet proceeded on to her destination, while the corvette and brig, with the prizes, continued their course to Jamaica. It was not till the return of the Plantagenet to Port Royal, that Jack heard of the full rascality of the Spanish captain. On the arrival of the frigate at Havannah Captain Hemming laid a complaint before the Admiralty Court for the adjudication of slavers. He then discovered that the brig belonged to Pepé, or, as he was now called, Don Matteo, who had bribed the Spanish captain to keep by his vessel and to pretend to have captured her should an English man-of-war appear. On the acquittal of the brig for piracy at Saint Jago, the Spanish captain who had pledged his honour on the subject escorted her through the windward passage as far as seventy degrees of longitude, when she was out of the range of West India cruisers. Jack afterwards heard an account of her from a friend on the African station. She had then really become a pirate. She used to watch for the slavers after they had run the gauntlet of the British cruisers, and would then capture them, take their slaves out, and give them her cargo of coloured cottons in exchange. When she did not manage to fall in with slavers she occasionally took a run in on her own account, and her captain being well informed of the movements of the blockading squadron, she invariably managed to pick up a fresh cargo and get clear off again. Being, however, in no ways particular, if she had no cargo of coloured cloths, she would sink the slavers she took, with their crews, so as to leave no trace of the transaction behind.

Being armed with a long gun amidships and six long nines, not a slaver had a chance with her. It was not till long afterwards that Jack became acquainted with the last-mentioned particulars. She at length disappeared from the coast, and he could never hear what ultimately became of her. She was probably either burnt, or driven on shore, or, still more likely, she was capsized and went down with her living freight of eight hundred human beings.

Chapter Nineteen.

The Tudor and Supplejack at Trinidad—Jack’s account of his trip up the Orinoco—The vice-consul and his belongings—A knowing pilot—Tom bit by a turtle—Tortoises—The brig among the trees—Spider’s attempt to escape—The midshipmen go in chase and lose themselves—Boarded by ants—Nearly take the brig—Search for the midshipmen in the forest—A native habitation—Angostura and its people—Land the consul and his better half—Return.

The Tudor once more came to an anchor off Port of Spain, in the beautiful island of Trinidad. Terence Adair had been appointed to her as first lieutenant, and Higson as second; she was accompanied by the Supplejack, of which Rogers still retained the command, with Bevan as his senior officer, Jos Green as master, and Needham as boatswain.

The old shipmates were thus, much to their satisfaction, still employed together. As soon as the sails were furled, Murray went on shore, accompanied by Jack and Terence, taking with them Tom and Gerald. Higson had insisted on doing Adair’s duty.

“Of course you will want to go and call on your fair cousins, and I never have been nor ever shall be a lady’s man, so they would not be well pleased to see me in your stead,” he said as he made the offer which Terence very readily accepted.

After Murray had delivered his despatches to the governor, he rejoined the two lieutenants, who had in the meantime gone to pay a visit to Antonio Gomez. They found the Don just starting out for his country house, and he, as they expected, at once ordered horses, and insisted that they should accompany him.

“Donna Caterina and her daughters will be delighted to see you, and would not pardon me if I did not bring you along with me,” he said in a warm, hearty tone. “They will be anxious to hear all about their sweet friend Stella, and what you have been doing since you were here last. We some time ago received an account of Colonel O’Regan’s death. Well! well! poor man, I confess it was only what I expected, he seemed determined to court such a fate; and I could never make out why a person who could honourably live at his ease at home should be so eager to knock his head against stone walls—however, the tastes of people differ.”

The horses having arrived, the philosophical Don led the way, with Murray by his side.

The party received a hearty welcome, as before, from Donna Caterina and her fair daughters, and Terence as usual had a long conversation with the old lady about Ballymacree; he had, however, not much news to tell her; he had only occasionally heard from home, and the letters he had received were brief, stating simply that things went on as usual; Gerald, however, pleased her much by showing her the letter from his mother, in which she expressed her gratitude for the kindness he had received from his West India cousins.

Though they had not been informed of Murray’s engagement to Stella, they very quickly guessed the truth, and by adroitly questioning the midshipman, ascertained all particulars as far as they were known.

Jack and Terence very nearly lost their hearts, as the young ladies were thus able to concentrate all those efforts to attract them, which might have been expended in vain on the young commander, but as they returned to their ships early the next morning they quickly recovered their usual serenity of mind.

“I am afraid they would be very miserable at Halliburton, and I somewhat doubt whether Mary and Lucy would quite like them as sisters-in-law,” observed Jack to Terence while they were freely discussing the young ladies.

“May be, the dear creatures wouldn’t be quite as happy as I should wish them to be at Ballymacree, seeing that they mightn’t take altogether to our ways,” said Terence. “So I don’t think that I’ll make the promise I was meditating, of coming back some day or other, when I am a commander for instance, and carrying one of them over to Ireland with me.”

On returning to town Murray again called on the governor, who told him that he had received a communication from a certain Senhor Bernado Guedes, acting as British consul at Angostura, up the Orinoco, complaining of outrages inflicted on certain British subjects as well as on himself, and requesting that a man-of-war might be sent to punish the offenders.

“As the navigation of the river is, however, very difficult, I doubt whether a ship of any size could get up it, though, perhaps, the smallest of your vessels would be able to do so,” he added.

Murray, of course, said that he should be happy to send the Supplejack up, should her draft of water not be too great, and that he could perfectly trust her commander, Lieutenant Rogers, to act with discretion in the matter. Senhor Bernardo soon afterwards made his appearance. He had not only come himself to make his complaint, but had brought his wife with him, without whom, he observed, he never moved from home.

He was not a very favourable specimen of a British consul, and it was difficult to say how he had attained the post. He was a short, dark-skinned personage, with apparently a mixture of negro blood in his veins. With considerable volubility, though in somewhat broken English, he repeated all his complaints, and finished up, requesting that he might be conveyed, with his wife, back to his home.

“But as we are not acquainted with the navigation, it would be impossible for the brig to go up without a pilot,” observed Murray.

“Oh! dat sir, I will provide,” he answered. “I will obtain the services of Anselmo; he knows ebery inch of de way up to Angostura, each sandbank and ebery snag, I might almost say.”

“You saw the brig-of-war in the harbour, do you think she will be able to get up so far?” asked Murray.

“Oh yes, captain; your big ship even would get up as the waters are rising at present, sure. She might, to be sure, stick coming down, though,” answered the consul.

“Thank you, I should prefer then not attempting to take her up,” said Murray, laughing.

“Well, Captain Murray, I will leave you to make arrangements with the consul, and I conclude that Lieutenant Rogers will be ready to give this gentleman and his wife a passage?” observed the governor.

“I can answer for that,” answered Murray, as he took his leave, accompanied by Senhor Guedes.

He returned to the quay.

“I conclude, Mr Consul, that you and your lady will be ready to go on board the brig this evening, as she will sail tomorrow morning by daylight,” said Murray. “Where is Senhora Guedes residing?”

“She, my wife, is on board that schooner dere, the mail-packet, in which we came from Angostura. I left her locked up in the cabin,” answered the consul.

“Locked up in the cabin!” exclaimed Murray, with no little surprise, beginning to suspect that Rogers would have curious passengers on board the Supplejack.

“Oh yes, sare, I always lock up my wife when I do go out, for she is young, you see, and it is the safest plan; she can then no run away herself, and no one can run off with her—that what I always fear. It make my life miserable at Angostura;” and this curious representative of the “majesty of England” shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace which showed the intensity of his feelings.

“Well, go and get your wife and your traps, and I will inform Lieutenant Rogers of the governor’s wishes, that he should afford you and your wife a passage home.”

“Thank you, sare,” answered Senhor Guedes, bowing low as he strutted off to a boat, and returned on board the schooner, which lay at a short distance from the shore.

Murray had invited Rogers to dine on board the Tudor, and a very pleasant party the three old messmates had. They talked of times gone by, and enjoyed a hearty laugh at the description Murray gave of the consul and his fair partner.

“I shall be happy to give up my cabin to the lady, but I hope her husband won’t lock her in it during the whole voyage; at all events, he cannot be afraid of any one running away with her while we are at sea.”

“I wish you may at all events enjoy the company of your passengers,” said Adair, laughing; “I want you to write me a full account of what occurs, or the chances are that by the time you rejoin us you will have forgotten all about it.”

Jack, promising to comply with Adair’s request, returned to the Supplejack somewhat earlier than he would otherwise have done, that he might be on board to receive his expected guests. He at once gave orders to his steward to clear out his cabin and prepare it for the reception of the consul’s lady; however, as Jack faithfully fulfilled his promise to Adair, we have the opportunity of giving an account of the expedition in his own words:—

“I had been walking the deck for some time, thinking now of one thing, now of another, when a boat with two persons in the sternsheets came alongside, and answered to the quarter-master’s hail—

“‘Her Majesty’s British Consul of Angostura and his family.’

“The accommodation-ladder had already been rigged in preparation for the arrival of these important personages. The sides being manned, the next instant a stout gentleman who must be, I knew, the consul, began to ascend, shoving up before him a veiled female figure. She, I rightly guessed, was his wife. I advanced to meet them, and was about to address the lady, when her husband informed me that ‘She no speak English—and, as she is very tired, she wishes at once to go to her cabin.’

“I accordingly conducted the veiled lady below. From her figure, and a glimpse I caught of her countenance as the light from the lamp fell on it (as by chance, of course, her veil fell on one side), I saw that she was young and undoubtedly pretty, thus accounting for the jealousy displayed by her ‘lord and master.’

“The old gentleman followed and remained for a short time in the cabin. When he came out I observed that he examined the door, and seemed rather nonplussed on discovering that there was no key with which he could follow his usual custom of locking up his better half. I invited him to walk the deck with me, that he might give me a fuller account of the circumstances which had occurred at Angostura, requiring the visit of a British man-of-war.

“He told me a long rigmarole tale of an attack which had been made on his house by a party of brigands, as he called them, from Venezuela, the chief object of which, as he suspected, was to carry off his wife; however, they, or some one else, had pulled down the consular flagstaff. A half-caste, who claimed to be a British subject, belonging to Trinidad, had been killed, and two or three others had been made prisoners. All the time he was speaking he was in a state of agitation, and soon hurried back into the cabin, to ascertain (as he said), whether his wife wanted anything.

“He supped with us in the gunroom, and though he played a very good knife and fork, he exhibited the same uneasiness, jumping up two or three times during the meal, to pay his spouse a visit.

“McTavish, who had not suspected the cause of his anxiety, remarked, ‘that he had never seen more devoted affection displayed, and that he could not help admiring the old gentleman,’ though he owned that he possessed very few other likeable qualities.

“For my own part, I did not anticipate much pleasure in the society of my guests.

“By break of day we got under weigh and stood for the ‘Boca de Huevos,’ or the Umbrella Passage. Till I consulted our sailing directions I had fancied that we might have made a short cut to the southward through one of the Serpent’s Mouths, but the hot current which sets into the Gulf of Paria, caused by the immense mass of water flowing out of the Orinoco, would have effectually prevented us from gaining our object. The longest way round, therefore, was the shortest to our destination.

“A fresh breeze on our quarter enabled us to get out into the open sea sooner than I expected, when we stood along the northern shore of Trinidad to the eastward. We carried the breeze with us till we rounded the point of Galera. I should not have supposed that Trinidad is the fertile place it really is, from the appearance of its northern shore, which is that of an immense ridge of barren rocks. Not, indeed, till we were running down the eastern coast, did its rich and smiling valleys again appear in view.

“I had good reason to be glad that we had not attempted the Serpent’s Mouth; for when standing across from the southern end of Trinidad towards the Orinoco the wind fell light, and we were nearly swept by the current back again into the Gulf.

“Even before we came in sight of the mainland, we found ourselves sailing through the brown waters of the mighty stream, which as we got nearer its many mouths, became almost the consistency of pea-soup, and we had to keep a lookout to avoid the huge trunks of trees swept out by the current, the ends of some of which, broken off by lightning or the wind, might have made an ugly hole in our bows. We stood for the centre and broadest entrance of the river, the only one through which we could make our way up against the current, and hove-to off the far from attractive looking town of Cangrayos—here we were to find, the consul informed me, the trustworthy pilot Anselmo.

“A signal having been made for a pilot, a canoe speedily put off from the shore, bringing on board a big mulatto, dressed in an excessively dirty white jacket and trowsers, with a broad-brimmed straw hat which had seen better days, on his head. He greeted the consul with a profound bow, and introduced himself to me as ‘de pilot of de Orinoco,’ who ‘knowed ebery part of de river from one end to de other, and take up all de English ships which come dare.’

“‘Well, Senhor Anselmo, do you think you can pilot this brig and carry her back again, without leaving her high and dry on a sandbank?’ I asked.

“‘Oh yes, sare, if she twice the size, I take her up all de same,’ he answered with a scornful laugh at the supposition that he might not fulfil his engagement.

“‘Senhor Guedes assured me that you were the best pilot to be found for the river,’ I remarked. At his request we hoisted up his canoe, which contained a hammock and several articles which he had brought off to administer to his creature comforts. The only fresh provisions that we were able to procure at the place were three turtles, one of which was immediately put to death; the others were slung in hammocks, and secured to temporary stanchions fixed to the bulwarks; we kept the reptiles alive by covering them with damped swabs which were continually wetted as the heat absorbed the water. We had to wait till the next morning, when the sea-breeze set up the river, to enable us to stem the muddy current. The shores on either side, as far as the eye could reach, were covered with dense masses of mangrove trees which rose up out of the water, no firm ground being visible on either side; the scenery, indeed, was not attractive, though we supposed that in time we should come to something more interesting. It was satisfactory to find that we did make headway, though slowly.

“I have said nothing about Senhor Guedes and his better half. He allowed her to come out to meals; but he sat opposite to her at table, and fixed a glance at her all the time, and frowned savagely if he saw her for a moment turn her eyes towards me. Had I not suggested, for the sake of her health, that she should be allowed to come on deck, I believe he would have kept her shut up in the cabin for the whole voyage. When she did appear she was closely veiled, and he stood by her the whole time, looking expressively angry when any of the officers approached her, though as she did not speak English, few of them could exchange a word with her. Before we got into the river, he had some reason for keeping her in her cabin; for the poor lady was very ill. Several times I heard her Bluebeard of a husband scolding her fearfully, and I felt strongly inclined to pitch him overboard. She recovered rapidly when she got into the river, and was able to hold her own, and prove that she could scold as well as he could.

“I won’t bother you with an account of our daily progress, which was as I have said, dreadfully slow. I had expected to witness grand and majestic views on the Orinoco, the second river in point of size in South America; but its very width is a drawback from any beauty it might possess; and although aware that the trees on either side are of great height, they are so far off as to appear like mere bulrushes growing out of the water, while the mountains of which we caught sight were at such a distance as to produce but little effect in the landscape. When the breeze was fresh we made tolerable way through the water, but directly it fell we were compelled to anchor, or we should have speedily been swept down, and lost all the distance we had gained.

“We had to bring up every night and for some hours during the day, so you will understand what toilsome work it was.

“I suggested one evening to Anselmo, that as he knew the river so well we might run on when the breeze favoured us during the night: he shook his head, answering, ‘Oh no, sare, that is not to be done; we get into mischief; I only pilot for the day.’ As the rascal was paid by the day he was in no hurry; nothing I could say would induce him to take charge by night. I tried what threatening would do, but he only smiled, as he well knew that he had us in his power.

“Having gone on deck some time after sunset one evening, and found a steady breeze blowing up the stream, I thought I would again try to overcome his resolution. I sent the quartermaster of the watch to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. ‘Anselmo!’ was called along the lower deck; no answer came. At last, turning my eyes aloft I observed something unusual in the rigging, and there between the main and foremast was slung a hammock, in which the rogue had stowed himself. After he had been repeatedly hailed, he looked out of his eyrie, and getting into the main rigging came down. I asked him why he had taken up his berth aloft.

“‘Because, sare, it dare cool and pleasant; no mosquito; plenty air.’

“He certainly was not likely to have been interrupted as long as the sails were furled, though had he suddenly awoke he would have run a great risk of toppling down on deck. Habit, however, is second nature, and he, I dare say, recollected, even in his sleep, where he was.

“Had I at the time known one of his peculiarities I should have kept a stricter watch on him that I had done hitherto. I soon, however, found it out. We were brought up one day for want of a breeze, when an American schooner loaded with hides came rapidly gliding down the stream. Anselmo begged to have his canoe lowered, as he said that he had friends on board whom he wished to see. I gave him permission, and after a brief visit to her he returned singing merrily as he got alongside, and his canoe again at his request was hoisted up. It did not occur to me to send any one to look into her, or to look myself. Soon afterwards the schooner was out of sight. After waiting for some time a breeze sprang up, and as we had not anchored in any great depth of water we soon got the anchor to the bows and made sail. Anselmo was more loquacious than usual. We had gone up a mile or two when I felt the vessel touch the ground. As the breeze freshened, however, she glided on, stirring up the thick mud at the bottom.

“I rated our pilot soundly, but he only laughed, observing, ‘Oh, senhor capitan, that is noting.’ I happened to remark that he made frequent visits to his canoe, and in a short time after I went below. When I returned on deck I found that he was completely drunk, and not willing to trust the brig any longer to his charge, as the wind also was falling, I brought up; of this fact, however, Anselmo did not appear to be aware, for he stood at his usual post conning her with the gravity of a post-captain who has royalty on board his ship. ‘Starboard now,’ ‘steady,’ ‘port,’ he sung out every now and then, while holding on by a stanchion to support himself, notwithstanding which he occasionally surged forward, and I thought would have tumbled over on his nose, while, of course, he afforded infinite amusement to the midshipmen and crew. We were unable to move again during the day. Notwithstanding his condition he managed to climb into his hammock and sleep away the fumes of liquor.

“Next morning he seemed greatly surprised to find that the brig had not made better way, and declared that she had dragged her anchor, as to his certain knowledge we had sailed on three or four hours after we had left the spot where we were now brought up.

“We had eaten another of our turtles. I had ordered the last to be killed, and was standing aft watching a large cow-fish which came sweeping by on our quarter, its snout and shining body rising just above the surface, when I heard a loud cry from Tom, and I saw him with one hand in the turtle’s hammock dancing up and down, and crying lustily, ‘Quick, quick! if you don’t, he will have my thumb off.’

“I ran forward to his assistance, and found that having forgotten at which end the animal’s head lay, he had intended, as he said, to give its tail a pull, when to his dismay the creature’s mouth caught his thumb. With a boathook, fortunately at hand, I managed to wrench open the turtle’s mouth and extract Tom’s thumb. Had the creature been in full strength it would undoubtedly have bitten it off; even as it was, though at its last gasp, it had given him an ugly gripe, which necessitated his being under the care of McTavish for several days.

“Of animal life we saw but little, though birds of gay plumage flew across the stream, and cow-fish, porpoises, and other creatures gambolled in the waters. We met, also, several floating islands, composed of trunks of trees bound together by their branches, and interwoven by sipos or long vines. Sometimes they were even covered with grass, and on one of them was a jaguar still feeding on its prey, and not aware of the fate which to a certainty awaited it. The animal had probably leaped on the island to seize a deer which had taken refuge there, when the victim and its destroyer had been together swept away, the latter being afraid to venture into the rushing stream to make its escape. It was too far off to shoot; indeed, I had no rifle ready. When passing near the trees which grew in the water—for land was nowhere visible—I caught sight of flocks of herons resting on the branches.

“I went on one occasion, when we had brought up, in Anselmo’s canoe, and in an hour killed a sufficient number of them to serve all hands for breakfast.

“Having consumed our last turtle we became badly off for fresh provisions, as we generally anchored too far from the trees to get a shot at a bird, or to catch any of the animals which inhabited them.

“Occasionally, however, we were visited by the canoes of the natives, who supplied us with bananas, cocoanuts, and the dried flesh of some large fish. The most welcome provisions they brought us were a number of small land-tortoises, a foot and a half or two feet in length, which were as delicate as anything I could wish to eat. As we got higher up, the river became somewhat narrower, and we thus frequently had to pass close to the trees.

“We had been making good way one morning with a fresh breeze, when as the day advanced the wind began to fall: still Anselmo encouraged us with the hope that it would get up again, and we continued our course under all the sail we could spread.

“As he appeared to be perfectly sober at the time, I had not, as I generally did, kept an eye on him, and therefore did not bring up as I should have done. Finding, however, that we were going astern I ordered the anchor to be dropped, and sent the hands to furl sails. The topsails and topgallant-sails had fortunately been handed, and the men were coming down from aloft when the brig swung right in among the trees, and the end of a thick bough which had been shivered by lightning, or broken off by a storm, ran through the head of the mainsail just under the gaff. There we lay with our fore-topgallant and topsail yards caught in the branches, and our mainsail securely locked.

“‘A pretty job it will be to get clear,’ I thought. Though at present the brig had suffered no great damage, she was in a position in which it would not have been satisfactory to remain long, and I therefore ordered a boat to be lowered to carry out a kedge. As it was necessary, however, first to clear our mainsail and yards, I sent some hands aloft with axes to chop away the network of vines, the nooses of which nearly caught two or three fellows and swung them off the yards into the trees.

“The most excited person on board was the midshipmen’s pet, Master Spider. Seeing the green foliage overhead, he became inspired with the idea of visiting the haunts of his childhood. The owners, not thinking of this, had allowed him to be loose: up the rigging he sprang, with Tom and Gerald after him. They were very nearly as nimble as he was. He had reached the fore-topgallant-yard, close to which temptingly hung a mass of vines just such as one might suppose he had been accustomed to swing in, in his early days: into it he sprang, and began to climb one of the many widespreading branches to which the vines were attached. Tom and Gerald, afraid of losing him, followed and were soon lost to sight among the dense foliage. I did not myself see this, but supposed them still to be among the men on the yards, for I was busy at the moment in getting the boat lowered, and pointing out the direction in which the kedge was to be carried. Calling the men down, I ordered them to haul away on the warp to get the head of the brig out again into the stream. While, however, the branch was fixed in the mainsail, this could not be done. Needham, who saw what was necessary, called for the assistance of the pilot, who was a wonderfully strong man, and having lowered the peak, the two put their shoulders under the boom, and by a wonderful exertion of strength lifted it out of the crutch and let it run forward. At that moment a large mass fell from the branch on deck: I turned round to ascertain what it was, when I saw issuing from the fragments myriads of large ants, which went crawling all over the deck.

“‘Oh! they will bite us to death,’ exclaimed Anselmo, making a bolt up the rigging. Needham, who had already had his feet attacked, followed his example; the consul, who had been sitting on deck with his wife, well knowing the biting powers of the creatures, seized her round the waist and attempted to carry her down the companion-hatchway, but in his terror he let her go by the run, and she lay shrieking at the bottom, for she was much hurt, while he pitched down headforemost after her, a whole army of ants following. The deck literally swarmed with them; the creatures came creeping forward, attacking our shoeless feet and biting in a most frightful manner. For the instant I thought that they would have driven me and my crew overboard; the men at the warp quickly recovering hauled away as before, though they were unable to withstand stamping and leaping in their vain efforts to free themselves of the fiery pests. We had managed to get the brig free of the boughs, when I bethought me of attacking the creatures with water, and ordering all the buckets to be filled, we immediately began deluging the decks, the ants which still remained on it being quickly swept through the scuppers. Numbers having, however, already gained the hammock-nettings and rigging, it was no easy matter to dislodge them. Bevan, with the boat’s crew, who had gone off with the kedge, fortunately for themselves, escaped; and he told me afterwards, that not knowing what had happened, he fancied for a moment that we were all gone mad, from the curious way in which, I setting the example, every one on board had begun suddenly to leap and skip about. A gouty gentleman, subjected to the discipline we went through, would quickly have been cured of his complaint. Our next puzzle was to get rid of the creatures in the rigging. I partly accomplished the task by sending hands into the tops with buckets, who dashed the water down in every direction. To clear the cabin of them, however, was a more difficult task; as soon as the deck was somewhat free, I went down below, where, from the conversation I heard, with occasional cries which proceeded from the cabin, I guessed that the consul and his wife were employed in freeing their persons from the pests. Senhor Guedes presently afterwards appeared with a basin, in which were floating countless numbers of the slain; still I saw them crawling about the cabin in every direction, and it struck me that the youngsters might be usefully employed in catching them. I accordingly sent for them, when, to my dismay, I was told that they were nowhere to be found. At last one of the topmen said that he had seen them chasing Master Spider among the boughs of the forest. A vision of jaguars, venomous sea snakes and other reptiles, rose up before me, and I began to fear that they might have met with some accident. We looked towards the forest, but they could nowhere be seen. We shouted to them to show themselves, but no answer came to our repeated hails. I immediately ordered Anselmo’s canoe to be lowered, and as soon as the brig had been brought safely to an anchor at a distance from the trees, I paddled off to look for them. I was quickly under the boughs, but as far as my eye could reach water alone was to be seen, with huge trees apparently growing out of it. By sounding I found that the depth, even some way in, was fully six feet. Again and again I shouted, but got no answer, and as for seeing anything above my head, that was impossible, from the mass of sipos, as Anselmo called them, or vines, which hung in festoons from the branches of the trees, uniting them in one vast network. I began to fear that the youngsters had, in their hurry to overtake Spider, slipt from aloft and fallen into the water, where they might have stuck in the mud, or been carried off by some voracious alligator watching for his prey. Going a little farther, I again shouted, when a cry came from among the branches above my head: I looked up, expecting to see the lads, but could not make them out. At last I distinctly heard Tom’s voice, exclaiming, ‘Here we are, sir, but Spider will hold on by the boughs with his tail, and we cannot get him along.’

“‘But that is nothing, sir,’ added Gerald. ‘We are surrounded by hundreds of monkeys, and are afraid that they will carry him off if we let him go again.’

“‘Wring his neck and pitch him down, and then come down yourselves,’ I shouted out, losing temper.

“‘That’s not so easily done, sir,’ cried Gerald. ‘The monkeys may take it into their heads to carry us off.’

“‘No fear of that,’ I shouted out; ‘tie Spider’s tail over his head and you will easily bring him down by some of these vines. If you happen to fall into the water I will pick you up.’ The youngsters did as I directed them, though Spider showed fight and bit Gerald while he was trying to perform the operation. Tom, however, very wisely thought of tying his handkerchief over the monkey’s head, and now dragging him along they began to make their way down to the lower branches. Not being able, however, to ascertain how near the vines reached to the water, they came down by some which hung eight or ten feet from the surface. This was too great a height to drop from into the canoe. Supposing that I was losing patience, and that I might punish them for their freak, they let go, and monkey and midshipmen came down by the run into the water, where the three adventurers cut a ludicrous figure, splashing, spluttering, and kicking till I got up to them. The latter were not much the worse for their ducking, but the monkey was very nearly drowned before I had helped him out. ‘We have got Spider anyhow,’ sung out Tom, not holding me in much awe, but Gerald took matters more seriously.

“‘Faith, sir. We could not help it,’ he exclaimed, ‘the baste of a monkey would set off to join his brothers in the bush, and if we had not gone after him they would have made a hathen of him to a certainty.’

“‘I suppose, then, Master Gerald, you consider that he has become a Christian under your instruction?’

“‘Well, sir,’ answered Gerald, looking up with a comical expression, which reminded me of an old shipmate of mine, ‘he is as good a Christian, any how, as many who call themselves so, and considering that he has got a tail he is a remarkable civilised baste.’

“‘Well, I will overlook your offence of quitting the ship without permission,’ I said, trying to keep from laughing. ‘You were not aware probably that you were to be left among the tops of the trees when we hauled off from them? I don’t accuse you of intending to desert.’

“‘Thank you, sir. We will promise not to go monkey-hunting again, without your leave,’ answered the two midshipmen in chorus.

“As I was in no hurry to get on board, and the youngsters were not likely to suffer from sitting in their wet clothes, I paddled away for some distance among the trees. The greatest number were palms, but there were others of all descriptions, of which I am unable even to give the names. After going a little way we came to a somewhat more open space, when we heard a peculiar chattering overhead, while showers of sticks came pattering down on our heads. On looking up to ascertain the cause, we saw, high above up, among the tops of the tallest trees a whole clan of large bushy-tailed monkeys; there must have been a hundred or more, some old, and some young, gambolling about and playing all sorts of pranks. No sooner did they catch sight of us than they stopped, and scampered off helter-skelter, the old ones catching hold of the young ones in their arms, all equally anxious to make their escape. Some took prodigious leaps, catching the branches with their long tails, and after a swing or two throwing themselves to another branch, and so made their way amid the boughs till the whole of them were quickly lost to sight. They, however, had not gone far, when Tom’s quick eyes detected several bushy faces grinning out from among the boughs where they had concealed themselves. We paddled on a short distance and then remained quiet, when in a few minutes, first one bolder than the rest came out from his hiding-place, and then another, and another, uttering sharp cries; presently the whole troop came back, and began amusing themselves as before, the spot for some reason or other suiting their tastes. It was great fun, I confess, and Tom and Gerald enjoyed it immensely. They declared that the monkeys were the same fellows who came to look at them and had threatened, as they supposed, to make them prisoners. I had paddled for some distance into the forest when I considered that it was time to turn back, for the sun was getting low; it was just possible that I might lose my way, and I suspected it would be no easy matter to find it in the dark. How far the water might extend over the country I could not tell, probably for miles and miles. I had begun, as I believed, to direct the head of the canoe towards the brig, steering by the rays of the sun, which still came across the forest and struck the topmost boughs of the trees, of which I occasionally caught a glimpse, when presently Tom caught sight of some tempting fruit like plums, which hung from the branches almost within our reach. I tried to get at them with my paddle by standing up in the canoe. On finding this impossible, Tom and Gerald volunteered to climb along the branch, when they managed to get hold of a good number, which they threw into the canoe, though, by-the-bye, they very nearly toppled down head foremost into the water when making the attempt. I tried the plums and found them excellent. Knowing how welcome they would be on board, we took as many as the canoe would hold: no one enjoyed them more than Spider, who munched away at them with amazing gusto, till his masters declared that he would burst if he took any more. Some time was occupied in gathering and eating the plums. We had turned about so often that when I began to paddle back, on my life I could not tell which direction to take; not a gleam of sunlight could I see on any of the trees, and before we had gone far the gloom of night began to settle down among the tall trunks. I did not wish to spend a night in the forest, with a chance of being capsized by an alligator, or cow-fish, or grabbed by an anaconda.

“‘Well, at all events, we shall not starve,’ said Tom; ‘these plums are very pleasant after the salt pork and dried fish we have had between our teeth for the last few days.’

“‘You forget the turtle soup and the tortoises.’

“‘We did not have a very large share of the former in the gunroom,’ answered Gerald, ‘and the tortoises were such ugly looking beasts that we did not take to them kindly.’

“‘That was your own fault then,’ I remarked; ‘I should advise you to try the next you get sent in, and you will find it superior to fish, flesh, or fowl, dressed according to a receipt Senhor Guedes gave the cook.’

“On going round the spot where we fell in with the plums, I discovered the branch on which we had first seen them, and recollecting its position, I was able to pull on in the direction we were then taking. Thinking that we might be possibly near enough to the ship to be heard, the midshipmen and I shouted at the top of our voices, but no reply came; indeed, among those huge trunks, sounds penetrate to no great distance. Still hoping to reach the brig, I persevered, as far as I could judge, in the same direction. I felt that with all the scientific knowledge possessed by the white man, how helpless he is in one of those mighty forests, while a native would have found the way without the slightest difficulty.

“Monkeys poked out their heads from the boughs on which they nestled and chattered at us; macaws, parrots, toucans, and other strange birds, screamed at us, and Gerald and Tom declared that they saw huge snakes wriggling along the branches, and about to drop down and attack us, but I suspected they were merely sipos, which, seen in the uncertain light, as we went along, appeared to be moving. At last I began to fear that we should not find the brig till daylight, and should have to pass the night in the forest. The canoe, laden as she was with plums, not allowing us space to lie down, I proposed, if we failed, after a further attempt to find the brig, that we should look out for a tree with widespreading branches, into which we could climb, and remain till daylight.

“‘But pray don’t think of such a thing,’ cried Tom; ‘we should have a whole troop of monkeys down upon us, and be carried off in our sleep by an army of anacondas.’

“I laughed at his fears, though I thought that we should very likely be attacked by ants, such as had almost taken the brig from us. I never like to be beaten in an object should it seem possible of attainment, and so I persevered, and again we all shouted, but with the same want of success as before. I thought that very possibly by this time we might be two or three miles away from the brig, just as likely as near her, for I confess I was extremely doubtful as to the direction we had taken.

“‘Well, youngsters, I am afraid there is no help for it,’ I remarked; ‘if you do not like to sleep among the branches, we must run the risk of turning our plums into jam. We will make the canoe fast to a tree, and try to get some rest. One at a time, however, must keep watch, though I don’t think we run much risk of being attacked by human or savage foes.’

“I was looking out for a branch to which to make the painter fast, when Tom declared that he saw a light far off between the tall trunks. By moving a little on one side, I also caught sight of it, and at once paddled away in that direction. It grew brighter as we advanced, and appeared to be elevated some little distance above the water. I was very certain that it could not proceed from the brig; it seemed, indeed, to be produced by a fire, but how a fire could exist in such a place, it was puzzling to say, unless it was on the bank of the river, or on an island elevated some height above the surface of the water. At all events, we were likely to meet with human beings, who, if natives, would probably be able to pilot us back to the brig.

“I told the youngsters to keep silent, and paddled cautiously on. It was necessary, indeed, to be very careful, for fear of capsizing the canoe against a floating log or projecting branch, unseen in the darkness. After going on for some distance, what was our surprise to find directly ahead a large platform, secured to the trunks of several lofty palms, elevated about six feet above the water. A fire was burning in the centre, round which were seated a number of dark-skinned natives, with scarcely a particle of clothing on their bodies. Above the platform was a roof of palm leaves, below which were hung a number of hammocks, of various sizes, the small ones containing children, and under them were a variety of other articles, while two canoes were made fast to the crossbeams which afforded support to the structure. The flames from the fire lighted up the figures of the natives, and cast a ruddy glare on the trunks of the trees, the dark foliage, the surrounding water, and on our canoe. As we approached, the men perceiving us, started up and seized their lances. Guessing that they understood Spanish, I shouted ‘Amigo! amigo!’ and paddling on towards them, they were soon satisfied that we came with no hostile intent; and as Tom made fast the canoe to a ladder which rested against the platform, they stretched out their hands to assist us up. Though unable to speak any language but their own, they seemed to comprehend that we were officers; and when I uttered the word ‘navio,’ they nodded to show us that they knew we had come from a ship out in the river, and that we wished to return to her. As I had no wish to pass the night among them, I tried to explain to them that I would reward them well, if they would at once pilot us back. After some time I got them, as I supposed, to understand my meaning, for they again nodded their heads, and pointed in the direction from which we had come, showing me, that when I fancied I had been paddling out towards the stream, I had in reality been directing my course inland.

“They offered us some of their meal, consisting of broiled fish and cakes, made, I suspect, from the flour, or pith of the very palm-trees on which the platform was erected. They gave us also some palm-wine; we did not ask how it was made, but it tasted very well. Indeed, our hosts showed every wish to be friendly. The flooring of this strange habitation was, I found on examination, composed of the split trunks of small palms; the hearth consisted of a mass of clay thick enough to prevent the heat from injuring the wood below. The people I afterwards found from the consul, belonged to a tribe of the Guarinis, who are the only inhabitants of this submerged region of the Orinoco. When the waters subside, they take up their abode on shore. Their only vegetable food is what they obtain from the palm-trees, and they subsist generally on turtle, tortoises, and the flesh of the manatee or cowfish, and other fish, which they spear or take with nets. Some of the young women were pretty good-looking, and wore scant petticoats made of the cabbage palm leaves, but the men had on little more than a belt round the waist with a few leaves hung from it.

“As I was afraid that my people would be going in search of us, and very likely lose themselves, I made the natives understand that I should be glad to take my departure; they nodded, and two of them got into the smallest of their canoes and paddled a little way, to show that they were ready to pilot us. Shaking hands with all round, the youngsters and I got into our canoe and followed our guides. I had to exert myself, however, to keep up with them, but as I knew that where they went my canoe could pass, we made good way. We had gone some distance when the sound of a gun reached us echoing from trunk to trunk throughout the forest, but it was not easy to ascertain from what direction it came, and had I been alone, it would scarcely have served to guide me. The natives, however, paddled on in their former course, showing me that they knew perfectly well what they were about. We soon came out into an open part of the river, a short distance above where the brig lay, and I at once made out her spars rising against the sky.

“Our absence had caused some anxiety to Bevan and the rest. He had just lowered a boat and was about to send Norris and Needham to look for us. The natives were well satisfied with the reward I bestowed on them, not so Anselmo at seeing it given.

“‘One bullet through the head or poke with a pike, good enough for dem,’ observed the rascal.

“I resolved the next time I went plum-picking to carry a compass, and to get back before the sun should sink below the tops of the trees.

“By-the-bye, the sun is often not to be obtained as a guide, for I afterwards visited parts of the forest where even his rays could not penetrate.

“We got under weigh the next morning as soon as the sea-breeze reached us, but again Señor Anselmo managed to get drunk as a fiddler, and after we had nearly been run on shore, I was obliged to bring up, a fact of which he was totally unaware. There he stood at his usual post, shouting out to the helmsman, ‘Starboard! port! steady!’ and at last, as grave as a judge, he observed to me—

“‘It’s time to bring up, captain; us no make headway, I see.’

“‘I should think not, mate,’ said Needham, ‘vessels don’t often go ahead with the anchor down. We are not going astern either, as we did yesterday, eh?’

“It would have been useless to flog the fellow or to put him in the black-list, for he would probably have slipped into his canoe, and left us to find our way as best we could; besides, when he was sober, he was as good a pilot as could be desired. I determined therefore to bear with him and to keep liquor out of his way. I was fortunate in finding his calabash, which I hove overboard, and gave notice that I would flog any man who supplied him with liquor beyond his portion. This had a good effect, and Anselmo kept sober for some time afterwards.

“I made frequent trips in the canoe, taking the youngsters, and always returned with a good supply of plums. We fell in with several families of the wild natives I have described. They seemed quiet and well-disposed, though somewhat low in the scale of humanity.

“I should like to give you an idea of the sort of scenery we met with. Starting from the ship, we began to force our way under the branches and amongst dense bushes, till we got into a part where the trees were much loftier, and the lower branches were level with the surface of the water, most of them covered with flowers. Besides the plums we found bunches of delicious fruit growing on the branches of a smaller species of palm. Frequently we heard the rattle of leaves overhead and caught sight of troops of monkeys peeping down among the thick foliage. Paddling on among the lofty trunks which rose like columns out of the water, presently down came a shower of leaves, and on looking up, we discovered a flock of parrots or a family of trogons, large gaily-coloured birds, with clamorous voices and heavy flight, who made the branches shake as they alighted to seize the fruit pendent from them. Palm-trees of various species prevailed; there was no underwood, or it had been destroyed by water, but the sipos or vines hung in dense masses among the upper branches. I wish that I could describe the wonderful birds we saw, one perfectly black, with a headdress like an umbrella, while some lovely specimens of the feathered tribe had white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Flowers were of all hues, and of immense size; some of the more lofty trees were literally covered with clusters of rich golden flowers. On the decayed trunks we caught sight of crabs of every variety of tint and size, watching for their prey, while butterflies and dragonflies of gorgeous hues flitted amid the more open spots wherever the sunlight found its way, some of the latter with crimson bodies and black heads and burnished wings, others with green and blue bodies. A fine region this for frogs, but many of them live in trees, finding, I suppose, that they are likely to be gobbled up, if they keep, as frogs in northern countries do, in the water. As night drew on, we heard them ‘hoo-hooing, quack-quacking,’ keeping up the strangest concert imaginable; indeed, had not the consul assured me that frogs produced the noises, I should have supposed that they were caused by some species of nightbird; however, I am, I confess, no great hand at description, nor had we a naturalist on board, or I might have given you a better account of the various trees and curious things we met with. Now and then we caught sight of an alligator, but the monsters generally betake themselves to pools and quiet places, while the waters are, as at present, at their height. By-the-bye, we did pass a town, which was seen in the distance. I did not touch at it, but Anselmo informed me that the inhabitants were engaged in a little civil war of their own, murdering each other to their hearts’ content. Had we had time, I dare say we might have supplied ourselves with monkey and sloth-flesh, opossums, snakes, crabs, and a variety of birds, but I doubt whether the crew would have appreciated the exertions of the sportsman. At last Anselmo informed me, much to my satisfaction, that we were drawing near to the termination of our voyage. The trees receded to a distance, and on either side of us appeared fields of grass, I should think, nearly a mile in width. Though web-footed birds here and there stalked over it, not an animal was to be seen; the reason of this was that the grass floated on the calm surface of the water. I should think we must have sailed through at least fifteen miles of it. At last we came to off the town of Angostura. Though not a place possessed of many attractions, I never dropped anchor with more satisfaction.

“I was not sorry to get the jealous consul and his veiled lady out of the ship, for, as you may suppose, I wanted to be back among more stirring scenes, and escorted him and his wife on shore at the head of a score of bluejackets and five marines, to make as imposing an appearance as I could. Having seen him reinstated in his abode, and the consular flagstaff set up again with the flag of old England flying from it, I delivered my despatches from the Governor of Trinidad to the chief authority in the place, and informed him that the Majesty of England must not be insulted in the person of one of her consuls.

“‘But Senhor Guedes is very jealous of his wife, and that is all about it,’ answered the governor of Angostura, who, I found to my surprise, was able to converse pretty freely in English. Such, I had suspected, was the case, and I could not help feeling that I had been sent up on a fool’s errand.

“From the appearance of Angostura, I fancied that it must have been a place of some importance in the past days of Spanish glory, but like every other former dependency of that unhappy country, it everywhere shows marks of decay. There are churches and priests, but the best thing it can boast of is a very good market, in which being able to supply all our wants, we revelled luxuriously on fresh provisions during our stay. The town also can boast of the very fattest negress I ever set eyes on; she would make her fortune in an exhibition in England or America. The midshipmen asked Needham if he would like to marry her.

“‘Bless my heart, no, young gentlemen; she’s big enough to be the wife of six men, twice my size,’ he answered.

“I can think of nothing else to tell you about this remote city. It has some commerce, for there were three or four American vessels in the harbour loading with hides.

“Having paid farewell to the obnoxious consul, who, shedding a flood of tears, gave me a hug which nearly drove the breath out of my body, I returned on board, and ordering the anchor to be weighed, directed Anselmo to pilot us back the way we had come, and ‘mark me, my friend,’ I added, ‘if you get drunk, and run us on shore, I will give you three dozen as sure as you are a living man.’

“‘But, cap’n, I would no’ do that same, on no account,’ he answered, with a bland smile; however, I had given Needham instructions to keep a watch on him, and to throw overboard any liquor he might have stowed away. Three or four cocoanuts full of rum were discovered among his traps, the contents of which were started, and water substituted. It was amusing to see Anselmo’s face, when he found out the trick that had been played him.

“‘Never mind, pilot, it’s better to go without your grog than have a taste of the cat,’ observed Needham, patting him on the shoulder, ‘when you get home you shall have enough to keep you drunk for a week; at least, you will then be ready to pilot another of her Majesty’s ships up the river, if one of them ever comes this way.’

“As we could now sail or drift on all day by sending the boats ahead occasionally to tow us off the trees, we made good progress, and soon reached the mouth of the river.

“Though our trip was not destitute of interest, I can only hope that I shall never be sent up the Orinoco again.”

Terence thanked Jack for this description of his trip when they next met, which they did off Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana, at the mouth of the Demerara river. Its gaily painted wooden houses, with broad verandahs, raised on supports some feet above the ground, its canals and dykes, and numerous windmills, might make it easily mistaken for a Dutch town, were it not for the tall palm-trees which rise in its midst and the rich tropical scenery around. Here the corvette and brig remained for some days, and then sailed to join the squadron ordered to rendezvous at Rio.

A bright lookout was kept for slavers, which, notwithstanding the treaty lately made by the Brazilian Government with England, were known to swarm on the coast; the local authorities, like those of Havannah, encouraging the nefarious traffic, which put thousands of dollars into their purses.

Chapter Twenty.

The corvette and brig part company—The former chases a suspicious sail—Captures a full slaver—Adair in charge—Takes prize to Bahia—An important warning—Preparations for an attack—Anecdote of Lieutenant Wasey—The slave-dealers attempt to retake the prize—Gallant defence—Enemy defeated—The Supplejack appears in good time.

The Tudor and Supplejack had crossed the line, and had got some way to the southward, when a heavy gale came on, such as is not often experienced in those latitudes. It blew with especial fury during the night. Murray hove the corvette to, and believed that Jack would have done the same, but when morning broke, and the brig was nowhere to be seen from the deck of the corvette, he could not help feeling somewhat anxious on the subject. During the day the weather moderated, and a lookout was kept for her from aloft. Two days passed, however, and she did not appear. The wind was from the north-east, and he hoped by a quick run to Rio to have his anxiety soon brought to an end by finding that the Supplejack had arrived before him.

Morning had just dawned, the breeze was fresh, the tops of the seas sparkled in the rays of the rising sun, when the lookout from aloft shouted, “A sail on the lee bow!”

“What is she?” asked Adair, who was officer of the watch.

“A brig, sir,” was the answer.

“Is she like the Supplejack?” he inquired.

“Can’t say, sir. She is anyhow running to the westward, and the Supplejack would be steering to the south.”

“You are right. Call the commander,” said Adair to Desmond. The youngster had rejoined the ship at Georgetown. He himself then went aloft with his glass, to have a look at the stranger. By the time he came down Murray was on deck.

“She is certainly not the Supplejack, and, as she is running in for some Brazilian port far to the northward of Rio, she may possibly be a slaver.”

“We will overhaul her, at all events,” said Murray, and the corvette, bearing up in chase, made all sail she could set.

The stranger did not at first discover that she was pursued, and by the time that she did so the corvette had gained considerably on her. She was then seen to be a large brigantine, and by her square yards and white canvas, lighted up by the rays of the sun, Murray was more than ever convinced that she was a slaver.

The chase had set all the sail she could carry, and still kept well ahead of the corvette. The weather, as the day advanced, gave signs of changing, dark clouds gathered in the sky, and squalls, not very strong at first, but sufficient to make the commander look with anxious eyes at his spars, swept across the ocean—the dark clouds as they rushed along changing the hitherto blue, laughing waves to a leaden hue. Still the corvette persevered. The crew were at their stations, ready to shorten sail the moment it became absolutely necessary. The eagerness of the chase to escape made it still more probable that she was a slaver. She was dead before the wind, carrying topgallant-sails and royals, and studding-sails on either side. A dark cloud passing over her threw her into shade; on it went, and once more the bright rays of the sun falling on her canvas brought her more clearly into view; another squall swept by, making the corvette’s studding-sail-booms crack and bend as if they were about to break away from the braces.

“Hold on, good sticks!” cried Murray, apostrophising them, “the toughest spars will win the day.”

The crew cast their eyes aloft, fully expecting to see them carried away, but they held on, and the trim corvette went dashing forward amid the dancing seas, which rose up, foam-crested, on either side.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Terence, “she is ours!” At that moment the squall had reached the chase, and away flew her studding-sails, the booms breaking off at the irons. Still she held on her course. The corvette was now rapidly gaining on her; the attempt was made to rig another lower studding-sail, but that also was carried away almost as soon as set, and in less than half an hour the corvette had got her well within range of her long guns; but Murray refrained from firing as long as he found that he was gaining on her.

“It is useless to run the risk of injuring her spars,” he observed to Adair; “she will haul down her colours when she finds that she has no hope of getting away.”

“Those fellows are up to all sorts of dodges, and will make every effort to escape,” said Terence.

“We will take in the studding-sails at all events, and be ready for him should he haul his wind,” said Murray. The light canvas was taken in with a rapidity, which must have astonished the crew of the slaver. Just, however, as the operation was about to be commenced, she had put her helm to port, and braced her yards sharp up on the starboard tack; but a couple of shot from the corvette, one of which struck her starboard quarter, showed her that she was too late; and fearing that other iron missiles might overtake her, she immediately hauled down her colours. The corvette’s topgallant sails and royals having been handed, she also was brought to the wind and hove-to on the weather beam of the prize. Murray now directed Adair to go on board the brigantine with a midshipman and ten hands, and to carry her to Rio, unless, from a scarcity of provisions or want of water, he should find it necessary to put in to Bahia, or any other neighbouring port on the Brazilian coast.

Adair and Desmond were quickly ready with their carpet-bags, as were Snatchblock and nine other men with their bundles, and the boat which had, meantime, been lowered, pulled off for the prize, although there was some sea on; yet as she was low in the water, she was easily boarded. She proved to be the Donna Maria, a noted Brazilian slaver which had often before escaped capture. According to Murray’s directions, Adair sent back the captain and officers and some of her ill-looking crew, who were likely to prove troublesome if left in her.

He found that, though only measuring a hundred and fifty tons she had nearly five hundred slaves on board, stowed away as thick as they could be packed between decks.

Having had a remarkably quick run from the coast of Africa, the captain informed him that he had not lost more than twenty people. As he looked down the main hatchway, the haggard countenances of the mass of human beings packed close together—as Desmond observed, like herrings in a cask—showed him that had the voyage continued much longer, the number of deaths would have been greatly increased.

Although there was food enough and water for the slaves, either the crew had hove overboard some of their own provisions, or had brought but a small supply, so that Adair found but a scant allowance for himself and his men; he therefore sent on board the corvette for such articles as he thought would be required. Just as all arrangements had been completed, and he had put the brigantine on her course, he saw the corvette haul her wind, and stand away to the eastward. As she did so, Murray signalised that a strange sail, which he hoped to overhaul, had hove in sight in that direction.

A sufficient number of the slaver’s crew had been kept on board to attend to the unfortunate blacks, and carry them their provisions and water. Adair himself went round among them, and endeavoured to make them understand that he was their friend, and that as soon as possible they should be sent back to Africa. At first they looked on the Englishmen with an expression of terror in their countenances, many of them believing that they would be taken on shore to be killed and eaten, or to be offered up to the white man’s Fetish. Fortunately one of the seamen, who had been long on the coast, could make himself understood by some of them; and, by his means and kind treatment, Terence succeeded at length in banishing their fears. One of the Brazilians also spoke a little English, and so was able to act as interpreter. Pedro was a better-looking fellow than most of his companions, and by the kind way he treated the blacks Terence was inclined to trust him. He declared that poverty alone, and a wish to support his family, had induced him to ship on board the slaver, and that it was the last voyage he would ever make.

“These countrymen of mine are great rascals,” he observed; “you take care what they do, or they play you one great trick.”

Pedro then told Adair that the brigantine was somewhat leaky, and that it had been necessary to pump her out at every watch.

He at once ordered the well to be sounded, and Snatchblock reported “two feet of water in the hold;” he accordingly ordered the pumps to be rigged, and set some of his own people to work them. Pedro again came aft, and assured him that he felt certain he could pick out a score or more of blacks who could be trusted on deck, and that they would willingly take the duty, glad to escape from the confinement of the hold.

“We will try them,” said Terence, and in a short time Pedro sent up the number he had mentioned, all of them well-made, stalwart negroes. The scant clothing they wore exhibited, however, how much they had suffered by confinement, even during their comparatively short run across the Atlantic. Half of them quickly understanding what was required set to work with a will, being relieved by their companions. By their exertions the brigantine was at length almost freed from water. During the night it had, however, again gained on the pumps, and the weather coming on worse soon after daybreak Terence judged it prudent to bear up for Bahia.

He was thankful to believe that he would soon be in smooth water, for the poor slaves suffered dreadfully by the way the vessel tumbled about in the heavy seas, and several of the weak ones were found to have died during the night. The Brazilians hauled them out, without the slightest exhibition of feeling, and hove the bodies overboard as if they had been so many dead sheep. The heat and effluvium which arose from below were almost unbearable, the instant the hatches, which had necessarily been closed during the night, were taken off.

It was the first full slaver Desmond had ever been aboard.

“I have always heard the African coast abused, but I can only say that I should be ready to go and serve there, for the sake of catching some of these rascally slavers before they have had the opportunity of making the poor blacks suffer so horribly, as they must do during the middle passage,” he exclaimed, as he warmed with indignation at what he witnessed.

At last, a short time before nightfall, the brigantine entered the harbour of Bahia, which is easy of access, and came to an anchor at some distance from the town. Scarcely had she brought up than the weather moderated, and Terence began to regret that he had not continued his course for Rio; still he hoped that Murray, judging by the weather, would take it for granted that he had put in there, and would come and look for him.

It was too late that evening to communicate with the authorities; several boats, however, came alongside, though as no officer appeared among the people in them, Adair would not allow any one to come on board, with the exception of an official who was sent, he said, by the captain of the port to make inquiries about the vessel. At last all the boats took their departure. There was no moon, though the stars shone forth brightly overhead, reflected on the calm surface of the water. It was rather dark all around where the brig lay; here and there only, distant lights glimmering from the shore. The watch, of which Ben Snatchblock had charge, was set, and Adair and Desmond retired into a small cabin on one side of the deck to take supper.

“Well, I hope these poor fellows may be sent back safely to their homes,” said Desmond. “I am afraid a good many more will die before they get there, if they are not placed in some healthy spot and allowed to take exercise first.”

“Not one of them will ever get back to their homes,” answered Terence. “They are all brought some hundreds of miles from the interior, and would be quickly seized and carried back into slavery were the attempt to be made. They will be sent to Sierra Leone, or some of them may find their way to Liberia, a colony established some years ago for liberated blacks from the North American States.”

Adair was giving Desmond further information on the subject when Pedro put his head in at the door.

“Senhor Capitan, I want to have one word with you,” he said, putting his finger to his mouth. “You be on the watch; I heard things said by the people in de boats, and I make sure they come off and take all de slaves away, and knock you and your people on de head. Hist! hist! Don’t let my comrades know I tell you, or dey cut my troat as sure as I now a living man. No time to lose.”

Adair asked Pedro further questions, but he could elicit no more information. Pedro was evidently in a hurry to be gone, and again making a sign to show that caution was necessary he stole forward, keeping close under the bulwarks, as if afraid of being observed.

“The information Pedro has given us must not be neglected,” observed Adair. “He may be mistaken, but if the Brazilians think that they can get hold of the slaves they will try to do so without scruple, and will cut the throats of every one of us should they find it necessary to carry out their object. Go and turn out our people, and I will have a talk with Snatchblock on the subject.”

Desmond, making his way forward, roused up the prize crew, cautiously awaking each man separately, so that the slaver’s people should not hear them.

Adair followed him on deck, and told Snatchblock what he had heard.

“Well, sir, to my mind the first thing we have to do is to secure the Brazilian fellows we have on board, for if we are attacked by their friends from the shore, as Pedro thinks likely, we shall have them, may be, playing us some trick,” answered Ben. “Either they will let the slaves loose and set them up to murdering us; or if they can get hold of arms they will set on us themselves, should they see a chance of helping our enemies.”

Adair thought Ben’s advice good, and told him to get a sufficient number of lengths of rope to secure the fellows. This was quickly done, and Adair and his men went into the berth, and soon had all the Brazilians secured, almost before they were awake. He had Pedro lashed like the rest; Adair whispered, however, into his ear that he did so for his own sake, as should he be suspected of having given the Englishmen information he probably would be murdered by his countrymen. Pedro, indeed, seemed perfectly satisfied to be so treated.

“They no countrymen of mine, though,” he answered, in a low voice, “they Brazilians, I true-born Portuguese.”

“Well, whatever you are, I am much obliged to you, and hope to reward you some day for the assistance you have given us,” answered Adair.

“I should have taken the fellow to have a larger share of negro than white blood in him by his looks,” observed Adair to Desmond as they went aft; “however, I really believe that he is honest, and we should not despise his warning.”

He had all the arms and ammunition to be found on board collected, each of his crew being provided with a musket and a brace of pistols, in addition to their cutlasses; he and Desmond also armed themselves. A dozen spare muskets which he had carefully looked to and loaded were arranged, some aft, others midships and forward. There were also two small brass guns, used for signals rather than defence. No shot, however, could be found for them, so he sent a couple of men to collect all the nails and scraps of iron they could find in the carpenter’s store-room.

“These will make cruel wounds, but it will be the fellows’ own fault if they venture to attack us, should some of them stick in their bodies,” he observed, as the guns were loaded. A dozen boarding-pikes were also found and served out to the men.

“I rather suspect that these weapons will prove more serviceable in the hands of our stout fellows than muskets or pistols, which take time to load,” observed Adair. “They may serve us in good stead, should the Brazilians attempt to climb up the side.”

These arrangements being made, Adair and Desmond returned to the cabin to finish their supper, which they had just begun when Pedro came to them.

“Don’t you think after all that that Portuguese fellow may have been trying to frighten us for some object of his own, perhaps to ingratiate himself into your favour?” asked Desmond.

“No! no, I think not,” answered Adair, “the Brazilians have played similar tricks on captured vessels before, in this very port, and they are capable of any atrocity. There was an old friend of mine named Wasey, a capital fellow, kind-hearted and brave, as true a man as I ever met with. We were shipmates for a short time on the coat of Africa; Rogers and Murray knew him well, and liked him as much as I did. He was one of those quite unpretending characters who don’t know what is in them, except to those with whom they are intimate.

“We chased and captured a small schooner with a hundred and fifty slaves on board. He was put in charge of her with ten hands, and directed to take her to Sierra Leone, we having received on board her former crew, that he might not be troubled with them. Soon after he parted company from us a heavy gale sprang up from the eastward, and he was blown off the land. The schooner, one of those slightly put together craft, built expressly for slavers, sprang a leak, and the water gained so fast on them, that it was as much as the crew, with a few of the blacks who were to be trusted, could do to keep her afloat. His only chance of saving the lives of his crew, and himself, as well as of the blacks, was to run for the Brazilian coast. The schooner was also short of provisions and water, and had he attempted to beat up for Sierra Leone, he knew that most of the blacks must perish, even if he contrived to keep her afloat. The weather in no way moderated, and though he set an example to his men by taking his turn at the pumps, all hands working with a will, he scarcely expected to get across the Atlantic. Still, by attending to the unfortunate blacks, and by allowing a few to come on deck at a time, he managed to keep them alive. At length when he was about a week’s run from Bahia, he feel in with an American brig. He having hoisted a signal of distress, the American hove to, and he went on board her. He explained his condition to the master, who seemed to be a well-disposed, kind-hearted man.

“‘Well, I have no objection to receive you and your white crew on board my vessel,’ said the master, ‘but as to the blacks, I can have nothing to do with them, they must sink or swim if they can.’

“What! you don’t suppose that I would desert the unfortunate wretches?” exclaimed Wasey indignantly.

“‘Well, they are but negroes, and it is a fate which befalls many of them. They seem born to it,’ answered the master coolly.

“‘I am much obliged to you for your offer to receive me and my people, though I cannot accept it. If we are lost, our deaths will be at your door; that won’t be a pleasant recollection for you,’ said Wasey.

“‘Cannot help it, Mister Lieutenant,’ answered the skipper. ‘The blacks, as I say, must take their chance; and it seems to me that if you and your men refuse to come aboard my brig, when I offer to receive you, that your deaths will be at your own door.’

“‘I would rather die than desert the unhappy blacks, and I believe that my men will stick by me,’ answered Wasey. ‘Now, captain, I’ll tell you what I will do. I have a fortune of 7000 pounds, and on the word of a British officer—and you will take that I hope—I will put it in black and white, that I will pay over every farthing, if you will receive the blacks on board, and carry them to the nearest port you can make. Come, that is a better freight than you have every day for your brig, I suspect?’

“The skipper thought a minute, then shook his head. ‘No, if you were to give me 20,000 pounds down on the nail, I could not take the negroes aboard my brig. They would pollute her, we should probably have a fever break out, or if we escaped that every man of my crew would leave her directly we entered port.’

“In vain Wasey endeavoured to persuade the skipper to alter his resolution; he was determined not to take the negroes on board.

“At length Wasey saw there was no use in pressing him further. Perhaps the skipper thought that he might never touch the 7000 pounds, but I can answer for it, and so would every one who knew Wasey, that he would have religiously paid it to the last farthing.

“‘You have made up your mind not to receive the blacks, and I have made up mine not to desert them,’ said Wasey, wishing him good-bye. ‘A prosperous voyage to you, and I can only say that I hope for your sake as well as ours, that we may manage to get the schooner into Bahia. I should not wish to have my conscience troubled as yours will be if you hear that we are lost.’ Having purchased all the provisions and water the American could spare, Wasey returned to the schooner and made sail for the westward, while the American vessel stood away on her course. He divided the water and most of the provisions he had obtained among the starving blacks, and their strength renewed, they were able to assist better at the pumps than they were before. Still the powers of all on board were taxed to the uttermost; every one, however, knew that their lives depended on their exertions, and worked away till they were ready to drop. They could just keep the schooner afloat, and that was all. The wind continued fair, and by the time the last drop of water was expended and the farina and other food for the blacks was used up, they made this port of Bahia.

“Wasey now hoped that his chief troubles were over. The blacks had got to trust him, and so, when the schooner was brought to an anchor, they willingly laboured as before to keep her afloat. Believing that all was right he went on shore to communicate with the authorities, leaving the quarter-master in charge of the schooner. The officials detained him for some time, and sent him first to one person and then to another, thus keeping him employed till nightfall. At last he pulled off to the schooner; there she lay all right, and he hoped to be able to get the leaks stopped, and to carry the poor blacks to Sierra Leone, where they could be set free. When he stepped on board, he inquired if all had gone well during his absence.

“‘Yes, sir,’ was the quarter-master’s answer. ‘Some Brazilian officers came off in a number of boats, and told me that they had been sent to land the blacks. As all seemed right, I did not prevent them from coming on board. At once ordering the blacks up, they made every one of them get into the boats, which at once pulled away up the harbour. The officers were very polite, and seemed to be doing everything regular, though I was just a little suspicious when I saw three large boats full of men, with a good number of muskets among them close to us, watching, as it were, how matters were going. When the boats with the blacks on board pulled away, they followed, and no one since then has come near us. I hope it’s all right, sir?’

“‘Right!’ exclaimed Wasey, feeling confident that he had been duped, ‘I am afraid that it’s very wrong. I have made every arrangement with the authorities to have the blacks housed on shore while the schooner is under repair, and to receive them back whenever I may wish, and I cannot understand how any Government officers should venture to take them off till my return.’

“Next morning he went on shore, when the authorities declared that they knew nothing of the matter. He then found that some fellows, dressed up as officers, had been sent off by slave-dealers, to play the trick, and get possession of the unfortunate negroes.

“In vain he endeavoured to regain them, not a particle of information could he obtain as to where they had been carried, except that they had probably been immediately disposed of over the country. Thus, after his noble self-sacrifice and the exertions he had made to save the lives of his black-skinned fellow-creatures he had the mortification to find that they had been carried off into slavery, and that he had nothing but the bare hull of the schooner for his pains. Yes, by-the-bye, he had more than that, he had the satisfaction of his own conscience, and that was worth having. I did not hear the account from himself, but I got it from one of the men who was with him. I am pretty sure that I am right in all particulars. Now let us go on deck and hear what report Snatchblock has to make. Perhaps after all Pedro may be mistaken, and we shall not receive a friendly visit as he expects from the slavers. However, we will take care not to be the victims of a trick like that played on Wasey.”

“Anything stirring, Snatchblock?” asked Adair, as he and Desmond went on deck.

“Nothing that I can make out, sir, except that a little time back a small boat pulled across our bows and returned to the shore. We were all at the time as quiet as mice when the cat is about, and maybe the fellows in her thought that we were keeping no watch aboard the brigantine.”

“We will show them that we are wide awake enough if they come off to play us any trick,” answered Adair, laughing.

He found his men sitting down with their arms by their sides ready for action, and felt satisfied that they would do their best to beat off any enemies who might attempt to take the vessel.

The night continued perfectly calm, while a light mist somewhat obscured the shore and distant objects. He knew that sounds, though from a considerable distance, could be heard, and that he should thus have timely intimation of the approach of boats, even should they come off with muffled oars.

The captured slaver, with four hundred human beings stowed away in her hold, has not yet been described.

The slave-deck was divided into two parts: in the larger portion the men were packed away; in the smaller, the hapless women and children. When the slaves were first received on board on the African coast, the largest men had been picked out to act as head men or overseers of the rest, and having been threatened with punishment should they refuse to obey orders, they had not unwillingly taken the office imposed on them. They at first divided the slaves into gangs of about twenty men each, for whose good behaviour they were answerable; their first duty had been to stow away the slaves. The slave-deck was about four feet in height, with beams and bars running from side to side; on these beams the slaves were compelled to sit with their heads thrust between their knees, so close together that when one moved the whole mass had to move also. Care had been taken to place the largest slaves the farthest from the ship’s side, or from any position in which their strength might avail them to secure a larger space than their neighbours. One portion of the deck was much lower, being scarcely twenty inches in height, and in this the children were stowed away.

When the slaver was captured the hatches were found closed and all the larger men heavily ironed, and it may be imagined, had the chase continued long, what would have been the suffering of the unfortunate wretches.

The slaves were fed twice a day, and in order to give room, one half were allowed at a time to come on deck, the only opportunity they had to stretch their limbs. At meal-times they were arranged into messes, and when all was ready, at a signal from the head man, they commenced eating.

Their food consisted of rice, or farina, which is flour made from the cassada, a species of potato boiled, or calabancies, a kind of bean; occasionally a small quantity of salt beef, fish, or chillies, was served out to them as a relish. After each meal they were made to sing, not for their amusement, but to enable them, it was supposed, better to digest their food. Each black after this received about a pint of water, the whole allowance for the day.

Below the slave-deck were stowed the leaguers, which are huge water-casks, together with the provisions, wood for firing, etcetera. The upper deck was kept perfectly clear, to enable the crew to work the sweeps during calms. There was no poop, but on either side were two cabins, six or eight feet long, and three or four wide, to serve as sleeping places for the captain and officers; the crew lived forward, under the topgallant forecastle. The vessel had but one small boat, carried amidships, in which articles of all sorts were stowed, so that if a man had fallen overboard it would have been next to impossible to pick him up. This is a description of most slaving-vessels, though steamers have of late years been largely employed.

Adair and Desmond paced the deck for an hour or more, stopping every now and then to listen. No sound could be heard coming from any direction, and the town was too far off for the hum of its human hive to reach them.

It was now nearly ten o’clock. Adair had ordered Snatchblock not to strike the bell, as it might show the slavers, should any be meditating an attack, that those on board the prize were on the alert, and make them approach more cautiously than they might otherwise be inclined to do.

Adair had brought a stool from the cabin, and sat down, leaning against the outside.

“Go in and get some sleep,” he said to Desmond, “I will call you if you are wanted.”

“I am not tired, and if you will allow me I will go forward and try if I can hear anything. I fancied just now that I caught the sound of several splashes in the water, as if fish were leaping in the distance,” answered Desmond.

He made his way to the topgallant-forecastle, lay down and listened. The sound he had heard became more regular, though still very faint; he was certain, however, that it was the dip of oars in the water. He waited, however, before informing Adair, knowing that there would be time enough when the boats came in sight, as all hands were prepared for action.

“Perhaps, after all, they are not coming this way,” he thought; “yes, they must be, though,” he said to himself; “the sounds are much more distinct than when I first heard them.”

At length he made out several dark objects emerging from the mist. He at once hurried aft with the information.

“Be ready, lads!” said Adair; “the fellows I was warned would attack us are probably coming. Five of you remain on the starboard side, and five on the port side. Snatchblock and I will work the guns. Keep under shelter, and don’t fire till I give the word; then blaze away with muskets and pistols, and use your pikes as you may find necessary. Don’t let them discover that we are prepared till the last moment. I will call you where you may be most wanted; I know you will do your duty, and we shall beat them off, never fear that. Silence now, and go to your stations.”

Adair spoke in a low voice to the men gathered around him. He had arranged them at equal distances along the bulwarks, where they crouched down, with their muskets in their hands, and their pikes by their sides. He had lighted a couple of slow matches, and put them into tubs near the guns, ready for use.

Desmond remained by him and prepared to get whatever might be required. He and Snatchblock kept a lookout, one on either side, to watch for the boats. The sound of the oars was now distinctly heard, and in a short time they clearly made out six large boats, evidently pulling towards the brigantine. As they approached they closed with each other, and came up on the port side; they were still at a short distance from the vessel, when Adair hailed, in the best Portuguese he could command, and told them to keep off.

“We allow no boats from the shore to visit the vessel at night, and if you come nearer we shall fire into you,” he shouted.

Some loud chattering ensued, and in spite of the warning they had received, the Brazilians dashed up alongside. There must have been five and twenty men in each boat; a considerable force to be opposed by Adair’s small crew.

The Brazilians came on with threatening shouts and cries, evidently intended to intimidate the British seamen.

“Keep off,” again cried Adair, but his warning was unheeded. He sent Desmond to call all the men over the port side.

“Take the consequences, then,” he answered; “fire, lads.”

The bullets which came flying into their midst for a moment seemed to damp the courage of the Brazilians, but recovering themselves they let fly a volley in return. Adair wisely bobbed, and several bullets flew over his head. All attempt of concealment was now useless. The Brazilians dashed up alongside and attempted to get on board, but were met by the boarding pikes of the English crew; some using those weapons, others spare muskets, with which they blazed away, though there was no time to reload them. It was sharp work to attempt driving back one hundred and fifty men, at least, who were endeavouring to climb up the side, armed with cutlasses and pistols. The strongest party of the pirates were making a vigorous attempt to get on board on the quarter. Adair calling to Snatchblock, ran out one of the guns, and Desmond being ready with a match, fired right into their midst. The piercing groans and cries which followed showed the terrible effect produced. The boat drifted away, not having been hooked on, and the crew having deserted their oars. Another boat immediately took her place, and a big fellow, with cutlass in hand, springing to the side, and shouting to his companions to follow, attempted to climb on deck. Before Adair could defend himself, he had received an ugly cut on the head from the fellow, who was about to follow up the blow, when Desmond, seizing a pike, rushed at him with such good will, that the point entering the Brazilian’s breast, he fell backwards into the boat.

Adair, though hurt, was able to make good play with his cutlass. Snatchblock was keeping a dozen fellows at bay, while the rest of the crew were employed in a similar manner; bullets were flying and blows were rapidly given and taken. Though several of the Englishmen were wounded, and some very severely, not a man had been killed.

They could see that the Brazilians had suffered much more severely. Some had been knocked overboard into the water; others lay dead or dying at the bottom of the boats. Again, and again, however, the pirates came on, as if determined, at all costs, to take the prize with her five hundred blacks on board. Again Terence was wounded, and another big Brazilian, apparently the leader of the pirates, was levelling a pistol scarcely two feet from his breast, when Snatchblock, seeing the danger of his young commander, brought his cutlass with such force down on the fellow’s head, that he clove it in two, and sent him tumbling back into the boat out of which he had sprung.

The pirates, though they had met with a much warmer reception than they expected, were unwilling to abandon their object, and encouraged by their leaders, some twenty or more made a dash together at the fore-rigging. Several gained a footing on the chains, others caught hold of the shrouds and back-stays. Adair saw that a desperate effort must be made, or the enemy would after all gain the deck.

“Keep them off the after-part of the vessel, Snatchblock, whatever you do,” he shouted, and calling Desmond they together dragged over the other still loaded gun and ran it through the foremost port, with its muzzle pointed towards the mass of their assailants, who were prepared to follow those already climbing up the side. Desmond fired, springing out of the way of the gun as it ran back. The deadly missiles with which it was loaded, scattering among their assailants, knocked over several howling with pain, two at least dropping dead, when the British seamen with their cutlasses quickly cleared the rigging and sides of the remainder.

The tones in which the shouts and loud jabbering of the pirates were uttered showed that they were beginning to think that they had had enough of it. Adair and Snatchblock, with several of the men, set to work and reloaded the muskets, and just as the most daring of their assailants were about to make a fresh attack they let fly a volley. The pirates did not stop to receive another, but getting out their oars began to pull off, each boat seeming to be the most eager to get away from the daring little band who had so obstinately refused to have their throats cut, and the blacks in their charge taken from them.

The seamen, though bleeding and sore from many a cut and thrust, gave vent to their satisfaction in a triumphant cheer.

“I think we are clear of them for the present, sir,” said Snatchblock, “and I doubt whether they will be in a hurry to come back again.”

“We will be prepared at all events,” said Adair. “Get the guns and small arms reloaded and placed ready for action, and then see who is most hurt. It won’t do to let our blood flow till we grow weak.”

“Ay! ay! sir,” answered Ben. “I believe most of us have got a scratch or two, but I hope you are not hurt, sir.”

“As to that, I believe that I have not escaped scot free,” said Adair; “but I want to overhaul those who have suffered most, and bind up their wounds. You may release Pedro, and get his assistance, though it won’t do to cast the others loose just yet.”

Adair as he spoke felt very faint, and had not Snatchblock caught him he would have fallen on the deck. Desmond ran to his assistance, and while he sat on the stool outside the cabin brought a glass of strong grog, which quickly revived him; the men were in the meantime binding up each other’s hurts as well as they could, with their handkerchiefs, after having reloaded their arms.

Snatchblock released Pedro, who seemed pleased at the successful termination of the contest. His shipmates, he said, suspected him—the pirates would have undoubtedly cut his throat had they got on board. He helped Desmond very scientifically in dressing Adair’s wounds.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Snatchblock, “if you will just lie down and get some rest, Mr Desmond and I will keep a look out, and call you if we get sight of our friends coming back to us. I am not much the worse for my scratches, and so five or six of those most hurt among us can turn in and try and get back their strength, in case we have more work to do to-night.”

Adair agreed to Ben’s proposal, and having ordered grog to be served out to the men, he himself lay down to obtain the rest he so greatly needed.

Except here and there where white marks in the bulwarks showed the spots the bullets had struck, and the cutlasses had hewn out notches, scarcely a sign of the late desperate struggle was visible. All was silent on deck. Desmond alone paced up and down turning his watchful eye on either side, while Snatchblock took a seat on the booms. Notwithstanding his assertion, that he had only received a few scratches, he felt, however, considerably the worse for them. For the rest of the watch he lay down, trying, however, to keep awake, and be ready to start up at a moment’s notice.

Pedro suspecting that food would benefit all hands, lighted the galley-fire, and began to prepare some broth. He had before this gone below, and quieted the blacks, who had naturally been alarmed at the noise of the firing, not knowing what was happening. He now sat down in a corner of the caboose with his arms folded, and fell asleep while watching the soup boiling.

The night grew on, and morning was approaching. A breeze had sprung up from the eastward with sufficient strength to disperse the mist, and to keep back the usual land wind, which blows from the opposite direction, while it ruffled the surface of the harbour into waves.

Just after the first streaks of dawn had appeared above the horizon, Desmond caught sight of a number of boats collected up the harbour. They appeared to be pulling towards the brigantine, but as the wind was against them, and the current was setting in, they made but slow progress. Desmond awoke Snatchblock, who had fallen asleep, and told him what he had seen.

“Maybe the same fellows as before are coming to pay us a visit,” he answered. “If they are we will treat them the same as the last time.”

“Don’t call Mr Adair, he wants rest, and there will be time enough when the boats get nearer.” Ben, however, got up to have a lookout, and then called the rest of the crew. He found Pedro still asleep in the caboose with the soup boiling over; he asked him what he would wish to do.

“Get the soup ready first,” said Pedro. “Then you lash me up as before, I no wish fight.”

The soup being ready, Desmond called Adair, who, as well as his crew, found it very welcome.

“I doubt much whether those fellows will venture to attack us, though it’s as well to be prepared,” he observed. “If they do, though there may be twice as many as at first, we must beat them off.”

Adair and the rest had been so engaged in watching the approaching boats, that no one thought of looking eastward with the exception of Desmond.

“There is a sail in the offing, and she is standing in for the harbour, as far as I can make out,” he exclaimed, as he held the glass still raised through which he had been looking. Adair took it from him, and eagerly watched the approaching vessel.

“You are right, my boy,” he answered. “She seems to me a brig about the size of the Supplejack, but we shall make her out more clearly in a short time; if she is a friend those slaving rascals will not dare to attack us.”

“But she may be a slaver herself, and then she will assist them,” whispered Desmond.

“And then we shall have to fight her as well, that is all I can say about it,” answered Adair.

“What do you make her out to be?” he asked of Ben, who just then came aft.

“She is scarcely large enough for the corvette, or I should have expected her to come in and look for us. That craft is a brig, and as like to be the Supplejack as any other,” said Ben. “I don’t think the people in the boats have made her out yet, or they would save themselves the trouble of a long pull against wind and tide.”

Some time elapsed before the matter could be decided. The boats made but slow progress, but the stranger standing on under all sail rapidly approached the mouth of the harbour. Still the former would be alongside, and if the Brazilians had sufficient determination, they might cut the cable and tow the brigantine up the harbour, before the brig could come to her assistance.

The Brazilians must have seen the stranger by this time, but probably they did not believe that she was a man-of-war. They had now come within musket-shot. Terence, on looking through the glass, saw that there were several officers in uniform in the boats, and began to suspect that they were really official characters, sent by the government to inquire into the cause of the firing in the early part of the night; he did not, therefore, wish to commence hostilities till he had ascertained, if possible, their real character.

The stranger had now slightly to alter her course, when the English flag blew out, and Adair had no longer any doubt that she was the Supplejack.

The flag at the same time had been seen by the people in the boats. Whatever were their intentions, they ceased pulling, apparently holding a consultation; then putting about they made the best of their way up the harbour. Terence felt very much inclined to let fly a volley at them, but mercy, or prudence, prevailed, though if they were the pirates they deserved any punishment he might inflict on them.

As the Supplejack rounded to under the stern of the brigantine, Adair hailed and said what had happened, when Rogers, accompanied by Tom and McTavish, instantly came on board.

“You always come in the nick of time, Jack,” exclaimed Adair, as they shook hands; “we had a hard tussle last night, and we might have had a harder this morning if you had not made your appearance, but how is it that you have come in here?”

Jack replied that after the gale he had chased a slaver, which had led him a long way out of his course, and having fallen in with the Tudor, Murray directed him to look for the prize, and then to escort her to Rio, whence she was to be sent to Sierra Leone.

McTavish doctored the wounded men, and Adair declared that he felt well enough to go on shore with Rogers to lay his complaint before the Government regarding the outrage which had been attempted in a friendly port.

The Governor, Senhor José da Silva Souza, declared that he knew nothing whatever about it; he had been astonished at hearing firing, and had sent the captain of the port, with his attendant officials, to ascertain the cause.

“They came in pretty strong force then, and I should have certainly fired at them had they attempted to come on board. What redress can you make us?” asked Adair.

“I will direct that the fellows be looked for, and if we catch them they shall be tried and hung immediately.”

“That will not be much satisfaction to us,” observed Adair.

The Governor shrugged his shoulders, and Terence observed that he should lay the matter before the admiral at Rio, who would certainly not allow it to pass unnoticed.

The British consul, of course, said he would have the matter looked into, but as there appeared to be no use in waiting longer, as soon as Adair could obtain provisions and water, he and Rogers got up anchor and sailed for Rio.

The only information the admiral was able to gain on the subject was, that the attack had been made by a party of slave-dealers, who hoped to surprise the brigantine, cut the throats of the prize-crew, and then make sail to another port, and land the slaves, trusting of course to the effects of bribery to escape detection.

Chapter Twenty One.

Rio—Expedition up the harbour—Yarns spun—Higson and the midshipmen captured by slave-dealers—Imprisoned—Tried—A friend in need—Sent back to prison—Escape—Pursued—Jack as usual appears—Again at sea—Chase a slaver—Run over her at night.

Every one knows that Rio de Janeiro is one of the most magnificent harbours in the world, with its Organ mountains in the distance, its surrounding heights covered with the richest foliage, its curiously-shaped rocks at the entrance, and its stately city scattered along its shores.

On entering, Jack and Terence, much to their satisfaction, found not only the corvette but the frigate also at anchor. Having gone on board the admiral’s ship to report their arrival and the occurrence which had taken place at Bahia, they paid a visit to Murray. Of course, Terence gained great credit for having beaten off the pirates. He was glad to find that he was to be relieved of the charge of the slaver, which he had been afraid he might have to carry over to Sierra Leone.

In the harbour lay a considerable squadron of steamers and sailing-vessels, for which a variety of work had been cut out.

The Brazilian Government had at last united with the English in the determination of putting a stop to the importation of slaves into the country, though they acknowledged that their own men-of-war could do little or nothing; the fact being that the Brazilian officers were more or less interested in supporting the abominable traffic.

Two or three other ships were in the harbour, taking in water and provisions before going for a long cruise in the Pacific, and an expedition was also to be sent to the Parana against General Rosas, who, setting all treaties at defiance, had stopped up the navigation of the river. As neither the corvette nor brig were likely to sail for some days, the officers made excursions on shore. Tom and Desmond were delighted to find that Archy Gordon had so greatly recovered that he was able to go to sea in the frigate—he was now nearly as well as ever, but still was not allowed to take exercise on shore.

They proposed making a trip up the harbour, and Higson got permission to take the corvette’s pinnace.

“You must take care of the youngsters better than you did once upon a time,” said Adair. “Don’t expend any of them if you can help it.”

“No fear,” answered Higson, “I will watch over them as carefully as a hen does her chickens, or a nurserymaid the half-dozen small children committed to her care.”

A good store of provisions in the way of substantials, with a proportionate amount of liquor, cigars, and tobacco, was laid in; fish and fruit might easily be obtained. Their uniform jackets being stowed away in their carpet-bags, all hands were dressed in white flannel jackets, white trousers, and straw hats or caps; while their only weapons were a couple of ships’ muskets, the same number of boarding-pikes, and a brace of pistols. Not that they expected to require them for their defence, but for the slaughter of any game they might meet.

The party mustered eight in all, including Snatchblock and Tim Brady, an Irishman, who was taken to act as cook. Tim’s only qualification for the post was that he professed to be able to boil praties with any man in the service. The midshipmen had forgotten that no potatoes were among their stores; but then Tim told a good story and sang a song in first-rate style, which made ample amends for his deficiency of knowledge in the culinary art.

Soon after daybreak Higson shoved off from the side of the corvette, calling on board the brig for the remainder of the party. Then making sail, they stood away up the harbour. The city was soon left astern as they glided over the calm waters. In the far distance could be seen the curiously-shaped Organ mountains, while on either hand rose conical hills amidst forests of lofty trees of every variety. Cocoa-nuts and orange groves, palms, and mangroves, and others, bearing a variety of nuts or blossoms of gorgeous hue, scarlet, orange, yellow, pink, and white. Gaily-plumaged birds, and beautifully-tinted butterflies, of wonderful size, flitted through the air. The party, though well accustomed to the rich vegetation of the West Indies, agreed that few scenes in the tropics could surpass this in beauty.

Curiously-rigged boats came floating by, some loaded with fruit and vegetables, others like haystacks gone adrift, and others of considerable size carrying cattle to the market at Rio. Several picturesque islets were passed, covered like the main land with rich vegetation and numberless flowers of various hues.

“Well, I think we shall have a jolly trip of it,” exclaimed Tom. “There is no necessity to bother ourselves by taking observations or keeping a dead reckoning, but, like the navigators of old, we shall never lose sight of land.”

“No; but we must stand by to lower the sail pretty sharply if a squall comes off one of those pointed hills there,” observed Higson, “and that is not at all unlikely to happen.”

“Who is after getting hungry?” sung out Desmond. “I suspect it must be past eight bells, and so I vote we land, and look out for a pleasant place to take our dinner.”

“There is one,” said Higson, pointing to a spot where the landing appeared easy, and there was a tolerably wide space of open ground backed by an orange grove, on the branches of which golden and green fruit, with white and pink blossoms, all hung together.

All hands were soon on shore, with such provisions as they required, and the greater number employed themselves in collecting wood for their proposed fire, which was soon blazing away. From the sparkling stream which rushed down from the mountains, they obtained a supply of water. The dark green leaves of the orange-trees overhead afforded sufficient shade, and they were soon all seated round a substantial repast, to which they were well inclined to do full justice.

“We have not far to go for our dessert,” said Tom, as he eyed the oranges hanging temptingly above his head. Archy Gordon was of opinion, however, that as they were not growing wild they must belong to somebody; and that unless the owner would consent to part with his fruit, they would not be right to take them. As may be supposed, however, he was in the minority, though Higson acknowledged that if the owner could be found he was entitled to payment should he demand it. In the meantime Snatchblock and his companion, who were not troubled with any scruples on the subject, collected their hats full and emptied them out on the ground by the side of the officers. On this all hands, including Archy himself, were soon employed in discussing the delicious fruit to their hearts’ content.

“I doubt whether I ever did eat such delicious oranges,” exclaimed Desmond, sucking away at orange after orange. “All the pips grow on the outside. What a convenient arrangement for a person in a hurry! I have seen many a black fellow with a mouth big enough to take in a whole one, though such a bolus would be apt to stick in his gullet if he were to swallow one before putting his teeth into it.”

“Well, youngsters, if we are to get far up the harbour before dark we must be off,” said Higson. “Come, let us pack up our traps, and take care not to leave any pots or pans on shore.”

The party soon got once more in the boat, but the wind failing them they had to depend on their oars in making headway. Wishing to go as far as they could before nightfall they pulled on cheerfully, amusing themselves, now by singing many a merry song, now shouting, now spinning yarns, some of them, it must be owned, oft-repeated tales. The scenery appeared as beautiful as at first. At length as evening was approaching, and Higson began to feel hungry, he once more put in for the shore at a spot somewhat resembling that on which they had landed for dinner. Here, too, was running water, a grove of orange-trees, and not far off several gigantic mangroves, with figs and grapes in abundance.

“Faith! we are in a regular paradise,” observed Desmond.

“We may revel in fruits, at all events,” said Higson.

They agreed, as no houses were to be seen, and as they were not likely to be interrupted, that they would bring up here for the night, and get a bathe in the morning before starting. The fire was lighted as usual; cocoa and coffee put on and made, while the provisions they had brought were spread on the ground. Not intending to proceed farther they were in no hurry, and fully enjoyed their meal, finishing off with an extra glass of grog or two, which naturally produced the usual songs and yarns, till they all declared that they felt remarkably happy. Snatchblock and Tim Brady presented them with a liberal supply of fruit, which was generous on the part of the two men, considering that it had cost them nothing. It was eaten, however, with not the less relish.

As the merry party smoked their cigars or pipes, sucked oranges, and sipped their grog, many a yarn of bygone days was told. Snatchblock and Tim Brady took their part. On such expeditions as these, steady men are permitted a familiarity not allowable on board. Higson had already told two or three stories, and had just described an amusing scene on the coast of Africa, when Ben Snatchblock chimed in.

“Do you mind, Mr Higson, when we were aboard the Corsair together on the coast? We saw many curious sights among the niggers; they seem altogether a different sort of people to those over here. You know, young gentlemen, we always ship a dozen or more black fellows aboard, to do the hard work, wooding, and watering, and such like, which would pretty nigh kill white men if they were to attempt it in the hot sun of the coast. The blacks we got were called Kroomen; they altogether beat any other niggers I have ever fallen in with in these parts—fine, big, active fellows, and strong as any Englishman, and stronger than most, and as brave as need be; in fact, we could not get on without them. The slavers never come near the Kroomen’s country. In the first place they are very hard to catch, as they fight desperately, and not one of them would ever consent to be turned into a slave. Most of those along the coast, who have served on board men-of-war or merchantmen, speak a little English; some speak it pretty well. They are neat and clean in their persons, and their houses are far better furnished than those of the blacks in general, with chairs, tables, looking-glasses, and china, and all sorts of things, just like civilised Christians. When a gang is engaged for a ship they always have a head man, with a mate under him, who is called his favourite man. You will remember, Mr Higson, sir, the fellow we had aboard the Corsair, who was called Dan Ropeyarn; a great big fellow he was, too—stood six feet six without his shoes, seeing he never wore such things. He could lift up me and Tim Brady here—and we are not chickens—one in each hand. Dan was a good-natured fellow, which was fortunate, for it would not have done to offend him. He was not what is called a beauty though; he had a mouth so wide that we used to declare he somehow or other managed to shift his ears farther back when he had a mind to grin, and show his white teeth. Dan’s mate or favourite man was called Tom Saucepan. He was a pretty strong fellow, but he was not equal to Dan, and in point of good looks there wasn’t much to make one jealous of the other, though maybe the black damsels of their own country have a different opinion from ours on the subject. One evening we were going down the Sheba river, which was pretty broad you mind, sir. The wind was light, and the water as smooth as glass. We had been on somewhat short commons for a month or two, for the slave-dealers prevented the people when they could from bringing off fresh provisions. Suddenly the lookout from the masthead, who had been in a South Sea whaler, shouted out—

“‘A turtle, floating down stream, sir.’

“The commander asked Dan Ropeyarn if he could catch the turtle.

“‘Oh, yes, sare; I do dat same,’ he answered, and calling Tom Saucepan he lowered his canoe, when taking a harpoon and a long line they shoved off. Dan, as Tom paddled him along, made the end of the line fast to the harpoon, but not to the canoe, for he knew well enough that if the turtle was to give but one pull, unless the line was directly over the bows, the canoe would be capsized in a moment. Away he went, and we all watched him eagerly from the deck, our mouths watering with the thoughts of the turtle soup we hoped to get for dinner next day.

“Dan was too wise to let the turtle know that he was coming, so he made Tom paddle up cautiously astern of the creature, while he stood in the bows with his harpoon raised in his hand, ready to strike. Not one of us could have stood upright in such a cranky sort of concern as she was; if we had tried it, we should have gone over in a moment; still, as we looked at Dan, so steadily he stood, we might have fancied that his feet were planted on firm ground. Some of us thought he would miss the turtle after all, but we were wrong. Away flew the harpoon right into the creature’s back. It did not stop quiet after this, but off it started, running out the line, which Dan had coiled away at the bottom of the canoe, like lightning. Somehow or other, however, the line caught Dan’s leg, and in an instant whisked him overboard and capsized the canoe. Away he was dragged, leaving the canoe astern; he did not let go of the rope though, not he, but catching the end he took it in his teeth, grinning tremendously, passing it as he did so between his legs. He must have found that wet rope a pretty hard saddle, I have a notion, as he had nothing on in the way of trowsers. Now up the stream he paddled with his hands, just as composedly as if he was taking a swim for his own amusement. Now and then, the turtle in its agony would dive or dash off at a great rate, and he would be drawn back, but the line was too long to let him be dragged under the water.

“Tom Saucepan had, in the meantime, caught hold of the stern of the canoe, and, seizing her by both hands, he gave her a violent rock, and in an instant righted her; another rock, and he had freed her of water; then in he sprang, legs first, over the stern, and began baling away with his hat. He had kept the paddle in his mouth all the time.

“The commander had ordered a boat to be lowered to assist Dan, but before even she reached the water Tom had not only righted the canoe, but had got up to Dan and taken him on board, and there was the nearly done-for turtle towing them quietly through the water. In a few minutes the turtle had lost its strength, and, instead of the turtle towing the canoe, the canoe was towing the turtle. We hoisted it on board, and I mind that it weighed two hundred pounds.

“I shall not forget that turtle, Mr Higson, for you and the other officers sent us three bottles of wine to mix with the soup. It was a rare good stuff, that it was,” and Ben smacked his lips at the recollection of the feast, which an alderman would not have despised.

“I shall not forget Dan’s face, as I saw it through the glass, while he held the rope in his mouth, paddling away up the river, with the turtle’s stern to his, or the wonderfully rapid way in which Tom Saucepan righted his canoe,” said Higson, laughing.

“We saw some curious sights aboard the old brig, sir,” observed Ben. “Do you remember the capsizing the commander got one day?”

“I am not quite certain, but I think that you, Ben, were the very man who did the deed.”

“Oh no, sir, it wasn’t me,” answered Ben; “it was Billy Blazes, as we used to call him.”

“What was it, Mr Higson?” asked Tom and Desmond.

“Well, you see, youngsters, we carried pretty taunt masts and square yards; and as several sister brigs of ours had been lost, with all hands, the commander considered it as well to be cautious, so that we might not go and keep them company. It became therefore necessary to make the men sharp when all hands were turned up to shorten sail; and he let it be understood that he intended on such occasions to punish the last man off the lower deck. He was a tall, thin man—so tall that he found his height very inconvenient in a ten-gun brig, and he used to put his looking-glass on deck and his head through the cabin skylight when he wanted to shave in the morning. Billy Blazes, who was a quartermaster, was about as short and stout as the commander was tall and thin. One day, just as the commander came on deck, and was standing near the companion hatchway, seeing a squall coming along the water, he shouted pretty sharply—

“‘All hands, shorten sail!’

“Now Billy—as I take it for granted that Snatchblock is right in saying it was he—was below, doing something or other, and guessing that he would be late if he came up the main hatchway, he bolted through the gunroom passage, thinking that no one would see him, and up he sprang by the companion hatchway. At that moment the commander turned round, and, receiving Billy’s head in the pit of his stomach, was doubled up, and sent sprawling over on the deck, the pain preventing him from seeing who had done the deed. Billy did not, you may be sure, stop to apologise; but up the rigging he sprang, before the commander or any of the officers knew who it was, and you may depend upon it he did not inform them. His messmates kept his secret, and it was not till the brig was paid off that the truth slipped out.”

“I remember the same system as that you speak of being carried on in a ship I once served in,” observed Norris. “The first lieutenant used to put down the name of the last man off the lower deck on a slip of paper, and at the end of three months he took out the slip, and counted who had been most frequently guilty, and they were invariably punished. However, as several good men got punished, the system became very unpopular, and as many deserted in consequence it was given up.”

On this Tom told some of the stories about black-listing which he had heard from Admiral Triton.

“I once served under a captain in that respect like Jerry Hawthorne,” said Higson. “Not that he was in general severe, I must own; but he used to come down pretty sharply on us midshipmen occasionally. We were in the Mediterranean, and brought up in Malta harbour. I and two other youngsters were greatly addicted to fishing. This the captain did not approve of, as he said that the bait and lines dirtied the ship’s side, and so he issued an order against it. Still fish we would, whenever we had a chance, and we three, knowing that the captain had gone on shore, were thus engaged one day, when he unexpectedly returned on board, and found us hauling up fish after fish, which left their scales sticking to the frigate’s polished sides. He sent for us aft.

“‘I will show you, my lads, how to fish,’ he said, with a bland smile, and thereon he ordered three boarding-pikes to be brought, to each of which he had about four feet of rope yarn secured, with a hand-lead at the end. ‘Now, come along, lads, and you shall begin your fishing,’ he said, with a quiet chuckle, and he then made each of us hold a boarding-pike straight out over the taffrail, at arm’s length, during the whole of the watch, telling the first lieutenant to keep an eye on us. You may be sure our arms ached; and when the lieutenant turned another way, we took the liberty of letting the pikes rest on the rail. Every now and then the captain would come up, and with that bland smile of his ask us in a cheerful voice—

“‘Have you caught any fish, my lads?’ and when we said ‘No, sir,’ he would answer—

“‘Try a little longer; you will have better luck by-and-by.’

“I can tell you, it was about as aggravating a punishment as I ever endured. It cured us, for the time at least, of our love of fishing.”

“You must have seen some wonderful things in the course of your career, Mr Higson,” observed Tom.

“I have indeed, youngster,” answered the lieutenant. “One of the most wonderful was in that brig we were speaking of, and Snatchblock was the man who played the most important part in the drama. It was a very short one, though.

“We were shortening sail when a young midshipman, very small for his age, fell from the fore-topgallant-yard. You must have thought that he must, to a certainty, have been dashed to pieces: so he would have been, but Snatchblock, who was on the fore-topsail-yard caught him as he fell in a vice-like grasp, and placed him on the yard, thus saving his life.”

“I cannot tell you how I did it, sir,” said Snatchblock. “All I can fancy is, I heard him coming, for it was but a moment after he let go his hold that I had him tight enough.”

“Do you mind, sir, Pat O’connor falling from aloft? He and another man were in the main-topmast-crosstrees when they took to quarrelling. What it was about I don’t know; but Pat said something which made the other hit him, and over went Pat, striking, as he fell, the mainsail with his head, which took the skin right off his face, and down he came on deck, his face all gory, and his shirt and trousers covered with blood. We ran to him, thinking that every bone in his body must have been broken, and expecting to find him dead, when up he jumped, and doubling his fists began swearing terribly at the other,—I don’t think I ever heard a fellow swear more,—telling him to come down, and he would fight him then and there. He was just as if he had gone mad, and he didn’t seem to think for a moment of the fearful danger he had escaped. I have known a man killed just falling a few feet, and others, like those we have been speaking about, falling from aloft, and yet not the worse for it. I remember once going round the Horn when a man fell from the fore-topsail-yard. The ship was running eight knots or so before a strong breeze, over a long, heavy swell, though the sea was not breaking. It was some time before she could be rounded to; but the man was a strong swimmer, and struck out bravely. While we were watching the poor fellow an immense albatross came sweeping down towards him. Several of us cried out that he would be killed. Those birds with their strong bills can drill a hole in a man’s skull in a moment. We shouted at the top of our voices, but the man could not hear us. Fortunately he saw the bird coming, and whipping off his shoe he held it in his hand to defend himself. Down swooped the albatross, when seizing the shoe in its beak off it flew again, and did not drop it for a minute or more. A boat was lowered, and the man picked up not much the worse; and the surgeon of the ship, who had got his rifle ready, shot the same albatross some minutes after. It measured, I mind, fourteen feet and a few inches from tip to tip of its wings.”

Yarn after yarn of a similar character was spun, till some of the party got up saying, that they must stretch their legs, and off they strolled along the shore to collect anything to be found, leaving Higson, Archy, and Tom, and Desmond still at the supper table.

While the rest were absent, Higson, who was leaning back enjoying his cigar, happening to look round, observed several men coming out of the orange grove.

“Hillo! what can those fellows want?” he said, sitting up.

“They seem friendly enough, but there are a good many others behind the trees,” observed Tom.

The strangers approached nearer. They appeared by their costumes to be country people, and except the long sticks they carried in their hands no weapons were observed among them. Stopping a few yards off they stood staring at the young officers without addressing them, though they made remarks to each other. Norris was the only one of the party who pretended to speak Portuguese.

“You must be our interpreter. Ask what they want,” said Higson.

Norris did his best to put the question, but the natives did not seem to understand him, as they made no reply. Seeing only the young lieutenant and his four companions the rest of the party being still at a distance, the strangers became more familiar. While some gathered close round them others went to the boat: one stooping down picked up a musket, while another got hold of a boarding-pike, which lay on the grass at a little distance, and began examining them.

“I don’t quite like the way these fellows are behaving,” said Higson. “Hang it all! I have left my pistols in the boat, or I would make them keep their distance.”

“Tell them, Norris, that we beg they will stand a little way off, and explain their object in paying us a visit.”

Norris thereon addressed the natives in the best Portuguese he could muster, but they did not apparently choose to understand him. Presently the men who had gone down to the boat scrambled into her, and shouting to the others shoved off, and began to make their way towards another landing-place some distance along the shore.

“Hillo! you fellows! come back. What are you about?” shouted Higson, darting forward.

Directly he did so four of the natives threw themselves upon him, and though he knocked over one, and gave another a black eye, they succeeded in tripping him up, and before he could strike another blow they had his arms fast behind his back. Norris and the three midshipmen were rushing to his assistance when they were treated in the same manner, two or three of the natives seizing each one of them, and quickly securing their arms.

“Well, you fellows, what are you going to do with us, I should like to know?” exclaimed Higson, feeling naturally very indignant. “We are British officers, and I can tell you that if you don’t set us at liberty, and bring back our boat, you will have to pay for it. Tell them what I say, Norris.”

The only reply made by the natives was, “Piratas! piratas!”

“They say we are pirates!” exclaimed Norris.

“I only hope they won’t take it into their heads to hang us before they find out their mistake, and from the rough way they are handling us, I should not be surprised if they do,” cried Desmond. “Set our arms free, you fellows. If you want us to go along with you, we will walk quietly enough, since we can’t help ourselves.”

The Brazilians, of course, not understanding this, only grinned, and having collected various articles scattered about on the grass, they prepared to leave the waterside. Just then, Snatchblock and the rest of the party from different directions, appeared, very much astonished at seeing the way in which their companions were being treated, and that their boat was carried off. Before they could unite, several more natives coming to the spot, rushed down on them and made them prisoners. Snatchblock showed fight, and two or three of his assailants bit the ground before they succeeded in capturing him. The whole naval party were then marched up the hill towards a village which appeared in the distance, their captors being joined on the way by several more people, who abused and threatened them with violent gestures.

“I can’t make out whom they take us for,” said Higson to Norris, who was dragged along near him. “Try and ascertain. There is surely some mistake.”

Norris expostulated as well as he could, but received the same reply as before, “Piratas! piratas!” while their captors pointed with significant gestures to some horizontal branches of trees which stretched across the path, intimating, as they all supposed, that the branches would be convenient for hanging them on.

“I say, Gerald, I don’t like this at all at all!” cried Desmond; “if the people are giving to practising Lynch law here abouts, they may hang us up as they threaten to do without ceremony.”

“I don’t think they will dare to do that, for they must guess who we really are,” answered Tom.

“Whatever they may think, they call us ‘pirates,’” said Desmond. “Arrah, now, you unmannerly brutes, just behave properly to a gentleman!” he exclaimed, turning round to the Brazilians, who were roughly hauling him on away from Tom. Snatchblock and his messmate walked along, abusing their captors for their own gratification, knowing pretty well that not a word they uttered could be understood.

At last they arrived in front of a building, with a door and a couple of strongly-barred windows on either side. The door being opened by an official-looking personage, who produced a huge key from his pocket, they were all unceremoniously thrust in one by one. Again Higson protested against the treatment they were receiving, but the Brazilians were utterly indifferent to what he or any of his companions said. Snatchblock, who had till then been walking on quietly, suddenly got his arms loose, and knocking aside, with some well-directed blows from his iron fists, two or three of the persons nearest to him, shouted out—

“Now is the time to get our liberty! We will soon send the fellows to the right about. Come on, Mr Higson, the coast is clear.”

The lieutenant and midshipmen having their arms lashed behind them could not quite so easily follow his advice, and the next instant the Brazilians making a rush together threw themselves on the brave sailor and brought him to the ground, when he was quickly bundled in after the rest, and the door shut. As, however, his arms were at liberty, he at once released his companions.

“This is very provoking,” exclaimed Higson, after they had somewhat recovered from the rough handling they had received. “We can soon set ourselves to rights, though, if we could manage to send on board one of our ships.”

“Easy enough, but we must get out first,” observed Desmond.

“Perhaps we might contrive to get through the roof, I have heard of such things being done,” said Tom. “The door and windows are evidently strong, and there is no chance of getting out through them.”

The building, which was about twenty-five feet long and fourteen wide, was carefully examined, but they soon discovered that the roof was strong and heavy, and there was but little prospect of making their way through it. Even should they get outside, how were they to reach Rio was the question, unless they could find their boat; and over that their captors would probably keep a strict watch.

There were some rough wooden benches fixed to the walls round the room, but no table or any place on which they could rest. The floor, which was excessively dirty, being strewed with the remains of the meals of other prisoners, they had no wish to lie down on it.

At last, Higson, seating himself on a bench, said, “Well, all we can do at present is to practise patience, and see what turns up next.”

It was now quite dark. Fortunately, having enjoyed a good supper just before they were captured, they were not hungry. The rest of the party followed the lieutenant’s example, and lay down on the benches. No one came into the prison, but they could hear voices outside and a great number of people apparently passing up and down before the door. Thus they passed the night.

Next morning, some time after daylight, they heard a number of people collecting outside. Presently the door opened, and a couple of men appeared with trays containing basins of broth, and some dark-looking loaves of Indian corn. Without speaking the men put the viands on the ground and hurried out of the room, afraid, apparently, the prisoners might set upon them.

“Come, at all events, they don’t intend to starve us; though I can’t say that this stuff looks very tempting,” remarked Higson.

However, as all hands were very hungry, they ate up the food. Fortunately, several of them having cigars or pipes in their pockets, they sat down to console themselves with a smoke.

An hour or two passed away, and they saw through their windows a larger crowd than before assembled, among whom were a number of armed men, though they were too irregularly dressed to be taken for soldiers.

“We shall get more kicks than ha’pence if we resist should they be come to take us anywhere, so it will be wiser to go quietly,” observed Higson. “I don’t suppose that they really intend to injure us.”

As he spoke the door opened, and the armed men entering, the whole party were dragged out and marched up, each of them between a couple of guards, through the village to a building which appeared to be a sort of courthouse. That it was so was evident on their entering, when they found themselves placed together on one side of a large room, at the end of which sat a burly-looking personage before a table, and two men on either hand, with paper and pens before them. Several persons whom they recognised as the leaders among their captors of the previous evening, now came forward and addressed the judge, or district magistrate, he might have been more properly called the Juiz da Fora, violently gesticulating, and occasionally pointing at the prisoners. What they said was put down on paper, the judge nodding and trying to look very wise, and sometimes frowning as he glanced towards the accused. At last their captors came to an end of what they had to say. The judge turned towards the Englishmen to hear what reply they had to make in their defence. Now arose a considerable difficulty. As Higson had not understood a word of the accusation brought against him and his companions, he was excessively bothered how to form a reply.

“Well, Norris, what did the fellows say?” he asked. “I must get you to be our spokesman.”

“As to what they said, I have not the slightest conception,” answered Norris; “but I will try and make the judge understand who we are, and that is the thing of most importance.”

With such Portuguese as he could command, Norris then tried to explain to the judge that they were a party of English officers on a pleasure excursion, that they had no intention of committing any illegal act; and that while he and his companions were quietly sitting on the ground they had been attacked by a number of people, who had carried them up to prison and made off with their boat.

The judge gave Norris to understand, that though he had caught a word here and there, he could not comprehend what had been said, except as to their being English officers, and that their very appearance contradicted such an assertion.

Norris fortunately understood this remark, and at once said that if their uniform jackets, which were on board the boat, were restored to them they would put them on.

“Very likely you may have the uniforms of British officers, which you may have stolen, perhaps after putting their owners to death,” observed the judge, an assertion which appeared to highly please their captors.

In vain Norris asserted that he spoke the truth. The judge evidently sided with their accusers, and he was about to order that they should be taken back to prison, when a negro from the farther end of the court made his way up to them.

“Me Sangaree Jack, understand all you say, sare; once serve on board English man-of-war. These here fellows say dey hang you up on de trees tomorrow if you no show who you are.”

“Well, Sangaree Jack, that is pleasant information,” observed Higson, “but how can you help us?”

“Me go down to English man-of-war, and tell all dat you say, and dey den send up armed boats to make dese fellows let you go,” answered the negro.

“I shall be very glad to accept your offer,” said Higson, “and the sooner you start the better.”

“All right, massa lieutenant, but me no go for nothing, you sabbe,” answered Sangaree Jack, with a knowing look.

“Well, then, we will give you ten dollars, that will be handsome, won’t it?” said Higson.

Sangaree Jack grinned till his mouth almost pushed back his ears to allow it full expansion, as he answered—

“Ten dollars! oh no! massa, dat not enough.”

“Then suppose we double it,” said Higson.

“Oh no! massa, twenty dollars not enough.”

At last, after a little more bargaining, Sangaree Jack agreed for thirty dollars to go down and carry information as to what had happened, on board the corvette.

“Well, massa lieutenant, where de dollars, though?” asked the black, with a cunning leer.

“The dollars! You will get them when we are set free, my friend,” said Higson.

“I neber do anyting of dat sort on trust, sare,” answered the negro, grinning.

“But suppose we have not got the dollars, you will lose them, and we shall remain in the prison?” observed Higson.

“Oh, Buccra officers always carry dollars,” answered the black. “Just try what the young gentlemens got in dare pockets.”

“Possibly we may have some of the money among us,” said Higson, not willing to trust the fellow altogether. “Suppose you take fifteen dollars, and then we will pay the remainder when the boats come up—come, fair play is a jewel.”

“Massa lieutenant know how to manage tings,” grinned blackie. “Come, I take fifteen dollars, and you see I true man. Honour bright among teves, you know; you trust me and I trust you—he! he! he!” and blackie grinned at his own wit.

The dollars were with some difficulty collected among them.

“Don’t let de people see what you give me,” said blackie, putting his fingers to his thick lips, and looking very wise. “I tell dese rascals that I got a little money to buy some wine, and oder tings. I tell dem too, dat I know you English officers, and dat dey better take care what dey do.”

The money was conveyed into Sangaree Jack’s large paws, without any remark being made by the people in court. Sangaree Jack then addressed the court, and though Norris could not make out exactly what he said, it had some effect, as the judge bowed to them as they left the court, and they were afterwards treated with more respect. Their new friend then hurried off, assuring them that he would lose no time in getting down the harbour.

The party were now marched back to prison amidst the cries and hooting of the populace.

“At all events they don’t intend to lynch us,” said Tom. “That’s one comfort.”

“If each of us had a good shillelah in our hands, we would be after making them sing a different tune,” exclaimed Desmond, turning round every now and then, and casting a contemptuous look on the mob. Higson and Archy Gordon walked on, however, in an unconcerned manner, thinking it more dignified to take no notice of the ill-feeling shown by the people.

They were thankful when at last they got back to their prison. Messes somewhat similar to those they had in the morning were again brought to them. Norris asked the man if they could not purchase something better, and offered a dollar if he would bring them some fruit.

“Stop a little, and I will see what can be done,” he answered in Portuguese.

An hour or two more passed, by which time the people had gone away, when the same man again appeared at the window, and bringing a large basket of oranges and other fruit, he asked for the dollar.

“You shall have it when you have given us its value in fruit, but not until then, my friend,” answered Norris, holding it up.

The man, knowing that they could not run away, thought that he might trust them, and threw the oranges, and limes, and grapes, and other fruit through the bars of the window, when they were eagerly caught by the thirsty prisoners.

The fruit was not worth a quarter the sum the man received, so he was well contented, and signified that he would bring some more next day.

For a second night they were shut up; they could only hope that Sangaree Jack would prove faithful, and inform their friends of the treatment they had received.

“But suppose he does not?” said Desmond; “we may be kept here till we starve.”

“No great fear of that,” said Higson. “Rogers and several others know that we were going up the harbour; and if we don’t appear, boats will be sent to look for us before long.”

The following morning better provisions were sent to them, and not long afterwards they were again marched up to the court-house. The same farce as on the previous day was gone through, and no interpreter appearing, the judge and his assistants left the court as wise as they entered it, while the prisoners were unable to make out of what crime they were accused. It was just possible that they might have been sent out and shot, had not the judge entertained some strong suspicions that their account of themselves was true, and that if they were ill-treated, he and the inhabitants of his village would be made seriously to suffer. However, once more they were sent back to prison, very naturally considerably indignant at the scandalous way in which they were being treated. Some of the party, indeed, began to entertain doubts whether Sangaree Jack would prove faithful. Perhaps being a cunning fellow, he might be contented with the fifteen dollars, and avoid the risk he might run of being punished by the Brazilians, should they discover that he had carried information to the English ships of what had taken place. Even Higson began to fear that they had been duped.

“I think that it’s high time that we should try and set ourselves free, at all events,” he said, after sitting silent for some time. “Though we may be unable to escape either through the window or roof, perhaps we may make our way under the walls, and, if we are once outside, we may get hold of the sentry’s arms, and manage to reach our boat.”

All agreed to Higson’s proposal. Archy Gordon and Desmond were stationed at the window to give notice should any one attempt to look in, while the rest carefully examined the ground round the walls. A soft spot was found, and they agreed that it would be easy to excavate it with their knives and pieces of the bench which had been easily wrenched off. Believing nobody would come in for the remainder of the day, they at once set to work, and before long had dug a tunnel through which Snatchblock could creep, and he declared that he could easily force the ground up on the outside. The earth, as they took it out, they rammed under the benches. They had observed that the hut in which they were confined stood in an open space by the side of a road, so that people only passed in front of it. This greatly assisted them, and prevented the risk of discovery, for the ground above their tunnel was so thin that any one stepping on it would have inevitably fallen through. The whole work was completed soon after nightfall. They then waited anxiously till the sounds in the village should have ceased.

“Now the sooner we are off the better,” said Higson. “Snatchblock and I will creep out first and seize the sentry, and the rest of you follow directly you find that we have got hold of him.”

“Let me go first, sir,” said Snatchblock; “my shoulders are best fitted for shoving up the earth.”

Higson agreed to this, and they crept into their tunnel. Snatchblock had taken a piece of board which he put on his shoulders, and, giving a hearty shove, up flew the earth, and out he came into the open air. Higson and the rest followed. While the two first crept cautiously round the hut, the remainder crouched down. Snatchblock waited till the sentry came close to the end of the wall, then, making a spring, he clapped his hands over the man’s mouth, while Higson seized his musket. They then dragged him back, and, putting a piece of wood, to serve as a gag, into his mouth, they secured his hands and feet with their handkerchiefs, and pulled him through the tunnel into the hut.

“Now,” said Desmond, “we have got a musket, some pieces of wood, and our fists; and, as we shall probably find some thick sticks as we go along, it ought to take a good many Brazilians to recapture us.”

On going to the courthouse, they had observed the water of the harbour shining in the distance, and they therefore knew the direction to take.

Keeping outside the village, they were making their way to the brow of the bill on which it stood, when they came suddenly on a large farmhouse, out of which several dogs rushed, barking furiously; the animals, however, contented themselves with making a noise, without venturing to attack the strangers, but the noise was what they had to dread. Lights were soon seen in the windows, and directly afterwards a party of men appeared at the door, armed with blunderbusses and pistols. Higson, knowing that if they ran, both dogs and men would follow, halted, and, presenting his musket, told Norris to order the men to stand back or that he would fire. They appeared to understand what they said, for they all hurried back into the house; but as they did so, two of them let fly with their blunderbusses. Fortunately no one was hit, but the slugs came whizzing over their heads.

“Now we must run for it,” cried Higson. “Whatever we do, though, keep together.”

The noise of the blunderbusses aroused the inhabitants of several neighbouring houses, some of whom came out, while others discharged their firearms from their windows. This of course aroused the whole village, and it soon became known that the English pirates had escaped. Higson and his party were in the meantime making the best of their way down the hill, though, as they were unacquainted with the road, they were uncertain whether they were directing their course for the landing-place. They could tell by the sounds that a large body of men were collecting in their rear. Higson regretted that they had not waited till a later hour in the night, when all the inhabitants would have retired to rest. The road was extremely rough and uneven, such as it would have been difficult to traverse rapidly even in the daytime. Tom had a severe tumble, and then down came Gerald, while poor Archy Gordon found it very difficult to get along. Their pursuers, who knew the road, were gaining on them.

“It won’t do to be taken running,” said Higson.

At length they reached an open space on one side of the road. Higson called a halt, and facing about said—

“I will see if I can’t make the fellows keep their distance.”

The Brazilians in considerable force, some with firearms in their hands and others with pikes or ox-goads, were seen not a hundred yards off, coming towards them.

At that moment the tramp of feet was heard in the rear.

“We are surrounded, I am afraid,” said Higson, “but we won’t give in notwithstanding.”

The party from the opposite side came rapidly on, and to Higson’s surprise the Brazilians suddenly halted, amid began to talk in excited voices to each other. The tramp of feet grew louder and louder, when, by the light of the moon, which, by-the-bye, it should have been said, was shining brightly, Higson and his companions, as they looked along the road, saw a dozen bluejackets and as many marines coming towards them, with an officer at their head, who was quickly recognised as Jack Rogers. He and the rest were soon shaking hands, when Jack told them that as soon as notice was brought on board of what had happened, Murray had sent him and his party off in a couple of boats, and that on landing and hearing the firing he had hurried up, thinking it possible that his assistance might be required.

“Then Sangaree Jack proved faithful, and told you the position in which we have been placed,” said Higson.

“Yes, massa, and he well gained de oder fifteen dollars,” exclaimed the black, coming out from among the bluejackets, behind whom he had concealed himself.

No sooner did the Brazilians perceive the English party than away they scampered as fast as their legs could carry them. Jack determined at once to go to the judge’s house, and to demand satisfaction for the insult which had been offered to the majesty of England in the persons of some of her naval defenders, and his black namesake undertook to guide him there.

The magistrate, aroused out of his first sleep by hearing his door-bell ringing violently, was naturally in a great fright, and stood trembling and bowing as Jack walked into the house. He excused himself on the plea that he had no notion the prisoners were English officers, fully believing that they were pirates, as the people who had captured them had asserted. He acknowledged, however, that most of the said officious personages were connected with slave-dealers, and that he had little doubt they had committed the outrage to revenge themselves for the number of vessels which had been captured by the English ships of war. Jack and his party, with the rescued prisoners, declined accepting the magistrate’s offered hospitality, and having received all the apologies he could make, went back to the boats, which some of the natives had even ventured to approach.

Having lighted fires to serve the double purpose of cooking their provisions and keeping off the mosquitoes, they passed the night seated round them.

Next morning the magistrate, attended by several of the principal people in the place, trembling in their shoes, came down, and again tendered the most abject apologies for what had occurred. The captured boat was soon afterwards seen coming round the point, and being brought alongside by a black crew, who had been placed in her by the Brazilians, she was found not only to contain all the arms, and other articles which had been taken, but six fat pigs, several dozen ducks and fowls, with heaps of oranges and other fruit, which the magistrate begged the English officers would accept as a peace-offering.

Again he declared that what had happened had been from no fault of his; that the rascally slave-dealers had sworn that the people they had captured were pirates, and he had only acted according to his duty in judging the case brought before him. He took great credit to himself for allowing the negro, Sangaree Jack, to go down to the ships of war, and hoped that this would prove the honesty of his intentions.

Rogers having received instructions not to push matters to extremities, accepted the old gentleman’s apology.

“He would have shown his disinterestedness had he sent down himself, without allowing our friend Sangaree here the opportunity of doing us out of our thirty dollars,” observed Higson. “Ah, blackie, how many is the old fellow to get of them?”

Sangaree Jack gave one of his broadest grins.

“One half, massa lieutenant, as I a gentleman. He bigger rascal than all the rest—he one slave-dealer hisself. Ah! ah! ah!” and the negro chuckled with delight, rubbed his hands, and twisted and wriggled about, till he set the boat’s crew all laughing.

Whether the fellow’s description of the magistrate was correct or not, Rogers felt that he could take no further steps in the matter, no one having fortunately really suffered damage or hurt, beyond the inconvenience of being shut up in a dirty hut for a couple of nights.

A pleasant breeze blowing down the harbour the boats made sail, and in a few hours reached the ships. The next day the Tudor and Supplejack were again at sea, having received orders to cruise along the Brazilian coast in search of slavers. The ships got some way to the northward of Rio when Murray directed Jack to keep in shore as close as he could venture, while he himself stood off the land; they might thus hope to fall in, either with vessels fitted for the slave-trade about to cross to the African coast, or with full slavers attempting to make a Brazilian port. The latter class it was of course the most desirable to capture, though should the former be taken it would materially assist to put a stop to the traffic, and save a certain number of blacks from undergoing, for a time, at all events, the horrors of a middle passage.

The Tudor shortly after daybreak was standing in under easy sail for the land, when from the masthead a schooner was observed, beating up against the breeze, which then blew off the shore, the rays of the rising run striking her canvas bringing her clearly into view. Murray ordered all sail to be made, and hoped to gain on the chase before the corvette was observed by her. As the Supplejack was likely to be inside of her, there was every probability of her being caught by one or the other. It was soon evident, however, that she had made out the corvette, as she was seen to set all sail, and to stand away to the northward: as the Tudor was a long way to leeward, the chase would probably be a long one. From the appearance and movements of the schooner Murray was convinced that she was a slaver with a cargo on board, and he determined therefore to persevere till he could come up with her, and ascertain her real character. The land was barely visible, and the Supplejack might therefore be a long way off in shore, and not yet have caught sight of the chase.

The day wore on, and the Tudor had gained considerably on her, when about six bells in the forenoon the sails gave some ominous flaps against the masts, and the wind dropping more and more, the corvette lay almost becalmed, with only just steerage way. As the schooner was, however, likewise almost becalmed she did not gain any advantage from this circumstance. A light wind, in a short time, again filled the corvette’s sails; but as it was continually shifting, all hands were on deck employed in hauling on the braces, as necessity required. Now the corvette gained slightly on the chase, now the schooner’s sails felt the breeze, and she once more glided along through the smooth water.

“She seems to be heaving something overboard, sir,” said Desmond to Higson, who was standing on the forecastle with him.

“Yes, indeed,” said Higson, looking through his telescope. “There goes one of her boats! now she has lowered another. The fellows are determined to make their escape if they can, she is heaving overboard cask after cask, and plank and spare spars—she must have a full cargo, or she would not do that—we shall catch her though, notwithstanding.”

“I hope they won’t heave any of the poor negroes overboard. That is what I have heard the slavers do when hard pressed,” observed Desmond.

“The fellows would do it fast enough if they thought that we should stop to pick up the unfortunate creatures, and give them a better chance of getting off,” answered Higson.

“But our commander won’t let the poor wretches drown, surely,” remarked Desmond.

“No, I should think not, indeed,” said Higson. “I have never actually seen that done, but I have heard from others of half-a-dozen negroes being hove overboard, and if they were not carried off by sharks, picked up by a British cruiser, and the scoundrel slaver captured, notwithstanding.”

“I hope we shall catch that fellow, then, at all events,” said Desmond.

“There is many a slip between the cup and the lip, youngster,” observed Higson. “Depend on it, however, that we will do our best as long as we can keep the schooner in sight.”

By this time every possible article had been hove overboard from the schooner, and it was thought that even the water from her leaguers had been pumped out, and the stores and provisions from her hold thrown into the sea. As the corvette got up to the spot where she had been at the time, casks and spars were seen floating on every side, together with the boats, hencoops, and other articles. She benefited by the proceeding, for she now once more drew considerably ahead of the corvette. Both vessels were, however, soon afterwards becalmed, and Murray began to consider the advisability of sending the boats in chase. Adair begged leave to command them, and Desmond and the rest were delighted at the thoughts of a hand-to-hand tussle with the slaver screw; when, just as the men were coming aft to lower the boats, the sails were once more filled and a fresh breeze from the eastward sprang up, the schooner felt it at the same moment, when, keeping before the wind she rigged out her studding-sails, and lightened as she was, she skimmed like a bird over the blue ocean.

Murray ordered studding-sails and royals to be set, and kept the Tudor away towards the chase, which, however, it was soon evident gained on her. Both vessels were now rising the land.

“Sail on the port bow,” cried the lookout from aloft.

“That must be Rogers,” exclaimed Murray; and before long the Supplejack was made out standing to the northward, so as it was hoped to cut off the chase. No sooner did the schooner discover her, than taking in her studding-sails she hauled to the wind. The corvette did the same, and had now to depend on her own speed more than on the assistance she could obtain from the Supplejack.

The chase now became more exciting than ever, the breeze freshened, and both vessels tore along through the water; their bows, as they clove their way through it, throwing up masses of sparkling foam, while they left a long white line in their wake.

The wind after some time again shifting to the southward, both the schooner and her pursuer once more set studding-sails, the former somewhat edging in towards the land, behind which the bright sun was rapidly sinking.

“I would give a half-year’s pay if we could but catch her,” exclaimed Snatchblock to some of his messmates. “If night comes on before we are up to her, she may give us the go-by after all.”

The wind, which had been variable all day, still continued so, and now once more came from the eastward. The chase immediately took advantage of it to alter her course. The corvette had now gained greatly on her.

“I think our bow-chasers will reach her,” said Murray. “Try them, Adair; we will see if we can knock away some of her spars.”

The excitement on board increased, and every one now felt as if the chase was already within their grasp. The gun was run out. Murray gave the word, “Fire!” Scarcely had its loud report rung through the air, than his voice again was heard—

“All hands, shorten sail! In studding-sails and royals. Let fly tacks and sheets.”

The corvette had been taken aback, but every man was at his station, and the sails came in without the loss of a royal or studding-sail-boom. As soon as the sails were handed, and the ship wearing round was put before the wind, the chase was eagerly looked for; she was seen running before the wind for the northeast. Her bearings being taken, the corvette steered directly for her, but darkness, which had been rapidly coming on, now hid her from sight, and even the most sanguine gave up all hopes of finding her again. Still Murray determined to keep after her as light as she was; he was convinced that with a strong wind blowing she would continue before it.

The first watch was set, the watch below turned in, and many a grumble was heard at their ill success. Adair, who was officer of the watch, was walking the deck, with Desmond by his side. The wind still blowing fresh, he had his eye aloft on the spars, ready to shorten sail should it increase. The sea, however, was tolerably smooth; a few stars only could be seen among the clouds which passed rapidly across the sky. The night was therefore rather darker than usual. The wind whistled shrilly in the rigging, and Desmond declared that he could hear strange sounds coming across the waters. A sharp lookout was, of course, kept ahead, and hopes were still entertained that the chase might possibly be again sighted. Snatchblock, who was on the forecastle, hailed in a loud, sharp voice, “Sail ahead! the chase! the chase! That’s her! No doubt about it.”

Adair and Desmond hurried forward, but by the time they reached the forecastle no sail was to be seen. Snatchblock, however, was positive that he had not been mistaken. He rubbed his eyes in vain, and peered into the gloom. She was certainly not visible. Adair, who had returned aft, was pacing the deck, when suddenly a tremendous shock was felt. He and others on deck were nearly thrown off their legs, and a cry arose of “We are on shore! we are on shore!” The watch below came tumbling up on deck, fully believing that the ship had struck. One of the hands seizing a leadline, sprang into the chains and hove it.

“What induced you to do that?” asked Adair.

“I thought we had struck on a rock, sir,” was the answer.

“You found no bottom?”

“No, sir.”

“We must have run over the chase! Heaven be merciful to the poor creatures!” exclaimed Murray, who unperceived had just come on deck. “She must have attempted to haul her wind, to alter her course, and, being too much lightened, capsized.”

Desmond and several others who had run aft declared they saw several objects, like the heads of human beings, floating for an instant on the surface, but when they looked again they had disappeared. Not a cry, not a sound of any sort had been heard. At that instant probably some four or five hundred human beings chained in the hold of the slave-ship, with their white captors, had been carried into eternity.

Next morning the Tudor spoke the Supplejack, which, however, had seen nothing of the chase. No manner of doubt remained that she had been capsized, and that the Tudor had run over her during the night.

Chapter Twenty Two.

An American skipper gives important information—Jack leads a boat attack on a slaver in the Rio Frio—Capture—Slaver blown up—The Supplejack exposed to a hot fire—The corvette and brig in the harbour of Paranagua—Slavers attacked—Several prizes made—Fired at from the shore—Engagement with a fort—Prizes destroyed—Carry one off—A man overboard—Picked up—His hair turns white.

The corvette and brig had been cruising for some days in company, having chased several vessels, some of which got away, while others were found to be honest traders. They were some way to the southward of Cape Frio, when land just being in sight, a brig was made out, standing towards them. She hoisted American colours, and as she approached, passing close to the corvette, a man, who appeared to be her skipper, standing on the poop-deck, hailed.

“If you will heave to I will come aboard you, as I have information to give.”

The corvette was immediately brought to the wind, her foretopsail backed, the brig performing the same movement, when a boat was lowered, and a stout florid man, a Yankee in appearance from truck to kelson, dressed in Quaker costume, came alongside in her. Quickly climbing on deck, without making the usual salutation performed by visitors to a man-of-war, he advanced towards Murray, and introduced himself as Captain Aaron Sturge, of the brig Good Hope bound for Boston.

“This ship, I guess, friend, is one of the cruisers engaged in putting down the slave-trade,” he said.

Murray replied in the affirmative, and inquired what information he had to give.

“It is this, friend; I have just come out of the Rio Frio, where I left a wicked-looking craft, called the Rival, nearly ready for sea, which will carry, I guess, six hundred slaves at least. She is a vessel I heard that the British cruisers have been long looking after; so if thou dost wish to catch her, now is thy time, and I would advise thee to stand in at once, and thou mayest cut her off as she comes out, or, what would be more certain, catch her before she puts to sea.”

Murray thanked the Yankee skipper for his information, and invited him below.

“No, friend, I thank thee. The sooner thou art on thy way toward the coast and I on mine northward, the better. Thou will do thy best to take this vessel?”

Murray assured him that he would, and would lose not a moment in standing in for the land.

The honest skipper then shaking hands, swung himself down the side into his boat, and returned to the brig, which stood away to the southward, while the Tudor and Supplejack, hauling their wind, stood towards the coast. Murray hoped to be off the mouth of the harbour some time after dark. He hailed Jack, and told him what he intended to do.

His plan was to send the brig in with the boats and capture the slaver, before she got under weigh, or, should she sail that evening, catch her as she was coming out. As the vessels drew near the land, a sharp lookout was kept, on the chance of the slaver having put to sea, but no sail appeared in sight, and some time after nightfall, having got well in with the land, they hove to, to wait for daybreak.

Just before dawn Murray despatched two of his boats, one under charge of Higson, and the other of the master, with directions to Jack to stand in directly there was light enough to see his way. Jack, having a good chart, felt confident of being able to take the brig in without a pilot.

Directly the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, he put the brig’s head towards the harbour. The sea breeze set in sooner than usual, and, having a leading wind, he rapidly stood on towing the boats.

He was soon passing through the narrow entrance.

“I see a number of fellows coming along the beach, some of them with arms in their hands. They probably suspect us, and will give us some trouble when we are coming out again,” said Bevan.

“I shall care very little for that, provided we get hold of the slaver. I only hope that she has not given us the slip,” answered Jack.

“There she is, sir, high up the harbour,” cried Bevan. “Her topsails are loose, and had the wind held she would probably have been under weigh by this time.”

“We have her safe enough now, however,” said Jack.

The brig stood on for some way, but the wind fell light, the current was running out, and the channel here was far more intricate than the part already passed through. Jack determined, therefore, to bring up, and to board the slaver with the boats. Those selected for the expedition eagerly leaped into them. Jack took command of the whole, five in number, leaving Bevan in charge of the brig.

“It is possible that the Brazilians may imitate the example of those fellows at Bahia, and attempt to attack you,” said Jack to Bevan; “you will therefore keep a good lookout, and allow no boat to approach under any pretence whatever. Order them to keep off, and fire a musket-shot or two ahead of them, as a sign that you are in earnest. If they still come on, fire the carronades into them, and drive them back as you best can.”

The boats shoved off and made good way towards the slaver. Jack observed a horseman or two galloping along the shore, but no attempt was made to molest the English, though they passed round a couple of points within musket-shot. At last the slaver was seen at anchor right ahead. The expected prize before them, the boats’ crews gave way with a will, Jack’s boat leading.

He had ordered Higson to board on the port side, while he attacked on the starboard. The schooner’s sails, though they had been loose when first seen, had in the meantime been furled. One man only was visible on board her, he was composedly walking the quarterdeck with a glass under his arm, through which he had been watching the approaching boats. As they got close he hailed in broken English, and ordered them to keep off.

“No, no; we intend to come aboard and examine that schooner,” cried Jack.

“And I say you shall not,” answered the man; “if you attempt it you must stand by the consequences.”

“We intend to do so. Give way, lads,” shouted Jack. As he spoke, the schooner’s ports were opened. Her hitherto silent decks appeared crowded with men, while the next instant, four guns, run out on either side, let fly a shower of grape and canister, while twenty or thirty men opened fire with muskets. Happily the guns did no damage, for the boats were already close up to the schooner’s sides, though two or three men were slightly wounded by the bullets which came in sharp thuds against the gunwales.

“Board her, my lads,” shouted Jack; and he and his followers threw themselves quickly on deck. The slaver’s crew stood their ground for a few seconds only; then, throwing down their cutlasses and muskets, they sprang overboard, and attempted to make their way to the not distant bank. A few had been cut down at the first onslaught; half-a-dozen yielded themselves prisoners, and two had tumbled into the boats, making eight in all captured. The others, in shoals, were swimming for their lives. The seamen, irritated at the opposition they had met with, would have shot them down, but Jack ordered them to desist.

“These fellows are not to be treated as enemies, now that they have abandoned their vessel. It was their duty to defend her,” he shouted out, knocking up their muskets. “We must now get her out of this before their friends collect on the shore, or we shall find it rather a hot berth, I suspect.”

The cable was cut, and the boats, taking the prize in tow, began to make way down the harbour. They had not, however, got far from the spot, before several shots struck the schooner, fired from some men who had already collected on the shore. No one was hurt, and she was soon beyond the range of the muskets. As the breeze increased it became very hard work, towing the schooner against it; still Jack determined, if possible, to carry her off. As they approached one of the points which they had to round, they observed a number of armed men collecting on it. To avoid them the schooner was kept over to the opposite side. Just then a squall struck her and drove her on a bank. The Brazilians, encouraged by this, opened a hot fire, and though at some distance, several of their shot struck the schooner. In spite of it, Jack ordered warps to be got out, and endeavoured to haul her off. Two of his men had been hit and he in vain endeavoured to get the prize into deep water. Ahead was a bank over which he found it impossible to haul her; she had driven, indeed, into a bay, shoal water being found ahead, astern, and on her port side.

“It must be done, though I am sorry to lose so fine a craft; we must blow her up,” he said to Higson.

Several casks of powder were found on board. They were placed in her hold, surrounded by such combustible materials as could be quickly gathered together. All hands were then ordered into the boats; Jack, with Higson and Needham, set her on fire simultaneously amidships and fore and aft. They then jumped into the boats, and Jack, anxious to have his men safe from further risk of being shot, gave the order to pull down the river as fast as they could lay their backs to the oars.

The Brazilians probably fancied that they had taken to flight, and three boats, which had been concealed behind the point, were now seen shoving off for the schooner. They had got more than half way towards her when the flames burst out through all the hatchways; still they pulled on, hoping to extinguish them. The people in the leading boat were on the point of jumping on board, when the flames catching the gunpowder, up she went, her masts and spars shooting towards the sky, with fragments of her decks, while her sides split in all directions. Whether any of the Brazilians were injured could not be discovered; two of their boats pulled away in hot haste, the third following far more slowly. It was the general opinion that the people in her must have suffered severely, as they were close to the side of the vessel when she blew up.

Jack fearing that his vessel might be attacked, made the best of his way on board. On the arrival of the boats alongside, Bevan reported that he had not been molested, but that he had seen a considerable number of boats pulling along the shore, towards a spot further down, where people were collected in crowds. Though Jack felt perfectly confident that even should they venture to attack him he should beat them off, being anxious to avoid bloodshed, he resolved to get under weigh as soon as possible. The breeze, however, still blowing up the harbour, he had to wait till it died away, and the land breeze reassumed its power.

It was an anxious time, for without a pilot he dare not attempt to heat out of the harbour.

“At all events, if they do show their noses, we can give them a taste of Long Tom, sir,” said Needham; “it’s my opinion they will not come nearer if they hear him bark.”

The brig lay with her sails loose and her cable hove short: still not a breath of air stirred the glass-like surface of the harbour.

Jack did not wish to risk the loss of his vessel by attempting to cross the bar without a leading wind, besides which from the example the Brazilians had given of their disposition they might take the opportunity of attacking her while passing along the narrow channel he would have to traverse.

He hoped to get out before nightfall. At length the pennant which long had hung up and down the mast, began to move. Again it dropped, but at length out it blew steadily, while here and there gentle ripples appeared on the surface of the water.

“Hands, up anchor and make sail,” shouted Jack.

The boats quickly towed the brig round, the canvas was let drop, and away she glided. As she increased her speed, the boats were dropped astern, and now with a fair breeze the gallant little brig under all sail stood towards the mouth of the harbour. As she neared the narrowest part of the channel a number of people were seen collecting on the beach. On her approach they ran behind the high bank, sheltered by which they opened a hot fire with muskets and rifles, the bullets whizzing over the brig. Jack on this ordered all hands to lie down, with the exception of the helmsman, the man in the chains, and the lookout forward, while he himself stood at his post, conning the vessel.

The wind held fair, and after having been peppered for about ten minutes with a few stray shots sticking into her sides and hammocks, and a splinter or two torn off the masts, the Supplejack bounded gaily out to sea, having performed her duty, and being able to laugh at her opponents. None of the men struck had been much hurt, so the affair was altogether satisfactory. Just as it was getting dark, she met the corvette, which had stood in as close as was safe, to meet her.

The two vessels now stood to the southward, for the purpose of looking into the harbour of Paranagua, a notorious slave-mart, about three hundred miles from Rio. They came off the bay or gulf, as it may probably be called, soon after dawn on the third day after leaving the scene of their last exploit.

On one side of the somewhat narrow entrance lay a fort in which they could count fourteen or fifteen guns frowning down upon them.

“We might have some hot work if we were entering an enemy port,” observed Murray. “The Brazilian officer in command will, however, scarcely dare to molest us, even though he may be favourably disposed to the slave-traders.”

As a precautionary measure, however, the crews were sent to quarters, and, the corvette leading, the two vessels stood into the harbour. As he approached, Murray dipped his flag, the salute being duly returned from the fort. He accordingly stood on, intending to run up the harbour till he came in sight of the vessels he expected to find there. Jack, following his leader, did the same, and passed unmolested.

The two men-of-war proceeded on for some distance, but no vessels appeared, and Murray began to fear that the slavers had had some intimation that the port was likely to be visited by British cruisers, and had slipped away in time. Ahead lay an island with buildings on it. Some were dwelling-houses, others were long sheds of a suspicious character. As the water was still deep, and the channel tolerably wide, he stood on, when rounding a point he saw several large vessels lying at anchor, which from their appearance, as well as from the sheds and leaguers, or huge casks for holding water, which lay on the shore, together with planking for slave-decks, and other articles easily distinguishable through the telescope, he had no doubt were slavers. As the channel at this point became very narrow and intricate he thought it prudent not to stand on farther, and dropping his anchor, he ordered Jack to do the same. He then got a spring on his cable, so as to be able to bring his broadside to bear on the vessels, and to cover the boats which he intended to send forthwith to attack them.

“There is a stir among the vessels,” observed Adair, “and two of them have got under weigh, and are standing out towards us.”

Murray accordingly ordered him and Higson to board them, and ascertain their character. One carried the British and the other the American flag. The boats were lowered and the two vessels in a short time coming up were boarded. Neither of them made any resistance. Their papers were found to be correct—they were honest traders.

“As soon as we saw you approaching, we two agreed to stand out from among the black sheep. The rest of the craft in there are one and all slavers, and if you take or destroy them they will only get their due,” said the American master.

He then gave a description of the vessels, and the number of guns and men they carried. Terence thanked him for the information, and the two vessels were allowed to continue their course down the river.

Murray now ordered five boats under the command of Jack to board and overhaul all the vessels lying at anchor off the island.

One was a large ship, two were brigs, and a fourth a wicked-looking schooner, evidently a slaver. The question was whether they would offer resistance. The ship was seen getting a spring on her cable, which looked something like it; Jack was therefore prepared for all contingencies.

“We will take the smallest ones in detail, and that big fellow will then see that he has no chance of assistance,” he said to Higson.

Further off lay another large ship with the Brazilian colours flying, and two barques, one an American, the other a Portuguese, with a brigantine, which, as Needham remarked, from truck to kelson had the cut of a slaver.

“We will take them all, lads, never fear. They have got into a net, and it will be a hard matter for them to make their way out again. The truth is, they thought we should never find our way up here; but they have discovered their mistake, and have made their last voyages with blackies aboard, I hope.”

The boats were pulling on steadily towards the first brig, a beautiful vessel, with sharp bows and clean run; she would be a prize worth having, Jack knew, as she would give no end of trouble to the British cruisers engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade. A number of men were seen on board, but, as the flotilla approached, they jumped into their boats and pulled for the shore. The brig was immediately boarded, when not a soul was found in her, though she had her cargo on board; she was completely fitted for the slave-trade. Jack, suspecting treachery, had her thoroughly examined.

“All’s right, sir,” said Needham. “The crew were in too great a fright to think of anything but saving themselves, or they might, to be sure, have laid a slow match to the magazine, and tried to blow us up. The only pity is that she has no sails on board. It will be a job to know what to do with her.”

Jack had, in the meantime, sent the other boats to take possession of the second brig. This also was abandoned by her crew. She, too, was found fully fitted for the slave-trade. They now headed the boats towards the ship, the broadside of which having been brought to bear on them, she was apparently prepared for a determined resistance. Ordering Adair to pull for her stern and Higson for the bows, Jack and Needham dashed up alongside. As they approached the ship opened fire with round, grapeshot, and musketry, but, as is often the case, when men fight in a bad cause, the slaver’s crew took uncertain aim, and no one was hurt in either of the boats. The Brazilians had soon cause to repent of their folly in attempting to defend themselves; the English seamen quickly climbing up the side, they at once gave way, and rushing across the deck sprang overboard, and attempted to swim towards the shore. Some of the seamen, enraged at the opposition they had made, picked up the muskets from the decks, and would have fired after their retreating foe, had not Jack, as on a previous occasion, stopped them.

“Let the wretches, though they deserve punishment, have a chance for their lives,” he said.

Several boats putting off from the shore picked up most of the swimmers, though some were seen to go down before they were rescued.

The ship was a remarkably fine one, called the Andorinha. On examining her she was found to be American built, while the flag of the United States was discovered on board. Another discovery was also made. Her stern was covered by a piece of painted canvas, on ripping off which there appeared the name of the Mary Jane, of Greenport, in large letters, and as she carried two whale-boats on her quarters, the most vigilant of British cruisers might have passed her without the slightest suspicion of her real character.

Leaving the crew of one of the boats on board the ship under the command of Tom, who was vastly proud of the confidence placed in him, Jack pulled on for the other large Brazilian ship. The captain received him on board with a smiling countenance, for the fellow well knew that though evidently a slaver, she could not be touched. All the slave fittings had been landed, and lay abreast of her along the shore. The American brig, which was next boarded, was as clearly intended for the same nefarious traffic, but as she had not yet been fitted up with slave-decks, though they also were discovered close to her ready to be shipped, with her leaguers and other fittings.

The day’s work was not yet over; a brigantine lay temptingly near, inviting a visit. The boats soon surrounded her, she was found to be the Stella, a vessel which had long eluded the vigilance of British cruisers.

Though some of her fittings had been landed, a sufficient quantity remained to condemn her. Jack, however, having to secure his other prizes, was obliged to leave her, intending to visit her the next day; he therefore pulled back to the brigs, and commenced towing and warping them towards the corvette.

The channel through which they had to pass was excessively narrow, and, unfortunately, Jack, forgetting that the boats might pass in a direct line where the vessels could not follow, they both took the ground. Now came the task of hauling them off; it was accomplished, however, and they were brought at length to an anchor between the two men-of-war. He next pulled back to the ship, and reached her just as darkness came on. He found Tom and his crew on the alert; he had seen a number of boats coming off from the shore, with the intention, he fully believed, of attacking him.

“But we would have treated them just as Mr Adair did the slave-dealers at Bahia,” he exclaimed. “We had all our arms loaded, and if they had come near us, we should have given them a pretty warm reception, you may depend upon that.”

Jack felt very sure that Tom would have done so, though he was glad he had not been exposed to the danger he would have had to run.

Sounding as he went, Jack got the ship safely under the guns of the corvette at a late hour of the night. The skulking crews of the slavers, eager as they might have been to regain the vessels taken from them, dared not attack them, and the night passed off quietly. Next morning by daybreak the boats again put off; the most important vessel to capture was the brigantine, and they at once pulled for her. As they approached, they made out several boats pulling backwards and forwards between her and the shore. Jack regretted that he had not left a prize crew on board, though he had acted, as he thought at the time, for the best.

“Give way, my lads, those fellows are after some mischief, we must put a stop to it,” he shouted.

The brigantine lay floating on the calm water, her taunt, raking masts, and the tracery of her spars and rigging reflected in its surface. She was just the style of craft to please a seaman’s eye. The men gave way, in a few minutes they hoped to be aboard her. Suddenly her masts moved to starboard, then over they heeled to port, when, gradually, her bows sank, and down she glided, head foremost, beneath the surface of the water.

“What a pity!” broke from the lips of those in the stern sheets of the boats, who had observed what had taken place; the look of astonishment in the countenances of the men at the oars, when, turning their heads, they found the brigantine had disappeared, was almost ludicrous. Had they got hold of any of the Brazilians they would have made them pay dearly for their trick. It was very evident that the vessel had been scuttled during the night, to prevent her from falling into the hands of the English, while the crew had landed every article of value from her. Jack was thus compelled to be contented with his three prizes, none of the other vessels could be touched. It now coming on to blow hard, it was impossible to get under weigh. The time, however, was employed in fitting the ship for sea; Higson and a prize crew had charge of her. Murray intended to tow one of the brigs, while Jack was to tow the other. All hands on board both vessels were hard at work till sunset.

The next morning, the wind coming down the harbour, they got under weigh, and proceeded down the gulf. In a short time, the squadron got abreast of the fort, the commandant of which was well aware that the English had, in accordance with the wishes of his own government, performed their duty in capturing the slavers, and Murray therefore expected to pass without molestation. He saluted as usual, and was standing on, when a gun was fired at the corvette.

“What are the fellows about!” he exclaimed.

“It may have been let off by mistake,” observed Adair.

“That was not let off by mistake, though,” exclaimed Murray, as a shot from a second gun whistled close under the stern, followed immediately by another, which, however, passed ahead.

“Beat to quarters,” cried Murray, “the fellows mean mischief.”

Scarcely had the first roll of the drum sounded than the eager crew sprang to their guns.

Jack imitated his example; both vessels opened their broadsides, firing shot and shell as fast as their guns could be brought to bear.

The fort, meantime, fired showers of grape, canister, and round shot.

“This is hotter work than we met with up the Saint Juan; I did not expect such fun,” exclaimed Desmond.

“We had only muskets, and we have now got big guns to pay back the compliments we receive,” observed Archy, who was standing near him.

“Yes, but the enemy have stone walls, instead of timber stockades to protect them,” said Desmond; “it’s very good fun, though.”

“I don’t call that fun,” cried Archy, as a round shot struck a seaman at one of the guns near them on the breast, and laid him dead on the deck, before he had time to utter a groan. A grape shot, the next moment, hit another man on the shoulder, and he was carried below. Two others were shortly afterwards wounded.

Fortunately the wind held, or the men-of-war might have suffered much more than they did. The object of the Brazilians was probably to compel them to abandon their prizes, which would have undoubtedly been immediately taken possession of.

Murray signalled Higson to keep further off the fort, to escape the risk of damage.

The English ships, having passed the front of the battery, had their sterns exposed to a raking fire from the sea face of it, which they were unable to return, in consequence of the vessels in tow. One of the after guns of the Tudor, was, however, fitted for throwing shells, and as Murray could bring it to bear, when the openings between the vessels astern would allow of it, he occasionally fired one into the fort. Long Tom did his duty, and Jack had the satisfaction of believing that his shot produced as much effect as those of the corvette.

“On my word I should like to land and storm that fort, to punish the rascals,” he exclaimed.

“I am afraid that as it is on a friendly territory, that would be unlawful,” observed Bevan.

“Then people on friendly territory should not attack those engaged in the performance of their duty,” answered Jack; “give them a parting shot, Needham; we shall soon be out of range of their guns, if the breeze holds.”

“I will do my best to make it tell,” said Dick; training Long Tom aft as far as possible. He fired—the effect of the shot was to silence the gun which had for some minutes annoyed them the most, and it was conjectured, therefore, that it must have either killed several of the gunners, or injured the carriage. The next shot which came from the fort, fell short of the brig. As soon as the vessels were completely out of range, Murray ordered the anchors to be dropped.

A heavy sea setting over the bar at the entrance he considered it unwise to attempt crossing till the top of high water. The place in which he had brought up was not however altogether free from danger. On either hand were wild rugged rocks, while a line of foaming surf stretched across the mouth of the harbour. As it would be impossible to cross with the two prize-brigs, Murray determined at once to destroy them. The two cutters and the Supplejack’s jollyboat were directed to perform this service. Tom and Desmond agreed to go and see the fun, and just as the brig’s boat was shoving off they jumped into her, unobserved by Jack. The boats having taken charge of the brigs, towed them half-a-mile from the ships. They were then set on fire, and were soon in a blaze fore and aft, when the wind, having more power than the tide, rapidly carried them towards the foaming breakers. The corvette’s two boats were returning, when Jack, looking round to ascertain what had become of his boat, caught sight of her close to one of the blazing vessels, on the point of being driven among the dangerous breakers. Having discovered that the two youngsters had gone in her, he naturally felt doubly anxious on their account, and suspected that some accident must have happened to prevent her return. Instantly jumping into the pinnace with the best hands he could collect, he pulled away for the boat, the crew of which were labouring desperately to head her off the breakers. He had gone but a short distance when he caught sight of the two brigs, like huge floating bonfires, gliding into the midst of the foaming waters, which danced up wildly around them, as if greedy for their prey. A few seconds the vessels struggled with the wild breakers, then their keels grated on the sharp rocks, they rose and fell a few seconds more, when, the waters leaping triumphantly over them, they were shattered into a thousand fragments, which were scattered on every side.

Jack’s interest was, however, centred on the boat which was already awfully near the breakers, and once in them her fate would be that of the slavers. His men strained every muscle to reach her. Already scarcely half a cable’s length existed between her and the inner line of breakers, a foaming sea had burst close astern. Jack dashing forward shouted to the bowman to have a rope ready. It was hove on board as he swept round, and securing it he steered away from the dangerous spot.

Two of her oars had been lost alongside the burning brig, and another had been sprung; and had not assistance come, the boat and all on board would in another minute to a certainty have been engulfed. As Jack made his way back to the brig he was received with loud cheers from the corvette and prize.

He was thankful when he at length reached the deck of the Supplejack, feeling that he ought to punish the two youngsters for their misconduct, though very unwilling to do so. He contented himself with giving them a severe lecture, and pointing out to them the fearful risk they had run of losing their lives.

“When duty calls you, it is quite a different matter,” he observed: “then never be daunted by danger. Your duty was to remain on board. Had you been lost I should have had double cause to mourn for you, as you would have uselessly thrown your lives away.”

“That’s just what Admiral Triton said to me,” observed Tom to Desmond. “Jack is right—no doubt about that.”

By this time the tide had sufficiently risen to allow a passage over the bar, and Murray being unwilling to lose a favourable wind by a longer delay, the anchors were hove up, sail was made, and the two men-of-war, with the captured slaver, leaving the fort astern, dashed proudly out to sea. They had, however, to keep their pumps going, in consequence of the large amount of water which had rushed into them before the shot-holes they had received could be thoroughly plugged. Murray then gave Higson directions to carry the slaver to Saint Helena, and, after delivering her up, to return to Rio by the first opportunity.

The midshipmen were sorry to lose him, for he never forgot that he had been their messmate, and, notwithstanding his few eccentricities, he was always kind and considerate.

While he steered to the eastward, the corvette and brig shaped a course for Rio. The result of the expedition had been the destruction of three noted slavers, and the capture of a fourth, while their owners had learnt an important lesson, that the risks of the trade in which they were engaged were considerably increased, and that it might possibly be wiser to abandon it.

Next night, during Adair’s watch, a pampeiro, a squall off the Pampas so called, suddenly struck the ship; the boatswain’s shrill whistle summoned all hands to shorten sail; happily, the tacks and sheets were let fly before its full force was felt.

Ned Somers, a foretop-man, on the lee yardarm, with the earring in hand, was struck by the wild, flapping sail, and overboard he fell. Murray, who had now come on deck, saw the accident, and the instant the ship could be brought to the wind, ordering a boat to be lowered, he cried out for volunteers to man her. Adair sprang into her, and Snatchblock took the bow oar. Other hands followed. The man’s cries directed them, as they believed, towards where he was floating. Away the boat dashed through the foaming waters, but when they reached the spot the man was nowhere to be seen. They pulled round and round it, shouting to him, but no answer came. Unwillingly, at length Adair put the boat’s head towards the ship. The men had not pulled many strokes when Snatchblock felt a blow on the bow of the boat, and by a sudden impulse (there was no time for thought) stretching himself over the gunwale, he plunged down his arm and got hold of the missing man, whom eager hands assisted him to haul on board. Somers was immediately passed aft, and, as fast as the crew could pull, the boat returned to the ship.

The man, who still breathed, was hoisted on deck, and placed under the surgeon’s hands.

Strange to say, he seemed next morning to outward appearance not much the worse for his accident.

From that day, however, he was in reality a changed man. Once among the most high-spirited and joyous of the crew, he became melancholy and silent, though he went through his duty as usual. About a month afterwards, as Adair was going forward, he saw a whitehaired man sitting on the coamings of the fore-hatchway.

“Where did that old man come from?” he asked of Snatchblock.

“I never saw so strange a thing in all my life, sir,” was the answer. “Last night when he turned in his hair was as black as mine, and this morning, when the hammocks were piped up, it was as you see it. That man, sir, is Ned Somers!”

Adair could scarcely believe what he heard till he spoke to poor Ned, who, however, not having a looking-glass, did not seem to be aware of the change. After this he grew weaker and weaker; his nervous system, when he fell overboard, had received a shock which was too much for him. Murray had resolved to send him home, when the surgeon reported that the poor fellow had not many hours to live. Before night he breathed his last, and was buried in the seaman’s wide sepulchre, the Ocean. He survived the accident scarcely three months.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Up the Parana—Murray’s forebodings—Battle of Punta Obligado—Attacked by fireships—Schooner blows up—Jack and Murray perform a gallant exploit—Murray wounded—The batteries stormed—Tom and Gerald carried off by Gauchos.

“Hurrah! my boy, there is a prospect of more glorious or, at all events, more exciting work than slave-hunting,” exclaimed Adair, as he came on board the Supplejack from the Tudor, both vessels then lying in Rio harbour.

“When? where?” asked Jack.

“Up the Parana, and immediately, as far as I can make out. Murray has just received his orders, and you will get yours before the day is many hours longer. I conclude that small vessels are wanted for the work, so you are certain to be sent.”

“Has Murray heard what we are to do when we get there?” asked Jack.

“Yes, to force our way up the river, which a certain General Rosas, calling himself President of Buenos Ayres, has taken it into his head no one shall do; and so, of course, he will attempt to stop us.”

“Who is the fellow? I don’t think I have ever heard of him before,” said Jack.

“Nor did I till Murray told me, and, as he reads everything, he, of course, knew all about the matter. You have an atlas, just get it out, and I will try and impart the information Murray gave me.

“The river Parana, you see, runs a course of many miles nearly north and south before it runs into the river Plate. On the east side are the provinces of Paraguay, Entre Rios, and Banda Oriental, and on the west and south those of Santa Fé and Buenos Ayres, comprised under the general name of La Plata. General Rosas wants to unite these provinces under one confederation, and to make himself dictator or emperor.

“Another party calling themselves Unitarios want to unite them into one state, and have, for this slight difference of opinion, for several years done their best to knock each other on the head. His troops having blockaded Monte Video and captured some French merchantmen, the French have, therefore, sent a squadron to take satisfaction, and open up the commerce of the river Plate.

“We are going to join them, as the Buenos Ayrians have treated some of our merchantmen in the same way, and Rosas dares us to do our worst, and declares that up the river we shall not go.

“By an old treaty it appears that the English and French governments having guaranteed the integrity of the Banda Oriental, Rosas was ordered to withdraw his troops from the territory, and as he refused to do so, his squadron besieging Monte Video has been taken from him, while the province of Paraguay, and that of Corrientes, have combined to overthrow his power. In revenge for this, he has closed the outlets of their rivers, so as to put an effectual stop to their foreign commerce.

“The Parana, though it looks of no great size on the map, is broad and deep, and even large vessels may make their way some four or five hundred miles up it.

“The French squadron and some English ships are already off Monte Video, and as soon as we and the other vessels join them we are to begin the ascent of the river. Here is Monte Video, on the northern shore of this wide river of La Plata, which, however, looks more like a huge gulf than what we call a river in Europe, and here, some way up on the southern bank, is Buenos Ayres. There was a fearful ruffian, called Orribe, who got the upper hand in some of these provinces, and murdered all his opponents who fell into his power; he therefore got the appropriate name of the ‘butcher.’

“Don Rosas, with a devoted army of gauchos, the wild horsemen of the Pampas, united with him, and the two mild-mannered gentlemen together endeavoured to get possession of Monte Video, but, being defeated, Rosas has since wisely kept to his own side of the river.

“Besides the horsemen, he has managed to get together a good supply of heavy guns and flying artillery, with which he expects to send us to the right about, and our business will be to show him that he is mistaken.

“That is all I know of the matter, and I hope I have made it as clear to your mind as Murray did to mine.”

Jack duly received his orders, and the next morning by daybreak the corvette and brig, in company with a few other vessels, sailed out of the harbour. They had a quick run to Monte Video, where they fell in with the English and French squadron, consisting of several steamers and sailing-vessels.

Soon after their arrival, the ships were ordered to proceed up at once to Guassu, one of the mouths of the Parana; a heavy gale, however, coming on, drove the ships back. The midshipmen were, of course, as eager as any one for the fun, as they called it, which they expected to meet with, and were much disappointed at the delay which occurred. The steamers could have gone ahead without them, but as there were only four in the whole squadron, two English and two French, such a force would not have been sufficient for the object.

Day after day they had to beat backwards and forwards, a strong westerly wind blowing in their teeth, giving General Rosas time to complete his defences.

“Well, there is one satisfaction,” exclaimed Desmond. “If we had gone up at first we might have caught the enemy unprepared, and lost all the honour and glory we shall now reap in thrashing him.”

“As to that, considering that he and his followers are half savages, as the commodore says, I don’t see that there is much honour and glory to be obtained,” observed Tom.

“Faith, now it seems to me that it does not much matter what kind of people the enemy are, provided they have got arms in their hands, and don’t run away,” answered Desmond. “These fellows fight fiercely enough among themselves, and they are not likely to change when they have got foreign foes to deal with.”

Paddy was not far wrong after all. At length the weather moderated, the steamers got up their steam and the sailing-vessels hauled their wind and stood for the westward.

They had proceeded some distance, when down came another pampeiro upon them, and they were once more disappointed. Still the work was to be done, and the English and French commodores were not men to be beaten by a difficulty. Days and nights together the ships kept at it, doing their uttermost to reach the rendezvous off the mouth of the river.

At length they all met, and the flag of England flying from the peaks of some, and that of France from others, in friendly proximity, with a fair breeze they commenced their ascent of the mighty stream.

As they watched the distant shore on either hand it was difficult to persuade themselves that they were at a considerable distance above the mouth of the river. Still, on and on they sailed. With their glasses they could occasionally see horsemen galloping along apparently watching them, although no opposition was offered, indeed they were generally too far out of the range of field-pieces, even should the enemy have possessed any.

As the current was strong and the wind light, it was slow work, and often they did not make ten miles a day. They had got about a hundred miles up when the commodore gave the signal for the squadron to anchor, and they found that they were within three miles of a place called Punta Obligado, on the right bank of the river, where General Rosas had thrown up some strong defences to oppose their further progress.

All hands were in high spirits at the thoughts of the fight, which they expected would take place the next morning. Murray and the more reflective officers, could not help thinking that fighting was a serious matter, and that if a report that they had heard was correct, before another day was over, many enjoying high health and spirits might be laid low.

Jack, who brought up close to the Tudor, came on board with Tom to pay their friends a visit. Their chief regret was that Higson was not there to take part in the expected achievements of the following day.

“We never know what may happen to us when we go into battle,” said Murray, as Jack sat with him in his cabin. “In case I should fall, I must get you to take this packet to Stella. She is ever in my thoughts, and I am anxious to make arrangements for her future comfort and support, for I doubt that she is as well provided for as she supposes. Her father spent most of his fortune in the wild schemes in which he took part, and careless as I heard he was about his own pecuniary affairs, he probably neglected to make due provision for his daughter. Had she married me, she would, at all events, have enjoyed a pension as my widow, and as those who would otherwise obtain it can do very well without any addition to their incomes, I have left all the property I possess to be enjoyed by her for her life; and you, Jack, must undertake to see that my intentions are carried out.”

“Of course I will, my dear Murray,” answered Jack. “But you must not suppose that you are to be knocked on the head. I hold to the belief that no man knows beforehand what is to happen to him, though, of course, when he goes into battle, he may be killed, but his thinking that he will or will not will make no difference.”

“It may be true,” answered Murray, with a sigh, “but there is something within me which says that I ought to be prepared.”

“Of course, and I hope you are, my dear Alick,” said Jack gravely. “A truly religious man like you always is prepared, and I suspect that the weather, together with the fatigue you have gone through, and your state of health, have something to do with your forebodings. If you won’t think me frivolous, let me ask you what you had for dinner yesterday?”

Murray at first did not answer, at last, faintly smiling, he answered—

“Well, perhaps you are right, and I dare say tomorrow morning I shall see things in a different light. However, in case I should fall, you will see my wishes carried out.”

Jack again promised that he would do anything and everything that Murray wished. Terence joined them shortly afterwards, and the old shipmates spent a pleasant evening, as did Tom with his friends in the midshipmen’s berth. They did not trouble themselves with forebodings of evil, and all talked eagerly of the fun they hoped to see before long.

A sharp lookout was kept during the night. The steamers had their fires banked up, as it was thought probable that the enemy might have prepared fireships to send down among them. As soon, therefore, as it was dark, the boats were sent ahead to row guard, and to tow them out of the way, so that they might drop down clear of the squadron. The night, however, passed away without any occurrence of the sort, and at daybreak the two commodores proceeded up the river in their gigs to reconnoitre the position of the enemy. A dense fog which hung over the water enabled them to approach unobserved. Their return was anxiously waited for. They quickly acquainted themselves with all they desired to know, and, immediately they got back, the commanders of all the vessels were directed to repair on board the flagship to receive instructions. They then learned that Rosas had thrown up strong fortifications about three miles from where they then lay. They consisted of four batteries, two on heights sixty feet above the surface of the river, and two in an intervening valley. The batteries mounted altogether twenty-two guns, some long thirty-two pounders, and others of smaller calibre. Opposite the point was an island, which occupied a considerable portion of the breadth of the river, so that vessels going up must of necessity pass close to the batteries. Yet, further to strengthen the position, three heavy chains, supported by twenty-four vessels, extended across the river from the main land to the island, one end being defended by a man-of-war schooner, mounting six guns, while close to the chains, ready to be let loose at any moment, lay ten fireships. A force of nearly four thousand men, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, was collected, so the commodores learnt from their spies, to man the forts, and to oppose any force that might be sent on shore to attack them.

The sailing-vessels were now formed in two divisions, while the steamers formed a third, to take up a position as soon as they had disposed of the fireships. All on board the ships waited eagerly for the signal to weigh.

The hands had been piped to breakfast. The meal was over, still the fog prevailed. Suddenly a light breeze sprang up from the southward, when the fog cleared, and at a quarter to nine the signal was given for the leading division to weigh. With eager alacrity the men sprang aloft to loose sails, and in a few minutes the two divisions of sailing-vessels were gliding up the stream; the one to attack the northern, and the other the southern batteries, with directions to anchor about seven hundred yards from them. With all sail set to stem the current, they approached the batteries, which immediately opened fire on the headmost vessels. They returned the compliment with interest, as soon as they could bring their guns to bear, the thunder of the artillery breaking the silence which had hitherto reigned over the scene, the loud roaring increasing as ship after ship got into action.

The wild gauchos fought their guns well, and showered down on their assailants round shot, grape, canister, shells, and rockets, which the ships returned with similar missiles, French and English vying with each other as to who should load and fire their guns the fastest. The roar of the guns, the crashing of the shot as they struck the ships, and the shouts of the men, increasing every instant, became perfectly deafening.

About an hour from the time the gallant little Philomel got under fire, the action became general. Several of the vessels were suffering severely; on board the French commodore’s brig especially the men were falling fast, while numberless shots struck her between wind and water.

The effect of the terrific cannonading going on was to make the wind fall light, and some of the ships, therefore, were unable to reach the exact stations assigned to them; the consequence was, that they were exposed, more than would otherwise have been the case, to the fire of the batteries.

Murray had carried his vessel as close as he could, and Jack did not fail to follow his example. Round shot and grape came sweeping over their decks, some of the missiles striking the hulls of the vessels, others going through their sails and cutting up the rigging; but the hotter the fire became, the more the British seamen seemed to enjoy the fun, tossing about their guns with right good will, and sending shot after shot, well aimed, into the batteries.

“I say, this is pretty hot work, Archy,” observed Desmond; “I wonder how long it is going to last?”

“I suppose till we drive the enemy from their guns and take possession of their fort, unless they blow themselves up, and finish the batteries in that way,” answered Gordon.

“But, I say! look there! what are those craft about?”

Archy, as he spoke, pointed ahead, where about a dozen vessels were seen bearing down on the squadron from the upper part of the river. Presently, first one, and then another, burst into flames.

“They are fireships!” cried Desmond, “and if they come aboard they will blow us all into smithereens.”

“The steamers won’t let them do that,” observed Gordon; “see, they are paddling towards them, and will sink or tow them out of the way before they touch us, I hope.”

Still the danger was imminent. It was evident that the steamers could not take all of them in tow at once, and while some were got hold of, others might continue their course.

The commanders of the men-of-war made preparations for the reception of the fireships, and got their boats ready to tow them away, should they threaten to drift closer than was safe. On came the burning masses; the steamers had got hold of some of them.

“That fellow will be down upon us before long, sir,” said Needham, “if we cannot manage to get her out of the way.”

Jack, on this, ordered a boat to be lowered; Needham, followed by Tom, jumped into her, and rapidly pulled for the fireship. The difficulty was to secure the towrope, while there was no time to be lost if the brig was to be saved. Many of the shot, intended for the vessels, came flying over the boat; no one was hit in her, however, and Needham managed to hook on the towrope to her stern. The crew gave way, and, aided by the current, just got her clear of the brig, when, the flames rapidly increasing, Needham saw it was high time to cast off, and get out of her neighbourhood.

The crew had not given many strokes when up she blew, and the fragments of her deck and bulwarks came rattling down over them.

For a moment it seemed that all in the boat must be destroyed. Jack, who had anxiously cast his eyes in that direction, as had also the two midshipmen of the corvette who were looking on, thought that every one in the boat must perish. Jack regretted that he had allowed Tom to go in her; his anxiety, however, was soon relieved when he saw them emerging from the shower and returning to the brig.

The other fire-vessels passing clear of the squadron, either drove on shore or went floating harmlessly down the broad stream, till they blew up and sank.

The battle still continued raging as at first, for the Spaniards fought their guns with desperation, and no sooner had one set of men been swept away than they were replaced by others. A body of cavalry was also seen hovering about in the wood which backed the fort, and when any of the artillerymen, as some did, could no longer stand it, and took to flight, they were driven back, and compelled to fight till they were killed or wounded.

The action had continued with unmitigated fury for a couple of hours, and there appeared no prospect of its cessation as long as the enemy’s ammunition held out. Although the gunners were continually swept away, fresh men, as at first, were driven up to take their places. The number of casualties on board the squadron had greatly increased; two or three officers and several men had already been killed, and many wounded. Suddenly a still louder roar than the thunder of the guns was heard.

“Hurrah! there goes their magazine,” cried Desmond.

“No! see the schooner guarding the chains has blown up,” answered Gordon, pointing in the direction of the barrier placed across the river.

For a few seconds the enemy, astounded by the occurrence, ceased firing, but the English gave them no respite, and both parties immediately again set to work, battering away at each other. Shot after shot struck the Tudor, but the crew kept up their fire with unabated vigour. Murray had forgotten all about his forebodings of the previous evening; no sooner had the schooner blown up, than he saw that the chain being left unprotected it might easily be cut through, and the steamers would thus be able to pass up the stream, and open a flanking fire on the fort.

The same idea had occurred to Jack, and he sent Tom on board the commodore’s ship, offering to make the attempt. Murray had, in the meantime, sent Archy Gordon with a similar offer. Both being accepted, they pulled away in their gigs towards the chains. Though several shot came flying by them, and they were exposed to a hot fire of musketry, they succeeded in reaching the chains. Had the schooner remained, the attempt would have been hopeless, as her guns with an ample crew had full command of the spot; but the guns were at the bottom of the river, and most of her crew had either been blown into the air, or drowned. Still it was no easy matter to cut through heavy chains. With cold iron, axes, and hammers, Murray and Jack set to work, and although bullets were whizzing over them, and every now and then pattered against the boats, they worked dauntlessly away.

“There is one cut through, at all events,” cried Jack, as he succeeded at length in severing one of the thick links. Murray had unshackled another; the third, however, still remained; they both worked away at it, knowing that before it could be cut through the enemy might bring down some of their flying artillery, and render their position still more dangerous; besides which, the sooner the ships could get up the more quickly would the victory be won.

“A few more blows, and we shall do it,” cried Murray. He was raising his arm to strike, when he fell back into the hands of Snatchblock, who was assisting him.

“Go on, Jack,” he exclaimed. “Don’t mind me; you will have it through in another minute.”

Jack, though his heart felt very sad at the thoughts of Murray being badly wounded, or perhaps killed, laboured away with all his might, assisted by Needham.

“We will do it in a few minutes more,” cried Jack, bringing down his axe with tremendous force.

The chain was at length cut; the boats’ crews uttering a loud cheer at their success, while the vessels which supported it swung to the current, floating down towards the opposite bank.

“Give way, now, lads,” cried Jack, and the two boats proceeded as fast as the men could bend to their oars back to the ships. Jack saw Murray lifted on board and carried below—the surgeon expressed a hope that his wound was not dangerous, though he had fainted from loss of blood. Jack had, however, to hasten on board the commodore’s ship, to report what had been done.

The steamers were immediately ordered to proceed up the river and flank the batteries. Jack’s anxiety was increased by the knowledge that his ship was greatly exposed, several of her people having fallen, and the purser having been killed while assisting the surgeon below.

The French commodore’s brig, however, was suffering much more severely, a shot cutting her cable she dropped astern before another could be ranged, with upwards of an hundred shot-holes through her sides, ten or twelve of her people killed, and forty, or more, wounded. The French and English vessels were now ordered up to place themselves within musket-shot of the battery, that they might assist the flanking fire of the steamers. This they did in a most dashing way, receiving a hot fire in return, when one of the lieutenants of an English vessel was killed. At length, however, the well-served guns of the squadron produced their effect; the fire from the batteries began to slacken, some of the guns being dismounted and the gunners driven from others. The engagement had now lasted six hours.

At length, only an occasional shot came from the shore, but still the enemy’s flag continued flying, and the commodore made a signal for the boats of the squadron to rendezvous alongside his ship, with marines and bluejackets prepared for landing, to storm the batteries.

The ships were brought in as close as the water would allow to cover the landing. The English forces, consisting of an hundred and eighty bluejackets, and one hundred and forty-five marines were the first on shore; here they quickly formed. Terence, with two boats’ crews from the Tudor, were among them. Desmond had accompanied his uncle; they were soon afterwards joined by Bevan and Tom with the men from the Supplejack.

“So we are to have some campaigning,” said Tom. “I was afraid my brother would not let me come, at first, but he thought, as I had escaped the round and grape shot of the enemy which came rattling on board, that I should not get into much harm on shore, and I was very anxious to see the fun.”

While the boats were disembarking the men destined for the attack, the ships kept up a hot fire over their heads, to prevent the enemy from rushing down to interrupt them.

“I suppose the ships will cease firing when we storm the hill, or they may chance to knock our heads off instead of the enemy,” said Desmond.

“No fear about that,” answered Tom. “See, they have knocked off already. The commodore will give us the signal to advance before long, depend on that.”

On the crest of the hill a strong force was drawn up to oppose them. Without waiting for the French the word to advance was given, and uttering three hearty British cheers, the marines with fixed bayonets charged up the hill, the bluejackets on their flank.

They were received with a hot fire of musketry, but the gauchos, brave as they were, could not stand the bayonets of the marines. As they saw them coming they took to flight. On one side was a wood in which a body of the enemy were posted. This was at once attacked by a light company of seamen, and in a few minutes it was carried; the French landing, rushed up to the attack of the forts, while the bluejackets pursued the flying enemy, who now and then, when they found themselves in sufficient force to make a stand, turned round and fired at their pursuers. Bodies also of gauchos, who had been hovering in the rear during the action, came sweeping down, endeavouring to cut off any of their assailants whom they might find unprepared to receive them.

Terence, accompanied by the two midshipmen and a small party of seamen, carried away by their ardour, after having assisted to clear the wood, were considerably in advance of the main body. The marines were at the same time in the act of charging a large body of the enemy, who were again attempting to stand their ground.

“Halloa! who are these fellows?” cried Tom, pointing in the direction in which he had seen a large body of the gauchos flourishing their long lances, as they galloped fiercely forward.

“They intend to try and cut us down, and so they will if we don’t drive them back with a warm volley,” cried Terence. “Prepare to receive cavalry!” The seamen had been drilled to act as light infantry, and being armed with muskets and bayonets were well able to use them. On came the wild horsemen firing their carbines, when, with lances at rest, they charged full down on the body of seamen. Several saddles were emptied, but not till they had got close up to the bayonets did they wheel round, apparently with the intention of retreating. Believing that they were doing so, the bluejackets rose from their knees, and imperfectly disciplined as they were for fighting on shore, without waiting for their officer’s orders, rushed forward in pursuit of the apparently flying enemy. Tom and Gerald, carried away by their ardour, took the lead, and having only their swords in their hands, got ahead of the rest. At that moment the horsemen, once more wheeling, charged with desperate fury against the partly broken square.

The seamen, however; again rapidly forming, fired a volley which prevented the gauchos from cutting their way through them. Two of the gauchos, however, as they came up, threw their lassos over Tom and Gerald, who were at that moment in the act of springing back to gain the protection of the bayonets, and greatly to their horror and dismay they found themselves dragged up on the saddles of the horsemen, who with their companions galloped off amid the showers of bullets which the bluejackets sent after them. Among the few who, amid the smoke from the muskets and the confusion, had seen the midshipmen spirited away, was Snatchblock.

“We must get the young reefers back, lads! It won’t do to lose them,” he shouted out, and followed by a dozen of the Supplejack’s crew, less accustomed to discipline than the rest, he started off in pursuit. Terence seeing them going, and not knowing the cause, called them back, but not hearing him they ran on, hoping to overtake the fleet horsemen. The gauchos, discovering from the flight of their party in other directions that the day was lost, continued their flight: had they turned back, they would probably have cut down the whole of their pursuers.

Snatchblock, compelled at length to return, told Adair what had happened.

“Rogers and my nephew carried off?” exclaimed Adair. “How did you fellows come to allow that?”

“We couldn’t help it, sir! indeed we couldn’t!” answered Snatchblock. “There isn’t a man among us who wouldn’t have given his own life rather than have let the young gentlemen be carried off by the savages, to be killed and eaten for what we know, but their horsemen came down upon us like lightning, and spirited them off before any of us saw what they were about.”

“Well, well, I am ready to believe that none of you could help it, and I am sure, Snatchblock, that you would have risked your life to save the youngsters,” said Adair, his rising anger appeased. “They have themselves alone to blame. We must now see what we can do to get them back, for the gauchos will look upon them as prizes of too much value to kill, and though they are savage enough, from all accounts, they are not addicted to eating men or boys either.”

“That’s a comfort, at all events, for I couldn’t tell what those wild chaps might do with the young gentlemen,” observed the honest sailor. “If we might go off in chase, maybe we should come up with them before long.”

“Without cavalry we shall have no chance of overtaking the gauchos, and I can only hope that they will not treat their prisoners ill. The lads have their wits about them; if they have the chance, they will make their escape,” answered Adair.

“You may trust the young gentlemen for that, sir,” said Snatchblock. The recall being sounded, Adair with his party was compelled to rejoin the main body; indeed, he saw too clearly that any attempt to rescue the youngsters would be useless. The only task now to be accomplished by the seamen and marines was to spike the guns and destroy the batteries, which being quickly accomplished, they re-embarked.

The crews of the vessels which had been most severely treated had work enough to do in stopping shot-holes and refitting the rigging, which had been considerably cut up.

Adair on his return having to pass close to the Supplejack, went on board to tell Rogers of the unfortunate loss of the two midshipmen, and to offer him all the consolation he could.

“I would rather that anything had happened than that,” exclaimed Jack. “You don’t suppose that the gauchos have killed the poor lads?”

Adair said he hoped from what he had heard that they had not injured them, and probably supposed that they had made a valuable prize in a couple of officers. They questioned Snatchblock further as to what he knew of the affair.

“I would have given my right hand rather than have had the young gentleman carried off, sir,” he answered. “You see, sir, we did not expect those horse-fellows would attack us on that side, and we were not standing in shipshape fashion like the sodgers. Somehow or other also the young gentlemen were where they should not have been, I’ll allow, and just then down the gauchos pounced upon us, and all in a moment, before we could sing out, a couple of them whipped their lassos over the lads’ shoulders and hoisted them up on their saddles. You may be sure, sir, we made all sail after them as fast as we could carry on, but it was all of no use. The horses’ four legs were better than our two, and we were afraid of firing for fear of hitting the young gentlemen. Maybe the fellows carried them off to save their own hides.”

Poor Jack felt very unhappy, and at once pulled off to the commodore, to consult him and some of the other captains as to what was best to be done.

“It is only to be hoped that Rosas will not treat them as he is said to have treated some of his prisoners, and cut off their ears,” was the remark made when Jack told his story. “Of course every effort must be made to recover the youngsters; and as soon as we can hold any communication with Rosas, we will send to demand their release, and will offer to exchange any of his followers who may fall into our hands for them. In the meantime such private means as are available must be employed, and you and Mr Adair shall have every possible opportunity given you of carrying them out. We will think over the matter, and decide what steps, under the circumstances, it is best to take. The general, however, has shown no inclination whatever to come to terms; and not withstanding his defeat, it is evident that he intends to fight out the quarrel to the bitter end.” This was poor consolation to Jack and Terence, who felt more cut up than they had ever been in their lives.

Jack had not, however, forgotten Murray, and as soon as duty would allow him, he went on board the Tudor. He found his old friend able to sit up at table in his cabin, though looking pale and ill from loss of blood, and certainly more fit to be in his cot.

“You see, Jack, that my forebodings are partly realised,” he said, as his old shipmate entered; “at all events, had the bullet struck me the sixteenth of an inch on either side my wound would have been fatal. I am afraid, from what the doctor says, that it may be some time before I am fit for active duty, and he advises me to apply to be superseded, and to go home.”

Jack of course hoped that the doctor was wrong, and that Murray would be able to remain out till the affair on which they had been sent had been brought to a satisfactory issue.

“But you look unusually grave, Rogers; has anything happened?”

Jack told him all about Tom and Gerald’s loss. Murray of course heartily sympathised with him, and expressed his fears, as his other friends had done, that it would be a hard matter to get the youngsters back. He suggested, however, that Jack should try and get hold of some natives, who might communicate with them, and perhaps assist them to escape.

The suggestion gave him some consolation, as offering a means of recovering the lads.

“Don’t be cramped in your efforts for want of money,” said Murray. “Bribery with these fellows will go a long way, and you know that my purse is always at your service, and never more so than on this occasion.”

“I know it, Alick,” answered Jack. “Depend on it, if I can fall in with any natives, I will try what bribery can do with them; and if my own means are insufficient, I will come to you.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

Efforts made to recover the midshipmen—Murray sails for England—An offer from a native to recover the midshipmen—The fleet ascends the Parana—The Supplejack sent in search of the enemy’s vessels—Chases a schooner up a river—Needham caught in a trap—Boat expedition—Schooner blows up, and Jack is blown up with her—Return—No news of the midshipmen—The Supplejack commences voyage up the Parana.

Jack keenly felt the loss of his brother Tom. What might be his and Desmond’s fate it was impossible to say, though he could not suppose that the gauchos, savage as they were supposed to be, would put the two young midshipmen to death. He and Adair had for several days made vain attempts to gain information about them.

Their captors might by this time be hundreds of miles away. All they could learn was that the troops of Rosas, having entirely abandoned Fort Obligado, had retreated to a distance. Jack, too, heard that Murray was certainly to be sent home in the Tudor, and for the sake of his friend he was glad of this, but he then should lose the assistance of Adair in his endeavours to recover Tom and Desmond.

He was seated in his cabin one evening after the work of the day was over, with his head resting on his hands—a very unusual position for him—when Lieutenant Adair was announced.

“Beg him to come below,” answered Jack, and Adair entered the cabin.

“I am glad to say, my dear Jack, that I am to remain out here instead of taking the corvette home, which, for Murray’s sake as well as my own, I should have naturally wished to do; but besides wishing to see the end of this affair with Rosas, I should have been excessively unwilling to leave the country till we can get back our young scapegraces. I wish we could see Murray looking as if he was in a fair way to recover. Still the doctors say he will do well, and the thought of again meeting with his lady-love will, I hope, assist to bring him round. He expects to find her in England, though I fancy that he has not heard from her since we came out here.”

“I am indeed glad that you are to remain,” said Jack. “What ship are you to join?”

“I am appointed to the commodore’s ship, but I have received directions to serve under your orders on board the Supplejack, which I assure you gives me infinite satisfaction, as I have hopes that you and I, by putting our heads together, may devise some plan for the recovery of the youngsters.”

Jack of course said how glad he was.

“When does the Tudor sail?” he asked.

“As soon as the wind will allow her,” said Adair.

“At all events, I will go on board early to-morrow morning to see Murray,” said Jack. “The worst of it is that I must, of course, send a letter by him; and yet I scarcely like to write home with the unsatisfactory intelligence I have to give. However, they will be more anxious and alarmed if they do not hear, so I must tell the whole truth, and express my hopes that we shall recover the youngsters before long.”

“I must write the same to my poor sister Nora,” observed Terence. “I was half inclined to say nothing at all about the matter; but as it is certain to get into the papers, the poor woman will see it and be troubling herself about her boy, and fancying that she is never to see him again. For my part, I feel sure, however, that the youngsters will turn up somewhere or other; as it is my firm conviction, from experience, that a midshipman has as many lives as a cat, or, considering the immense trouble most youngsters take to expend themselves, there would be no superior officers in the service.”

“What is the squadron to do next? have you heard?” asked Jack.

“To proceed up the Parana to Santa Fé de Baxadar, and to convoy down a fleet of merchantmen which Rosas has shut up there,” answered Adair. “Whether or not he will let us pass peaceably up is the question. He has still got plenty of light artillery, which will prove excessively troublesome to us, as they can fire from the top of the cliffs right down on our decks, and, as we may probably be peppered pretty severely for the greater part of the way, it will not be altogether an amusing expedition, though we may get plenty ‘of the bubble reputation, e’en at the cannon’s mouth.’ Anything, however, is better than idleness.”

“We are not likely out here to meet with much besides fighting to amuse us,” observed Jack. “However, I am thankful to find that you are to join the brig, and am much obliged to the commodore for it.”

The two old shipmates sat talking for some time, and as soon as Terence returned to the corvette, Jack took out his writing materials and indited his letter for home. He made as light of Tom’s capture as possible, and spoke as if it was certain that he and Desmond would find their way back again before many days were over. He begged that his father would find out Murray through Admiral Triton, and from him learn where the Bradshaws, with Miss O’Regan, were staying, that his family might pay them any attention in their power; he expressed a hope that, after the Parana business was over, he himself should be sent home, and bring back Tom safe and sound.

He tried to make his letter appear cheerful, but in reality he never in his life before felt so much out of spirits.

Next morning he took it on board the Tudor and wished Murray farewell.

“You will do well, depend on it, Alick,” he said. “You already look better, and we shall meet again before long in old England.”

Murray smiled faintly; his wound was painful, though the surgeon assured him that it was going on favourably. The officer who was to supersede Adair having come on board the corvette, the latter accompanied Jack back to the brig.

He received an order directly afterwards to proceed in search of a schooner, supposed to be in one of the numerous passages which carries the waters of the Parana into the River Plate.

“It is very well to say go, but we must get a breeze first,” said Jack.

A breeze soon afterwards got up, but it came from the wrong direction; it was, however, favourable for the Tudor, and Jack and Terence watched her as her sails were let fall, and she glided away down the river. They would for many reasons have liked to have been on board her. Few men, after having spent several years on a foreign station, can look without concern on a homeward-bound ship, which carries away friends and acquaintances, while they themselves are left behind.

Their chief regret was, however, that Tom and Gerald had not been recovered before she sailed.

Previous to this, numerous merchantmen had been for some time collecting at the mouth of the river, awaiting the convoy of the men-of-war up the Parana. They now lay at anchor together, forming a large fleet, with the flags of all nations flying from their peaks, while fresh arrivals came gliding up to an anchorage, and boats were pulling about in all directions.

Jack and Terence employed the interval in visiting the shore, for the purpose of finding some one who would undertake to search for the midshipmen, and endeavour to obtain their liberation or assist them to escape.

They could not, however, be long absent from the brig, as a breeze might spring up, and not a moment was to be lost in looking after the Buenos Ayrian schooner.

They ran some risk in going on shore of being cut off by the enemy, who might possibly pounce upon them. The country people, however, very frequently came down to the beach with their provisions, for which they were sure to obtain a good price, and the two lieutenants hoped that through their means they might find some person willing to undertake the task about which they were so anxious.

At length, one evening after the market-people had taken their departure, just as they were about to step into their boat, a dark-skinned man, with a coloured poncho over his shoulder, leathern leggings, and a broad-brimmed hat, made his appearance from behind a bank, and fearlessly came up to them. Though both Jack and Terence by this time spoke a little Spanish, they could not clearly understand him; they made out, however, that he wished to accompany them on board the ship, and that he had some information of importance to give.

“Well, step in, my friend,” said Jack. “We will hear what you have got to say as we pull on board.”

By degrees they made out that he had heard of their inquiries about the two young midshipmen, and that he was willing to try and recover them, provided he was sufficiently rewarded; he confessed that he had lost his last real in gambling, and, being a ruined man, he set but little value on his life, or that he certainly would not have offered to undertake the task. As he only demanded a hundred dollars, they very willingly promised him the sum.

“And who have we the honour of addressing?” asked Jack.

“José Gonzalves, an hidalgo of pure blood,” answered the fellow, drawing himself up with an attempted exhibition of dignity. “Circumstances have brought me into my present condition.”

“Your purity of blood does not much matter to us, Don José Gonzalves, provided you bring back these young officers,” answered Jack. “What means have you for carrying out your plan?”

“My own talent and perseverance,” replied the Don, in a self-satisfied tone.

“Well, we must trust to that,” remarked Jack. “How soon can you commence the undertaking?”

“When I can be landed at a spot some miles higher up the river. I must depend on you for carrying me there.”

This was a disappointment to Jack and Terence, who thought that the man would at once have set out; but he explained that General Rosas had moved away to the northward, and that the young officers would have certainly been carried in that direction.

Just as they reached the deck of the brig, the long-wished-for breeze setting in, Jack gave the order to make sail.

The anchor had not left the ground, when a boat from the commodore’s ship came alongside, with a despatch for him. His directions were to hunt down any of the enemy’s vessels he could hear of, and then to follow the squadron, which was on the point of proceeding up the river.

The signal for the fleet to weigh was already flying from the commodore’s masthead, the steamers were getting up their steam, dense volumes of smoke issuing from their funnels, from the yards of the sailing-vessels folds upon folds of snowy canvas were being let fall in all directions, while the boats which had been absent were hurrying back to their respective ships. Two or three men-of-war alone were left at the mouth of the river, to prevent any of the enemy’s vessels from escaping, and to keep up the communication with the admiral at Monte Video.

“Come, this is something like work; I wish we were among them,” exclaimed Terence; “they will have rare fun going up the river.”

“Our turn will come, depend on that,” answered Jack; “Rosas is not likely to let us pass without giving us a taste of his flying artillery.”

The Supplejack was some hours in reaching the mouth of the river, in which it was reported that one of the enemy’s vessels, a schooner, had taken refuge. Darkness soon coming on, Jack was obliged to anchor, and await for daylight to proceed up it. A sharp lookout was kept, however, to prevent any vessel from passing down during the night, without his knowledge.

Two boats were in the water alongside, and their crews, with cutlasses in their hands, and pistols in their belts, were ready to start at a moment’s notice. The night was calm and clear, and the shores on either hand could be distinguished with the dark line of the forest, which extended down to the water. Silence reigned over the scene, though it was occasionally broken by strange cries which came out from among the tall trees, probably the death-shriek of some animal, seized by a prowling jaguar or puma.

Jack and Terence got all the information they could out of José Gonzalves, who had been frequently up the river, and felt pretty certain as to the locality where the schooner was likely to be found.

The brig was brought up in a bay or bend of the river, a point running out ahead, and concealing her from any vessel coming down the stream till close upon her. This was a disadvantage in one respect, as an approaching enemy could not, for the same cause, be seen from the Supplejack, and only a short time, therefore, could be allowed for getting under weigh. Jack had given orders that the bell should not be struck, lest, should the schooner, or any other vessel, attempt to slip out, it might give notice of the vicinity of the brig.

Jack and Terence had turned in just about the commencement of the morning watch. Needham, who was on the lookout, observed beyond the point above the trees a white spot, on which the light of the moon, just then emerging from behind a cloud, shone brightly. Guessing at once, that it was the head of the schooner’s fore-topgallant-sail, he sent to call the commander. Jack and Terence were on deck in an instant; the latter jumped into one of the boats and pulled across the stream to intercept the stranger, while Jack ordered the anchor to be got up, and sail to be made. The wind came off from the shore on the starboard side, so that though the schooner might manage to get out, the brig could also make her way up the stream.

“We shall catch her now, at all events—she is trapped,” said Jack to Needham. The schooner’s jib was seen coming round the point, which she was compelled to hug closely. Jack might have done better by remaining at anchor, as the schooner would not have so soon discovered the foe lying in wait for her. Directly the brig was perceived she put up her helm, and, quickly easing off her mainsheet, ran again up the river with the wind on her starboard quarter. Jack had to wait some time to pick up his boat, when making all sail, he stood after the schooner, with no little risk of getting on shore, though José Gonzalves affirmed that he knew every inch of ground. The lead, however, was kept going, and Jack hoped by keeping as much as possible in the middle of the stream to avoid such a catastrophe.

The chase had had a good start, and now getting into a reach where the wind blew right aft, she was able to set studding-sails, when being very light, she ran through the water even faster than before. She was too directly ahead to enable Jack to fire “Long Tom” at her, unless he yawed considerably. He got, however, at last to the end of a reach, which brought the schooner on his port bow. Needham had been eagerly on the watch for the opportunity. The shot flew through the lower sails of the chase, but no spars were carried away, and she stood on, rapidly increasing her distance from her pursuer.

There was great risk, however, that at any moment the brig might take the ground. Still Jack felt that it would not do to let the prize, almost within his grasp, escape; the wind might draw ahead or drop, and he might take her with the boats. But instead of falling, the breeze rather freshened and continued to favour the chase.

Dawn at length appeared, and as the light increased, the dangers of the navigation somewhat lessened. Three more shots were fired from “Long Tom.” The first struck the chase, but what damage it did could not be ascertained, while the second scarcely touched her, and the third fell considerably short. It was evidently of no use to fire again. Still as long as the chase could be kept in sight Jack had hopes of coming up with her, or at all events of discovering into what creek or passage she might run. Having the advantage of being able to make short cuts by channels through which the brig could not venture, she got farther and farther ahead, till she could only just be discerned in the far distance up the river, the dark trees appearing almost to close her in. As the sun rose the wind began to die away, the channel became narrower and narrower. At last it became perfectly calm, the brig was brought to an anchor.

“We must not let her escape,” cried Jack. “Out boats, and as the wind will no longer help her we shall find her before long.”

Three boats were at once manned, Jack, Terence, and Needham going in them while Bevan remained in charge of the brig.

José Gonzalves declined accompanying the expedition, on the plea that should a reverse be met with, he would be knocked on the head by his countrymen, which would have undoubtedly been the case, so Jack was obliged to dispense with his services. The men gave way with a will, hoping soon to overtake the chase. They pulled on, however, for some time without again catching sight of her.

Although the shore offered abundant shelter to an enemy they were allowed to pass without opposition, and concluded therefore that no force of armed men was in the neighbourhood. A sharp lookout was kept on either hand for any opening into which the schooner might have made her way.

At last they reached the mouth of a narrow channel which, perhaps, connected the river they were on with some other stream, or it might, they thought, possibly be a river falling into the first. It was a question whether the schooner had gone up it, and on the chance of her having done so, Needham volunteered to explore it, while the other two boats pulled up the main stream. Jack was at first unwilling to let him go, lest he might be overpowered. At last, however, he consented, ordering him not to attack the schooner, but should he catch sight of her to return immediately and follow the other boats with the information. Jack and Terence accordingly continued their course, while Needham pulled up the channel.

Jack did not believe that the schooner would have ventured into so narrow a place, and he fully hoped before long to catch sight of her. The two boats pulled on for nearly half an hour; the channel, as they advanced, narrowing, till the lieutenants became convinced that the schooner could not without wind have got so far ahead. They accordingly pulled round, being now satisfied that she must have gone up the channel into which Needham had entered. They had almost reached the mouth of it when distant shots were heard; the next instant there came the sound of regular volleys, fired in quick succession.

“Needham must have fallen into a trap, I fear,” said Jack, “we must hurry to his assistance. Give way, my lads!”

The men needed no urging, and in a few minutes they were entering the channel. Though narrower at the mouth, after they had gone some way up it widened, and on sounding, they found that there was water enough for a far larger vessel than the schooner. The sound of the firing now became more distinct; then it ceased. It was too probable that Needham had been cut off, and he and his boat’s crew destroyed.

Still Jack and Terence, though they might be exposed to a similar danger, felt it was their duty to go on and ascertain the fact. Jack was standing up in the sternsheets, so that he might obtain as far a view as possible up the river, when he caught sight of a boat in the distance.

On she came towards them.

“Hurrah! that must be Needham,” he said.

“No doubt about it,” answered Terence.

In a short time Needham’s boat reached them. The splintered oars, and the white marks along the gunwales and sides, showed the danger to which they had been exposed; though of all her crew, only two had been wounded. Needham said that he had pulled on, not meeting with a human being, and had begun to doubt that the schooner had gone up the channel, when he suddenly saw her, her sails furled, and close in with the shore, apparently being towed, either by men or horses, along the bank. He had gone on some little way further to ascertain this, when several shots were fired at him, and as there was no object to gain by going farther, he had pulled round and began to make the best of his way down the river. Immediately he did so, a whole volley was fired at him from one side, and directly after a second came peppering him from the other. He now discovered that he had been caught in an ambush, but as yet, no one having been killed, he hoped to get out of it. The men at the oars pulled away lustily, while the others returned the fire, and, as they believed, knocked over several fellows who incautiously showed themselves. After running the gauntlet for five or six minutes, they got out of range of the enemy’s muskets, and had since been unmolested, neither had they seen any one on the banks. Jack and Terence were unwilling to lose the chase, now that she appeared almost within their grasp, and yet they felt that it would be imprudent to expose their men and themselves to the fire of the numerous enemies posted under cover.

“It will not do to give her up, though!” exclaimed Terence; “let us ask Needham what he thinks.” Jack put the question.

“Well, sir, to my mind, we may have her, and yet run no risk,” was the answer. “I know the way up the river, and it’s not likely that she has got very far from where I saw her. Now, if we wait till dark, we may pull up with muffled oars, and as I do not think the enemy will expect us, we may be up to her before they find us out. The moon won’t rise for the next four hours, and we shall have time to board, and get her under weigh before then. The breeze, you see, is setting down the channel, and if it holds as at present, we shall have an easy job, or if she should take the ground, and we find that we cannot get her off, we can but set her on fire, and so have done with her.”

Jack and Terence thought Needham’s plan a good one, and resolved to carry it out, trusting to his sagacity to pilot them up to where they hoped to find the schooner.

A short distance off was a high bank which projected some way into the channel. As the trees which grew on it hung over the water it would afford shelter to the boats, and the men while there might take some refreshment, and snatch a couple of hours’ sleep. They accordingly pulled in, and found that the place fully answered their expectations. Jack was too wise, however, not to take precaution against surprise. He and Terence having landed, fixed on four spots at which they posted sentries, armed with muskets and cutlasses, leaving orders with them to fire should the enemy appear, and then to retreat to the boats. They had been so carefully concealed among the boughs, that even should any one pass up or down the channel, Jack felt sure that they were not likely to be discovered. Biscuit and beef, with grog, having been served out, the rest of the men lay down along the thwarts or at the bottom of the boats, to enjoy such rest as could be found. Jack and Terence, however, sat up; they were too anxious about the success of the expedition to sleep, indeed they rather doubted whether they were wise in venturing up the narrow channel, through which they might possibly have to run the gauntlet on their return, between two fires from a vastly superior number of foes.

“We have often had to encounter far greater dangers,” observed Terence.

“Yes, but then we did not knowingly run into them,” said Jack, “and that makes all the difference.”

Still neither of them liked to abandon the enterprise, they calculated that half an hour would carry them up to the schooner, and little more than that time, supposing the breeze should hold, would enable them to get clear of the channel.

“It won’t take us many minutes to capture her, so we need not allow much time for that,” observed Jack. “We may give the men, at all events, nearly three hours’ rest.”

Three hours went slowly by; at last they roused up the crew, called in the sentries, and shoved off. The oars were muffled as proposed, and by keeping in the centre of the channel they hoped not to be heard by the enemy, though, of course, they ran the risk of being seen should any one be on the lookout. No lights were, however, observed on the shore, or anything to indicate that the banks were inhabited; indeed, the brushwood came close down to the water. Needham, acting as pilot, led the way, Jack’s boat came next, and Terence brought up the rear.

Except the usual cry of the nightbirds and the quacking of frogs, which issued from the forest, no sound broke the silence which brooded over the water. The current was very slight, and scarcely impeded their progress. Never did a half-hour appear so long. Jack strained his eyes, hoping every instant to catch sight of the schooner, but Needham pulled on steadily, as if he knew that she was still some way ahead. At length Jack observed that his oars ceased to move, and he accordingly pulled up alongside his boat.

“There she is, sir,” he whispered. “I can just catch sight of her fore-topgallant-mast against the sky, over the trees.” Jack communicated the information to Terence, and then, silently as before, they pulled on. Were the crew of the schooner asleep, or had they abandoned her? In either case her capture would be easy. Closer and closer they got, till they could all see her with perfect distinctness, her yards across, and her sails bent. For a moment or two Jack expected to receive her broadside, or to have a volley of musketry opened on the boats. No movement, however, was perceived on board. He now took the lead, directing Adair to pull for the bow, and Needham for the quarter, while he intended to board her by the main chains.

It was evident that they were not expected. The boats’ crews gave way altogether. Jack was the first alongside; he quickly sprang on deck, followed by his men; Adair and Needham were a few seconds behind him. Scarcely had he gained the deck, than, looking down the main hatchway, he observed a bright light, a stilling column of smoke issuing immediately afterwards.

“Back, all of you! Back to the boats!” he shouted, and was in the act of springing after his men, who were jumping over the sides, when he felt his feet lifted up, and an instant afterwards he found himself in the water, amid fragments of wreck, several fathoms from the vessel, from every part of which bright flames were fiercely bursting forth. A few strokes carried him alongside his boat, and, his voice being heard by his men, he was speedily hauled on hoard.

“Is any one hurt?” was his first question.

“No, sir, only a little scratch or two,” was the satisfactory answer.

The part of the deck blown up had fortunately been carried right over the boat. The explosion had probably been produced by a small quantity of gunpowder. “Had there been more of it my career would have been cut short,” thought Jack. He heard Adair and Needham inquiring for him.

“All right,” he answered. “The rascals intended to play us a scurvy trick; but they have been disappointed, though we shall lose our prize.”

The schooner was now burning fiercely from stem to stern; the flames wreathing like snakes round her masts, having already reached her spars, compelled the boats to pull to a distance to avoid the risk of being crushed by them should they fall.

The instant they got beyond the shelter of the vessel, a volley of musketry was fired at them from the shore, the flames casting a bright light around, exposing them to view; the glare, however, at the same time, showing them their enemies, standing on an open space at the top of a bank, they apparently forgetting that they could be seen as well as see.

Jack’s boat, which carried a six-pounder in her bow, pulling round, he fired with good effect into their midst, while the other boats opened with musketry. Several of the enemy were knocked over, and the rest scampered off under cover, a few of them firing, however, as soon as they could reload from behind their shelter.

“There is very little honour or glory to be obtained by stopping to be peppered by these fellows,” observed Adair.

Jack agreed with him, and, giving the order to pull round, he setting the example, away went the boats down the channel. A few shots whistled by them as long as they remained within the glare of the blazing vessel. As she was already so much burnt, that even had the Spaniards succeeded in putting out the flames she would have been utterly useless, Jack did not think it worth while to remain to see what became of her. Even after they had got a considerable way down the passage they could see a bright glare in the sky, which showed them that she was still burning, and must inevitably be destroyed.

Adair congratulated his messmate on his escape. “Faith! my dear Jack, I thought for a moment that you had been shot into the other world, and that I should have had to take command of the Supplejack,” he exclaimed. “Believe me, however, it would have been the most unsatisfactory event in my life.”

“I am very sure of that,” answered Jack. “It’s a mercy, however, that no one was killed, though some of the men, I fear, have been severely hurt.”

“Yes, two or three were struck by splinters when the schooner blew up, and twice as many have been wounded by the bullets,” said Adair. “The sooner the poor fellows’ hurts can be looked to the better.”

Jack agreed with him, and the boats were accordingly steered for the bank under which they had before brought up.

Jack, recollecting that he was in an enemy’s country, did not neglect to place sentries on shore as before. The lanterns were then lit, and the hurts of the people as carefully bound up as circumstances would allow. Two men in Needham’s boat were suffering from wounds, while four in Jack’s had been more or less hurt. One man had his hat carried off and his hair singed by the explosion, though he had otherwise escaped.

As it was important to get back to the brig as soon as possible after provisions and grog had been served out, the boats recommenced their downward passage. The current being in their favour, and daylight soon appearing, the work was much easier, as they had no difficulty in finding their way. Jack, however, could not help feeling some anxiety lest the brig, left with so few hands on board, might have been attacked during his absence, though he was very sure, should such have been the case, that Bevan would make a good fight of it. His mind was relieved when he came in sight of her, and saw the British ensign flying at her peak; the boats were soon alongside, and the wounded placed under the care of McTavish.

Bevan informed him that José Gonzalves had gone on shore to obtain information, and that he expected him off every instant. This provoked Jack not a little, as the wind was fair, and though pretty well knocked up, he was anxious to get under weigh immediately. He was unwilling, however, to go without the man, as he hoped that he might be of use in recovering Tom and Gerald, though he sometimes doubted how far he could carry out his promises; indeed, he had his suspicions that Mr José might be a spy, and was as likely to carry information to Rosas as to help the midshipmen to escape.

“If we lose the breeze, we cannot tell how long we may be detained here,” he exclaimed, as he impatiently walked the deck. “We will give him another hour, however; if he does not then appear we must sail without him.”

The cable, in the meantime, was hove short, the topsails loosed and every preparation made for getting under weigh.

The hour had nearly passed, when Bevan exclaimed, “I see him, sir, at the end of the point. He is waving his handkerchief, as agreed on.”

A boat was accordingly despatched, and José came on board.

He excused himself by saying that he had fallen in with some people whom he took to be enemies, and that he had to conceal himself till they passed by.

“And what information do you bring us?” asked Jack.

“That another schooner and two gunboats have been destroyed, to prevent them from falling into the hands of your countrymen, and that not another vessel belonging to General Rosas remains afloat,” answered Jose.

This was satisfactory news, as Jack now considered that he might carry out the second part of his instructions and proceed up the Parana, to rejoin the squadron already some way ahead, searching for Tom and Gerald as he went along. The anchor was hove up, sail was made, and with a fair breeze he ran out of the river. He had not got far when he fell in with her Majesty’s sloop of war, Dashaway, which had just come from Monte Video, and from her he received despatches from the commodore.

He was still some distance below the place where José had desired to be put on shore. His patience was to be tried still further. After he had run on about twenty miles it fell calm, and he was compelled to bring up not far from Punta Obligado.

Completely knocked up, he and Terence at last turned in, desiring to be called should the wind change, or any occurrence of importance take place.

“At all events, Rosas must have had fighting enough for the present, and his people will not venture to attack us,” observed Terence, as they went below. “If they do, we must let Long Tom speak to them in return,” answered Jack, as he threw himself on his bed. In half a minute he was fast asleep.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Supplejack proceeds up the Parana—Fired at from the shore—Meet with friendly natives—José goes in search of the midshipmen—Returns with tidings of them—José left behind—The brig sails on—Fired at from the shore—Passing batteries under a heavy fire—The brig frequently struck—Several people killed and wounded—Gets clear at last.

The night was calm, the brig lay on the Entre Rios shore, the inhabitants of which were friendly. Tall trees clothed the bank, towering high above her masts, while on the southern shore scarcely a tree was to be seen. A mist hung over the water, and, though the stars shone brightly from the sky overhead, partly obscured that side of the river, and rendered the night darker than usual. Jack and Terence had enjoyed a couple of hours of sound sleep, “not idling their time over it,” as Adair observed, when the sound of a gun made them both leap out of their berths. It was followed by another and another. The next moment Bevan came down.

“They are firing at us, sir, from the shore,” he said. “Shall we return it?”

“Not till the shots come unpleasantly near,” answered Jack. “The flash of our guns might show them the proper range, which at present they do not appear to have got. Turn up the hands, but show no lights.”

Meantime the enemy continued firing, the shot occasionally passing close ahead or astern. At last one cut the fore-topmast-stay, a second whistled between the masts, two others followed at a short distance ahead.

“They have got the range now,” cried Jack; “it is time to reply to them.”

Long Tom was brought to bear on the spot whence the flashes proceeded, for the guns themselves could not be seen. His first bark, as Needham called it, was replied to by several shots, but they did no damage.

“Depress the gun slightly; that shot went over them,” said Jack.

Long Tom gave a second bark; no reply came; a third and fourth followed. It was evident that the shot had told with considerable effect, and that the enemy had thought it wiser to beat a retreat.

“We have done with them at present,” observed Jack; “but we shall probably have a good deal of this sort of work going up the river. The rockets with which we have been supplied will come into play, I suspect.”

“At all events the trip is not likely to be a dull one,” observed Adair; “I only wish that we had the youngsters on board.”

As there appeared no probability of the brig being again attacked, the guns were secured, and the watch below turned in. Of course, every possible care was kept to prevent surprise, should the enemy venture to make another attack; which was not, however, at all likely to occur.

The next morning the wind again set up the river, and the Supplejack continued her course. No enemy appeared, but occasionally a few country people were seen on the banks, who seemed, simply from curiosity, to be watching the brig as she glided by.

A vigilant lookout was kept, on the bare possibility that the midshipmen might have made their escape, and gained the bank, in the hopes of being taken off by any passing vessel. José, however, was still confident that they had been carried off to the north, and were not likely to be found in that part of the country.

The current being strong, and the wind light, the Supplejack made but slow progress. At last she reached a place at which José had desired to be landed; he had friends in the neighbourhood, he said, and felt confident that he should gain tidings of the midshipmen.

The river was here wide, and as she kept close on the opposite shore, even should the enemy appear their field-pieces were not likely to do much harm to the brig. The wind had again fallen, and the delay, indeed, had there not been an important object to be obtained, could not have been avoided. Farther on, where the river narrowed at Rosario, José told them that they might expect to meet with considerable opposition. Perhaps that was his reason for not desiring to accompany them further. As soon as the brig had brought up, a boat was lowered, and Adair conveyed their very doubtful friend to the shore. He took ten men, armed with muskets, beside the crew, in case the boat should be attacked.

“Set your mind at ease on that point,” said José “they are my friends hereabouts, and bear no enmity to the English.”

As the boat approached, several country people were seen coming down the steep bank with fowls and vegetables, which they were perfectly ready to sell. José was recognised by several persons, who seemed surprised at seeing him, but he had a talk with them, after which they became thoroughly friendly and willing to communicate information. Terence learnt from them that the squadron had passed up, and had already got considerably higher than Rosario, where José had told Jack that he might expect to be attacked.

“Probably Rosas, after the lesson he received at Obligado, is unwilling again to interfere with us,” thought Terence. “Perhaps, however, he expects by allowing us to pass up, to catch us all in a net, and so prevent our return. If he does that same he will find that he is mistaken, and that he has not yet learnt what British seamen are made of.”

Terence, with his stock of fresh provisions, was heartily welcomed on board. He and Jack only hoped that they might be detained for want of wind where they were till the return of José, with any information he might collect; they had agreed at all events to wait for him till the following morning. He was, he had said, certain that Rosas must have passed either through the village, or at no great distance from the river, and he hoped to hear that the young midshipmen had been seen with his troops.

Next morning at daybreak, Terence taking the same precaution as before, returned to the shore. He had not been there long before several country people appeared, but nothing was seen of José Gonzalves. Adair, after waiting some time, began to fear that he had either been captured, or was playing them false. He was about to return on board, to let the men have their breakfasts, when the spy was seen, his horse, in a foam, galloping down the hill towards the boat.

“Any news of the young officers?” asked Adair, eagerly.

“Yes, señor, important news. They were alive a week ago, and though I don’t know what the general might have done with them, had his anger been aroused, they were not ill-treated, but I find that they made their escape at the time I mention, and have not since been heard of. I am afraid, therefore,” and José shook his head, “that they may have been overtaken by some of the gaucho cavalry, who would not scruple to run them through with their lances, or they may have been seized by a jaguar, and we have not a few man-eaters in these parts, fierce creatures, who would quickly put an end to a couple of lads. Not long since one leaped on board a vessel moored to the banks, and carried off a man asleep on the deck; there is no telling what they will not do, or, if the young officers have escaped the gauchos and jaguars, they may have wandered far away from any habitation, and have been starved to death. The country people would not hurt them, and would provide them with food, but as I say, I have been unable to obtain any further tidings of them, which makes me fear the worst.”

“Well, come on board, and give your information to the commander; we will then consult what is to be done,” said Adair; “you have taken a great deal of trouble without having gained your reward.”

José shrugged his shoulders. “Paciencia, señor, I am an unfortunate man, I know, but if you will excuse me, I will continue the search; it is possible, that none of the accidents I have mentioned may have happened to the young officers, and perhaps they are hiding in some rancho, or have managed to find subsistence by themselves. You Englishmen do wondrous things, only as they have no guns, and cannot, I conclude, use a lasso, even if they have one, they will have been unable to catch game, or obtain any other food.”

Terence, after due consideration, seeing that there would be no great use in taking José with him, and that he might be of more service by remaining on shore, returned on board with the unsatisfactory information, as he believed it, which he had obtained.

“As to its being unsatisfactory, I am not so sure of that,” observed Jack. “As the lads escaped being killed at first, and were not, as José said, ill-treated, we may hope that they have found the means of supporting themselves in their wanderings, and that they have either made their way back to Obligado, or have reached the banks of the river. As they decidedly have their wits about them, they may have found subsistence where others might have starved. Indeed, as I think of it, though you have to share my anxiety, I cannot help feeling glad that Desmond was with Tom; had he been alone, the case would have been different. Youngsters may occasionally lead one another into scrapes, but they are as sure to help each other out of them.”

The calm still continued, and thus a longer time was given to José to continue his search for the midshipmen. In the afternoon smoke was seen in the distance, up the river; Jack guessing that it proceeded from the funnel of a steamer, sent Terence in a boat to intercept her and learn the news.

She brought the satisfactory intelligence that the squadron had reached Baxadar de Santa Fé without molestation, with their convoy of merchantmen, of which there were upwards of one hundred sail, collected off the place.

The commodore had gone up the river some hundred miles farther, to Corrientes, the capital of the province of that name, to communicate with the government on diplomatic matters. The town is situated near the spot where the river Paraguay falls into the Parna.

“At first it was believed that Rosas, after the lesson which had just been given him at Obligado, would not venture to interfere with us again, and would be ready to sue for peace,” observed the commander of the steamer. “But he has made us no overtures, and from the information we have gained he seems as determined as at first to hold out.”

“I suppose there is but little chance of our being molested, however, as we go up?” said Adair.

“I am not quite so certain of that,” was the answer. “Rosas thinks he has got us in a trap; and as I passed the cliffs of San Lorenzo I observed a large number of men assembled, who quickly got out of the way as I came within shot of them; they were evidently at work throwing up batteries, and had their guns been ready, depend on it they would not have allowed me to pass so easily; I can promise that you will not get up without some warm work, here and there.”

“Well, we must be prepared for them,” said Adair; “we have a good supply of rockets, and our carronades will pepper them with grape and canister, while Long Tom will play his part as he always does.”

“I would advise you not to expose your men more than you can help,” observed the commander of the steamer; “a sailing vessel would have but a poor chance when going up the river, should the wind fail her under a battery.”

“We must run it at all events;” and wishing his friend goodbye, Adair returned on board with the information he had gained.

The calm still continued; but as a breeze might at any moment spring up, Jack and he anxiously looked out for José. They were indeed in a hurry to recommence the ascent of the river, for the longer they delayed, the greater risk they ran of being attacked.

The sun set, and still José had not made his appearance. Jack was just going below when Needham came aft. No one had showed more anxiety about the midshipmen than he had.

“It has come into my mind, sir, that if the young gentlemen are anywhere hereabouts they may have caught sight of the brig, and will be trying to make their way down to the shore abreast of us. If you will give me leave to take the jollyboat, I will pull in and have a look for them; and even if they don’t come, José may be wishing to get off, with any information he has picked up, though I have no great hopes that he will do much.”

“I am afraid not either,” said Jack, “but by all means take the boat and remain as long as it continues calm. Should a breeze spring up, you must, whether successful or not, return on board. It is my duty to proceed up the river as fast as I can, and my anxiety to recover my brother and Mr Desmond must not make me neglect that.”

Needham found no difficulty in obtaining volunteers for his expedition. They went well-armed in case any hostile natives might appear, though the country people in general showed a friendly disposition.

Jack and Terence while at their frugal supper of corn beef and biscuit, talked over a plan for protecting the men, should they be fired at as they ascended. They arranged to build a barricade of hammocks and bags to defend the helmsman on the port side while the crew were sent below, they of course intending to remain on deck.

“The fellows have not shown themselves to be good shots, and if the breeze holds we may run by them without much damage,” observed Jack.

“But if the wind should fall or blow down the river?” suggested Terence.

“Then we must go about and wait for a better opportunity for running up,” answered Jack. “We may try it at night and may slip by the more dangerous places without observation.”

They both talked hopefully of recovering the midshipmen, and yet they could not help occasionally feeling that the youngsters might after all have lost their lives.

At last they turned in, Bevan having the watch. Though very gallant British officers, they were not heroes of romance, and therefore required sleep as much as anybody else. Jack had left directions to be called should a breeze spring up or Needham return on board. It had gone two bells in the morning watch when Norris came into the cabin and awoke Jack.

“There is a light air from the south’ard, and it has been getting stronger for the last few minutes, but the boat has not come off yet,” he said.

Jack sprang up.

“We will make sail and stand over to the other shore to pick her up,” he answered; “we must not delay a moment.”

The anchor was hove up, and sail quickly made, the breeze rapidly increasing. She had got halfway across to the western shore when the boat was observed approaching and was soon alongside.

“We have seen nothing of the young gentlemen, sir, nor has the spy shown his face,” said Needham. “I waited till the last moment, hoping that some one would appear. I fancied I saw people moving about on the bank, and now and then heard voices close down to the boat. We pulled some way down the river and then back again as high up as we had gone down, every now and then shouting out the young gentlemen’s names, so that if they had been anywhere hereabouts they must have heard us.”

Jack agreed with Needham that Tom and Gerald were not likely to be in the neighbourhood, and the boat being dropped astern, to be in readiness should they or the spy appear, the Supplejack continued her course up the river. The increasing daylight enabled Jack to see his way, and of course a sharp lookout was kept on the shore.

The brig continued on for some distance, neither cavalry nor artillery being seen. A few foot soldiers were observed trudging along, and occasionally country people appeared on the high ground, but none of them came down to the beach.

The appearance of the banks varied considerably in different places; in some they were sloping and were covered with trees and shrubs, in others they consisted of high earthy cliffs with the open plains of the Pampas reaching to the edge of their summits. Frequently the telescope revealed projecting from the cliffs the bones of the megatherion, mastodon, milodon, and other huge antediluvian animals, of which, however, neither Jack nor Terence knew the names. Sometimes they were so distinct that they were remarked by the men, who wondered how such strange animals could have found their way there.

“They cannot have gone and buried themselves,” sagaciously observed Bill Lizard, the boatswain’s mate.

“For my part, howsomedever, I cannot think that anybody would have taken the trouble to bury them,” answered Needham. “It’s a pity we have not got Mr Scrofton on board; he would have told us all about it, no doubt.”

The ship’s company, however, had soon other matters to engage their attention. The brig was now approaching that part of the river where the deep channel runs under the lofty and perpendicular cliffs of San Lorenzo. The bed is as wide as in other places, but on the eastern side is a line of islands extending for several miles, and forcing the current over to the west. It was still doubtful, however, whether the enemy had observed the brig, or would venture to attack her if they had.

Terence had gone aloft to be able to get a better view over the plain, when he made out several horsemen, and what he at first took for carts in the far distance, but which as they emerged from a cloud of dust partially concealing them he discovered were field-pieces. There could be little doubt that the Supplejack would not escape without being fired at. Fortunately there was a good stiff breeze, and under all sail she stood boldly up the clearly defined channel. The ensign was flying at the peak, and Jack ordered one to be hoisted at each masthead, to show the enemy that he intended to fight as long as the masts stood, or his vessel remained above water.

The brig had not got far, however, when six field-pieces, dragged by horses, with a considerable body of men, were seen some way ahead approaching the edge of the cliffs. Jack was not left long in doubt as to their object, for bringing their guns to bear on the brig, the Spaniards opened fire, their shot whizzing over the brig, a few only passing through her sails.

Needham had got his beloved Long Tom elevated as much as possible, the two carronades loaded with canister, and the rockets were ready in their stands.

“Let them learn what Long Tom can do,” said Jack. Needham fired but the shot flew over the heads of the enemy; the gun was quickly again loaded. After the next shot two or three of the horses were seen plunging wildly, and one of the guns appeared to have received some damage—the distance was too great to ascertain what it was. The brig made rapid way, the next shot buried itself in the cliff; it was evident that Long Tom could do no more for the present. The carronades were now fired, and a flight of rockets sent the horsemen galloping out of the way, while the gunners scampered off or threw themselves on the ground; a second flight of rockets and another dose of canister kept them from returning till the brig had neared the cliffs; so close indeed was she that her mainyard almost touched them, while the enemy, who by this time had returned, could not sufficiently depress their guns to send a shot down on her decks, neither did the riflemen approach sufficiently near the edge to fire into her; probably having a wholesome dread of the rockets or bullets which might be sent in return from the daring little vessel.

As yet no one had been hit on board the brig, and Jack was beginning to hope that she might pass without damage beyond the dangerous point, when farther on appeared a line of batteries, and he had just reason to fear that they would cause him greater injury than he had hitherto received. He pointed them out to Terence.

“I would advise you to send the hands below while you and I and the helmsman remain on deck,” said Terence coolly. “We shall save the men, and should a few shots go through the ship’s side we shall have time to stop the holes before much water gets in; there would be no use replying to the batteries, and we must do our best to get by them as fast as possible.”

The order, which the men unwillingly obeyed, was given. Snatchblock came aft to the helm, and Terence walked forward, while Jack stood at his usual post to con the brig. Needham gave a fond look at Long Tom as he went below.

“I only wish, old fellow, that I could stop on deck and let you send a shot or two into those batteries ahead,” he exclaimed, apostrophising his gun.

Jack and Terence felt something like men leading a forlorn hope, but felt that they must of necessity expose themselves to the round shot and bullets of the enemy. They had not long to wait before the guns from the battery opened fire; the first shot struck the starboard bulwarks and went through them, the next plunged right down on the deck, and others followed in quick succession. The enemy now opened with grape and canister, numerous shots passing through the sails, and several others striking the deck and bulwarks. Had the crew not gone below many must have been killed or wounded; Jack and Terence, now the only two exposed, were still unhurt, though several missiles whistled close to their ears, and half a dozen lodged in the barricade erected for the protection of Snatchblock. All Jack’s attention was required for conning the brig, so that he could attend to nothing else. After a shot had gone through the deck, he heard cries proceeding up the hatchway as if some one had been hurt below, but he had no time to inquire who was the sufferer. Though from his natural temperament he took a pleasure in being under fire, still he never so heartily wished himself out of it as he did at present. It would have been a different matter had he been able to defend his ship instead of being compelled to glide slowly by and be peppered at without returning a shot. It was, indeed, extremely trying, and it seemed a wonder, considering the number of shots fired down into her, that she was not sent to the bottom. At length the brig had to stand farther out from the cliffs, in a direction where fewer guns could reach her, and Jack determined to try if he could not silence those likely to annoy him with a few rockets and a dose of canister from the carronades. Calling Needham and a dozen of hands on deck, he gave the order. Never did men spring up with greater alacrity. Terence directed the rockets, which pitched right into the fort, while the canister coming directly after, must have driven the Spaniards from their guns, for not a shot was returned till the brig was pretty well out of their reach.

The rest of the crew now came on deck, and gave a loud cheer at the success of their exploit; they had not, however, escaped altogether, one had been killed and two wounded below, a shot entering the gunroom had also killed the clerk in charge, and slightly wounded Jos Green.

Though the brig had passed the partly-formed batteries, she was not altogether free from danger. Troops of flying artillery were observed moving along at the top of the cliffs, accompanied by a body of infantry. Though the brig had a strong breeze, as the current was against her, she advanced but at a comparatively slow rate, the troops above getting along almost as fast as she did. A shower of grape from the carronades and a couple of rockets sent into their midst made them, however, sheer off to a respectful distance, and the gallant little Supplejack continued her course without being further molested.

The dead were sewn up in their hammocks with shot at their feet, and lowered into the deep stream, as there was no prospect of being able to bury them on shore. Jos Green made light of his wound, as he did of every other trouble in life, and Jack felt thankful, considering the hot fire to which the brig had been exposed, that more casualties had not occurred.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The midshipmen seen on the shore—A boat sent from the brig—The enemy appear on the cliffs and open fire—The brig returns it—The midshipmen rescued—The brig gets clear of the enemy—Tom recounts his and Gerald’s adventures.

Evening was approaching, all hands had been busy repairing damages, the carpenters below stopping shot-holes, the rest of the crew on deck knotting and splicing the rigging. Some way ahead was seen a lofty bluff with a range of cliffs, which, the chart showed, extended far along the shore; a shoal ran off it, so the brig had of necessity to steer some distance over to the opposite bank.

As had been done all along, a vigilant lookout was kept for any object moving on the western side. Needham’s keen eye was employed in the service; he felt a sincere affection for the youngsters, and longed to recover them almost as much as did their relatives. Just abreast of the brig appeared a shallow valley with a stream in the middle, and trees growing on either side, reaching down to the edge of the water; Needham was examining the spot with even more than his usual care.

“I am sure of it!” he exclaimed suddenly. “One of them is waving his handkerchief, or a bit of rag of some sort. It must be the young gentlemen!”

Jack and Terence brought their glasses to bear on the spot. The pinnace towing astern was hauled up alongside. Terence and Needham jumped into her with a ready crew. Just as she was shoving off a party of artillery and a body of infantry appeared on the cliffs above.

“Take six small-arm men, in case the enemy should see the lads and attempt to stop them,” exclaimed Jack; “the muskets will probably keep the Spaniards at a distance while they get on board.”

The men who had been called away having received their ammunition, were in a few seconds in the boat, which now pulled as fast as the crew could bend to their oars towards the shore.

The enemy must have been surprised at seeing her; for not having discovered the midshipmen, they probably did not conceive for what object she was approaching the shore. In the meantime the carronades had been turned towards the cliff, and the rockets got ready. Until fired on, however, Jack had determined not to fire; indeed his shot, at the distance he then was from the cliffs, could not have told with much effect. As it would have been unwise to heave to in so dangerous a position, the topsails were lowered on the caps, and topgallant sails and royals let fly, so as not to leave the boat behind. The midshipmen, for there was no doubt that it was they who were seen, in their eagerness to get on board the boat, came out from beneath the overhanging shrubs which had hitherto concealed them from the view of those on the cliffs, to the end of a point. The enemy caught sight of them, and now understanding the object of the boat, instantly began firing at her, while a party of men hurried down to try and cut them off.

“We must put a stop to that,” cried Jack, giving orders to open fire with Long Tom and the carronades. The enemy replied with their field-pieces. The brig, having edged over as close as she could venture, opened on them with rockets.

The boat by this time had scarcely got half way to the shore, while the two midshipmen, seeing the party coming to intercept them, threw themselves into the water and swam off to the boat, regardless of the bullets flying about their heads. They struck out boldly, the boat’s crew pulling with all their might to reach them, while the small-arm men kept up a sharp fire on the enemy at the top of the cliffs, which prevented them from taking so accurate an aim as they would otherwise have done.

Jack watched them with the deepest anxiety; he saw the shot splashing into the smooth water and bounding over them. One better aimed might send either of the lads to the bottom. He had not, however, forgotten that he had charge of the brig, and was obliged to turn his eyes away from them to look after her.

Tom being a better swimmer than Gerald might quickly have been on board, but in spite of the bullets which came flying around his head, he was seen to stop and support his companion.

“Just like him!” exclaimed Needham, “I would give every year I have to live to save the lads.”

Just then one of the small-arm men in the boat was hit, and dropping his musket he sank down across the thwarts. Needham seized it, and catching sight of a Spaniard aiming at the lads, he fired; the man dropped his piece, which went off in the air. A few more strokes and the boat was up to the midshipmen. Eager hands were stretched out to haul them on board.

“Take him first,” cried Tom, and Terence, grasping his nephew’s hands, lifted him on board; Needham hauled in Tom, and after the boat had been put round the crew pulled away for the brig. Several round shot were fired at her, but fell fortunately either ahead or astern; the musketry was most annoying, but as the summit of the cliff offered no shelter to the Spaniards, they were exposed to a sharp fire kept up by the small-arm men in the boat, and were obliged to retreat in order to reload their pieces every time they fired. They could thus as they ran forward to the edge take but an unsteady aim.

As soon as the midshipmen were in the boat, Needham gave up the helm to Terence, and, reloading his musket, continued to fire at every Spaniard who appeared.

Eager as Terence was to learn how the midshipmen escaped, there was no time just then to ask them questions. The boat was quickly alongside; Tom and Gerald managed to climb on deck without much assistance. Jack only gave Tom a short and hearty greeting; he then ordered him and Desmond at once to go below and stow themselves away.

“We must not have you hit now we have got you,” he said. “We will hear all about your adventures when we are out of fire, and that will be, I hope, before long.”

Though several shot had struck the brig no one was killed, and two men only slightly wounded, while, as far as could be seen from her deck, it was believed that the enemy had suffered pretty severely. The flying artillery continued along the edge of the cliffs and occasionally fired a shot, but at last, the ground sloping, and being rough and uneven, and covered with trees, they were unable to make way, and wheeling round, disappeared, a shot from Long Tom, which had been brought to bear on them, making them gallop off at the top of their speed.

As it was now growing dusk and the wind had fallen, the Supplejack came to an anchor. Tom and Gerald had, in the meantime, got a change of clothes and enjoyed a hearty meal, which they acknowledged they greatly wanted. Jack had desired them to go to his cabin, and by the time he could leave the deck he found them sitting there, laughing and talking if nothing very particular had occurred.

“Well, my boys, you don’t seem much the worse for your adventures,” he said, as he took his seat at the table.

“No, sir,” answered Gerald. “The swim was the worst part of them; indeed, had it not been for Tom, I believe I should have sunk before the boat could have picked us up.”

“I want you to tell me all that happened to you; how you escaped from the gauchos who, we heard, carried you off, and how you managed to make your way to the river, which we, by the bye, always thought that you would do if you could.”

“Are we to begin from the first?” asked Tom.

“Yes,” answered Jack. “I should like to hear all about it, and how the gauchos did not kill you at first.”

“I am sure I thought that they would when I found one of their long lassos round my waist, and myself hauled along till the breath was nearly squeezed out of my body. The fellow who caught hold of me, however, dragged me quickly upon his saddle, and galloped away like the wind. I saw that Gerald was treated in the same manner, and though I was sorry for him, I must confess that I was glad to have a companion in my misfortune. I fancy that the fellows thought they had got hold of two very important personages. Away we went for some twenty miles or so without drawing rein, when we found that we had reached the camp of General Rosas. Had he been at Obligado, I suspect that his troops would not have run away so soon. Our captors carried us at once into his presence, and were somewhat disappointed by finding that we were only a couple of midshipmen, and not the important personages they supposed.

“The general, however, told them to take care of us, and bring us along with him, as he was marching with the chief part of his army to the northward. I must say that our captors were not bad-tempered fellows, and we soon got into their good graces by talking and laughing, though they could not understand much more of what we said than we could of their language. They got us each a horse, which was much pleasanter than riding behind them, and at night we lay down to sleep with a horse-rug over us, and our saddles for pillows. We asked them to teach us how to use the lasso whenever there was a halt, and they were surprised to find how well we soon learnt to use it, though of course we could not equal them.

“Whenever we encamped, they and a good many others used to go out foraging in all directions, and as there was game of all sorts we never came back without a supply.

“Their mode of catching partridges is very curious. Each man supplies himself with a long thin stick, at the end of which a loop is attached; he rides on till he sees a covey of birds on the ground, and then, instead of darting at them, he circles round and round, the birds not attempting to fly, do nothing but run along the ground; the gaucho keeps narrowing his circle till he gets within reach of a bird, when he drops the loop over its head and whips it up a prisoner on his saddle. They used to catch a number of birds in this way, and in an hour or so a fellow would have a dozen or more hanging to his saddle. We imitated them, and after a little practice we also managed to catch a good many, though we did not equal them, of course. From the first we determined to make our escape, and we agreed that if we could catch birds in this way we might supply ourselves with food. In the wilder places we found a number of animals very much like rabbits, only with longer tails and larger teeth, which live in burrows close together. Before camping in an evening we saw hundreds of the creatures, sitting on their haunches in front of their burrows; they would look at us for some time, as if wondering who we were, and would then scamper off and pitch down head foremost into their holes, giving a curious flourish with their hind legs and tails before they disappeared. They are much more difficult to catch than the partridges, though we still hoped to get hold of some of them, should we be hard pressed for food.

“When the day’s march was over the gauchos amused themselves by horse-racing, gambling, either with cards, dominoes, or coin, a sort of pitch and toss game, and they would frequently make bets on the strength of their horses. To settle the point their plan was to fasten the two horses stern to stern by a short lasso, secured to the saddle, or girth of either animal, at a short distance from each other. The gauchos having mounted their respective horses, one being placed on one side of a line, drawn on the ground, and the other on the other side, then set to work to lash and spur their steeds in opposite directions until the strongest drew the weaker over the line, the former being thus declared the victor. Their custom of racing gave Desmond and me the idea that we might manage some evening to make our escape. We appeared always to watch their performances with great interest, and, at last, we proposed to race any of them who would like to try with us. None of the grown men would condescend to do so, but two lads came forward and agreed to start. Away we went to the westward, taking good care to let our competitors win. Next evening we had another race, when we were again beaten hollow. We complained that it was the fault of our horses, and that if they would give us better ones they should see that Englishmen were able to ride as well as they could. They agreed to this, and we started in the same direction as before. Gerald’s horse was the best, and reached the tree which was to be our goal before either of the young gauchos, who, however, got in before me. I had as long as I was in sight of the camp belaboured and spurred my steed, but as soon as our competitors got ahead of me I let the animal go at the pace he chose.

“We had now, we hoped, gained the confidence of our captors, and Gerald and I agreed that the next evening we would propose racing together.

“We had each of us some reals and smaller pieces of money in our pockets. We pulled several of them out as stakes, which, to assist in disarming suspicion, we gave to one of the gauchos to hold for us.

“This evening we were fortunately on the right of the camp, that is to say on the side nearest the river. We fixed on a tree which appeared on the outskirts of a wood in the south-east as our goal. We both pretended to be much interested in the race, and jabbered away in the same fashion as they do. We felt anxious enough, as you may suppose, about the result, though not in the way our captors fancied.

“We had managed to get hold of some line which we stowed in our pockets, as well as enough food to last us for a couple of days, at all events. The gauchos seemed to think it very good fun, not in the slightest degree suspecting our intentions. Having furnished us with whips, and fastened huge spurs to our feet, they assisted us to mount our somewhat fiery steeds. When once in our saddles we stuck on like wax, though the animals did their best to get rid of us. Our only fear was that some of the gauchos might take it into their heads to accompany us, which would have effectually prevented the success of our undertaking. We rode backwards and forwards several times among the men, and talked away to each other in the style they were accustomed to do, our object being to put off starting as long as possible, till darkness was approaching, that we might have a better chance of escaping. At last we could delay no longer, so riding up side by side to the natives we begged them to start us fairly, when off we set digging nor spurs into our horses’ flanks and whacking the unfortunate beasts with our whips. The tree, towards which we were directing our course, was fully half a mile off, and as the border of the wood was in shadow, we hoped that we should be able to get into it, and pass through on the other side before our flight was discovered. We dared not turn our heads to see if we were followed, but keeping close together urged on our steeds till the wood was reached.

“A narrow opening which we had not before perceived was before us. We dashed into it and to our satisfaction found that we were not compelled even to pull rein, but galloped on as fast as at first.

“We were now sorry that we had not started earlier, as we should have had more daylight to see our way. Another wide extent of open ground was before us; we urged on our steeds across it, their feet narrowly escaping the rabbit-holes, which existed in one or two parts. We escaped them, however, and reached a copse, through which we, in vain, tried to find a passage for our horses.

“Afraid at last of losing time, and being overtaken, we agreed to abandon them, and make our way on foot towards the river, which we thought must be at no great distance. Desmond proposed that we should fasten our silver spurs and whips to the saddles, to show the owners that we did not wish to steal their property. No sooner, however, had we dismounted, than having incautiously let go our reins, while we were unstrapping our spurs, our steeds galloped off and prevented us from putting our laudable intentions into execution. It was well that we did not do as we proposed, we agreed, because should our steeds return, the gauchos would know that we had intentionally made our escape, whereas now they might suppose we had tumbled off, and broken our necks, or, at all events, have been unable to remount.

“‘In either case the fellows will probably come to look for us,’ observed Desmond, ‘for they will not like to lose their spurs, on which they set high value.’

“‘Well then, we will fasten them and our whips on this branch, which will show them the honesty of our intentions, if they come to look for us,’ I said; ‘we shall have, at all events, several hours’ start, as they cannot get through the copse on horseback better than we can.’

“We did as I proposed, and then plunging into the copse tried to make our way through it. We tore our clothes and nearly scratched our eyes out, however, but still we made way, our chief fear being that we might fall in with a jaguar; but as we had heard that they are cowardly beasts, and will not attack two people together, we were not much troubled on the subject. Before it grew quite dark, therefore, we cut two sticks to defend ourselves, and two long wands, such as the gauchos use for catching birds; the thick sticks helped us also to make our way through the bushes.

“The stars soon came out brightly, and enabled us to keep a tolerably direct course towards the east, still we could not help wishing to get out of the wood as soon as possible. I had heard about jaguars tracking people; the unpleasant thought came across me, that one might at any moment pounce down upon us. I did not tell Desmond, not wishing to make him as uncomfortable as myself on the subject. I was afraid, had we shouted, which would have been the best means of keeping these creatures off, that we might be heard by the gauchos or any other enemies who might pursue us, and as that was the greatest risk of the two, I thought it would be wiser to make our way in silence. At last we again got into open ground, and fancied that we were going to make good progress, when suddenly we ran against an object which made us start back, with several severe pricks in our legs and hands; had we not had our sticks before us we should have been regularly impaled. On examination we found that they were those prickly plants which we used to call ‘puzzle monkeys’ in the West Indies, only these grew like so many swordblades, with thorns on both sides, sticking out of the ground. It was impossible to get through this bristling barrier, so we had to turn on one side, and run along it, hoping, at length, to double round the end.

“The hedge might, for what we knew, extend for miles, and we were almost in despair; for should the gauchos follow us we should lose all chance of escaping.

“At last, however, we came to a dip; our hopes revived; it was, we felt sure, the head of a valley, for we saw the ground rising on the other side, and that it must lead us down to the Parana itself, or to some stream running into it. Trees, instead of those abominable prickly pears, thinly covered the banks, and on reaching the bottom we found a rivulet, from which we thankfully quenched our thirst. We agreed that things were beginning to look brighter, the horsemen were not likely to find us, and we should have no difficulty in making our way either in the water, or along the edge of the stream. Gerald reminded me that Bruce, or some other Scotch hero of ancient days, when pressed by his enemies, had escaped from them by wading along the bed of a stream, so that all traces of his footsteps were lost. The only question was, whether our enemies would take the trouble to hunt us so far, and if they did not, we should have had all our pains for nothing. However, as it was the safest plan, we stepped into the stream; on we went down it, feeling with our sticks, for fear of tumbling into a hole. The water was fortunately shallow, and the bed tolerably smooth, so we got on better than we should have done on dry ground.

“At last the water, which had been growing deeper and deeper, came almost up to our hips, and we agreed that it would be safer to land and try and make our way through the bushes, or near the stream, which would serve as a guide. I cannot tell you how delighted we were after we had gone on in this way for a couple of hours to see before us, with the stars reflected on its smooth surface, the broad channel of the river; we could scarcely believe that we had reached it in so short a time. We forgot, indeed, how far we had galloped, and the distance we had come on foot. We at once began to look along the shore for a spot where we might hide ourselves while we rested, for, as you may suppose, we were very tired. For fear that the smoke would betray us we dared not light a fire, which we should have liked to do, to dry our wet clothes. However, we sat down and emptied our shoes of water, which we had been afraid of taking off for fear of hurting our feet, and wrung out our socks and trousers.

“Our hopes of ultimately escaping depended, we believed, on our being seen by some vessel going up or down the river, but before one should appear, we might, we knew full well, be overtaken by the gauchos. Sleepy as we both were, we agreed that one of us must be ever on the watch, while the other slept.

“We tossed up who should keep the first watch. It came to my lot, so Desmond lay down, and I sat by his side, trying hard to keep awake, and I must confess that it was about the most difficult job I ever had in my life. I winked at the stars till they all seemed winking at me, I pinched myself black and blue, I rubbed my hands, I kicked my feet, but all to no purpose; I kept blinking and nodding as much as ever. I should have been off in another moment, so I jumped up and took several short turns along the shore. The thought that a jaguar might spring on Gerald prevented me from going far. As I got to the farther end of the beat I had marked out for myself I stopped, for I fancied that I heard some curious squeaking and grunting, not unlike that made by a litter of very young pigs. I listened attentively, and crept silently towards the spot. The sounds came from beneath the roots of an old tree. I suspected that they must be produced by a litter of capybaras, or water-hogs, which creatures, as you know, frequent these shores in great numbers. I marked the spot so as not to mistake it. Should we not be able to catch the old animals we might secure the young ones if hard pressed for food. This raised my spirits, and I was able to keep awake, thinking of the best way to trap them.

“When my watch was over, I awoke Desmond, and told him what I had discovered; he agreed with me that we need have no fear of starving.

“‘Capital!’ he answered, ‘and I dare say that we shall find some roots and nuts.’

“‘I am afraid, however, that we shall have to eat our meat raw,’ I observed.

“‘That will be better than having no meat to eat, and I dare say a young capybara will be very tender.’

“Desmond let me sleep on till daylight, or, rather, he fell asleep, and neither of us awoke till the rising sun struck in our eyes. We then discovered that the spot where we lay was exposed to the view of any one coming up or down the river. To our left, rising directly out of the river, were some high cliffs, but we were concealed by the overhanging bushes from any one standing on their summit; while on our right, down the river beyond the mouth of the valley, the ground was broken, and covered with trees and shrubs. We could see no plantations or cottages, or any sign that the country was inhabited. We had, therefore, hopes that we should be able to conceal ourselves till we could get on board some passing vessel, provided we could, in the meantime, obtain food, but on that score we were not much troubled. Having hung up our shoes and trousers to dry in the sun, we had a bathe, which was very refreshing, and then sat down and breakfasted on the dried meat and biscuit we brought with us. The next most important thing we had to do was to find a secure hiding-place. After hunting about we found a regular cave, large enough to conceal half a dozen persons. The mouth was very narrow, which was all the better; it was formed partly by the roots of a large tree, the earth from beneath which had been washed away. There was a hole between the roots which would serve as a chimney, and we agreed, that though it might be dangerous to light a fire in the daytime, when the smoke would betray us, we might venture to do so at night. To hide the light we tore off a number of branches which we stuck into the ground in front of our cave. Having swept out and, levelled the ground, we considered that we had got a very comfortable abode. We did not forget the old capybara and the young ones. We had fitted nooses at the end of our wands, and armed with these we crept close to the tree I had marked. The squeaking was still going on within, so we knew that Dame Capybara and her family were at home. Before long, however, out she came, followed by five or six young ones in line. We should have liked to try and noose her, but she would have broken away from us, so we waited for the last small one of her progeny. I threw my noose over its head, and whipped it up in a moment, when Gerald, seizing hold of it, quickly stopped its cries. The old capybara turned round, but we having got behind a tree, she did not see us, and she, being unacquainted with arithmetic, did not discover that one of her young ones was missing. Feeling pretty sure that we should be able to capture the others in the same way, and perhaps catch her, we returned to our cave. Here we amused ourselves by skinning and preparing the young capybara for the spit. When it was ready we hung it up on a stick stuck in the wall. We then set to work and formed a fireplace of earth, and, as soon as it was finished, we went out again and collected a supply of firewood. When this was done, we were greatly tempted to light a fire and roast our capybara, but prudence prevailed. Instead of that we hunted about, and were rewarded by finding some berries and small plums, which were very ripe, and, as we saw the birds eating them, we had no doubt that they were wholesome.

“‘We need have no fear of starving now, faith,’ observed Gerald; ‘I am not certain but that I would rather live this Robinson Crusoe sort of life for a few weeks than go on board and have to keep watch.’

“Come, come, you ought not to tell the commander that, Tom,” exclaimed Gerald, interrupting Tom when he said this. “You know you agreed with me that it would be very jolly fun if it was not for the chance of being caught.”

“Yes, I know I did,” answered Tom, “but remember I added, if it were not for the anxiety we were causing my brother and Lieutenant Adair.”

“Well, youngsters,” observed Jack, “it was very natural, though you would have soon got tired of the life; but how did you get on for the remainder of the time?”

“Very well, considering all things,” continued Tom; “it was fortunate, however, that we did not light the fire, for as I went down to the river to get some water in my shoe, having nothing else to carry it in, as I looked up towards the cliff I caught sight of several people standing on the top. As their eyes were, however, directed further up the stream, I hoped that they had not caught sight of me, though I could not be sure. At all events, I quickly drew back and hurried to the cave to warn Desmond of the danger we were in. We at once went inside and covered up the entrance as well as we could with the boughs, so that even should any one come to look for us and pass the spot we might escape discovery.”

“We lay down anxiously listening for any sound, but none was heard, and at last we both dropped off to sleep.

“‘This must not happen again, though,’ I said to Gerald, when at length we awoke. ‘Perhaps a vessel may have passed down the river while we were snoozing, and we have lost our chance of getting on board. Those fellows were probably looking out for her.’

“This thought made us feel quite unhappy.”

“You certainly did lose your chance,” observed Jack, “for a steamer which I spoke came down about that time, and you might probably have got on board her.”

“I told you so, Gerald,” exclaimed Tom, “I was—”

“But it does not matter now,” answered Gerald, “all’s well that ends well.”

“You are right, but it might not have been so had we been shot by those fellows as we were swimming off to the Supplejack’s boat,” observed Tom. “Well, I suppose you want me to cut my yarn short. As soon as it was dark we lighted our fire, which we should have been puzzled to do, had not Gerald had some fusees in his pocket, which he carries, you will understand, to give a light to any one who wants to smoke a cigar.”

“I understand,” observed Jack, laughing. “You, of course, Mr Desmond, never dream of smoking one yourself?”

“Only occasionally, sir, and Tom and I had finished all I had when we were captured by the gauchos.”

“Our fires burned well,” continued Tom, “and we roasted our young capybara to perfection; we only wanted salt and pepper, and an onion or two to make it delicious. As it was, with the addition of a little brown bread we had remaining, we made a good meal, and slept like tops till daylight. One of us, you will understand, regularly kept watch on the river while the other searched for provisions, except when we wanted to catch another young capybara, when we had to assist each other. We captured the second in the same way we had the first, with our long wands and nooses; we also caught several birds after dark, roosting on the branches of the trees; we were afraid, however, to venture out as far as the plain above to look for partridges, lest we might have been seen by any of the country people or soldiers who might have been on their way to the cliff I spoke of; we found, indeed, that men were constantly on the watch for passing vessels, and we should to a certainty have been discovered.

“Our chief exploit was catching the big capybara, which we attempted when we had eaten nearly all her young ones. We were afraid if we took the last, that she might suspect that something was wrong and make off. We accordingly got up at night, when we thought that she would be asleep, and placed a couple of nooses at the mouth of her hole, securing the end to a part of the root of the tree which rose above the ground. We then went back to our cave, and roasted the last of the young ones we had caught. As usual, we kept watch by turns: we had become somewhat anxious at night, for we could not help thinking that the smell of our roast pig might attract some keen-scented jaguar to the spot, and I can tell you that the thought of being snatched up at any moment by one of those beasts made us keep our eyes about us, and prevented us from going to sleep. I know it did me, and I am pretty sure that Gerald was not more comfortable in his mind on the subject than I was.

“It was my morning watch, and as soon as daylight returned I called Gerald, and we crept carefully up to the capybara’s hole.

“We had not long to wait before we heard her barking, for strange to say, though she was like a pig she did not grunt. She was calling to her solitary young one to get up, I suppose. Presently we felt a pull on one of our lines, and directly afterwards the other was drawn taut. We gave each of them a jerk, and then springing forward with our sticks, we were just in time before the capybara drew back into her hole to give her a couple of stunning blows on the head. We quickly had her out, and a few more blows deprived her of life. It occurred to us that if we dragged her up to our cave, the track might lead any passer-by to it. We therefore fastened her legs together, and carried her on one of our sticks, the little one following, wondering, I dare say, why its mother had taken to move in so curious a fashion, and not seeming to notice us. Desmond proposed that we should tame it, but as we could not manage to find it food, we were obliged to kill it. Not being expert butchers, we were employed most of the day in skinning and cutting up the beasts. Our chief puzzle was to know what to do with the offal. At last we put it into the skin, and carrying it down at night threw it into the river. In the meantime our cave had the not over-pleasant odour of a butcher’s shop in hot weather, while we were in the constant apprehension of a visit from a jaguar. Our regret was that though we had a superabundance of meat we should soon be reduced to short commons, as it was not likely to keep, even when cooked, for more than a couple of days. We had just returned from the river, having accomplished the task I spoke of, and had lighted our fire, when we heard a rustling of the leaves at the entrance, the flames just then blazing up brightly; the next instant we caught sight of the savage-looking head of one of the monsters we dreaded, which had poked its way between the boughs, and was apparently about to spring on us. Desmond instinctively laid hold of the first thing which came to hand. This happened to be one of the capybara’s legs which we were about to spit.

“We then seized our sticks to fight for our lives; but the jaguar having caught the tempting morsel, either satisfied with it, or frightened by the bright flames and our sticks, which we flourished in his face, sprang back and bounded away with the meat in his mouth.

“Having repaired our fence, and made it, as we hoped, more secure, we returned to cook and eat our supper. I confess that neither of us felt very comfortable on watch that night, lest the jaguar should come back for a further supply of capybara.

“That was only last night; we little thought at the time how soon our Robinson Crusoe life was coming to an end. Though pleasant in some respects, it was not, as you see, without its drawbacks. Directly the Supplejack hove in sight we recognised her; but having seen the enemy on the top of the cliffs, we were in great doubt whether we should succeed in getting off—it seems, indeed, a wonder to me that we were not killed, and I only hope we feel sufficiently grateful for our preservation.”

“I am afraid, Tom, that we are not, and never can be, sufficiently grateful for the mercies shown to us,” observed Jack gravely. “If we had not been watched over and taken care of, we should none of us be here at the present moment. Now, as you and Desmond look somewhat sleepy, go and turn in.”

Gerald was half asleep already, and Tom having given one or two significant yawns, they were both very glad to obey Jack’s order.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

The Supplejack reaches Baxada de Santa Fé—Plans for the protection of the fleet when returning—A night expedition to survey an island—Alarm—Magnificent exploit—Rocket battery peppers the batteries of San Lorenzo to some effect—Squadron passes unharmed—Escape of the boat—Monte Video reached.

The Supplejack continued her course up the river, and the following day got beyond the reach of Rosas’ flying artillery. Tom and Gerald, having been well fed during their adventures, were not much the worse for them, and after a good night’s sleep were well able to return to their duty. They of course had to repeat their adventures to their own messmates, and Needham and Snatchblock were also eager to hear all about them.

At last the brig reached Baxadar de Santa Fé, a town of some size, built partly at the foot and partly on the side of a lofty hill, which rises above the river. It is surrounded by corrals, or cattle-farms, where thousands of animals are slaughtered for the sake of their hides and tallow alone, which are shipped from the port. As there are not human mouths sufficient to consume the enormous quantities of beef, it is thrown away and carried off by vast flocks of gallinasos, caracaras, carrion crows, and other birds of prey, which hover over the country, their appearance and the odour arising from the putrefying flesh making the place far from agreeable. Here the Supplejack found a large fleet of merchantmen, which had been further increased by others which had come down the river. The question was how they all were to get back again to the sea. Two or three steamers, which came up after the Supplejack had suffered by a hot fire, opened on them from the batteries, newly thrown up by Rosas, several officers and men having been killed and wounded. The most formidable batteries were those at San Lorenzo, which were now completed, and it could not be expected that the fleet would be allowed to repass them without a strong opposition. Several plans were thought of, the bluejackets and marines might land and storm the batteries, but such an undertaking could only be carried out with great loss of life, as the troops of Rosas were not to be despised, and as the batteries were open in the rear they could not be held without a strong force.

Some weeks were spent at this most undelectable of places, so that everybody was eager to return. No one, however, knew what plan of operation had been determined on. At length the long-looked-for signal was hoisted, and the fleet of men-of-war and merchant-vessels got under weigh and proceeded down the stream. They presented a truly beautiful spectacle, as their clouds of white canvas covered the entire breadth of the river, and certainly never before had so many vessels floated together on its waters.

On the 31st of May they came to an anchor on the Entre Rios shore, about four miles above the formidable batteries of San Lorenzo. Still, no one besides the commander and a few officers entrusted with the secret knew what plan had been determined on. All that the rest were certain of was that a plan had been formed, and should it prove successful that the fleet might escape a severe handling, but otherwise that the guns of San Lorenzo, if well served, might sink or damage every ship in the squadron. Indeed, the deep-water channel, down which the ships must pass, was only about three hundred yards from the guns of the enemy, and which from their elevation could send a plunging fire directly down on their decks.

In front of the batteries, about twelve hundred yards from them, was one of an archipelago of islands, extending for some miles along the eastern or Entre Rios shore of the river, covered with trees, brushwood, and reeds. The passages between these islands and the eastern shore were much too shallow for the navigation of vessels of any size. Of necessity, therefore, the whole fleet had to pass under the high cliff of San Lorenzo, crowned by its formidable batteries. The skippers of the merchantmen were quaking in their shoes, believing that the men-of-war must be sent to the bottom and effectually block up the channel, so that they would be caught in a trap and fall into the hands of the tyrant Rosas.

All sorts of reports were flying about; some said that one hundred heavy guns were planted on the top of the cliffs, and that red-hot shot and missiles of all sorts would be showered down on them, but still the commodore kept the plan he proposed to adopt secret. The officers of the men-of-war, however, felt confident that whatever it was, it would most likely succeed.

Terence had returned to his ship: Jack was now alone. He was seated in his cabin, when a lieutenant from one of the steamers came on board:—

“Come, Rogers, you are wanted by the commodore, as you are not only to be let into the secret of the plan, but to assist in carrying it out.”

Jack, highly delighted, jumped up, and buckling on his sword accompanied his brother officer on board the flagship.

The expedition was immediately to start to examine the island in front of the batteries. The plan was simple in the extreme, should shelter be found on the island, it was proposed to plant a rocket battery behind it, and as the ships came down to throw up showers of rockets into the fort, so as to drive the Spaniards from their guns till the whole fleet had passed.

Evening was drawing on, the boat was ready, the English and French commodores, Lieutenant Mackinnon, the designer of the scheme, Jack, and several other officers went in her. The oars were muffled, nothing was said above a whisper, and with just sufficient light for them to see their way, they pulled through the narrow passages between the islands, completely hidden from the western shore, till they had reached the large one directly opposite the batteries, the dim outline of which they could discern between the trees. Just as the boat’s bows touched the oozy bank a loud rustling was heard, and they fully expected that a jaguar was about to spring upon them. The officers drew their swords to defend themselves, for had they ventured to fire a musket or pistol they would have been betrayed. They looked anxiously, not knowing on whom the animal might spring, when greatly to their relief they saw, not a jaguar, but a harmless capybara or water-hog, which plunged into the water and swam to the opposite bank.

The officers now landed, the seniors first stepping on shore, and made their way over swampy ground, through brushwood, to the opposite or western shore of the island, directly under the batteries. They proceeded in silence, crouching down for fear of being perceived, their object being to ascertain what shelter was to be found for the rocket battery which it was proposed to plant.

Greatly to their satisfaction, they discovered that nature, or rather the river itself, when swollen by the rains, had constructed a bank, in every possible way suited for the object in view; indeed it was such, that one hundred men, working for a week, could not have thrown up one to equal it. Everything being thus found as they could wish, they returned to complete the necessary arrangements. Still, of course, not a word of the plan was made known on board the fleet, lest by any means spies might carry it to the ears of Rosas.

The wind was now blowing up the river, so that, even had everything been ready, the fleet of sailing-vessels could not move.

The next night the rocket party, under the command of Lieutenant Mackinnon, the originator of the plan, took their departure in the paddle-box boat of the steamer to which he belonged, consisting of twelve men of the marine artillery, the same number of seamen, and four officers.

Jack, though well inured to danger, could not conceal from himself the risk that must be run, a pistol going off, or the slightest want of caution of the party, might betray them to the enemy, when boats would be sent across to attack them. Though they might make a good fight with their rockets, they would in all probability be cut to pieces before assistance could reach them. In perfect silence the boat left the ship, few, with the exception of those immediately engaged, being aware where she was going. With muffled oars they pulled along the narrow channel amid the reed-covered islands, keeping a lookout lest any of the enemy’s boats might be on the watch. Rosas, however, did not suspect their design, and at length, without accident, they reached the spot at the back of the island, which had been fixed on for effecting a landing. It was a little bay, formed by a point of land on one side of it, running out some twenty feet or more into the stream. Close to this point a large willow-tree had fallen into the river; the boat was run in between the branches, which assisted to conceal her; a number of boughs were also cut and stuck into the shore by her side, some being laid across her, so that she was completely hidden from any passer-by.

As soon as this was done, the party commenced landing the rocket-stands and rockets. The men found it very fatiguing, as they had first to cross a swamp, into which they sank up to their knees, and they then had a considerable distance to go over rough and uneven ground, among thick roots and brushwood, till they reached the bank where the rocket-stands were to be planted. All hands, however, worked without a murmur, and soon had the rocket-stands placed and so directed that the rockets might, as they hoped, just clear the top of the batteries, and fall in among the men at the guns.

The work being accomplished, the men, pretty well knocked up, returned to the boat, where, however, a glass of grog apiece, and some pork and biscuit, soon set them right again. An officer and two men being left to watch the stands and rockets, the rest turned in under a tarpaulin spread over the boat, where they went to sleep. The wind, however, continued blowing up the river, and the fleet could not move. They found that even in daylight they could walk in safety across the island, by crouching down under the bushes till they gained the shelter of the bank. The guards could thus be relieved at stated intervals.

Twenty-eight embrasures, with heavy guns in them, were counted in the forts at the top of the cliffs, instead of the hundred which had been talked of. These, however, if well served, were sufficient to produce fearful damage among the fleet, if not to destroy it entirely. So near were the batteries, that with pocket telescopes the party could distinguish the faces of the people in them. Among others, they discerned General Moncellia, a brother-in-law of Rosas, who drove up in his carriage with four horses and inspected the troops and guns, little suspecting that his enemies were crouching down so near him. The men had, of course, received strict instructions not on any account to show themselves. The second night, while Lieutenant Mackinnon was watching the batteries through his telescope, he observed the sentry suddenly stop and narrowly eye the bank. What was his dismay to find that one of his men had incautiously stepped forward into a spot where he could be seen.

“Hold fast,” whispered the Lieutenant, “do not move as you value your life.”

The man obeyed, and to his infinite relief the sentry at last moved on. A few more days passed. The officers spent most of the time under the bank while the men lay concealed in the boat. At length, when dawn broke on the morning of the fourth day, to the satisfaction of every one, a fresh steady breeze was blowing down the river. The men were roused up, and eagerly made their way, crouching as before, among the brushwood to the bank. Here they lay down at the foot of the rocket-stands, ready at a preconcerted signal to start up and open their fire. At any moment, had they been discovered, the guns from the battery might have opened on them and blown them to atoms; but, fortunately, the eyes of the enemy were turned up the stream towards the point from whence the ships were expected to appear. Two guns fired from the flagship was to be the signal that the fleet had got under weigh. About nine AM, the welcome sound reached their ears, a long pole with the flag of Old England fastened at the end was to be planted on the top of the bank, at the elevation of which the first discharge of rockets was to take place. With eager eyes they watched for the appearance of the squadron; the ships of war were at length seen, the steamers leading, followed by a line of merchantmen, one coming after the other till the sternmost was lost in the distance. It was a grand sight as they came silently gliding on till the leading ships got within range of the batteries. The instant they did so they commenced firing their shells with admirable precision. At length the leading ships reached the channel, which lay between the cliffs and the island; the long-looked-for moment had arrived; the commander of the expedition waved his cap, when Jack, who had charge of the flagstaff, leapt boldly up on the bank and planted it in the ground. The ensign flew out to the breeze: it was the signal for the first discharge of rockets. Up, hissing loudly, they flew, while Jack, taking off his cap, made a polite bow to the enemy, and quickly leapt off the bank under shelter. The rockets curving over the heads of the ships, two of them pitched into the very centre of the most crowded part of the batteries, completely driving the gunners from their guns, two went over their heads, and two stuck in the cliffs beneath them. The elevation of the rocket-stands which had been wrongly pointed being quickly rectified, they were once more charged, and as soon as the enemy had returned to their guns and were looking along the sights to take aim at the steamers, Lieutenant Mackinnon jumped up on the embankment, thoughtless of how he was exposing himself, and sung out—

“Pepper, lads! pepper! pepper pepper!”

Up flew the rockets with admirable aim, scattering destruction among the men thickly crowded in the batteries.

Those who were not killed deserted their guns. The slaughter among the troops of Rosas must have been terrific. In one minute forty rockets were poured in among them. A still louder sound was then heard, and smoke and flames were seen ascending from the batteries, a rocket had penetrated an ammunition cart, which had blown up, increasing the confusion. All this time the fleet of merchantmen had been gradually approaching. The men-of-war having already passed, had taken up a position from which they could throw their shells into the batteries; so what with the shells from the ships’ guns, and the flights of rockets, the gunners, even though driven back again and again to their guns, were unable to take aim at the ships. While the batteries were shrouded by the smoke from the ammunition waggon, the grass under the bank catching fire, the rocket party were surrounded by so dense an atmosphere that it was impossible for some moments to see what was going forward. The wind, however, soon blew the murky veil aside, when the white sails of the merchantmen, the sun shining brightly on them, were seen gliding by, flights of rockets being sent up the whole time in rapid succession, till the sternmost ship of the squadron was well out of range of the batteries.

The enemy now directed their fire at the island, aiming at the flagstaff, which, however, was some distance from the rocket party. Though the shot came plunging down on either side, the flag still waved defiantly in their faces, while the rockets continued to be sent up; but at length the enemy, discovering the point from whence they came, turned their guns in the right direction. The shot, however, either buried themselves in the bank, or flying over the heads of the gallant little band, went bounding away across the island. The signal of recall was now seen flying from the flagship, and the order for decamping was given, the people being directed to scatter as widely as possible, and to make their way as rapidly as they could, without exposing themselves more than was necessary, to the boat.

The men shouldered the rocket-stands, the remaining rockets, and everything belonging to them.

“We must not leave the flagstaff behind,” cried Jack; springing to the top of the bank, he hauled it out of the ground, and waving it in the faces of the enemy, leapt down again, just in time to escape a shot which came flying over his head.

“Now, lads, run for it!” cried the officer in command; and at the word the whole party set off, scampering along through the brushwood towards the boat, while the shot came whistling after them, clipping off the branches of the trees on either side, or plunging into the ground behind them, or whistling over their heads; but thick as had been the shower of iron missiles, when they reached the boat, to their mutual satisfaction, not a single man had been hit. The boat was quickly cleared of the willows which concealed her, and shoved out into the stream.

“Out, oars!” was the word, and away she flew down the river to join the squadron. As they passed the large island, to the south of the one they had occupied, they observed three merchant men which had got on shore, from keeping too much over to the east side. The boats of the squadron had just come up, and were engaged in hauling them off; two were got free, but the third being immoveable, was set on fire to prevent the enemy from benefiting by her cargo. No other vessel was lost, but slight damage was suffered by even those most exposed to the enemy’s guns, and not a man was hit.

The flames of the burning vessel cast a lurid glare from bank to bank, as the fleet with flying colours proceeded down the broad stream on their voyage to Monte Video.

Rosas made no further attempt to molest them; he had received a lesson which he was not likely to forget; his power was broken, and he soon afterwards had to fly the country.

The British and French squadron, on their arrival at Monte Video, found, however, that there was still work to be done. Some of the allies of Rosas had been engaged in attempting its capture, but they were quickly put to flight, and a body of marines and bluejackets were sent on shore, to assist the inhabitants in placing the city in a better position of defence.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Letter from Murray—Jack’s reply—The Supplejack ordered home—The voyage—A gale—Long Tom’s burial—A wreck seen and boarded—Stella and her friends rescued—Arrival in England—Murray’s anxiety relieved—The fate of the Supplejack—Murray’s wedding—Jack awakes from his dream—A visit to Ballymacree—Jack caught at last—Conclusion.

Jack found letters from England at Monte Video for him, and among them was one from Murray; he wrote much out of spirits. Mr Bradshaw had deferred his departure from Jamaica, and Stella, who had waited for his escort, was not likely to arrive in England for some time, wrote Murray—

“I would have gone out myself to escort her home, but as she and her friends may sail any day, I might, possibly, on my arrival, find that they had left the island. I must remain, therefore, in England, till I hear something more definite of their intentions. I have received orders to pay off the Tudor, so that I shall shortly be a free man. I have not heard whether the Carib, the ship for which Mr Bradshaw is waiting, is bound for London or Liverpool, and I am, therefore, at a loss where to take up my quarters to await her arrival. Of course, I am very anxious to be on the spot to meet Stella. I trust that as I am not likely to be employed again for some time, she will not consider it necessary longer to defer our marriage, and I sincerely hope, my dear Jack, that you will be at home to act as my best man.”

Jack wrote a reply by Terence, whose ship was on the point of sailing for England.

“Nothing I can wish for would give me greater pleasure than to take care of you on the awful occasion to which you allude. Keep up your spirits, my dear Alick, for I feel very sure that if you are not already spliced by the time I arrive in England, that I shall have the satisfaction, not long afterwards, of attending you as you propose.

“I cannot believe that so sensible a girl as Miss O’Regan is, will longer defer your happiness. Should she contemplate so cruel a proceeding, I must get my sisters, Mary and Lucy, to argue the point with her, and depend upon it they will bring her round. I have promised Terence to pay him a visit to Ballymacree, but I told him that I cannot go till I see you settled. Should you find your fair one’s obdurate heart soften before I arrive, he will be delighted to undertake the post you offer me, and I cannot wish for a better substitute. He begs me to say this, and you well know that next to me you have not a truer friend. He has promised to come and stay with us at Halliburton, after he has paid a flying visit to his own home, and we hope to meet you and Mrs Murray there, as my father and mother propose asking you to take it in your way to the north, where we conclude you will wish to introduce your bride to the Highland home you have so often described to us.”

Jack said a good deal more, indeed his letter was one of the longest he had ever indited. He, of course, also wrote home, begging Sir John to invite Murray to stay at Halliburton till the arrival of the Carib. Terence promised to post the letters as soon as he got on shore, or to deliver Murray’s, which was directed to his agent, should he by chance be at Portsmouth.

“Good-bye,” said Terence, as they parted, “we shall meet again before long, depend upon that, for I hear that your brig is to be sent home as soon as a steamer comes from England to relieve you; they have an idea that such vessels are more likely to prove efficient slaver-hunters than such small craft as yours.”

Jack took an active part in the work going forward at Monte Video, and when it was over he began eagerly to look out for the expected orders to return home.

Two steamers at last arrived, the second came to relieve the Supplejack. Without an hour’s delay, having already received on board fuel and fresh provisions, the anchor was hove up, and under all sail a course was steered for Old England. Her crew gave three hearty cheers, as she glided out from among the ships destined to remain behind. Desmond had continued on board her, as Terence considered that the longer he remained afloat the better, as it might not be so easy to get him another ship.

Except a pampeiro, which, had not Jack been wideawake, might have taken the masts out of the brig, or sent her—where many a vessel of her class has gone—to the bottom, nothing of consequence occurred, until she had got considerably to the north of the line. She had reached about the latitude of Madeira, when a heavy gale sprang up.

For three days she lay exposed to its fury, so severely tried that Jack entertained serious thoughts of heaving Long Tom overboard. Needham gazed at his old friend with sorrowful eye, as Jack suggested that such might be necessary.

“He has done good service, and she has carried him a good many thousand miles without complaining, sir, and, unless it comes on worse than it is at present, she will carry him home safe enough, I hope.”

It, however, did come on worse; and, moreover, a leak was sprung, which required half the watch constantly at the pumps. Long Tom was doomed. Jack tried to comfort Needham by saying—

“From what I hear, when the ship is paid off, he will only be looked on as so much old iron, or laid up in the gun-wharf never to bark again, so we shall do him more honour by lowering him into an ocean grave.”

The order was given, and, as the brig rolled, Long Tom sent over the side into the foaming waters. The brig evidently floated more buoyantly on being relieved of his weight.

At length the gale broke, and sail being made, the Supplejack once more stood on her course.

Evening was coming on; dark, leaden seas, still foam-topped, were rising up sullenly around her as she made her way amidst them, now on the summit of one, now sinking into the valley below, when the lookout shouted—

“The hull of a ship, either dismasted or on her beam-ends away on the lee-bow, sir.”

Jack went aloft with his telescope.

“She is a dismasted vessel, there is little doubt about that,” he observed to Bevan, as he returned on deck. “Keep the brig away for her.”

Evening was approaching, but Jack hoped to be up with the stranger before dark. As the brig drew near her, she was seen to be a large ship, her three masts gone, while no attempt apparently had been made to rig jury-masts. So deep was she, that as she rolled in the heavy seas, the water came rushing over her decks, and gushing out through the scuppers on the opposite side.

Jack felt thankful that he had seen her, as, in all probability, her fate during the night would have been sealed. The brig was steered to pass just under her stern, Jack intending to heave-to to leeward. Just as she got up to her, Tom exclaimed—

“I see her name—it is the Carib, the very ship in which Mr Bradshaw intended to come to England.”

The eyes of all on board were turned towards the wreck. No one was seen on the deck.

“She must have been abandoned, but I trust that her passengers have been taken off by some other vessel, for should they have left in the boats, their chance of escaping in the heavy sea which has been running would have been small indeed,” said Jack, feeling very anxious as he thought of Stella and Murray.

“Possibly the boats may have not long left her,” observed Bevan.

“You may be right,” said Jack. “Send a couple of men with the sharpest eyes to look out, in case they may be still in sight.”

Just then a person was seen emerging from the companion-hatch, who no sooner discovered the brig, than he waved his hands and appeared to be frantically imploring assistance.

“It is Mr Bradshaw himself!” exclaimed Jack, who had been looking through his telescope. He immediately ordered a boat to be lowered, and sung out for volunteers.

“I will go myself, Bevan,” he said. “Take charge of the brig.”

Needham was the first to step in, others quickly followed, and Jack, with some of his best men, pulled away through the heavy seas towards the ship. It was no easy task to get alongside without the risk of having the boat knocked to pieces. Jack watched his opportunity, and, followed by Needham and Tim Mullens, one of the men, sprang on board. As he did so, he ordered the boat to keep off till he called her.

“Thank Heaven you have come!” exclaimed Mr Bradshaw, as he grasped his hand.

“Quick! quick! the ladies are in the cabin. I charged them not to come on deck for fear of being washed overboard, but from the heavy way the ship is rolling, I suspect that she has not much longer to swim.”

“Indeed she has not, I fear,” exclaimed Jack, rushing into the cabin. Stella was seated on a sofa, supporting Miss Bradshaw, who, overcome with alarm or illness, appeared to have fainted, while Polly was kneeling by her side, helping her mistress. Miss O’Regan looked amazed at seeing Jack. He, without waiting to utter an exclamation, seized her in his arms, and carried her on deck. Needham took up Miss Bradshaw, while Tim, who had accompanied him, tucked Polly under his arm.

“If you have nerve to leap at the proper time as the boat comes alongside, do so,” said Jack to Mr Bradshaw. “If not, wait and I will come back for you.”

Jack shouted to the men in the boat to return, and waiting till she was close to, let himself down into her, holding Stella firmly with one arm. Needham and Tim dropped safely with their burdens at the same time. Mr Bradshaw still remained on board.

“Let me go, sir,” cried Needham, “I will help him;” and the next moment he was again on deck. Seizing Mr Bradshaw by the hand, he watched the proper opportunity and dragged him down into the boat, both falling, though being caught by the men they were not much hurt. Jack then sheered the boat off from the wreck, and ordered his men to pull away towards the brig. Scarcely had they got clear than the ship’s stern was seen to lift, and her bows plunging into the next sea which came rolling up, it rushed over her deck foaming and hissing, she in a few seconds disappearing beneath the surface, the boat having only just got beyond the influence of the vortex she created. There was no time to ask questions. Jack, being at the helm, could with difficulty attend to the two ladies, who lay in the stern sheets, Stella still attending on her friend. The boat was quickly again alongside the brig, and Jack and Needham lifted the two ladies safely on board. Mr Bradshaw was then helped up the side by the seamen, and the boat being hoisted in, the brig again made sail and stood on her proper course. The ladies were at once conveyed to Jack’s cabin, and McTavish being sent for, his appliances soon restored Miss Bradshaw to consciousness.

So much taken up had Stella been in attending her friend, that she had had no time to thank her preserver, or to speak a word on any other subject. Jack had also been too fully occupied to ask questions. Mr Bradshaw now told him that the Carib had been struck suddenly by the gale, and her masts carried away. At the same time the captain and his mates, with several of the crew, had either been washed or struck overboard, or killed by the falling masts; and that the rest of the crew, left without officers, had, when they believed the ship to be sinking, taken the only boat which remained. As they had previously broken open the spirit-room, they were probably, before long, overwhelmed by the heavy sea. “We would not have gone with them, had they invited us to do so, for we did not then believe that the ship was about to founder,” continued Mr Bradshaw. “When we discovered the awful truth, having no means of escaping, we gave ourselves up as lost, and when you appeared we were awaiting the event which we knew must soon occur.”

Jack, of course, said how thankful he was that he had been providentially directed to the spot in time to save their lives; he then mentioned Alick Murray, and asked Stella when she had last heard from him, telling her of the letter he himself had received.

Hers was of about the same date.

“Poor fellow,” added Jack, “he seems dreadfully out of spirits; and I trust, Miss O’Regan, that you will do your best to restore them.”

Stella said nothing, but Fanny Bradshaw told Jack that she did not think her friend would longer be obdurate.

“I hope not,” he answered, “I have promised to be his best man, and I wish to fulfil that engagement before I pay a visit to my old friend, Adair, at Ballymacree. You, of course, will be one of the bridesmaids?”

Fanny said that she had little doubt about that, and changed the subject by making inquiries respecting Ballymacree. Jack, of course, gave the description he had received from Terence.

“And your friend has a number of pretty Irish sisters?” asked Fanny.

“Irish of course they are, and as to their beauty Terence has not said much about that, except that his sister Kathleen is an attractive girl, and observed that I should be able to form an opinion myself on the matter.”

Fanny did not ask many more questions about Ballymacree.

Jack at first feared that it might be necessary to put into Funchal, but the weather becoming fine, the leaks were kept under by dint of constant pumping, and at last the Supplejack reached soundings in the chops of the Channel. The wind held fair, and she was not long in running up it. Her leaky condition was a sufficient excuse for going at once into Portsmouth harbour, without waiting for orders.

Jack immediately went on shore to report his arrival to the admiral. He was again hurrying on board to escort the ladies and Mr Bradshaw to an hotel, when who should he meet but Admiral Triton, looking scarcely a day older than when he last saw him.

“Jack, my boy, I am rejoiced to see you,” exclaimed the old man, “and the more so, as I want your assistance in consoling a heartbroken friend of yours, Alick Murray. He has just received intelligence that the ship in which the young lady he expected to marry was coming home was seen by a vessel just arrived, dismasted in mid-Atlantic, and as the gale continued for several days afterwards, great fears are entertained for her safety.”

“My task will be an easy one, then, admiral,” cried Jack, “for I have all her passengers safe on board my brig; and if you can tell me where he is to be found, the sooner I relieve his mind the better.”

“Let us jump into a hackney coach, and we shall soon be there,” exclaimed the admiral.

Jack brought the joyful intelligence to Murray, whom he found almost prostrated. It quickly had the effect of reviving him, and accompanied by the admiral they were soon on board the Supplejack.

Whether or not Murray asked Stella the question on that occasion does not matter, but very shortly afterwards, Fanny told Jack that all was settled, and that she had promised to become his soon after their arrival in London, where her father intended to remain for some weeks.

Alick escorted the ladies and Mr Bradshaw to town the next day, after they had somewhat recovered their fatigue by a night’s rest.

Jack had to remain at Portsmouth to pay off the brig, though he would rather have accompanied his friends. Admiral Triton stopped also, as he said, to look after Tom and Desmond, but in reality to hear the yarns which he made the youngsters spin about their adventures.

It did not take long to pay off the poor little Supplejack, which was then towed up the harbour and placed on the mud, never again to float on blue water.

Needham heaved a deep sigh as he heard the report of her destined fate. It was too true, he found. She was to become a target for the guns of the Excellent.

“Well, well,” he said, “she has done good service in her day. It is better to be of use to the last than to be broken up, as is the lot of many a once stout ship, for firewood.”

Through the interest of Admiral Triton, Needham got charge of a ship in ordinary, where he hoped to remain till he should get appointed to one on active service.

Jack immediately on his arrival wrote to Terence, who had gone to Ballymacree; he had invited Desmond to accompany Tom to Halliburton. In reply, Terence begged him to come over to Ireland as soon as he could tear himself away from home. “Nora is of course anxious to see her boy,” he added, “so I beg you will bring him over, and Tom also, if his mother and sisters can spare him.” Jack, however, was very doubtful about going to Ballymacree at all; he had been greatly attracted by the person and manners of Fanny Bradshaw, though, to be sure, she had not said anything to make him suppose that she regarded him in any other light than that of a friend, who had rendered her and her father an essential service.

“Well, I will try it, however,” thought Jack. “Perhaps at Murray’s wedding, I shall be able to judge better how she feels towards me.”

Admiral Triton accompanied his young friends up to London, where they remained a couple of days, he taking them to see every sight that could by any possibility be inspected during the time, while Jack spent most of his time with Murray at the Bradshaws’. When he bade farewell, after having promised Alick to return in a couple of weeks, he felt quite as uncertain as at first as to Fanny’s feelings towards him.

Of course every one was delighted to see him at Halliburton. Tom and Desmond were as happy as the day was long, they only wished that Archy Gordon, who had gone back to his friends in Scotland, could have been with them. Gerald Desmond behaved with wonderful discretion and propriety.

“Really, Jack, if Lieutenant Adair is as quiet and steady as his nephew appears to be, we need no longer fear, should he come here, that he will play the tricks we once supposed he would,” observed Lucy.

“I always told you that Terence is as well conducted a young Irishman as one can wish to meet with,” answered Jack. “I will ask him to come over and pay us his long-promised visit before I go to Ballymacree, and he then can attend Murray’s wedding with me.”

Jack wrote, and Terence accepted the invitation and came. Lucy confessed that she thought Lieutenant Adair was the most pleasing, right-minded gentleman she had ever met.

“Of course he is,” said Jack. “But then, remember that he is a half-pay navy lieutenant, and that his paternal estate is in the Encumbered Estate Court.”

The day before Murray’s wedding, Jack and Terence went up to London, and at once called at his lodgings. They found a gentlemanly-looking man, with the cut of a lawyer, seated with him. He significantly introduced his friend as Mr Stapleton, “who is to undergo the same fate for which I am destined tomorrow.”

After some lively conversation, Mr Stapleton took his departure.

“Who is he?” asked Jack. “He seems a very happy fellow.”

“He is the destined husband of Fanny Bradshaw,” answered Alick. “Matters, for certain reasons, were not settled till after you left town, and therefore Mr Bradshaw did not inform you of the cause of his coming to England. It has been a long engagement; and as Stapleton could not go out to the West Indies, Fanny wisely consented to come to England, and she and Stella arranged, if possible, to marry the same day.”

Jack said nothing, he was suddenly awakened from his dream, and he very soon began to doubt whether he had been as desperately in love with Fanny as he had supposed after all. At all events he could earnestly wish her and her husband every happiness.

The wedding took place, and he appeared with as serene a countenance as Terence, who, at the breakfast made a capital speech, and was the life of the party.

The same evening Jack, with Terence and the two midshipmen, set off by the Holyhead mail bound for Ballymacree. Jack did not lose his heart at first sight, but he, at all events, thought Kathleen Adair more charming than her West Indian cousins, or any of the young ladies he had met in the neighbourhood of Halliburton, or, indeed than Fanny Bradshaw herself. He could not help it, whether wisely or not, telling her so one day, and as she forthwith accepted him, he had to write home and inform his father of the fact.

Sir John, in reply, promised his sanction and blessing, provided the young lady would wait till he was a commander. Kathleen said that she would wait till he was an admiral, if he wished, but observed that, for her part, she could not see why a lieutenant should not make as good a husband as a captain. It was a wonder that the two midshipmen did not break their necks out hunting, or finish themselves off in some other way, but happily, while still sound in limb, both they, Jack, and Terence received orders to join a ship fitting out for the East Indies, the arrangement having been made, at Sir John’s instigation, by their old friend Admiral Triton.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Three Midshipmen"

Chapter One.

Early Days.

Ours was a capital school, though it was not a public one. It was not far from London, so that a coach could carry us down there in little more than an hour from the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly. On the top of the posts, at each side of the gates, were two eagles; fine large birds I thought them. They looked out on a green, fringed with tall elms, beyond which was our cricket-field. A very magnificent red-brick old house rose behind the eagles, full of windows belonging to our sleeping-rooms. The playground was at the back of the house, with a grand old tulip tree in the centre, a tectum for rainy weather on one side, and the large school room on the other. Beyond was a good-sized garden, full of apple and pear trees, but, as we very seldom went into it, I do not remember its appearance. Perhaps, were I to see the place again, I might find its dimensions somewhat altered. The master was a first-rate schoolmaster. What his attainments were, I cannot say; but he understood managing boys admirably. He kept us all in very good order, had us fairly taught, fed us with wholesome, if not luxurious, food, and, though he used his cane freely, treated us justly. We held him in awe, and yet we liked him.

It was after the summer holidays, when I had just got back, I heard that three new boys had come. In the afternoon they all appeared in the playground. They were strangers to each other as well as to us, but their similarity of fate drew them together. One was a slightly made, dark, and somewhat delicate-looking boy; another was a sturdy little fellow, with a round, ruddy countenance, and a jovial, good-natured expression in it, yet he did not look as if he would stand any nonsense; the third was rather smaller than the other two, a pleasant-looking fellow, and though his eyes were red with crying, he seemed to be cutting some joke which made his companions laugh. He had come all the way from Ireland, we heard, and his elder brother had that morning left him and gone back home, and that made him unhappy just then. He at once got the name of Paddy in the school. He did not mind it. His real name was Terence Adair, so sometimes he was called Paddy Adair.

“I say, you fellow, what’s your name?” asked a biggish boy of the stoutest of the three new-comers.

“Jack Rogers,” was the answer, given in a quiet tone.

“I don’t believe it,” replied the big boy, who was known as Bully Pigeon; “it’s such a rum name.”

“I’ll make you believe it, and remember it too,” exclaimed the new-comer, eyeing the other from head to foot, and walking firmly up to him, with his lips closed, while he moved his head slowly from side to side. “I tell you my name is Jack Rogers—Now!”

The bully did not say a word. He looked as if he would have liked to have hit, but Paddy Adair had followed his new friend, and was evidently about to join in the fray if it was once begun; so the big boy thought better of it. He would gain no credit for attacking a little fellow the first day of his coming. There were many witnesses of the scene, and Jack was unanimously pronounced to be a plucky little chap. Pigeon, defeated in one direction, turned his attention to the first-named boy, who had scarcely moved since he entered the playground, but kept looking round with his large black eyes on the scene before him, which was evidently strange to his sight.

“What are you called, I should like to know?” he asked in a rude tone.

“Alick Murray,” was the answer, in a quiet, gentlemanly voice.

“Then you come from Scotland, I suppose?” said the bully.

“Yes, I do,” replied the former.

“Oh! I wonder your mamma would let you go away from her,” observed the big boy, with a sneer.

“My mamma is just dead,” answered Murray, in a mild tone, a tear springing to his eye.

“Shame! shame!” shouted the voices of several boys who had come up; among them that of Jack Rogers was the loudest.

“I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt him,” said the bully, sneaking away. “I’ll pay you off for this some day,” he muttered as he passed Jack.

Jack looked after him and laughed.

“He’ll have two to fight if he tries it, mind that,” said Adair to his new friend.

Jack thanked him, but said that he should soon be able to tackle him, if he could not just now. He would try at all events.

“That’s it,” cried Terence enthusiastically. “That’s just what I like. If you are knocked down you can but get up again and try once more.”

“So my papa says,” observed Jack. “He’s a first-rate father, let me tell you. He never would let any of us give in except to himself. He used to throw us into a pond, and tell us to swim, and unless we had actually been drowning, nothing would have made him help us; so we all very soon learned, and now there isn’t a chap of my size I wouldn’t swim against. We live down in Northamptonshire. My papa has a place there. We are all very jolly. There are a number of us, sisters and brothers. You must come down and see them some holidays. You’ll like them, I know. There’s no nonsense about them.”

Terence said he should like it very much, if he did not go back to Ireland. He had three brothers and a sister, but they were all older than himself. His papa was the Honourable Mr Adair, and he had an uncle, Lord Derrynane. He did not know whether they were rich or not. They lived in a big house, and had a number of servants, and people were constantly coming and going; so he supposed they were. The truth was, as I heard afterwards, they were living a great deal too fast, and Terence had nothing left as his share of his father’s property, except, as he said, his debts. That, however, was no fault of his.

“I say,” observed Jack, “don’t let us leave that poor fellow alone any longer. He seems very low-spirited about his mother. It’s natural, you know; though I don’t like to see a fellow blubbering just because he has hurt himself, or lost a peg-top, or anything of that sort.”

So they went up to Alick Murray, and began talking to him, and Terence said something funny and made him laugh.

“I wonder what games they have here?” asked Jack.

“Coach-and-horses,” said a biggish fellow, who had just entered the playground with some long strips of leather over his arm and a whip in his hand. “Now, if you three fellows will just be harnessed, you’ll make a very good unicorn.”

They all looked at each other, and as the big boy spoke in a good-natured tone, they agreed to do as he wished. Jack and Alick were harnessed together; Terence insisted on going as unicorn.

“I say, though,” cried Jack, looking back; “what are you called? I always like to know the name of the driver.”

“Ben Trotter when I’m not called Master Benjamin Trotter,” was the answer.

“Not a bad name for a coachman,” observed Jack, beginning to prance and kick about. He got a cut with the whip in return for his remark. Terence reared and neighed, and kicked about furiously all the time, like a high-mettled steed who wanted to be off; and at last, Trotter having got the ribbons adjusted to his satisfaction, away they all went round the playground at a great rate, looking with great disdain on those boys who had only got string for harness. Thus were the three new-comers first yoked in fellowship. They were very much together ever afterwards, though they also had their own especial friends. Murray and Rogers were the most constant to each other. Murray was a studious, gentle boy. He had more talent than Jack; that is to say, he did his lessons a great deal better, and never got into any scrapes. Jack never picked a quarrel, but he now and then got into one, and was apt in his lessons to give a false quantity, and sometimes a translation of his Caesar which put him down to the bottom of the class. Murray was always ready and able to help him, but Jack was not a fellow who would consent to trust to the help of another. When he really tried, he could always do his work, and very creditably too. Adair, unlike his friends, was nearly always getting into trouble. He would not think enough about consequences. Once he and others had been letting off fireworks of their own manufacture in a remote corner of the playground. Notice was given that an usher was coming. They threw away their combustibles, and fled. Terence, however, had a piece of lighted touch-paper, which, in his hurry, he shoved into his pocket. It was already full of a similar preparation. He was caught and hauled away into the schoolroom to receive condign punishment. He tried to look very innocent, and requested to know why he was dragged along so unceremoniously. Paddy, under no circumstances, ever lost his politeness. Unhappily for him just as he reached the door the proofs of his guilt became apparent. Streams of smoke and sparks burst out of his pockets, and the master had to pull out the burning paper to prevent him from being seriously injured. As to his lessons he very frequently was at the top of his class, but he never could manage to keep there many days together. For some neglect or other, he soon again lost his place. Still he was a general favourite. Even the masters could not help liking him. The three new boys were put into one room. They slept there for several halves. On one occasion Terence had kept away a good deal from Jack and Murray, and associated more than was his custom with several of the less nice boys. Among them was Pigeon, the bullying fellow. I happened to be awake one night, when, by the pale moonlight which streamed in at the windows, I saw Paddy Adair sit up in his bed and look about him. Pigeon and another biggish fellow did the same. They signed to each other, and slipping on their clothes, crept with their shoes in their hands out of the room. I could not go to sleep, wondering what had become of them. Jack Rogers slept near me. He likewise had seen what had occurred. They were absent about half an hour. They returned as noiselessly as they had gone out, and crept into bed again, of course thinking that no one had observed them. No sooner was the door closed than there was a strong smell of apples in the room, and presently “crunch! crunch! crunch!” was heard.

“Those fellows have been stealing old Rowley’s apples, now,” thought Jack; “and that donkey Paddy Adair has, I’d bet, been heading the party.”

He felt as if he were a spy by not letting them know that he was awake, so he sat up and said, “Hillo! you fellows, what have you been about?”

“Is that you awake, Jack?” answered Adair. “Never mind, we’ve had great fun. Have an apple, will you?”

“No, thank you,” said Jack, “I’d rather not;” laying considerable emphasis on the last words.

“He doesn’t deserve one as he hadn’t the pluck to go and get them,” said a voice from under the bedclothes.

“Who says that?” exclaimed Jack, sitting up in bed.

“Why, I say you would have been afraid to go and do what we have done,” answered Bully Pigeon, summoning up more courage than was his wont.

“Afraid!” exclaimed Jack, springing out of bed and slipping on his trousers. “Afraid of what? Afraid of stealing? Afraid of telling a lie I am; but I’m not afraid of you, you thief, I can tell you.”

Even Bully Pigeon could not stand this. Unless he would be jeered at and called sneak ever afterwards by all the little boys in the school, he felt that he must retaliate. He jumped up and sprang at Jack, aiming a blow, which, if the latter had not slipped aside, would have knocked him over. Jack, notwithstanding this, sprang back, and put himself on his defence, not only warding off the next blow Pigeon struck, but planting another between his eyes, which brought fire into them with a vengeance.

This enraged the bully, who came thundering down on Jack with all his might, and would have wellnigh crushed him, but Pigeon found a new assailant in the field whom he did not expect—one of his own party. It was Paddy Adair.

“I can’t stand that, and I won’t,” he exclaimed, aiming a blow at Pigeon’s head which sent him backwards; while Alick Murray, who had likewise jumped up, appeared on the other side of him.

“We are thieves, I tell you; we’ve been stealing old Rowley’s apples, and Jack Rogers is right,” cried Terence.

“A very true remark, boys,” said a deep voice which all recognised full well. The door opened, and old Rowley himself, habited in his dressing-gown, with a candle in one hand and a birch in the other, appeared at the entrance, followed by good kind Mrs Jones, the housekeeper. Every one scuttled away to their beds as fast as they could go, except Alick Murray and Terence. Murray was the first Rowley laid hands on, and, putting down his candle on the mantelpiece, he was about to make use of his birch. Murray disdained to utter a word which might inculpate others, and I knew he would have received a flogging without complaint, but Terence cried out, “No, no, it wasn’t him—I was one of them—flog me if you like.”

“Well, get into bed,” answered Rowley, in a voice which did not sound as if he was very angry. “You two have the spoils upon you, however;” saying this, he went to the beds of Bully Pigeon and the other big fellow, and gave them as sound a flogging as they ever had in their lives, while Mrs Jones retired to a little distance, though I believe she always came in the hopes of softening the vigour of the master’s arm. He went round to the other rooms, and treated the rest of the culprits in the same way, and we had reason to suspect that he had watched the whole party as they returned from their marauding expedition. All the culprits were sent to Coventry the next day for a week, except Terence, who had however led the expedition, though he did not plan it. “I have great respect for the person who is not afraid to call a thief a thief, or a lie by its right name,” said Rowley not long afterwards, looking significantly at Terence.

Time sped on, we were getting up in the school, new boys were coming and old ones were going away, when the first night after our return from the Christmas holidays, we all lay awake talking of our adventures.

“This is my last half,” said Jack; “I’ve made up my mind to be a sailor, and my father says I may; and an admiral, a friend of ours, has promised to get me a ship; and so it’s all settled, and I’m going.”

“Are you, old fellow? how capital!” exclaimed Terence. “I’ve been asked if I would go to sea, and I said yes; for there’s nothing else I want to do that I know of, but I little thought you would be going too. Well, that is good, and clenches the matter.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” cried Murray; “it is what I have been longing to do for years past, almost since I could read. The only profession I felt that I should ever like was the navy, but I never saw a chance till these holidays of being able to go into it. I believe it is settled; I shall know shortly, I hope.”

“What, are we all three going? how capital! What fun we will have,” cried Jack. “Of course they’ll let you. Oh, hang it, you must go with us.” Murray seldom talked much of what he wished to do, or expressed his feelings, except perhaps to a trusted friend like Jack, but of the three companions he had probably the strongest will, and when he had set his mind on an object, no one could exert himself more resolutely to accomplish it. He wrote and wrote to his friends, expressing his wish in as strong terms as he could, giving many excellent reasons for having formed it. Before many weeks had passed, Murray received a letter. The contents would have made Jack and Terence throw up their caps and shout, had they under similar circumstances received it. He felt a choking sensation, and the tears sprang to his eyes. All his long-cherished hopes were about to be accomplished. He had the promise from the First Lord of the Admiralty of an appointment speedily to a ship. The half came to an end, the school broke up, and the boys separated with all animosities and quarrels sunk in oblivion; and in the belief that they should meet each other again soon, if not at school, somewhere or other. Jack went home, and was then sent, by the advice of his naval friend, to an academy at Portsmouth, where young gentlemen were prepared for the navy. Jack wanted to become a real sailor, so he set to work manfully to stow away all the navigation he could pick up. He soon also made himself known and respected among his companions, much in the same way that he had done at his old school. At last he heard that he was appointed to a ship, but that he was to go home before joining to take leave. He was first to go to Selby the tailor, to get measured for his outfit.

“You’ll like to have your uniform at once, sir,” observed Mr Selby; “most young gentlemen do.” Jack thought it would be very nice, as his best clothes were already shabby; so in an incredibly short space of time he found himself exactly fitted in his naval habiliments with a dirk by his side, and a gold-lace cap. He did not like to wear them in the street, “lest he should appear conspicuous,” he observed to a schoolfellow, so he did not put them on till he was ready to start in the morning by the coach up to London. He had got leave to go down to Eagle House to visit his former master and old schoolfellows, and how grand he looked as he walked up and down the playground, handling his dirk. Even Pigeon felt a great respect for him, and looked on him with somewhat an eye of envy, and thought he should like to go into the navy. Had he gone, he would have had to learn many a lesson, or would very soon have been kicked out of it again. Jack dined at the master’s table at one end of the long dining-room, and good Mrs Jones looked at him very proudly, for she had always thought him one of her best boys; and many an eye gazed wistfully at his anchor buttons and dirk and smiling jovial countenance, as he laughed and chatted with wonderful ease with old Rowley, as if he was not a bit afraid of him; and some idle fellows envied him his emancipation from Virgil and Horace, and other classical authors, for whom they had so little affection themselves. Then he had to jump up and hurry off to catch the coach, in order to reach the mail, which was to carry him down that night to Northamptonshire. Jack could obtain no certain information about Murray and Adair, but old Rowley told him he understood they had already been sent to sea. Jack spent three very jolly days at home. He had a big trunk filled with all sorts of things which he was to stow away in his chest. Then the moment came for parting—the family were not much addicted to crying, not that they did not love each other very much. Jack’s little sister Lucy cried the most. He promised to write to her, and she promised to write to him and tell him about everybody and everything, and the horses and dogs, and something very like a tear came into his eyes, and a difficulty of speaking to which he was not accustomed, as he gave her his last kiss. Just then, Admiral Triton, Jack’s naval friend, drove up to the door, and by a mighty effort all traces of his feelings were banished—not that the Admiral would have thought the worse of him a bit on account of them. The Admiral was of the old school. He had one leg, the other being supplied by what looked remarkably like a mop-stick. His appearance was somewhat rough, especially when he went out in rainy weather, and his countenance was not a little battered, but his heart was as tender and almost as simple as Jack’s or even Lucy’s for that matter. He had insisted on taking Jack to Portsmouth and seeing him on board. “It will be an advantage to the youngster perhaps, and, besides, it will freshen me up a bit myself,” he observed to Jack’s father; “so say no more about it, neighbour Rogers.”

On their arrival at Portsmouth they went to the George, and the Admiral then took Jack to try on the rest of his kit.

“And I say, Mr Selby,” observed the Admiral, “just shake the reefs out of the youngster’s clothes at once, will you; why you would stop his growth if you were to swaddle him up in that way.”

“Certainly, Admiral; but young gentlemen nowadays fancy well-fitting trousers,” observed the tailor.

“And tight-pinching shoes, which will give them corns, and prevent them stepping out like men,” observed the Admiral; “but though they are silly, wiser people should not humour them.”

Leaving Jack with the tailor, who was really a very trustworthy man, Admiral Triton stumped down to the well-known Point, to have a look about him, as he said. While he was standing there, with his hands in his old pea-coat pocket, gazing out on the harbour, and thinking of bygone days and many an event of his youth connected with that place, a man-of-war’s boat ran in among the wherries, and a youngster sprang out of her, a small portmanteau being afterwards handed to him.

“Hillo, my man! if you’re inclined to gain a shilling, just carry this up to the George for me, will you?” exclaimed the midshipman, addressing the rough-looking, one-legged seaman he saw before him. The Admiral was so tickled with the notion, that without saying a word he touched his hat, and taking the portmanteau, stumped off with it, followed by the owner. Two waiters were standing at the door of the George. When they saw the Admiral they hurried forward.

“Pray, Admiral, let me help you in with that thing,” they exclaimed eagerly. At the same moment up came Jack. He burst into a jovial fit of laughter. There before him stood Terence Adair, in midshipman’s uniform, the very picture of dismay.

“Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, I did not know you were an Admiral!” he exclaimed. Just then he caught the eye of Jack, who had gone up to the Admiral. Paddy’s countenance brightened a little. “How lucky!” he added. “Do apologise for me, Jack.”

“Well, well, but I say, youngster, you are not going to do me out of my shilling; just hand me that, at all events,” said the Admiral, laughing. “Another time save your money, and carry your shirt-collars yourself.”

Terence, fumbling in his pocket, produced the coin, which the Admiral bestowed on an old blind man who was passing at the moment. Jack and Terence shook hands heartily. A look from the first assured the other that he need not have the slightest fear of the consequences of his mistake.

“What ship do you belong to, youngster?” asked the Admiral.

“The Racer, sir,” said Terence; “she’s a fine frigate—there’s not another like her in the service.” The Admiral looked approvingly when he heard the remark.

“Why, she’s my ship,” exclaimed Jack, “though I haven’t joined yet.”

“Yours, Jack! how capital!” cried Terence in a tone of delight; “well, that is fortunate.” The Admiral seemed much amused at the meeting of the two friends. Terence had come on shore to see his relative Lord Derrynane, whom Admiral Triton knew; and they all dined together, and the next day the Admiral accompanied the two lads on board their ship, which had just gone out to Spithead. She was a thirty-six gun frigate, and worthy of all the encomiums Terence had lavishly bestowed on her at dinner. The Admiral stumped all over her, and examined all the new inventions, and went into the midshipmen’s berth, which was a very natty one; and he sat down and talked of old times during the war, and told a good story or two, and made himself perfectly at home, and introduced Jack “as a fellow who would speak for himself by and by;” and when he went away he was voted a regular trump, and no small share of his lustre fell on Jack. The Admiral and Jack went on deck. The former was in no hurry to leave the ship. He took a great interest in all that was going forward. They walked the deck for some time. The Admiral stopped, and said with more seriousness than was his wont: “Jack, I have given you several pieces of advice which you have taken well from an old sailor who has lost his leg in the service of his country, and has been pretty well riddled and knocked about besides. I must give you another, the most important of all—never forget that you are a Christian, and never be ashamed of confessing it. Your Bible tells you what that means. You’ve got one in your chest. Read it often, and learn from it. Nail your colours to the mast, and fight under them. You’ll thus keep your spiritual enemies at bay, as I hope you will those of your country.” Jack grasped the Admiral’s hand to show that he understood him, but for the life of him he could not have found words to express what he wanted to say. They had stopped, and were looking over the ship’s side. Jack espied a boat pulling up under the frigate’s quarter, with a midshipman’s chest and a midshipman in her.

“What, more youngsters!” growled out an old mate; “we’ve our complement, and more than enough already.” Jack’s heart gave a jump of pleasure. He thought that he recognised Murray. It was a curious coincidence, if such was the case, that the three schoolfellows should meet. The boat came alongside, the chest was hoisted up in spite of the old mate’s growls, the midshipman followed, and in another minute Jack Terence and Alick were shaking hands, and laughing heartily at their happy encounter. Murray said that he had not come to join the Racer permanently, but that he had been ordered a passage to the Mediterranean, where the sloop of war to which he had been appointed was stationed. The Admiral told Murray that he knew his father, and that he was glad a son of his had chosen the navy as a profession. He then heartily shook hands with the three lads; and when he went on shore all the midshipmen of the ship manned the side ropes to show their respect to the fine old sailor, and gave him three cheers as he pulled away. Jack confessed that, somehow or other, he felt more inclined to pipe his eye on that occasion than on any of his other leave-takings. Two days after this the Racer, bound for the Mediterranean, was running out at the Needles, whose jagged peaks and high white cliffs rose in picturesque beauty on the left hand. The wind was fair, the sky blue, and the water smooth, and the three midshipmen looked forward with delight to the numerous adventures they expected to encounter.

Chapter Two.

In the Mediterranean.

The gallant frigate, which bore the three midshipmen and their fortunes, was soon plunging into a heavy sea, caused by a strong breeze from the westward, which she encountered as she stood across the Bay of Biscay. “There we lay all the day, in the Bay of Biscay, oh!” sang Paddy Adair, as he, with other young gentlemen, sat in the berth after dinner; but, as he sang, there was a tremulousness in his voice ominous of a troubled soul within, while the “Oh!” came out with a peculiar emphasis which brought down upon him the laughter of the other youngsters, who, having been rather longer at sea, had become accustomed to such joltings and tumblings about. Jack meantime, who had just come below from his watch on deck, was attacking, with a ferocity which made it appear as if he was contending with some bitter enemy, instead of a plentiful dinner, the boiled beef and biscuit the boy had lately placed on the table. When spoken to, he scarcely looked up, but continued cramming mouthful after mouthful down his throat, while his eyes rolled round and round; and more than once he gazed at the door, contemplating evidently how he could most quickly make his escape on deck. Alick Murray meantime leaned back at the end of the berth, with a book in his hand, under the impression that he was reading; but his head ached; his dinner had been untasted, and, though his eyes may have seen the letters, they conveyed no impression to his brain. The rest of the members of the mess were variously employed. Some were writing up their logs; others doing their day’s work; a few reading, and some were discussing subjects, if not very erudite, at all events, apparently highly amusing to themselves, from the peals of laughter they occasionally elicited. Two youngsters were having a quiet little fight in the corner, pummelling each other’s heads to their hearts’ content, till brought to order by a couple of books aimed scientifically across the berth by old Hemming, the senior mate of the mess, who, from constant practice, was very perfect in that mode of projecting missiles. There were several other passed mates in the berth, and two assistant-surgeons—one of them old enough to be the father of any of the youngsters—and a second master and a master’s assistant, and the captain and purser’s clerks, and three or four other midshipmen of various ages. All of them did not belong to the frigate, but some were supernumeraries going out to other ships on the station. The fathers of some present were of high rank, and they had been accustomed to all the luxuries wealth can give, while others were the sons of poor men, officers in the army and navy, who had little beyond their pay on which to depend. Altogether they formed a very heterogeneous mass, and a strict system of discipline was required to keep them in order. Captain Lascelles, who commanded the Racer, was an officer and a gentleman in the true sense of the word, and he wished that all the officers under his command should deserve the same character. Those belonging to the gun-room were mostly men of this description, but one or two scarcely came up to it. Of these one was the lieutenant of marines. He formed an exception to the general character won by that noble corp—for a braver and more gallant set of men are nowhere to be found. Lieutenant Spry was not a favourite either with his superiors or with those below him. The midshipmen especially disliked him, and he seemed to have a decided antipathy to them.

To return to the midshipmen’s berth: Jack Rogers continued to bolt his beef, Alick to fancy that he was reading, and Adair to try and sing, when, in spite of his courage, nature, or rather the tumblification of the ship, triumphed;—springing over the table, he rushed up the hatchway towards the nearest port on the upper deck. Now, as it happened, Lieutenant Spry was with uneasy steps endeavouring to take his constitutional walk along the deck at that moment, and Paddy, not seeing him, ran with his head directly against the lower button of the marine officer’s waistcoat, whereon the seasick midshipman found his ears pinched, and received a shower of no very refined epithets. Poor Terence, who, essentially the gentleman, would not have retorted if he could, was able only to ejaculate, “Beg pardon, sir!” when the usual result of seasickness followed, to the no small disfigurement of the marine’s white trousers. The enraged officer, on this, thundered down invectives on poor Paddy’s head, and finished off in a most un-officer-like way by kicking him down the hatchway from whence he had just emerged. Adair returned crestfallen and miserable, brooding over the injury and insults he had received. There could have been no doubt that a formal complaint made to the captain would have brought down a severe reprimand on the head of the marine officer, but the idea of making a complaint never crossed the imagination of the midshipman. Paddy, however, told his story to his companions, and even Murray agreed that Mr Spry had merited punishment. They eagerly discussed the subject—all the midshipmen had been insulted in the person of Adair, and it was not long before a bright idea was elicited from among them. On board the ship, belonging to the men, was a large monkey, whom they called Quirk, a very tame and sagacious animal, who had a peculiar aptitude for learning any trick which any person had perseverance enough to teach him. “He’d know more nor any of the ship’s boys if it weren’t for his tail,” the men used to remark after the performance of one of his clever tricks.

“Capital!” exclaimed Jack, forgetting all about his seasickness and clapping his hands with delight when the idea which had been brought forth was propounded; “he’ll do in it first-rate style—ha, ha, ha!” and a merry peal of laughter ran through the berth.

The gale blew over, and the sea once more was bright and blue, as the frigate made her way towards the Rock of Gibraltar. For several days the three midshipmen were wonderfully quiet below; sometimes they were forward, and sometimes they sat together at the farther end of their own berth. They had needles and thread and scissors under weigh, and bits of red cloth and leather, and indeed all sorts of outfitters’ materials, the employment on which seemed to afford them infinite satisfaction. Mr Spry, as in fancied dignity he paced the quarter-deck, of course did not remark the constant absence of so insignificant a person as a midshipman from it; and the recollection that he had behaved not altogether in a becoming way to Adair did not probably cross his mind. Now the lieutenant had a peculiarly pompous air, and the habit, whenever he wished to blow his nose, of drawing his white cambric pocket-handkerchief from his breast pocket with what he thought peculiar dignity, and of flourishing it in his hand after each operation in a fine theatrical style. He had read in some advertising circular that the use of a fine cambric handkerchief always marks the gentleman; so he considered that if he purchased a set, no one would afterwards venture to doubt his claim to that character. All day long, Jack, or Alick, or Paddy, sometimes singly and sometimes all together, were forward in the company of no less important a character than Quirk, the monkey. It is extraordinary how perseveringly they devoted themselves to him. Had they employed the same time in teaching some of their fellow-creatures, the ship’s boys, they might have imparted a considerable amount of useful knowledge, notwithstanding what the men said on the subject. At last they considered that the time had arrived for bringing their labours to a triumphant result.

One fine calm morning the marines had been called out to drill. For some reason Lieutenant Spry did not at once make his appearance, but a representative came forward instead in the person of Master Quirk, who sprang aft to the spot which should have been occupied by the lieutenant, dressed in full fig, with red coat and belt and hat, and a sword by his side, while his breast pocket was well stuffed out with a huge piece of white cotton. “Attention!” cried out some one on deck. The men unconsciously obeyed, and instantly Quirk drew out his handkerchief, and, spluttering with a loud noise, flourished it vehemently in the air. On this, even the self-possession of the marines gave way; and instead of being angry, they burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter, which were joined in by all the spectators, who were crowding aft to see the fun.

At that moment Mr Spry rushed on deck, using his handkerchief exactly as Quirk had been doing. When the whole scene burst on him, his fury knew no bounds. He rushed to his station at the head of his men, which the monkey seemed in no way disposed to vacate, nor did he till his quick eye caught sight of the toe of the officer approaching him, when, with a loud chuckling “Quacko! quacko! quacko!” he leaped nimbly up the ringing.

It was some time before order was restored; and even while his drill was going on, a merry peal of laughter reached the ears of the fuming lieutenant from different parts of the deck, in which he felt certain he could recognise the voices of Adair and his two friends. The moment the drill was over, instead of acting like a wise man, and passing the matter over as an occurrence in no way intended to annoy him, he went aft and made a formal complaint to Captain Lascelles. As every man who chooses to encourage a toady can have one, so even had Lieutenant Spry, in the person of one of his men, who had watched the proceedings of the midshipmen, and now came forward as a witness against them. All three were summoned to the cabin, and they could not, of course, deny the charge. The captain had considerable difficulty in keeping his countenance, as Paddy, acting as spokesman of the party, pleaded their cause. He did not mend it when he confessed that the trick had been played in consequence of the way the lieutenant had treated him.

“It is mean, and unchristian, and altogether wrong, to harbour revenge, young gentlemen,” said the captain. “I cannot now take cognisance of Mr Spry’s conduct on the occasion to which you allude; and I conclude that he will be satisfied if you apologise to him. As the conduct of which you have been guilty was public, so also must be your punishment. Go up, each of you, to one of the mast-heads, and remain there till I call you down. Adair, do you go to the mizen-mast; Rogers, take the mainmast; and Murray, the foremast. I have settled that matter, I hope, to your satisfaction, Mr Spry,” observed the captain, with a freezing manner, which somewhat damped the dignity of the lieutenant.

Up the rigging went the three midshipmen, each of them obtaining possession of a handful of biscuit and a piece of beef to stay their hunger, as they had a prospect of losing their dinners unless the captain relented sooner than could be expected. There they all sat on their lofty perches, occasionally making telegraphic signals to each other, and not particularly unhappy with their punishment.

The captain and gun-room officers were taking their for noon quarter-deck walk, and nearly everybody on board was on deck, when a loud chattering was heard, and who should be seen mounting the mizen rigging but Quirk, still habited in his red coat, with his hat fixed firmly on his head, intent, most clearly, on mischief. No sooner did he get alongside Adair, than, pulling out his handkerchief, he flourished it vehemently in his face; and then, as if satisfied with the performance of his lesson, he slid down the mizen topmast stay, and in an instant after was up again close to Jack, before whom he performed the same ceremony. Paddy and Jack almost fell from their perches with laughter, especially when Quirk sprang forward along another stay, and paid a similar visit to Murray. Everybody on deck was looking on, and all abaft were amused, with the exception of Lieutenant Spry, who was in a towering rage, vowing that he would demand a court-martial, and get the midshipmen, or the monkey, or himself—nobody knew exactly which—dismissed the ship. The lieutenant shouted out to somebody to catch the monkey, but as he did not name any one in particular, no one went, and he had the pleasure of observing his own peculiarity exhibited backwards and forwards, from mast-head to mast-head, several times in succession. A joke must have an end; and the captain, seeing that the best way of bringing this to a conclusion (it being somewhat subversive of discipline) was to call the midshipmen down, they were allowed to return once more on deck, while Quirk’s new red coat and accoutrements were seized and hove overboard, to appease the rage of the marine officer. However, Quirk, having been carefully instructed, lost no opportunity of exhibiting his talents; and whenever the marines were drawn up, or the seamen were at divisions, if he happened to be loose, he invariably appeared in front of them flourishing a piece of canvas, or a bit of paper, or anything he could lay paws on to represent a pocket-handkerchief.

At length that classic sea, whose shores have been the scene of the most interesting events of the world’s history—that sea which leads to Italy, to Greece, to the Holy Land, to Egypt, with its wondrous Nile and grand old mysterious ruins—the Mediterranean, was sighted; and the frigate dropped her anchor below the high rock of Gibraltar, also celebrated, somewhat in later times, for the way in which it was captured by Sir George Rooke, and has been kept ever since by the obstinate English. The midshipmen had just time to run through the galleries perforated in the rock, to climb to its highest peak, and to get a look at the frolicsome monkeys which dwell in undisturbed liberty on its south-eastern side, before the ship again sailed. They heard that the Firefly, the sloop of war to which Murray was appointed, had gone to Greece, so they had the prospect of remaining some time longer together. At Malta the Racer remained only a few days, when she was ordered off to the Ionian Islands.

The first place at which she brought up was in the harbour of Corfu. It is a lovely spot. The picturesque hills of the island are seen on one side, and the lofty mountains of Albania on the other, of the strait which divides it from the mainland. Here Murray was separated from his two old schoolfellows. The Firefly came in, and he had to join her. The three midshipmen had made good use of their time, and had picked up a fair amount of seamanship. They had now some practice in boating, an amusement which the captain always encouraged; for, as he observed, almost as many lives were lost from ignorance of how to manage a boat properly, as in any other way. This sort of work Jack and Adair especially liked. The frigate had put to sea to visit some of the neighbouring islands, and had more than once returned into port; when one forenoon Captain Lascelles summoned Hemming into the cabin.

“I have a despatch to send to Janina, Mr Hemming,” said he. “You will take the cutter and two of the midshipmen with you—Adair and Rogers. Send them back as soon as you land. You will take horses and travel across the country, and the frigate will call for you in the course of a few days.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered Hemming, who never spoke a work more than was necessary in the presence of his superiors.

Jack and Paddy were delighted when they found that they were to go on the expedition; for, though old Hemming kept somewhat a taut hand over them, they had a just regard for his good qualities. They secretly also resolved to indemnify themselves on their return passage by having as much fun as they could. The cutter was a fine boat; and as they had a fair breeze they made rapid progress towards their destination. They sat very demurely, one on either side of old Hemming, eating their bread and cheese, and taking the half wineglassful of grog, which he handed to them each time that he helped himself to a full tumbler.

“That is quite enough for such little chaps as you,” said he. “If you were to begin now, and to take two or three tumblersful as I do, by the time you are my age, you would have drunk fifty hogsheads of rum, and I don’t know how many tons of water.”

Perhaps Hemming’s calculations were not exactly correct, but the advice was, at all events, good. He took care that it should be followed by leaving them only half a bottle of rum for their return—putting the remainder of the bottles into the saddle-bags he had brought for his journey. Jack and Terence watched him trotting off on a Greek Rosinante with the said well-filled saddle-bags behind him, a thick stick in his hand, and a brace of ship’s pistols in his holsters, till he was out of sight.

“Terence,” said Jack, “we ought to return to the boat, and get under weigh.”

“Yes; but I vote we do something in the catering line first,” was the answer.

So they found their way to the market, where by dint of signs and a few words of lingua franca, they laid in a store of fruit and fowls, and fish and vegetables of various sorts, with two or three bottles of what they understood was first-rate Samian wine. With this provision for the inner man they returned to the boat, and made sail for Corfu. The wind was light, and they made but slow progress. However, they were very happy, and in no hurry to get back to the ship. It happened that they had been lately reading James’s Naval History, and Paddy especially had been much struck by some of the exploits performed by single boat’s crews.

“Jack,” said he, “I don’t think we ought to go back to the ship without doing something.”

“We are doing a good deal,” answered Jack, who was very matter of fact. “We are eating a jolly good dinner.” He held up the leg of a chicken. “This is the last of a fowl I’ve had to my share.”

“Ay, but I mean something to be talked about—something glorious,” answered Paddy. “Let’s take a prize.”

“A prize! Where is one to be found?” asked Jack, in no way disinclined to do something.

“Oh! we’ll fall in with her before long,” replied Paddy. “One of these Greek chaps. They are all pirates, you know, and would cut our throats if they dared.”

Paddy was jumping rather too fast at conclusions; but Jack, who also thought it would be a very fine thing to take a prize, although some doubts crossed his mind as to the propriety of so doing, did not attempt to dissuade him from his intentions. It never occurred to the young aspirants for naval renown that they should have made the men get out their oars and pull, as there was a perfect calm. The boat floated quietly on all night. Soon after daylight they espied a long, low, lateen-rigged craft stealing along close in with the land—her white canvas dimly seen through the morning mist.

“That shall be our prize,” exclaimed Paddy, standing up in the stern-sheets; whereon he made the crew a speech, and talked a great deal about honour, glory, and renown, and treading in the steps of the old heroes of Great Britain, and prize-money, and several other themes. The last-mentioned his auditors understood somewhat better than the first. It was all the same to them whether England was at war or not with the nation to which the craft in view belonged. Their officers must know all about the matter, so there was no dissentient voice; and now, getting out their oars fast enough, they pulled away with a hearty cheer towards the craft in sight. The vessel was undoubtedly a Greek. Her crew probably could not conceive why they were chased. The wind was too light to enable them to make much way with their sails; and though they had oars, they were unable to urge on their craft fast enough to escape the English boat. From the gestures of their pursuers the Greeks saw that they were about to be attacked, and as the cutter ran alongside they attempted to defend themselves; but although the seamen had only the boat’s stretchers, and Paddy and Jack alone had pistols, which fortunately would not go off, the Greeks very speedily gave way and tumbled down below.

“What are we to do now?” asked Jack, who, having joined the ship later, was under Adair’s command.

“Carry our prize in triumph into Corfu,” answered Paddy, taking a turn with a dignified air on the deck. “I should like, to see what that prig Spry will say to us now.”

As the Greeks could not speak a word of English, nor the English a word of Greek, no explanations could be made. The Greeks shrugged their shoulders, and having been accustomed to be knocked about a good deal by the Turks, and to untoward events in general, took things very philosophically. A breeze sprang up, and with the cutter in tow, the midshipmen shaped a course, as well as they could calculate, for Corfu. The Greek crew were far more numerous than the English; so Jack advised that a guard should be set over them lest they might attempt to retake the vessel—an occurrence, he had read, which had often happened when proper precautions were neglected.

“I hope it’s all right,” observed Jack, “but what we have done seems somewhat funny.”

“Who fears?” answered Paddy. “What else have we to do but to fight our enemies?”

As Jack had not a ready answer to this question, the subject dropped. Their attention was soon occupied by seeing a vessel standing up the channel, so as directly to cross their course.

“She’s the Firefly,” exclaimed Jack; “is she not, Thomson?” he asked of the boatswain of the boat.

“No doubt about it, sir,” was the answer; and in a lower voice, “And now, my wigs, won’t the youngsters catch it!”

When the sloop of war drew near, she fired a gun as a signal to the Greek vessel to heave-to. As the midshipmen knew what that meant, they at once obeyed, and in a short time a boat was seen pulling towards them; a lieutenant and a midshipman were in her. The latter was no other than Alick Murray. They cordially greeted him; and Terence had begun to boast of their achievement when the lieutenant, Mr Gale, exclaimed, “What does all this mean, youngsters? What have you been about?”

Terence tried to explain, but everything he said only made matters worse. Happily, Mr Gale was a very kind, judicious man, and soon comprehended that the midshipmen had acted through ignorance and thoughtlessness.

“Had you reached Corfu with your so-called prize, you might have been brought into serious trouble,” he remarked. “As no great harm has hitherto taken place, perhaps we may induce the Greek master and his crew not to make any complaint. I will see what can be done.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” exclaimed Alick Murray; “if we can bribe him off I shall be glad to pay any sum you think necessary. Fortunately, I have the means at my disposal;” and he put a purse into Mr Gale’s hand. “Don’t say a word about it, my dear fellows,” he added, as Terence and Jack were expostulating with him for spending so much money on their account. “As we have done the harm, we must stand the blame, you know,” they said.

Mr Gale had long been accustomed to the Greeks, and spoke their language fluently; and having first frightened the master by proving to him that his detention was his own fault, because he had not explained that he was an honest trader, in order to show the good feeling of the English, he promised forthwith to liberate him. The Greek was profuse in his thanks, especially when the lieutenant, to exhibit the magnanimity of his captors, presented him with a bottle of rum and a few piastres.

Perfectly satisfied with this turn in the state of affairs, the Greeks were voluble in their expression of gratitude, and waving their hands, pressed them to their hearts, as the two boats pulled away for the corvette. Captain Hartland, her commander, soon after they came on board, gave the two midshipmen a severe lecture for their behaviour, and telling them to make the best of their way back to Corfu, advised them not to boast too loudly of their exploit. Alick, who was decidedly a favourite, had, they found in the meantime, contrived to plead their cause. They followed Captain Hartland’s advice, but they felt very crestfallen and sheepish for some days after they got back to their own ship. The story, however, leaked out in time, and Terence and Jack had, of course, to stand a good deal of quizzing on the subject. At last, a Paddy’s Prize became a cant saying on board, when anybody had taken anything to which he had no right.

Several months passed away—the winter came on. The Racer met with a severe gale, in which she was partially dismasted, and received so much damage that she had to put into Valetta harbour to repair. She found the Firefly there, and as Captain Hartland had the character of being very attentive to the instruction of his midshipmen in seamanship, Captain Lascelles got him to take Terence and Jack with him for a cruise while the frigate was refitting. Nothing loath, they transferred themselves, with their chests, on board the corvette, and once more the three schoolfellows were together. They found the life on board the corvette very different to that of the frigate. Their hands were constantly in the tar-bucket and paint-pot. They were for ever employed in knotting and splicing, and in rigging and unrigging a model ship, which had been made on purpose to instruct them. All the midshipmen of the brig were compelled to man the mizen-mast, and to take it completely under their charge. This system very much increased the knowledge of the practical details of seamanship, which it is important every officer should know. A good officer is thoroughly acquainted in the most minute particular with everything men are required to know, and a great deal more. This remark refers not only to the Navy, but to the Army, and to every other calling in life. The Firefly was a very happy ship; for though no one was allowed to be idle, the captain was kind and just, and took care that each person should do his duty; so that the work to be done was equally divided among all hands.

On quitting Malta she sailed for the eastward, and was for some time kept cruising among the Ionian Islands, and on the coast of Greece, carrying despatches from place to place. The wind had been from the northward, and the ship had been kept somewhat close in with the Greek coast, to shorten the distance to be run from one spot to another, when one of those severe gales, which in the winter season in the Mediterranean sometimes spring up suddenly, came on to blow. The corvette was caught on a lee shore and embayed. It was night. All hands were called. The fury of the gale increased. Sail was taken off the ship, but still it was necessary to carry far more than would have been set under other circumstances, that she might, if possible, beat out of the bay. She was pressed down till the hammock-nettings were almost under water. Still her masts stood, but no one could predict how long they could bear the terrific strain put upon them. Darker and darker grew the night; the vivid flashes of lightning very now and then revealing the countenances of the officers and crew, as they strained their eyes in their endeavours to discover through the darkness how far off was the much-dreaded shore. The three midshipmen stood together, holding on to the weather bulwarks with some of the gun-room officers. Others were at their stations in different parts of the ship. The lightning showed that the cheeks of the oldest were pale. They full well knew the terrific danger in which the ship was placed. The captain stood calm and collected, conning the ship, and ready to take advantage of any shift of wind which might enable her to get a point off the shore. No one moved—no one spoke—the howling of the gale and the dashing of the waters were the only sounds heard. Suddenly all were aroused into activity by the deep full tones of the captain’s voice. “About ship!” “Down with the helm!” “Helm’s a-lee!” “Maintopsail haul!” “Haul-of-all!” were the orders given in slow succession. Round came the ship in noble style, but it was soon clear that she had gained nothing by the change. Her course did not point more off shore on her present tack than it had done on the former one. No land could be seen, but men were stationed in the chains with the lead to give notice of their approach to it. It was soon evident that the ship was drifting nearer and nearer to the shore, the rocky and dangerous character of which every one on board full well knew, yet each was prepared to struggle to the last to do his duty, whatever might befall them.

“What’s going to happen?” asked Paddy. “People don’t seem to like this fun.”

“We shall have to swim for it, I suspect,” remarked Jack.

“We must be prepared for the worst,” observed Alick Murray. “Rogers, Adair, has it ever struck you that we maybe summoned at any moment to stand in the presence of the Judge of all men? What shall we have to say for ourselves? The thought should not make us cowards, but we should not drive it away—I know that.”

While Murray was speaking there was a terrific report. The foresail was blown out of the bolt-ropes. At the same moment a more than usually bright flash of lightning, which darted across the whole northern sky, revealed the frowning rocks of the coast under their lee. “Prepare to anchor ship!” cried the captain. It was a last resource. The remaining canvas was furled. The best bower was let go; the topmasts were struck; and it was hoped that the ship might hold on till the gale abated. No one went below. This work performed, all hands returned to their stations. Once more the gale came down on them with increased fury. The ship plunged into the foaming seas which rolled up around her. The best bower parted. Another anchor was let go, and the full length of the cable veered out. An hour more passed by in anxious suspense; death, in its most ferocious aspect, threatening all on board. The cable parted. The sheet anchor was let go, and alone now kept the brig from destruction. Still the gale did not abate. The night wore on. The officers forward reported that the ship was dragging the anchor—her last hope of safety.

“It must be done,” said the captain with a sigh, to the first lieutenant. “Order the carpenter to cut away the foremast.”

The carpenter and his crew were prepared for what they had suspected was inevitable. Their axes gleamed as the lightning flashed vividly around them. The crew stood by to cut away the rigging with axes and knives. Down came the mast with crash to port, and floated quickly by towards the shore. The next few minutes were passed with intense anxiety by every one on board.

“Does she hold on, Mr Gale?” the captain asked of the first lieutenant.

“She still drags, sir,” was the ominous reply.

“The other masts must go,” cried the captain.

The order was quickly executed. The mainmast fell to starboard, followed by the mizen-mast, and the late gallant-looking ship floated a dismantled hulk amid the foaming waves. But the sacrifice was in vain; scarcely had the masts gone than the last cable parted, and the gallant ship drifted onwards towards the threatening shore. Still Captain Hartland was not a man to yield while a possibility remained of saving his ship and the lives of those entrusted to him. The corvette carried aft two heavy guns for throwing shells. Some spare hempen cables were got up from below, and made fast to them; when hove overboard they checked her way. Daylight at length came, and revealed her terrific position. High cliffs, and dark, rugged, wild rocks, over which the sea broke in masses of foam, appeared on every side. Pale and anxious the crew stood at their stations. The wind roared, the cold was bitter. A startling terror-inspiring cry was heard. “The last cable has parted!” The three midshipmen shook hands; they believed that they were soon to be separated, never to meet again in this world. On—on, with heavy plunges, amid the foaming waters, the doomed ship hurried to meet her fate.

Chapter Three.

Amongst the Greeks.

Onward drove the sloop of war with the three midshipmen on board to certain destruction. “Heave the guns overboard!” cried Captain Hartland, on the discovery that the last cable had parted. Severe indeed was the pang it caused him to give the order. As the ship rolled, first the starboard, and then the guns on the other side, were cut loose and allowed to run through the ports. With sullen plunges they disappeared in the foaming seas.

“There go all our teeth,” cried Paddy Adair, who even at that awful moment could not refrain from a joke. Even Murray smiled.

“I wish that I were like you, Paddy,” said Jack; “I couldn’t have said that sort of thing just now.”

“Well, but I’m sure that I can’t help feeling as if every tooth in my mouth had been hauled out with a huge wrench,” observed Adair. “There! there goes the last.”

“We must lighten the ship aft as much as possible, Mr Gale, and make sail on the stump of the foremast, so as to force her up on the beach,” observed the captain. “If we can find the beach,” he added in a lower voice.

These orders were promptly obeyed. Every man worked with a will. There was no hurry, no confusion, though all were engaged in the most active exertion. No one seemed to be conscious, while thus at work, that in a few short minutes their fate might be sealed. Meantime, sail being set forward, while the ship headed on towards the shore, Captain Hartland and the master were engaged in looking out, in the hopes of discovering some sandy beach between the rocks, on which they might run the ship. Still they scarcely expected to find what they were seeking for; yet no one on board would have guessed from their looks what very slight hopes they entertained of success. The work was done; the ship hurried through the raging surf. Still the most perfect discipline prevailed; not a man quitted his station. Here and there a few might be seen loosing their shoe-ties, or getting ready to cast off their flushing coats; but no other sign was observable that an awful struggle for life and death was about to commence.

“Where are we driving to, Jack?” asked Adair; “I cannot make out through all this spray.”

“I thought I caught a glimpse of a white patch not much bigger than my hand when we were at the top of the last sea,” answered Rogers. “I hope it may be sand.”

“Starboard, starboard!” shouted the captain. Three hands were at the helm. The spokes flew quickly round. A little sandy bay appeared; it seemed under the ship’s bowsprit; then she was enveloped in a thick cloud of foam; the terrific roar of the surf became deafening. On flew the corvette; a concussion which sent all who had not a secure hold flat on the deck was felt, and the seas came rolling up with tremendous force, heaving her broadside to the beach, and about twenty fathoms from it. Still they did not at first break completely over her; a rock, inside of which she had been judiciously steered, somewhat broke their force.

“We are ashore—we are ashore!” was the cry, but still every man waited for the captain’s orders. He stood calm and collected, with his officers round him. His glass was in his hand; he was constantly looking through it watching the shore.

“Some people are collecting on the heights, and will soon be down on the beach,” he exclaimed. “Hold on till they come, my lads, and we may be able to send a line on shore.” This exhortation was not unnecessary, for the seas rolling in constantly struck the vessel with such terrific force, that it appeared she could not possibly hold together, while two or three men, who had incautiously relaxed their hold, were washed overboard and drowned. A beaker or small cask was in the meantime got ready with a line secured to it. The most important object was to form a communication with the shore. It was evident that if a hawser could once be carried between the ship and the beach, the crew might be dragged along it and be saved. As soon as the people began to collect on the beach, the cask with the line attached to it was hove overboard. All watched its progress with intense anxiety, for all felt that no time was to be lost in getting the hawser on shore. The cask neared the shore, then the wave rolled on, but again coming thundering down the beach, carried it back almost as far as the ship. Again and again the attempt was made, and each time the cask, almost getting within the grasp of the people on shore, was hurled back once more out of their reach.

“I think, sir, I could manage to put the jolly-boat on shore, if you will allow me,” said Mr Wenham, the second lieutenant, addressing the captain.

“The risk is very great, Wenham,” said the captain, shaking him by the hand; “but go if you think fit.”

“Volunteers for the jolly-boat!” sang out the second lieutenant. Several men sprang forward; he selected four. The boat was launched into the raging sea, and they leaped into her, carrying a line. With a cheer from their shipmates they shoved off. Rapidly the boat approached the beach, borne onward with a huge wave. Intense was the anxiety of all who watched her. She reached the spot where the sea curled backward in a mass of raging foam. Down it came upon her. A cry was heard uttered by the Greeks on shore, as well as by the seamen on board. Over went the boat, and all her hapless crew were engulfed. Rolled over and over among the seaweed and masses of the tangled rigging and pieces of the wreck, they struggled in vain to gain the shore. One after the other they were swept out to sea and lost. It was evident that none of the other boats would serve to carry the line on shore. Again the experiment was tried with a cask, but failed.

“I say, Murray—Adair,” exclaimed Jack, earnestly, “do you know, I think that I could do it. I was always a first-rate swimmer, you know, for my size. I’ll ask the captain’s leave to try.”

“No one in the berth is better able to do it than you are,” replied both his companions.

“Oh Jack, I wish that I could go with you,” cried Murray, as he wrung his hand.

“So do I,” added Adair; “but I know that I could never swim through that surf.”

No time was to be lost, so Jack Rogers worked his way up to Captain Hartland, and offered to swim on shore with the line. The captain looked very much astonished, and replied that he thought the risk was too great.

“Do let me try, sir,” urged Jack. “I’m like a fish in the water, I am indeed, sir; and if I don’t reach the beach I can but be hauled back again, you know. I’ve a notion that I could swim through all that foam. I’ve done something like it before now.”

“You are a brave fellow, Rogers,” exclaimed Captain Hartland; “I will not prevent you.” Jack, delighted, began to throw off his clothes, which he handed to Adair and Murray, to prepare for his swim.

“Mr Gale, tend the line carefully, and haul him in if he seems distressed,” said the captain to the first lieutenant. Jack had a belt secured round his body, so that it could not slip off or cut him, and he had the line made fast to it. Watching his opportunity as a wave rolled in, he boldly sprang out on the top of it, and was borne onwards towards the shore with little or no exertion to himself. He wisely reserved all his strength for the last struggle at the end of the trip. Every one watched him with intense interest. Not a word was spoken, but a hundred hands were eagerly held out to him from the shore, to show him the welcome he would receive on landing. Some of the strongest men among the Greeks joined hands and formed a line into the sea, that the outer man might clutch the bold young swimmer if he could get within his reach. Meantime a boat’s oar and some line had been cast on shore. Some of the Greeks, more thoughtful than the rest, had secured the oar to the line, and stood ready to let it float out as Jack approached. He saw the aid prepared, and made towards it. He waited outside the place where the sea which took him in broke into foam, and then, when another sea rolled in, exerting all his strength he dashed forward; but in spite of all his efforts, the undertow was carrying him out again; still he bravely struggled on. He saw the men on shore holding out their hands to him; could he but make head for a distance of two or three more fathoms he would succeed. Another sea rolled in. “Hurrah, hurrah!” resounded from all sides; “he has grasped the oar.” He was almost exhausted, still he clutched it with all his might. Cautiously they drew him onward. He could not have held on many moments longer, but the men who had formed the chain into the water seized him by the collar, and he and the end of the line he had so gallantly conveyed through the raging surf were carried up in safety on the beach. Murray and Adair had watched his progress with an interest such as none but true old friends can feel. Tears of gratitude sprang into Murray’s eyes, and his heart bounded with joy as he saw that Jack was in safety. Adair did not feel less satisfaction, but he expressed it differently, by joining heartily in the shout given by the rest of the ship’s company. A hawser was immediately attached to the line, by which it was drawn on shore, and one end being made fast round the stump of the foremast over the topgallant forecastle, the other was secured round the rocks. A traveller with a line and slings being now fitted to the hawser, the men were told off to be conveyed on shore, the boys and those of lowest rating, being, as is customary, sent first. The traveller being hauled backwards and forwards, one after the other the men were conveyed to the beach. The operation, however, was a slow one, and not without danger, as part of the hawser was completely at times submerged by the breakers. Meantime the sea had made a breach over the afterpart of the ship, carrying away portions of the bulwarks. A piece of the planking, as it washed by, struck Adair on the leg, and knocking him down, the sea would have swept him overboard had not Murray seized him by the arm, when Mr Gale coming to his assistance they carried him forward. He was too much hurt to move, and they were afraid his leg was broken. Murray sat with him on the deck, holding on by a ring-bolt and supporting him in his lap. Notwithstanding the accident, they both of them had held fast to Jack’s clothes. What was their surprise not ten minutes afterwards to see Jack himself make his appearance on board.

“Why, Rogers!—why have you come back, my dear lad?” exclaimed Captain Hartland.

“To look after my clothes, sir,” answered Jack; “and besides, sir, I didn’t like to be going on shore out of my turn; none of the officers have gone yet.” The captain must have been puzzled what reply to make to this reason, for he said nothing. Night was now coming on; still many people remained on board.

“Come, bear a hand, my hearties; let us be getting on shore out of this,” cried some of those left on board to their shipmates. All who had gone before had been landed safely, but it was necessary to be very careful during the transit in keeping a tight hold of the slings, especially in passing through the surf. One man, a fine young topman, grasped hold of the traveller, and with a wave of his hat gave the sign to haul away. He went on well for a few seconds, apparently thinking it a good joke, till a roller overtook him. In an instant the poor fellow was torn from his hold, and the raging waters rushing down again carried him far away beyond human help.

“Now, Murray, it is your turn,” said Mr Gale; “we will see by and by how we can get Adair on shore.”

“No, sir, thank you,” said Murray calmly; “I would rather stay by Adair. If he cannot be landed now, he will require some one to look after him.”

“Go, Alick, go,” said Adair faintly. “Don’t mind me.”

“Come, Rogers, you must be off then,” exclaimed the first lieutenant, in a hurried tone. “See, the men are waiting to haul you on shore.”

“Please, sir, Paddy Adair is an old schoolfellow of mine, and now he is a messmate; and while he is in that state and unable to help himself I cannot desert him, indeed I cannot, sir,” said Jack very quietly. “I’m very hardy; the cold and wet won’t hurt me. I’d much rather Murray went.”

“No; I agreed to stay first,” said Murray; “I cannot go.”

“Then we’ll both stay,” said Jack. “That’s settled, sir, isn’t it?”

Mr Gale had not seen exactly how the seaman had been lost; and believing that there was nearly as much risk in making the passage in the dark as in staying, agreed to allow the youngsters to do as they wished, resolving at the same time to remain by them himself. The captain had gone forward; and before he was aware of it, believing that everybody had left the ship, he was hurried by those in charge of the hawser into the slings.

“We are coming sharp after you, sir,” they exclaimed, anxious to secure the life of their captain.

Such acts of devotion are too common in the navy, where the men have officers they esteem, to be thought much of by them.

The three midshipmen, meantime, remained together, sheltered as much as possible by the topgallant forecastle, but still the sea was continually breaking over them. The night was very dark, and the wind bitterly cold; the lightning too at times flashed vividly, revealing the horrors with which they were surrounded. Mr Gale had seen the last of the people off, they thinking that he was going to follow; but two other unfortunate men demanded his care. One was a marine, whose arm had been broken; the other the assistant-surgeon. The latter, never strong, had become exhausted with the exertions he had gone through; and, when urged to go on shore, he had declared his inability to venture on the rope. He felt, poor fellow, that if he did, he should be washed off and drowned. It was sad to hear the groans of the poor marine, as he lay secured to the deck near them. Jack felt that he could have borne the trial much better, had he and his friends been alone on the wreck. The surgeon made no complaint, beyond the utterance now and then of a faint moan. The horrors of death were encircling him around. Fortunately Mr Gale had secured a flask of brandy, a few drops of which he occasionally administered to the sufferers. He also succeeded in fishing out from forward some of the men’s clothing, which he distributed among the party; and then, having done all that a man could do, he sat himself down, almost overcome, to wait till the morning, when he might hope to get the survivors on shore. Adair’s leg gave him excruciating pain. Rogers sat on one side of him, Murray on the other, supporting him in their arms, and endeavouring, by every means they could think of, to alleviate his suffering, by gently rubbing his legs, frequently changing his position, and tightly grasping his hands.

“Thank you, Alick; thank you, Jack,” said he faintly; “I’m better. I’d not die this time, if it were not so bitter, bitter cold; but I wish you two fellows were safe on shore. I should never forgive myself if any harm was to come to you.”

“Oh, nonsense, Adair, don’t think about us. We are all very well, and shall be very well, no fear,” was the answer; but Jack spoke in a voice very different to his usual tone. The exertions he had gone through had been almost too much even for his well-knit frame; a sort of stupor was stealing over him, and his senses began to wander. Murray discovered his condition with great alarm. He called to him to arouse himself.

“Oh, Jack, don’t give way,” he exclaimed. “If you fall asleep, the cold may overpower you.”

Mr Gale, hearing Murray’s exclamation, gave Jack a few drops of brandy, which revived him. Murray gladly took a few drops. At the moment of trial he was not found wanting. In spite of his more delicate frame, he bore up as well as the strongest. Thus the night drew slowly on. How earnestly did all on the wreck long for the blessed light of day. Three of them had the consciousness that they had remained both from a high sense of duty and from the call of friendship, and this undoubtedly contributed to support them. They too well knew in whose right arm they had to trust to save them. Jack had not forgotten the lessons he had received at home, nor the counsel given him by Admiral Triton. But Jack on no subject was much of a talker; he was a doer, however, which is more important. The nearer a matter was to his heart, the less he allowed it to come out on his tongue, except at the proper moment. By some of his shipmates, who did not understand him, he was considered rather a close fellow. The same might be said of Murray, even in a greater degree. Few indeed guessed, when they saw his slight frame and delicate features, how much he would both dare and do. The power of passive endurance of all three was most fully tried during that awful night. None of them flinched. Murray alone, however, never allowed himself for a moment to lose his consciousness. The rain and sleet came down with pitiless force; the bleak wind howled round them, the sea beat over them, the ceaseless breakers roared in their ears all the night through. Murray felt as if it would never come to an end. Every moment too the ship seemed as if she was about to break up, when he knew that death must be the lot of all remaining on board. How thankfully he saw the first faint gleam of dawn breaking in the east, to him a sign, as he afterwards said, that the moment of their preservation was at hand. He shook Jack, and pointed it out to him.

“All right, old fellow,” answered Jack; “I’m ready for a swim.” But Rogers did not know what he was saying, for he nodded off again. Adair was with difficulty aroused to consciousness. He was utterly unable to help himself or to move. Had he been left alone he must have perished. Murray called loudly on Mr Gale. He sprang up; though, when he moved, he found his limbs very stiff. They went to examine into the state of their other companions. Both the poor fellows were dead. The survivors felt that they had still greater reason for gratitude that they had been spared while others had been taken.

When daylight increased sufficiently to enable them to discover objects on shore, they found Captain Hartland and several of the men, with a number of the Greeks, assembled on the beach to help them. Another pair of slings on a second traveller was now fitted, and Adair being placed in it, Mr Gale accompanied him on shore, helping him along through the surf. Murray and Jack followed, several of the men, with ropes round their waists, rushing out into the surf to help them, for no men more than sailors know how to appreciate the act of devotion the two lads had that night performed. The captain met them as they came dripping out of the surf, and shook them heartily by the hand. He was one of those doing men who do not expend many words in expressing their feelings. The words he did speak were very gratifying to the young midshipmen. He would not allow them, however, to remain on the beach, but had them all carried up to the nearest house, and put to bed, when the doctor soon arrived to attend to poor Adair’s leg. The house where they were lodged was of some size. It belonged to a Greek nobleman, who was absent at the time of their arrival, but an old woman, a sort of housekeeper, and her two daughters had charge of it, and took very good care of them. Their attendants did not come very near the classic models they had read about at school, but they were good-natured and kind, and evidently anxious to please them. The three midshipmen did their best to talk Greek, but though they summoned up all the choicest phrases they had learned at school, they signally failed at first in making themselves understood. At last they bethought them of putting all their previous knowledge of the Hellenic tongue out of the question, and of pointing to things and asking their names. Frequently they found a great similarity between the modern and ancient Greek, which assisted them very much in recollecting the names of the things they learned. They thus in their turn rather surprised the natives by the rapidity with which they acquired their language.

“I used to think it a great bore to have to learn Greek when I was coming to sea,” observed Jack; “but now I find that there is use for it even here, besides helping one on wonderfully with one’s own language.”

The midshipmen were not left alone all this time to the care of their Greek friends. The doctor and their shipmates used now and then to look in on them. They found that an attempt was being made to get the ship off, and of course all hands were engaged in the work. Jack wanted to get up and help, but the doctor would not let him, thinking he would be much better employed in helping Murray to look after Adair. They all heard, however, with great interest of the progress of the undertaking. But one night it came on to blow again harder than ever; a tremendous sea rolled in, and the poor sloop was irretrievably bilged, and in a few days broke up altogether. The three midshipmen were very sorry for this, but they got over the loss of the ship with philosophical resignation, as other midshipmen have under like circumstances done before them; and with the rest of their shipmates amused themselves very well in shooting snipe and red-legged partridges, in wandering about, in trying to talk Greek, and in doing nothing, till a brig of war arrived and carried them all back to Malta. Captain Hartland and his officers were tried for the loss of his sloop, and honourably acquitted; and Adair and Rogers rejoined the Racer, to which, to their great satisfaction, a short time afterwards Murray was appointed. The Racer, after a cruise to the westward, came back, and was ordered to proceed to the Greek Islands to assist in repressing piracy, an occupation to which the descendants of the heroes whose deeds were sung by Homer of old have of late years been somewhat addicted.

“I wonder whether you will take another prize, Paddy,” said Murray with a quiet smile, in which he frequently indulged; but Jack and Terence begged that the subject might not be alluded to.

The Racer, before long, fell in with an English merchant brig having a flag of distress flying. The man-of-war hove-to, and the brig sent a boat on board. The poor master who came in her was in a sad plight.

“I have been tricked, robbed, and cruelly treated, sir on the high seas!” he exclaimed, as he appeared on the quarter-deck.

“What has happened? Tell me your story, and I will see what can be done for you,” answered Captain Lascelles.

“Why, sir, I was bound out of Liverpool with a cargo of manufactured goods for Smyrna, when yesterday, as I was standing on my course with a light wind, I fell in with a polacre brig with a signal of distress flying. I hove-to, when her boat came alongside me with a dozen cut-throat looking fellows in her, in red caps, and one very fine gentleman with pistols in his belt, and a sword by his side. He was very polite, and said that he was hard up for several things, but would only trouble me for some biscuit and water. I was very glad to get off so cheap, for I guessed what sort of a calling his was, so I gave him as much as he wanted. He spoke a lingua franca, which he found I understood. He said that he had known very unjust complaints being made by merchantmen against his poor countrymen, and that, if I would be so obliging, he would be very thankful if I would give him a certificate that he had treated me and my people kindly, and had only taken a little bread and water. Of course I was very willing, and thought him the mildest and best-mannered of pirates; so I gave it to him at once. Immediately he got it he put it in his pocket, and, turning to his people, told them to knock down every one of my men who made any resistance, and clapping a pistol to my head ordered me to hand out all my cash. Meantime the polacre ran alongside, thirty or forty cut-throat fellows jumped on board, and very quickly transferred the cargo of the Pretty Polly on board their vessel. When they had completely gutted my brig, the pirate captain made me a polite bow, and thanking me for the certificate, which, he said, he had no doubt would be useful to him, wished me good-day, and returned on board his vessel, leaving all my people with their hands lashed behind them. His followers had amused themselves by painting my poor fellows’ faces, and otherwise ill-treating them. One had a tar-brush jammed into his mouth, another a towel stuffed down his throat; and my mate they had almost beaten to death because he had ventured to show fight.”

“Which way did the polacre stand after she left you?” asked Captain Lascelles.

“To the eastward, sir.”

“You would know her again?”

“That I should, among a hundred like craft.”

“Can you come with us?”

“No, sir, but I can let my mate go,” answered the master to Captain Lascelles’ last query; “he knows every bale of the cargo too, and he’ll not forget our friend or his craft.”

The mate of the merchantman, Mr Dobbin, came on board, and the frigate continued her course. From the account given of him, Captain Lascelles had little doubt that the pirate was the very man he was in search of, and whose stronghold he had been directed to attack. Among the numerous isles of Greece there are several of small size, with but little room on their summits for cultivation, which have for ages past, from their inaccessible character, afforded a secure retreat to the somewhat piratically disposed inhabitants. The Racer was now in search of one of these respectable little strongholds of piracy.

“Will the Greeks show fight, I wonder?” said Jack. “I should like just to have a sniff of gunpowder.”

“It may blacken your face more than you expect, youngster,” answered old Hemming, who sat at the end of the berth; “however, we have not yet found out where the fellows are hid.”

“I hear that the captain has discovered their retreat, and that, if the breeze holds, we are likely to be not far off them this very evening,” said Murray, who had just come below. “It is said we are to attack them in the boats.”

“Hurrah! that will be fun!” exclaimed Adair. “I suppose the captain will let some of us go.”

“Be sure of that, youngsters; the expedition would never succeed without you,” said old Hemming in a sarcastic tone.

Murray’s information proved to be right. The frigate stood on for an hour after dark, and then dropped her anchors in a bay to leeward of a rocky island, at no great distance from the one to be attacked. Captain Lascelles’ object was to take the pirates by surprise. The boats had, therefore, a long way to pull. They were to proceed in two divisions. One was to land a body of bluejackets and marines, so as to attack the fort in the rear; the other was to approach it on the sea side, and to endeavour to scale the heights. The second lieutenant and old Hemming had charge of the two divisions; they had each a midshipman with them, and a mate and a midshipman went into each of the other boats. Adair was with the land party. The division to which Jack and Murray belonged was to attack the fort in front. The men gave a suppressed cheer as they shoved off, and then away they pulled as eagerly as if they were going on a party of pleasure. They had a long pull; but many a joke was cut, and many a suppressed laugh was indulged in, till they got so near the spot that silence was imposed on every one. Hemming’s party landed at the back of the island. They were to lie concealed as near as they could get to the fort, till the other division threw up a rocket as a signal that they were attacking, and were discovered by the enemy. Jack and Murray were in boats close together. The night was very dark. They could just see that high, rugged, black cliffs towered up above them, and that they were entering a little cove or harbour, through a narrow entrance which put them in mind of a huge mouse-trap. The boats had muffled oars; not a sound was heard; but had any one been on the lookout, the phosphorescent flashes as the blades touched the water would have betrayed them. The boats reached some black slippery rocks. The crews, led by their officers, leaped out, leaving two boat-keepers in each; and, holding their cutlasses in their teeth, away they scrambled up the steep and rugged cliffs.

Chapter Four.

Alas, poor Paddy!

The night was very dark: Jack and Murray and their companions, in perfect silence, climbed up the rugged precipice which formed the outworks of the island fortress. They knocked their knees and cut their shins against the sharp points of the rocks, and scratched their hands and faces with the thorny plants which grew out of the crevices; but, undeterred by these obstacles, they boldly scrambled on till they saw some figures moving above them, and a shower of stones came rattling down on their heads.

“Powder is scarce among the pirates, I suppose, that they treat us in this way,” remarked Jack, as he was nearly knocked over by a stone striking his shoulder.

“Yes; these Greek heroes are defending their stronghold as the Tyrolese defended their Alpine homes,” answered Murray; “but come along, we shall soon have them at close quarters.”

“Hurrah! the enemy have found us out. Fire the rocket down there below!” shouted the lieutenant in command. The order was quickly conveyed to the boat, and up flew a rocket with a loud hiss through the darkness, its bright stream of light forming a beautiful curve over the fortress. All necessity for silence was now over, the men shouted and cheered and cut many a joke at each other’s mishaps as they clambered on up the height, some of them slipping half the way down again, as, indifferent to danger, they too carelessly attempted to scale unscalable rocks. Still the whole body, by no small exertion, foot by foot, worked their upward way till they reached the summit. What was next going to happen? The enemy, it was evident, had a due respect for British courage, for they had fled from the ramparts and undoubtedly had taken up a stronger position in the interior of the fortress. Perhaps they had formed a mine ready to spring, and the idea that such might be the case created a few very uncomfortable sensations in the breasts of some of the assailants. To feel the ground shaking under the feet during an earthquake is far from agreeable, but it is a mere pleasant excitement compared to the feelings a person experiences, when he knows that at any moment he may be lifted off his legs and blown up into the sky in company with some dozen wagon-loads of stones and earth, and bricks and mortar, and beams and rubbish of all descriptions. I do not know that Jack allowed such an idea to trouble him much, and if Murray thought about the matter it did not make him hang back at all events; for on he and all the rest pushed to meet the enemy. Had they made any calculations on the subject, they would have found that it is better to move quickly across dangerous ground just as it is to skate rapidly over thin ice. The shouts and cheers of the seamen, it appeared, had struck terror into the hearts of the pirates, for they did not come forth from their places of concealment. The storming-party passed by some low huts, but no one was within, and then they came to an open space. Just then, through the gloom, they caught sight of a band emerging from behind some buildings opposite, and advancing boldly to defend the place. They themselves, apparently being hidden by the dark shade of the huts, were not seen. So, waiting a little, out they rushed, clearing the open space at full speed to meet the pirates. Pistols were flashing, cutlasses were clashing in an instant of time, and all parties were engaged to their hearts’ content in a desperate struggle. Jack descried a young pirate, as his size showed him to be, on the right of the party, and they at once, as if by mutual consent, singled each other out, and were instantly hot at work like the rest, slashing away with their cutlasses most desperately. “Yield, you young pirate, yield!” sang out Jack, finding that he could gain no advantage over his opponent.

“Pirate! I’m no more pirate than you are,” was the reply, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Paddy Adair, whose skull he had been endeavouring so hard to split.

“Oh! Paddy, is that you?” cried Jack. “Well, I’m so glad that I didn’t hurt you. But I say, old fellow, if you are not a pirate, where are the rascals? Let’s go and find them out.”

“Hillo! what’s all this about?” sang out Mr Thorn. “Why, Hemming, is that you? I thought you were pirates.”

“I paid you the same compliment, sir,” answered the old mate, with a slight touch of irony in his tone, for Mr Thorn had just shot off the rim of his cap. “You very nearly spoilt my beauty by mistake.”

“I am very sorry for that, Hemming,” answered the lieutenant coolly; “but I wonder where the fellows have got to. We must rout them out.”

Fortunately, the most serious injury inflicted was to Hemming’s cap, and, as Paddy afterwards declared (not very correctly, as they had found no one to conquer), the victorious party hurried off in search of fresh enemies. They soon came to the door of a large building; it was bolted and barred. “The pirates are inside here, my lads, there can be no doubt of it,” shouted Mr Thorn. They soon found a spar, a brig’s topmast. The heel made a capital battering-ram, and with a cheery “Yeo, ho, ho!” the seamen gave many a heavy blow against the oaken door. It cracked and cracked and groaned, and at length, with a loud bang, burst open. “Stand by, my lads, to cut down the fellows as they rush out,” cried Lieutenant Thorn; but as the pirates did not come out, the sailors, following their officers, cutlass in hand, rushed in. They found themselves in a large hall; they looked about for the ferocious pirates armed to the teeth, and resolved with the last drop of their blood to defend their hearths and homes. Loud shrieks and cries, however, assailed the ears of the seamen, and by the glare of a brazier of burning coals in the middle of the apartment they beheld three old women. Their appearance was not attractive; they were very thin and parchment-like, and dark; but they might have been very good old bodies for all that. They had, distaff in hand, been sitting, spinning, and talking over affairs in general, if not those of their neighbours, when they had been aroused by the unwelcome sounds of the battering-ram. While the door resisted its efforts they had prudently kept quiet, but when it gave way, they expressed their very natural fears by the sounds which had reached the seamen’s ears. As the storming-party advanced, they shrieked louder and louder, but did not run away, because apparently there was no where to run to.

“Don’t be frightened, missis,” exclaimed Hemming, taking one of them by the arm. “Tell us where the men are, whose heads we have come to break. We won’t hurt you.”

The old ladies, however, made no reply to this assurance; but only screamed on, probably because they did not understand English. As no one of the party spoke a word of Greek, there was little chance of any information being obtained from the ancient dames. Perhaps they had an object in screaming, to cover the retreat of their friends; so thought Lieutenant Thorn, because if the pirates were not in the fort, who else could have pitched down the stones on their heads as they scrambled up? Certainly not the three old women; that would have been a disgrace. They would not have had time even to have hobbled away and retreated to the place where they were found. Many of the men declared vehemently that they had seen the heads of the pirates, long-bearded fellows, looking over the ramparts, and that they could not be, even then, very far off. Accordingly, leaving Murray with a couple of sailors to look after the three old women, the two parties of seamen, under their respective officers, once more divided to go in search of the outlaws.

“I say, Jack, don’t you take me for a pirate again, if you please,” said Terence, as they separated. They wandered about in all directions, putting their noses into huts, and their cutlasses into heaps of straw and litter of all sorts; but the whole place seemed deserted. They found nothing. Perhaps this was because they had no torch, and the night was very dark. Already a few faint streaks of daylight were appearing in the sky, when, as Terence was standing near Hemming, a trampling of feet was heard, and loud shouts in the distance.

“Hurrah! here come the Greeks, they have been routed out at last,” cried Paddy. They could just make out a body of men stooping down, they thought, and hurrying towards them, not seeing that their enemies were ready to intercept them.

“Cut them down, if they don’t yield themselves prisoners,” sang out Hemming, leading on his men. Paddy sprang on boldly, in his eagerness to meet the foe, and instantly afterwards was knocked head over heels by one of his opponents. He felt as if he had been run through by a bayonet or a pike, or something of that sort, though he could not make out exactly where he had been wounded. There was a terrific shouting in the rear of the enemy, and he had no difficulty in recognising the voices of his shipmates, especially those of Jack and Murray. The shouts came nearer and nearer. He picked himself up to see what had become of the enemy, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead of them, a flock of goats, chased by Mr Thorn’s party, and frightened by their shouts, were butting away with heroic valour at anybody and everybody who came in their way, while daylight revealed the laughing countenances of his friends, who had seen his overthrow and the enemy which caused it. Paddy did not much mind, however. He rubbed himself over, and finding that he had no bones broken, or any puncture in his body, burst into a loud laugh.

“I shouldn’t be surprised but that those are the very fellows with the long beards we saw standing at the top of the ramparts, and whom everybody took for pirates,” he exclaimed. “As they turned round to scamper away, they kicked the stones down over us. We are all in one box, that’s a comfort. No one can laugh at the other.” Thus Adair very adroitly turned the laugh from himself. Every one acknowledged the probable correctness of his surmises, but still Mr Thorn thought it right to continue his search for the outlaws. No information could be obtained from their fair captives, as Paddy called them. There could be little doubt that there must have been very lately a number of men in the fort, for it could not be supposed that three old women would be left as the regular garrison of a pretty strong fortification. They were still continuing their search, when daylight revealed to them a couple of boats under all sail, standing away to the northward, and by the course they were steering looking as if they must but a short time before have left the island. Mr Thorn ordering Hemming to take charge of the place, leaving him Rogers and a few more men, hurried down the height, to go in pursuit of the flying enemy.

“Remember the captain’s orders were, that we were to attack and make prisoners of the men alone, but that goods of every description and all private property is to be strictly respected.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Hemming, meaning that he understood the orders received.

Hunting about they discovered a very steep winding path down to the harbour. By it Mr Thorn and his followers descended to their boats, and away they went in hot pursuit of the pirates. The wind was light, but as they could both pull as well as sail, they made tolerable way after the chase. Meantime the party in charge of the fort became very hungry, and as they had left their provisions in the boats, it was necessary to send for them. Adair accordingly, with a couple of men, was despatched on this duty. He had no great difficulty in finding his way, as he could see from one end of the island to the other, and he soon reached the top of the cliff, below which the boats had been left; he looked over the edge of the cliff, but he could discover no boats. He hallooed to the boat-keepers, but there was no answer.

“They must be asleep, Mr Adair,” observed one of the men.

“So I might think if I saw any boats,” answered Terence. “But the boats are not there, I am sure.”

To ascertain the fact, however, more certainly, they descended to the beach. No boats were to be seen. They looked behind the points of rock on either side, but no boats were visible. They shouted at the top of their voices, but the only sound in reply was the shriek of some sea-fowl, startled from their resting-places in the cliffs.

“Have we got to the right spot, do you think?” suggested Terence, hope springing up in his breast that they had made a mistake.

“No doubt about it, sir,” was the answer; “I remember climbing up through this very gap; there are the marks of our feet plain enough.”

“And the marks of a good many other feet too,” observed Terence, examining the ground. “I am very much afraid that the boats have been run away with by the pirates; but what can have become of our poor shipmates, I cannot think.”

His men agreed with him in the opinion that the pirates must have made off with the boats; and, after searching about in every direction for the poor fellows who had been left in charge of them, they returned to the fort with the unsatisfactory news. All hands had, in the meantime, grown ravenously hungry. The old women could not, or would not, give them any food. At all events, they turned a deaf ear to all their hints and signs that it would be acceptable. Some very black dry bread was discovered, and also some fowls, but no eggs were to be seen; and fowls, Mr Hemming was afraid, would be looked upon as private property. What was to be done? The provisions from the boats would soon arrive, and then they might lawfully satisfy their appetites. I forgot to say that Mr Dobbin, the mate of the merchantman which had been plundered, had come to try and identify the stolen property. While storming the fort, he had been as active as any one, and showed that had there been work to be done he was the fellow to do it. To employ the time till they could get some breakfast, Hemming determined to commence a systematic search for the stolen property. They hunted and hunted about with great zeal, examining every hut and every heap of rubbish.

“I wonder, after all, if this is the place the pirates are accustomed to hide in,” observed Jack. “It would be a sell if we had made a mistake altogether.”

“What could have put that into your head, Rogers?” exclaimed Hemming, feeling rather queer. “Oh, no! there’s no doubt about it.”

Still, as he got more and more hungry, and searched still farther in vain, his spirits began to sink to zero, and he could lot help believing that Jack might be right. Just then here was a shout from some of the party. They were standing before a dilapidated hut, the door of which they had broken open. Presently the mate of the merchantman appeared dragging out a bale of goods.

“Hurrah! we have not searched for nothing!” he exclaimed. “There seems to be a good bit of the ship’s cargo in here.”

A number of valuable bales of cotton and cloth, and some silk, were hauled forth, all of which the mate identified as having formed part of the cargo of his ship. Still there was a very large part of the missing property not forthcoming. Nothing else was found for some time, till one of the men, of an inquisitive turn of mind, happened to poke his head into one of the pigsties, where, in the farthest corner, his eye fell on several bales piled up one above the other to the roof. The clue to the sort of place in which the well-known ingenuity of the Greeks had taught them to conceal their booty once being discovered, a considerable amount more was brought to light. Still much was missing. Just then Adair and his men were seen returning.

“Hurrah I now we’ll have breakfast,” cried Jack, who declared that he could eat a porcupine or a crocodile, outside and all, he was so hungry. What was his dismay, and that of all the party, when they found that no food was forthcoming, and that the boats were not to be found. Just then their hunger was most pressing, and they left the subject of what had become of the boats for after consideration. The brown bread by itself was very uninviting. Jack looked at a fat pig in the sty with the eye of an ogre.

“Is it possible that the pirates could have stuffed some of the silks and laces inside that huge porker, Hemming?” asked Jack, “I’ve heard of some Flanders mares coming across the Channel stuffed up to the mouth with lace,” observed Adair.

“If it were possible, I think we should be right to search that pig,” said Hemming, looking very hard at the unconscious object under discussion, who went grunting on, asking somewhat loudly for food.

“There’s no doubt about it,” cried the mate of the merchantman. “She’ll make prime pork chops too.”

The men had been meantime collecting sticks and lighting a fire: perhaps they shrewdly guessed how the discussion might end.

“Here, butcher, you’ll understand how to cut that pig up better than any of us, so as to see what is in her inside,” said Hemming. In a very short time the fat pig was converted into pork, and some prime chops were frizzling and hissing away before the fire. No laces or satins were found inside, but instead some very delicious pig’s fry, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps more acceptable, especially as the laces would, I think, have been spoilt had they been stuffed down the pig’s throat. The old women made a great lamentation when they saw their pig being killed, but they were pacified by having some of the chops presented to them, and then they produced some salt, and some better bread, and some lemons, and plates, and knives, and forks, which latter were of silver. Their female hearts evidently softened when they found that no harm was done to them, and that killing the pig was a case of necessity; and though they were not communicative, simply from want of language to express themselves, they chattered away to each other most vehemently. They spread a table in the hall where they had been first seen, and seemed to wish to do their best to serve their uninvited guests. The seamen made very merry over their feast of pig, though they were rather in want of something to wash it down. Poor fellows! they had neither tea nor coffee. At length the old ladies produced a jar of arrack—very vile stuff it was, but the seamen would have drunk it without stint had Mr Hemming allowed them. He, however, interposed, and insisted on serving out only a little at a time to a few of the men. The effect was such as to make him jump up and kick over the jar, by which all the liquor was spilt, very much to the disappointment of those who had not had any.

“I don’t mean to say that these respectable old ladies put anything into the spirits, but somebody did, and you would have been very sorry for yourselves if you had taken much of it,” he observed, as he reseated himself.

This little incident rather astonished the old ladies, but not understanding what was said, they took it to be the effect of pure accident, and continued as attentive as before.

“When the boats come back, you shall have your grog, my lads,” said Hemming; “in the meantime, if any of you are thirsty, there’s a well of cool water. The pirates will scarcely have thought of poisoning that.”

By the time the feast was concluded, very little of the pig remained; the seamen declared that they had never eaten better pork in their lives. The rest of the day was spent in searching for stolen property, though only a few bales of merchandise were discovered, stowed away here and there, in the oddest places imaginable. Meantime Hemming and Jack began to be somewhat anxious about Mr Thorn and the boats. Evening was coming on, and they ought long before to have returned. In vain the old mate and the midshipman scanned the horizon. Not a sail was to be seen approaching the island. Two or three vessels only passed far away in the offing. Many other rocky isles were rising out of the ocean like blue mounds, some of them faint and misty from the distance they were off. Towards one of them the boats had directed their course. It was well-known that many of them were, and had been for ages, the haunts of pirates.

“I say, Hemming, suppose Mr Thorn has been entrapped by some of those piratical fellows out there; what will become of them, I wonder?” said Jack.

“We shall have to go and hunt them out,” was the answer. “The pirates will scarcely venture to hurt them.”

The evening drew on and darkness returned, and still no boats made their appearance. Mr Hemming, who was really a very good officer, especially when in command, and when he felt the responsibility of his position, had a strict watch kept all night, for he thought it probable that some of the pirates might be hid in the island, and, when they found how few were left in charge of the fort, might attempt a surprise to recover the booty. The night, however, passed away quietly, and in the morning Jack was despatched in the cutter to carry information of what had occurred to the frigate. Jack had a long pull, for the wind was contrary. He kept his eyes about him all the way, looking into every nook and corner, for he could not tell in which a pirate-boat might have taken shelter, and he thought it more than likely that one might suddenly pounce out and try to capture him. None appeared. This, however, did not make him less cautious for the future. One of the many pieces of advice given him by Admiral Triton was never to despise an enemy, and always to take every precaution against surprise. A soldier or sailor in war time should always sleep with one eye open, and his arms in his hands, the Admiral used to say, speaking somewhat metaphorically. The foolhardy folly which had made many officers neglect proper precautions, has caused the destruction of many brave men, as well as the failure of many important enterprises. At last Jack reached the frigate. Captain Lascelles was very much vexed at hearing of the loss of the boats. He instantly ordered the Racer to be got under weigh to go in search of them. It was very intricate navigation among those isles and islets and rocks, especially at night, but the wind was fair, and there was a moon to shed her pale light over the ocean. The lead was kept constantly going, and hands were stationed aloft as lookouts. The Racer had got just off the island of which Hemming was left in charge, when a lookout forward announced a boat on the starboard bow. The boat was pulling towards them, and the frigate being hove-to, she came alongside, and Alick Murray appeared on board. He reported that they had overtaken the pirates who were in possession of the boats close to a rocky island, and were on the point of capturing them when half a dozen boats started out and completely turned the fortunes of the day. On this, Mr Thorn, seeing that they must inevitably be overpowered, ordered him to endeavour to make his escape, and to give notice of what had occurred. This, though pursued, he had been able to do. Jack having reported the starving state of the garrison, a boat was sent with provisions and men to ascertain also how Hemming and his party were getting on. She returned in half a hour with a favourable report, bringing off Mr Dobbin, the mate of the merchantman, and the frigate then continued her course for the second piratical stronghold. She did not come off it till near noon the next day, and then had to sail twice round it before a landing-place could be discovered. Some little anxiety was felt for the fate of Mr Thorn and his men, for the pirates were not supposed to be gentlemen who stood on ceremony as to the treatment of their prisoners.

“If they dare to injure our people, the Greeks well know that we would sweep every one of them off their rock into the sea,” said Captain Lascelles. “Clemency on such an occasion is cruelty to others.”

Scarcely had the frigate hove-to off what appeared to be a little harbour, than a boat with a white flag was seen coming out of it. In ten minutes a splendidly dressed Greek came up the side armed with a handsomely chased sword and pistols, and a red cap set jauntily on one side.

“Can any one speak Italian?” he asked, in a soft tone, in that beautiful language.

“Yes, I can,” answered Captain Lascelles.

“Then, sir, I have to make great complaints of ill-treatment from your people,” replied the Greek; and he made out a long story to the effect that he, a quiet, respectable landowner, whose sole aim was to cultivate in peace a few acres of land descended to him from a long line of illustrious ancestors, that he had been insulted, attacked by an aimed force, suspected of robbery, of which he was incapable; that some of his poor peasants, in their horror and alarm, finding some boats, had jumped into them and induced their crews to assist in pulling them to a neighbouring island, hoping there to be safe; that they had been pursued, and that then, and not till then, had they been compelled to resort to some gentle force for their own protection. While the Greek was speaking, Mr Dobbin came up behind him, and made signs that he was the very man who had plundered their brig.

“Why, sir, the master of an English merchantman complains that you ill-treated his people and robbed his vessel.”

“O Signori, impossibile; that I should be guilty of such an act!” and the Greek smiled sweetly and put his hand on his heart.

For a moment he was, however, a little taken aback when Mr Dobbin, stepping forward and confronting him, said, “Do you know me?”

“Ah si, adesso me ricordo! Ah yes, now I recollect,” said the Greek, with a bland smile. “But you shall judge, sir, how unjustly I am accused. I did lately take charge of a brig for a friend. I was suffering from want of water and bread. See the deceitfulness of the world; I asked it humbly, they gave it willingly, and at the same time this certificate,” and he produced the paper signed by the master of the brig. The impudence of the Greek almost overcame the captain’s composure.

“Notwithstanding that paper, I must detain you,” he observed.

“What! Detain an independent chieftain, who comes on board your ship under the sacred protection of a flag of truce, a thing unheard of by all civilised nations,” exclaimed the Greek in a tone of indignation and astonishment; “no, no, you will not do that.”

The Greek was right; Captain Lascelles would not do a wrong even to obtain an undoubted right. The Greek knew that he had outwitted us. The result was that he undertook to send the boats and their crews on board the frigate unharmed, on condition that the island was not attacked by an armed force. To these terms Captain Lascelles was obliged to consent. Mr Thorn and Murray soon came back, very well, but very much vexed at what had occurred. The island was afterwards searched, but nothing was found, and the Racer, having taken on board all the recovered booty, conveyed it to Corfu, where the merchantman was waiting to receive it. After a month or so, when the frigate got back to Malta, Captain Lascelles found that the independent Greek chieftain had lodged a complaint to the effect that his cattle and poultry had been wantonly destroyed. On inquiry, the matter resolved itself into the slaughter of the pig. It came out that Jack and Adair had proposed the crime. The Admiral at the time thought it better to take no notice of the affair. However, he soon after invited the two midshipmen to dine with him, and both of them found themselves served with rather a large helping of roast pork.

“You are fond of pig, young gentlemen, are you not?” said the Admiral, with a laugh in his eye.

“Yes, sir, very, especially when I have to kill one in the line of duty, and am ravenously hungry into the bargain,” answered Paddy, with all the simplicity of an Irishman. The Admiral laughed, and as he was fond of a joke, and knew both Lord Derrynane and Admiral Triton, he often asked the two youngsters for the sake of passing it off and telling the story about the pig and the pirates.

Soon after this Jack and Terence met with a severe trial. For the first time since they came to sea they were separated, and Adair was appointed to a ten-gun brig, the Onyx. Happily that class of vessels no longer exists in the navy. They obtained the unattractive title of sea-coffins, from the number of them which had been lost with all hands. They carried a heavy weight of metal on deck, had but little beam, but were rigged with taut masts and very square yards. Still these circumstances did not trouble Adair half as much as parting from Jack and Murray.

The frigate and the brig were sent to cruise in different directions, and for several months did not meet.

“A brig of war is in sight,” said Jack, entering the captain’s cabin, sent by the officer of the watch; “she has made her number the Onyx.”

“Signalise her to heave-to when she nears us,” said Captain Lascelles. “I will be on deck presently.” In a short time another signal was run up. It was to invite the captain and officers of the brig to dine on board the frigate. It was very readily accepted, and in a short time the tall frigate and her little companion might have been seen quietly floating near each other, their sails scarcely filled by the light breeze, and their rigging and hulls reflected vividly in the calm water. The midshipmen had a great deal to talk about, and numerous adventures to describe more interesting to themselves than to anybody else. They had a very merry party also in the midshipmen’s berth, and all were sorry to find that it was time for the officers of the brig to return on board. When Captain Lascelles and his party came on deck he cast his eye round the horizon.

“I do not like the look of the sky out there,” he remarked, pointing with his hand to the eastward. “Captain Sims, I must advise you to get on board as soon as possible and shorten sail, or your brig will be caught in a squall before you are ready.” Captain Sims was not a man fond of rapid movement, but on this occasion he saw that no time was to be lost.

“Good-bye, Paddy,” said Jack; “take care of yourself aboard the little hooker there, and we’ll have many a jovial day together before long.”

“Good-bye, Rogers; good-bye, Murray; good-bye, old fellows,” answered Terence.

“The brig is a jolly little craft, in spite of what they call her.”

“What’s that?” asked Murray.

“The sea-coffin,” answered Terence, as they shoved off. The two boats which had brought the captain and his officers made the best of their way to the brig. They were soon close to her. The white cloud had meantime been growing larger and larger, and yet there was scarcely a breath of wind. Many on board the frigate did not believe even that a squall was brewing. Suddenly the clouds, as if impelled by some mighty impulse, came rushing on, not in a direct line, but with a circular motion, towards the spot where lay the two ships of war.

“All hands shorten sail,” cried the first lieutenant. “Man the fore and main clew-garnets, spanker brails—topsail-halyards—clew up—haul down, let fly of all.” These and sundry other orders followed in rapid succession. The squall, seeming to gain rapidity as it advanced, struck the frigate before it was expected. Jack and Murray had hurried with others to their stations aloft, and were endeavouring as rapidly as they could to get those orders they received executed, but the exertions of all were insufficient to take the canvas off the ship in time. Over heeled the frigate on her beam end, the water rushing in at her lee ports—some of the sails were split to ribbons, sheets and halyards were flying loose, and a scene of confusion prevailed such as she had never before been in. The whole surface of the ocean was a mass of white foam, surrounded by which the ship lay an almost helpless wreck. The helm was put up but she would not answer it.

“We shall have to cut away the mizen-mast,” observed the captain. “But we’ll try and make head sail on her first.” This was done. A suppressed shout of satisfaction showed that she felt its power, and away she flew like a sea-bird before the squall, the darkness of night coming on to bide all surrounding objects from their view. Then, and not till then, had any one time to turn a glance towards the Onyx. Not a glimpse of her was to be seen. Jack and Murray had watched the boats get alongside, and they were on the point of being hoisted in when the squall struck the frigate. Both of them had a sad apprehension that they had seen the masts of the brig bending down before the squall, but so great at the moment was the uproar and confusion that it appeared more like the vision of a dream than a reality. The instant the squall blew over, the frigate beat back towards the spot where, as far as it could be calculated, the brig had last been seen. Had she bore up she must have been passed. In vain every eye on board was engaged in looking out for her. All night long the frigate tacked backwards and forwards. Not a trace of her could be discovered. Daylight returned; the sun arose; his glorious beams played joyfully over the blue surface of the ocean just rippled by a summer’s breeze, but it was too evident that all those they sought and the gay little craft they manned lay engulfed beneath its treacherous bosom.

“There’s one of us gone,” said Jack, as he bent his head down over the table of the berth to hide his face. “Poor Paddy!”

Murray said nothing, but his countenance was very sad.

Chapter Five.

Roasting the Bully.

The midshipmen were aroused by the cry of “All hands shorten sail!” The boatswain’s whistle had not ceased sounding along the decks before Jack and Murray were on their way aloft, the first to the fore, the other to the maintop, where they were stationed. A heavy squall had struck the frigate, and she was heeling over with her main-deck ports almost in the water. Up they flew with the topmen to their respective stations, while the officer of the watch was shouting through his speaking-trumpet. “Let go topgallant-halyards. Clew up, haul down.” Then came, “Let fly topsail-halyards. Clew up. Round in the weather braces.” Down came the yards on the caps. The sails were now bulging out and shaking in the wind. Out flew the active topmen to the yard-arms. Jack, as he had often before done, ran out to get hold of the weather earing. He was hauling away on it while the men hauled the reef over to him. He had already taken two outer turns with it, when, as he leaned back, he felt himself suddenly thrown from his hold. In vain he tried to clutch the earing; it slipped through his fingers. Headlong he came down, striking the leech of the sail. Mechanically he clutched at that. Probably it broke his fall. In another moment he was among the foaming waters, with the ship flying fast away from him. Murray had meantime been watching to see which mast would have its sails first reefed, and as he looked forward he saw Jack fall from aloft. He guessed that he must have struck his head when falling, and that he would be senseless when he reached the water. In a moment his jacket and shoes were off, and down he slid like lightning by the topmast weather backstay, and, leaping into the water, swam towards the spot where Jack had fallen. Captain Lascelles had seen the accident. He was on the poop. Stepping back, he himself let go the life-buoy, noting exactly the spot where the accident had occurred. But not an order did he give. Perfectly cool, he stood waiting till the sails were reefed. Murray meantime caught sight of Jack, who lay senseless on the water, to the surface of which he had just risen, after having once gone down from the force with which he had fallen into the sea. Murray dreaded lest he should again see him sink. He exerted all his strength to get up to him. The life-buoy was not far off. Had there been time he would have first towed it up to Jack, but he was afraid if he did that he would in the meantime sink. Murray swam bravely on. The foam, as the wind swept it off the surface of the sea, dashed wildly in his face, but he kept his eye fixed steadily on Jack’s head, that should he go down again, he might know exactly where to dive after him. Murray, under Jack’s instruction, had been constantly practising swimming, and he now very nearly equalled his master in the art. His courage was as high, and what he wanted in muscular strength he made up by his undaunted spirit. He longed to know what had become of the frigate, but he would not turn his head to look. His first object was to get hold of Jack, and to keep his face out of the water, that, when animation returned, he might not be suffocated. With steady strokes he swam on, admirably retaining his presence of mind. Every stroke was measured. There was no hurry, no bustle, with Murray; he knew that such would only bring worse speed. What an excellent example did he set of the way to attain an important object! Calmly eyeing it, and though clearly comprehending all the difficulties and dangers which surrounded him, with unswerving courage pushing towards his point. “Keep up! keep up, Jack!” he sang out, but Jack did not hear him. The seas, every moment increasing, came roaring towards him, while the foam dashed over his head. He surmounted them all. “I am here. Jack! I am here!” he repeated, as he grasped Jack by the collar and turned him over on his back, so that his face might be uppermost. A faint moan was all the reply Rogers gave. It was satisfactory, as it assured Murray that he was alive. Now he looked round anxiously for the life-buoy. It had drifted away before the gale. But then he also had the wind in his favour, and he did not despair of overtaking it. With one hand supporting his shipmate, and with the other striking out, he swam steadily on as before towards the life-buoy. Evening was coming on. Darkness he knew would soon overspread the sea. He knew that. He knew the difficulty there might be in finding him and his companion. A far more practical swimmer than he might have despaired, but he did not. Murray did not trust to his own right arm to save him. He looked to help from above. He knew if it was right it would be afforded him. If not, he was prepared to meet his fate.

Meantime away flew the frigate. The moment the sails were reefed, the captain issued the orders he had been anxious to give. “About ship,” “helm’s a-lee.” Never did the crew more strenuously exert themselves to box round the yards. They knew who was overboard, and the two midshipmen were favourites with all hands: Murray for the calm, gentlemanly, officer-like way in which he spoke to the men, and for the thorough knowledge of his duty he always displayed; Jack for his dash and bravery, and good spirits and humour with which he carried out any work allotted to him. They now saw that neither was Murray wanting in dash and courage. As the frigate was standing back towards the spot where the accident had occurred, preparations were made for lowering a boat. There was no hurry or confusion in this case. Her proper crew were called away. The second lieutenant took charge of her. Some people called Captain Lascelles a very strict officer. It is true he never overlooked a breach of discipline or carelessness of duty. He used to say that a breach of discipline, however trifling, if allowed to pass, was like a small leak, which, if permitted to continue, will go on increasing till the ship founders. Thus, among other good arrangements, every boat on board was kept in readiness to be lowered at a moment’s notice, and everybody knew exactly what to do when a boat was to be lowered.

Captain Lascelles did not allow his feelings to appear; but he was intensely anxious about the fate of his two midshipmen. He would have given all the worldly wealth of which he was possessed to be assured that they would be saved. The thick clouds brought up by the gale increased the gathering gloom. Neither they nor the life-buoy could be seen. He had carefully noted the exact course on which the frigate had run since they went overboard, so that he was able to calculate how to keep her, so as to fetch back to the same spot. There were also many sharp eyes on the lookout forward, endeavouring with all their might to discover the lost ones. In those southern latitudes darkness comes on with a rapidity unknown in lands blessed by a long twilight. Thus, before the frigate got up to the spot where the accident had occurred, the night had come down completely on the world of waters.

“I am afraid that the poor lads must be lost,” said the second to the first lieutenant. “We ought to hear them or see something of them by this time.”

“Don’t say that, Thorn,” answered the first lieutenant. “Rogers is the midshipman who took the fine on shore when the Firefly was wrecked; and Murray, though so quiet, is a very gallant fellow. They will do all that can be done to save themselves. I should indeed be deeply grieved if they were lost.”

There was a good deal of sea at the time running, but not enough to make the lowering of a boat a matter of danger if carefully performed.

“Well heave the ship to, and lower a couple of boats to go in search of the lads,” observed the captain.

The first lieutenant issued the necessary orders, and the ship was brought up to the wind and hove-to. Mr Thorn eagerly went to lower one of the boats. Hemming took charge of the other. Their respective crews sprang into them. The falls were properly tended and unhooked at the right moment, and, getting clear of the ship, they lay ready to pull in whatever direction might be indicated. Here was the difficulty.

“Silence fore and aft,” sang out the captain. “Does any one hear them?”

In an instant there was a dead silence. No one would have supposed that many hundred human beings were at that moment alive and awake on board the ship. Every one listened intently, but no sound was borne to their ears. Even Captain Lascelles began to give up all hope.

“The poor widowed mother, how will she bear it?” he muttered; “and that honest country gentleman—it will be sad news I shall have to send him of his son.”

Scarcely had the captain thus given expression to his feelings, when a bright light burst forth amid the darkness some way to leeward. A shout spontaneously arose from all on board. “They must have got hold of the life-buoy, they must have got hold of the life-buoy,” was the cry. “Hurrah! hurrah!” The two boats dashed away, with eager strokes, in the direction of the light.

Meantime Murray had towed Jack steadily on towards the buoy. He began to feel very weary though, and sometimes he thought that his strength would fail him. He looked at the buoy; it seemed a very long way off. He felt at last that he should never be able to reach it. “I’ll not give in while life remains,” he said to himself. Just then his hand struck against something. He grasped it. It was a large piece of Spanish cork-wood. He shoved it under Jack’s back, and rested his own left arm on it. He immediately found an immense advantage from the support it afforded. “Who sent that piece of cork-wood to my aid?” he thought; “it did not come by chance.” The assurance that he was not deserted gave him additional confidence. Jack also gave further signs of returning animation.

“Where am I?” he at length asked, in a tone of voice which showed that his senses were still confused.

“In the middle of the Mediterranean; but there’s a life-buoy close at hand, and when we get hold of it we shall be all to rights,” answered Murray.

“What! is that you, Alick?” asked jack. “I remember now feeling that I was going overboard; but how came you here? Has the ship gone down?”

“No, no; all right; she’ll be here to pick us up directly, I hope.”

“Then you jumped overboard to save me!” exclaimed Jack. “Just like you, Alick; I knew you would do it.”

Jack lay perfectly still all the time he was talking. It did not seem to occur to him that he could swim as well as his companion.

“Here we are!” cried Murray; “Heaven be praised—I was afraid that I should scarcely be able to make out the life-buoy, it is getting so dark.” He placed Jack’s hand on one of the beckets, and took another himself, and together they climbed up, and sat on the life-buoy. Murray drew the piece of cork up alongside, observing, “I do not like to desert the friend which has been of so much service in our utmost need, and to kick it away without an acknowledgment.”

Jack laughed. He had now completely come to his senses. “I’m very much obliged to you, Friend Cork,” said he. “I know, Murray, what you are going to say; I am, indeed, thankful to Heaven for having thus far preserved me, and to you too, my dear fellow. But, I say, can you make out the ship?”

“Not a shred of her. I scarcely know in what quarter to look for her.”

“Well, then, all we shall have to do is to hang on here till daylight. The weather is warm, so we shall not come to much harm if the wind goes down again, and I am very certain the captain will come and look for us.”

“It may be a question whether he can find us, though,” said Murray. “By-the-bye, I do not think that the buoy was fired. If we can find the trigger we will let it off, and that will quickly show our whereabouts.”

“A bright idea,” answered jack. “Hurrah! I’ve found it. Now blaze away, old boy.” Jack pulled the trigger as he spoke, and immediately an intensely bright bluish light burst forth above their heads, exhibiting their countenances to each other, with their hair streaming, lank and long, over their faces, giving them at the same time a very cadaverous and unearthly appearance. Jack, in spite of their critical position, burst into a fit of laughter. “Certainly, we do look as unlike two natty quarter-deck midshipmen as could well be,” he exclaimed. “Never mind, we have not many spectators.”

Jack and Murray’s coolness arose from the perfect confidence they felt that they would not be deserted while the slightest hope remained of their being found; and now that they had set off the port-fire they were almost as happy as if they were already safe on board. They had not much longer to wait. Presently a hail reached them; they shouted in return, and soon afterwards they saw a couple of boats emerging from the darkness. One took them on board—the other towed the life-buoy; and in half an hour more their wet clothes were off them, and they were being stowed away between the blankets in the sick-bay, each of them sipping a pretty strong glass of brandy and water. Of course, when the excitement was over, a very considerable reaction took place, and several days passed before they were allowed to return to their duty. Captain Lascelles then sent for Jack, and inquired how he came to tumble overboard? Jack had to confess that in his zeal he had gone beyond his duty, and that, instead of remaining at his station in the top, he had been attempting to do work which ought to have been performed by one of the topmen.

“You were wrong, as you will see, Rogers,” remarked Captain Lascelles. “Remember that there is a strict line of duty, and that going beyond, as you call it, may be quite as injurious to the service as neglecting any portion of it. Your business was to see that the men were properly reefing the topsail. By going out on the yard-arm you could not do this, and were thus neglecting your duty—not going beyond it. I have no intention of punishing you, on condition that you will recollect what I have said.”

Jack promised that he would, and thanked the captain for his lecture. Murray got, as he deserved, a great deal of credit for his gallantry; and he was not a little delighted to receive the gold medal, some time afterwards, from the Humane Society. Soon after this occurrence, the frigate was sent to Gibraltar. She there took on board several passengers for Malta. One was a bear, which was sent as a present to the captain of a line-of-battle ship on the station, from some consul in Africa, who knew that he was fond of pets; another was a young gentleman going to travel in the East. The captain had given him a passage, as he was a relation of some brother officer who could not take him himself. He had been offered, and accepted, a berth in the gun-room. Neither Jack nor Murray had seen him, nor had they heard his name before they sailed. The next morning, after they had lost sight of the rock, when they went on deck, who should they see walking up and down, with an air of no little consequence, and having a pair of lilac kid gloves on his hands, but Bully Pigeon. Jack and Murray forgot all his bad qualities, and only thought of him as an old schoolfellow. So they went up to him, and cordially put out their hands.

“Why, Pigeon, how are you, old fellow? Who’d have thought of seeing you here?” exclaimed Jack.

Pigeon drew himself up. “You must have made a mistake; I—I don’t remember you,” he answered.

“Oh! but we do you, very well, at Eagle House. I’m Jack Rogers, here’s Murray. We two came together. You didn’t leave, either, before us,” said Jack. “Oh! you must remember all about it.”

“Ah! now I think I do,” replied Pigeon, extending the tips of his fingers. “There was another fellow went to sea at the same time. Paddy something—Oh! ye-es, I remember.”

“Ah! Paddy Adair, you mean. Poor fellow, he was lost in the Onyx,” answered Jack, in a sad tone.

“Oh! I remember—he was always a harum-scarum vagabond,” said Pigeon, in a sneering way.

“He was as true a fellow as ever stepped!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “If he were here, Pigeon, you would not speak so of him.” The bully, as usual, was silenced. It was not Jack’s way to cut anybody, but neither he nor Murray felt inclined to have any intimate conversation with their old schoolfellow. Still they could not help asking him about the school, and the various changes which had taken place since they left.

“Well, I’m glad it prospers,” exclaimed Jack. “It was a first-rate, jolly good school; there was no humbug about it. I spent many happy days there.”

Murray echoed these sentiments. Pigeon of course sneered, and observed that, “though there were a good many noblemen, and sons of gentlemen, there were a number of sons of merchants and city people.”

“Ah! that is just what there should be,” said Jack. “It is the very thing that keeps England so well together. When the gentle born you speak of find that the sons of city men are as gentlemanly, as clever, and as honourable as themselves, and can play cricket or leapfrog, or anything of that sort, perhaps better than they do, they learn to respect them, and treat them as their equals ever afterwards. That is one of the very things that made our school so good. We used to think of fellows not for what they were but for what they did—except, perhaps, a few miserable sneaks, who ‘carnied’ up to a fellow because he had a handle to his name.”

Pigeon did not respond to this sentiment, because he had been noted far doing the very thing that Jack reprobated.

Jack could not help describing Pigeon in the berth, and the general opinion was that he deserved to be well roasted while he remained on board—in other words, that he should be made the common butt, at which the shafts of their wits should be aimed.

They had plenty of opportunities of shooting the said shafts, for Pigeon exhibited an almost incredible amount of simplicity in all things connected with the sea. I do not mean to say, for one moment, that they were right in playing off their jokes on Pigeon. I have an especial dislike to practical jokes; and those I have generally seen carried out have been decidedly wrong, and very senseless and stupid, without a particle of wit.

They had not been long at sea when one night Pigeon was encountered walking the deck, and every now and then stopping and looking eagerly over the side.

“What do you see there?” asked Jack. “Anything out of the common way?”

“All those sparkles, what can they be?” exclaimed Pigeon, pointing to the flashes of phosphorescent light which played among the foam dashed off from the sides, and which were seen in the wake of the vessel.

Hemming came by at the moment. He had taken an especial dislike to the bully. “Those sparkles! don’t you know what they are? I thought everybody did,” he observed, in a tone of contempt. “Well, there’s a Russian fleet just gone up through the Straits, and every man, woman, and child aboard them smokes, from the admiral to the admiral’s baby, and those are the ashes out of their pipes and off the ends of their cigars. Why, that’s nothing to what you sometimes see. If we were close in their wake, there would be light enough for us to see to steer by.”

“Law, you don’t say so!” exclaimed Pigeon. “I should have thought the water would have put them out.”

“Not down in these latitudes. It’s too warm for that,” answered Hemming gravely.

Pigeon was seen, when he went into the gun-room, entering the remark in his notebook.

A few days after this Pigeon was walking the deck in solitary grandeur, when, as he passed the marine-sentry at the gangway, of course no notice was taken of him. Now he had observed that, on certain occasions, the sentry presented arms to the officers. This he had taken into his head was in consequence, not of their rank, but of their being gentlemen. He therefore thought that the same respect ought to be shown to him. Instead of complaining to the officers or to the captain, when he would have been well laughed at, he thought fit to take the law into his own hands, and, walking up to the sentry, soundly rated him for his want of respect.

“And who bees you?” asked the sentry, cocking his eye—he was a wag in his way; “do you belong to the horse-marines, sir?”

“No, I do not; I am Mr Theophilus Pigeon, and you must treat me properly, or I shall report you.”

“I thought as how you had drunk many a pint of Pigeon’s milk when you was a baby,” observed the marine, with perfect gravity.

Pigeon’s measure had already been very accurately taken on board by the crew.

“Fellow, you are an impertinent scoundrel,” exclaimed Pigeon. “What’s your name?”

“Mum’s the word,” answered the marine, with perfect gravity.

“Ah! you think I am not up to you, do you?” cried Pigeon, glancing at the marine’s musket. “I see it where you forgot that it was, ha! ha!”

It was some time before Pigeon could find the first lieutenant to make his report. In the meantime the sentries had been changed.

“I am sorry, Mr Pigeon, that you should have received any impertinence from any of the people on board,” said the first lieutenant kindly. “Can you describe the man!”

“Why, he had a red coat and white belt,” etcetera, etcetera.

“I am afraid that won’t help us,” said the first lieutenant, laughing.

“Ah! he thought himself very clever; but I know his name, I saw it on his musket. It was Tower!” exclaimed Pigeon triumphantly.

A general laugh followed this announcement, for Tower is the name engraved on all Government arms issued from the stores in that ancient fortress of London.

He used to find his way into the midshipmen’s berth and to make himself quite at home, occupying the space which, as Hemming observed, a better man might fill. Various devices were made to get clear of him. One of the officers had a horn with which he now and then startled the silence of the decks—a practice, by-the-bye, rather subversive of discipline. One day, while Pigeon was in the berth, the horn was heard to sound.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Hurrah! the mail coach come in from Sicily,” exclaimed Jack, starting up and rushing out. “Come along, it’s a sight worth seeing. You’ll have letters by it to a certainty, Pigeon.”

Away rushed Pigeon up on deck, while Jack, amid the laughter of the rest of the occupants, returned to the berth. The captain and several of the gun-room officers were on deck, when Pigeon made his hasty appearance, and hurried eagerly to the side.

“What is the matter, Mr Pigeon?” asked Captain Lascelles.

“The mail from Sicily! the mail from Sicily!” ejaculated Pigeon. “Has it gone? Am I too late to see it?”

Even the captain could not help joining in the laugh which was raised against the once dictatorial bully of little boys at school.

“Oh, you have not missed it,” said Mr Thorn. “Go down to the berth again, and say that we will call you when it heaves in sight.”

More mystified than ever, Pigeon returned to the berth, when he was welcomed with shouts still more vehement than those which had received him on deck. The place he had left was occupied, and no one offered to make room for him, or asked him to sit down—a pretty strong proof that he was not wanted. Such is the deserved fate of school bullies when they get into the world, and have their measures properly taken. Still the midshipmen had not done with him. Quirk, the monkey, had remained, on his good behaviour, part and parcel of the crew. For the sake of the men, with whom he was a decided favourite, any slight misdemeanours which they could not contrive to hide were generally overlooked. Quirk occasionally paid a visit to the midshipmen’s berth, where he sat up at table cracking nuts, “evidently under the impression,” as Jack observed, “that he is one of us.” Quirk had soon struck up a friendship with the bear, who was a very tame beast, and could play almost as many antics as he could, only in a more sedate way. Wherever Quirk went, Bruin would endeavour to follow; and one day, while the midshipmen were at dinner, the latter, led by the monkey, was seen approaching the berth. Nuts and biscuits were held out. They were easily tempted in. Room was made for them, and they were regaled to their hearts’ content on all the delicacies of the season which the men could produce.

“We’ll have them again, and we’ll have a friend to meet them,” exclaimed Jack.

“A bright idea!”

“Who?” was asked.

“Pigeon,” said Jack; and so it was settled.

That afternoon Mr Pigeon received a note written on pink scented paper, to the following effect:—

“The gentlemen of the midshipmen’s berth request the pleasure of Mr Pigeon’s company at dinner, to meet two distinguished foreigners, in every way worthy of his acquaintance and friendship.”

Pigeon asked the gun-room officers whether he ought to accept the invitation.

“Certainly, it will be an insult if you don’t,” was the answer.

They might possibly have suspected that a joke was brewing, but they said nothing. The dinner-hour on the next day arrived. The berth was kept as dark as possible, and when Pigeon presented himself at the door he was ushered in in due form, and with unusual politeness handed to the upper end of the berth.

“Dinner!” cried the caterer. “Bear a hand, boy.”

The midshipman’s boy, who had been standing against the door, grinning from ear to ear, had to decamp.

“Before the soup comes, Mr Pigeon, let me introduce our other guests—Señor Don Bruno, who is on your right side, and Monsieur de Querkerie, whom you will find on your left. Manners makes the man, and as their manners are unexceptionable, I hope that you will consider them as men, and treat them, as men should men, with due civility.”

The screens by the side of the berth were at this instant withdrawn, when Pigeon beheld a bear sitting on one side of him, and a monkey on the other, both dressed with huge shirt-collars, large ties, and broad ribbons across their breasts. Astonishment, rage, and fear struggled within for the mastery.

“Don’t be alarmed at their looks, my dear sir,” said Hemming. “There are no better behaved gentlemen on board. Allow me to help you to soup. Rogers, you take care of Monsieur de Querkerie; Thompson, see to Don Bruno.”

This was a necessary caution, for the monkey gave signs that he was about to thrust his paw into Pigeon’s plate, which act would have belied the assertion just made in his favour, and would certainly not have been pleasant to the human guest. Bruin, who had a handful of hard biscuit before him to munch, was behaving himself very well. Hemming kept serving out the soup with the greatest gravity amid roars of laughter, not a little increased by Pigeon’s perplexed countenance. What to do he could not decide. He felt that a joke was being played off on him, but he was too much afraid to resent it, or show his indignation, and therefore he did the very best thing he could have done under the circumstances, he went on eating his soup without speaking. All might have ended well had not Quirk, not understanding fully the proprieties of the dinner-table, darted out his paw and seized a lump of potato from the soup-plate. Pigeon could not stand this, but shoving the denied plate from him, he made a dash with his spoon at Quirk’s face, almost knocking some of his teeth down his throat. The monkey retaliated, and not without Jack’s utmost exertions could quiet be restored; I will not say peace or harmony, because that was out of the question.

“I beg pardon, Mr Pigeon, we thought you might like the companionship of our foreign guests, as you are supposed to have some qualities in common,” said Hemming, in a grave tone. “But as you do not appear to admire their society, pray remove to the other side of the berth, where you will be more at your ease.”

Pigeon was glad enough of an excuse to get away, but he was puzzled to settle whether it was safer to pass the bear or the monkey. At length he decided to get behind the former. At that moment Bruin took it into his head to lift up his huge back, and catching poor Pigeon between the legs, he sent him right into the middle of the table, with his head into the soup-dish, while Quirk, delighted at the opportunity, caught hold of his heels, and getting a kick, sprang in revenge on the part of his body most exposed to attack, which he bit till the wretched victim roared with pain, and Jack had by main force hauled him off. Hemming and Murray, with others, as soon as their laughter would allow them, dragged Pigeon off the table, apologising with tears in their eyes for the mishap which had occurred. Pigeon’s first impulse was to roar out for a basin and towel to wash off the soup from his face; and when his features were made clean, though earnestly pressed to come back, nothing could persuade him to take his seat till Bruin and Quirk were removed from the berth. In truth the mess were not sorry to get rid of them, for to more than one sense they were somewhat unpleasant companions. All things considered, it was voted that Pigeon had really behaved very well, and the lesson he had received did him a great deal of good, and while he remained on board he seemed to think very much less of himself. I cannot defend the conduct of Hemming or Jack, or any one concerned in the affair, but my belief is, that had Pigeon not spoken disparagingly of Adair, whose memory Jack and Murray so fondly cherished, the trick would not have been played. Malta was visited, so were the Ionian Islands, and the frigate clove through the waters of the Levant.

“A sail in sight to leeward, sir,” said Jack, entering the cabin, cap in hand, one afternoon, while the captain was at dinner.

“What does she look like?” asked Captain Lascelles, applying his table-napkin to his mouth, and finishing his glass of wine as a man does when he has to move in a hurry, while he fumbles in his waistcoat-pocket for his toothpick case.

“The first lieutenant thinks her a heavy frigate, or a line-of-battle ship,” answered Jack, “and she is not English.”

In a moment the captain was on deck, and taking an earnest look at the stranger through his telescope. At that period all captains of English men-of-war had received orders to be very circumspect with regard to their conduct towards French ships, for there was no doubt that France was seeking cause by which she might pick a quarrel with England. The Racer had now been cruising for some time, and Captain Lascelles could not tell whether the stranger in sight might or might not prove an enemy with whom he might speedily be engaged in deadly strife. The wind was from the north, and the African coast, a thin blue line, was rising to sight in the horizon. The helm was instantly put up, and all sail made in chase.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Jack, rushing into the berth, and throwing up his cap; “there’s a chance of a brush this time and no mistake. The gun-room officers say that the French are certain to be at war with us by this time. They are going to help Mehemet Ali, so if the stranger is not a Frenchman, she is pretty certain to be an Egyptian, and either one or the other will do.”

The information was received in the berth with general satisfaction. Only one person heard it with dismay. That was Pigeon. He turned very pale.

“What shall I do? Where shall I go?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t come here to fight. Couldn’t I be put on shore?”

“No, but you can keep below and help the doctor, where you may be of use and out of harm’s way, if we don’t go down, or blow up during the action,” said Murray, with no little disdain in the tone of his voice.

“Oh! oh!” groaned Pigeon. “Go down, or blow up! Oh, dear!”

Chapter Six.

Paddy Adair, Hurrah!

The beautiful frigate looked like a vast cloud of snowy whiteness, as, with studding-sails alow and aloft, she swept proudly along over the blue waters of the Mediterranean in chase of the stranger. The latter had been standing to the eastward; but seeing herself pursued, she also altered her course, and ran off before the wind towards the land. Night was coming on, and it was very important to get up with her, near enough to ascertain her character, to prevent her escaping, should such be her design, in the dark. Every one was on deck or in the tops, looking out at the stranger, and those considered themselves fortunate who could command the use of a spyglass. One person—bully Pigeon—was below, and he sat quaking on a chest in the orlop deck, where he had been told that he would be least likely to have his head shot away.

“I am a non-combatant, you know. It would be very wrong in me to expose my life,” he observed with a trembling lip. “If I was one of you, of course I would do my duty as bravely as anybody; but as I am a civilian, and am come aboard for my health, I think it is my duty to take care of myself.”

“Oh! of course,” was the reply; “so precious a person should run no risk of losing his valuable life.”

“Oh, I wish poor Adair were with us,” exclaimed Jack. “He did so wish to see a real fight; and to have to go out of the world without having been in one was very trying.” Jack spoke just as his feelings for the moment prompted him, without much consideration, I suspect.

“Do you know, Rogers, that since we escaped in so wonderful a way from drowning, I have more than once thought that perhaps some of the people of the Onyx may have been saved,” observed Murray. “I do not say that I have any great hopes on the subject, but still I cannot help thinking that it is possible.”

“I’m afraid not, though; we should have heard of them before now,” replied Jack. “But if anybody escaped, I would rather it were Paddy Adair than any one else.”

Their conversation was cut short by that rolling sound of a drum which makes the heart of every true man-of-war’s man leap with joy. It followed the captain’s order to the first lieutenant, “Beat to quarters.” What magic was there in the sound of those words! In an instant every one, from the first lieutenant to the smallest powder-monkey, was in full activity. Bulkheads were knocked away, firescreens were put up, the gallery fire was extinguished, the magazines were opened, powder and shot were handed up, the small-arms were served out, the men buckled on their cutlasses, and stuck their pistols in their belts.

Although Captain Lascelles fully believed that he should gain the victory, he was too good an officer and too wise a man not to take every possible means to secure it. It was soon evident that the Racer was coming up hand-over-hand with the chase, and before long it was clearly made out that she was, at least, a fifty-gun ship. She showed no colours, and as to her nationality opinions were divided. Some thought she was French; but then in opposition to this conjecture, it was asserted that a French fifty-gun ship was not likely to run away from a frigate, whereas a Turk or an Egyptian was very likely indeed to do so. The officers on board them were generally very inefficient, while a total want of discipline prevailed.

“That craft ahead must have a very bad conscience, or she would not be in such a hurry to get out of our way,” observed Jack; “she’s a Turk, or I am a Dutchman.”

“So the captain thinks, which is fortunate, or you might have to turn into a Dutchman, or else break your word,” observed Murray.

“I wish that he were a Frenchman. I should so like to have a tussle with him,” said Jack. “Let people talk as they will about liberty, equality, and fraternity, I agree with my father, that the French never will like the English till they have taught us to eat frogs, and have thrashed us on a second field of Waterloo, and I hope that time may never come.”

“I hope not either,” said Murray. “But I have no wish to go to war with France or Frenchmen. If they are bad friends, they are worse enemies, and not to be despised, depend on that; no people could have fought better than they did during the last war.”

“That is the reason I should like to fight them again,” exclaimed Jack. “What is the use of fighting with people who can’t fight?”

Murray laughed at Jack’s style of reasoning. He had not arrived at the conclusion which an older man might have reached, that fighting under any circumstances is a dreadful business, and that the person who gives the cause for the fight does a very wicked thing, utterly hateful in the sight of God. Never let that truth be forgotten.

Darkness was now rapidly coming on. The stranger could just be seen looming through it. Captain Lascelles felt pretty confident, however, that he should come up with her before she could make her escape. Night at last settled completely down over the ocean; still she could be seen, though very indistinctly. On the two ships flew before the breeze. At length the master, who had been examining the chart in his cabin, came up to the captain.

“We are drawing in very near to the coast, sir,” said he. “It will be safer to keep the lead going.”

“But where the ship ahead can float so can we,” observed Captain Lascelles.

“She may manage to run in between reefs on which we may strike. Never let us trust to the leading of an enemy, sir,” was the answer.

“You are right, master, you are right!” exclaimed Captain Lascelles, in a tone of warm approval. “Send a hand with the lead into each of the chains. We’ll run no risk of casting the ship away.”

Soon the voices of the leadsmen were heard through the still silence of night, as the gallant frigate clove her way through the calm waters.

“By the deep nine,” sang out one on the starboard side.

“By the mark seven,” was soon afterwards heard from the man in the port chains.

“Quarter less six,” was the next shouted out.

“We are shoaling our water rapidly,” observed Captain Lascelles to the first lieutenant. “Stand by to go about.”

All eyes had been fixed on the dark mass ahead. Onward it seemed to glide through the darkness. Every one felt certain that their eyes did not deceive them. There still appeared, they all believed, the sails of the stranger, a huge towering pinnacle reaching to the sky. Yet so near the ground were they that it was dangerous for the frigate, though of course drawing much less water, to stand on.

“Was she a ship of mortal fabric?” some of the more superstitious among the seamen began to ask.

As they looked, the tall pyramid seemed to rock, and then suddenly to dissolve into the air. A sound, at the same time, came from the southward, as if of breakers dashing on a rocky shore.

“Hands about ship,” shouted the captain, with startling energy.

The cry was repeated by the first lieutenant, and quick almost as the answer of an electric message, the boatswain’s whistle uttered the well-known call along the decks. Round came the ship, and when the eyes of those on board were turned to the south, not an indication could be discovered of the ship which had thus far led them in the chase.

“We’ll keep her off and on during the night,” said the captain to the first lieutenant.

“At daylight we will stand in, and see what has become of her. There is little doubt, however, that she has gone on shore. I trust, as there is not much sea on, that the people will contrive to save themselves.”

At this time the Sultan of Turkey was running a great risk of losing the greater part if not the whole of his dominions. Mehemet Ali was one of the most remarkable men who have appeared in the East during this century. Although of the lowest origin and unable to read, having become a soldier, he raised himself by his talents and intrigues to the highest rank in the Turkish army. Being sent to Egypt, he deposed the ruler of that province, and became pacha in his stead. He even showed that he allowed no sentimental scruples to prevent him from accomplishing any object on which he had set his heart. Believing that the Mamelukes might be as troublesome to him as they had often proved to the Sultan, he invited 500 of them to a feast, and then had all of them murdered with the exception of one, who escaped by leaping his horse over a high wall. The idea was simple and very oriental. He might have made them his friends, but he thought that might be too difficult a task, so he chose the other alternative. Now Mehemet Ali thought that it would be much pleasanter to be an independent sovereign than a tributary to the Porte, so he threw off the Turkish yoke. Then he thought that he might as well rule over Syria also, and he accordingly marched his army there and took possession of the country. His ambition increased with his conquests, and at last he resolved, if he could, to mount the throne of the caliphs. He was backed up in all his proceedings by the French, who knew that if he succeeded they might easily take possession of Egypt on some excuse or other; while the Russians were well pleased to let him play his game, because they knew that the Sultan might call them in to his assistance, and thus they might get hold of Constantinople. The Egyptian army in Syria was commanded by Ibrahim Pacha, the adopted son of Mehemet Ali. He advanced his victorious standard to within a short distance of Constantinople; but then, instead of pushing on and occupying the city, he delayed till the Russians had reached the shores of the Bosphorus. He in consequence thought it wiser to enter into a treaty by which he secured the Pachalic of Syria and Adana as well as that of Egypt for himself and his father. At first the tribes inhabiting Syria welcomed him as their deliverer, but they soon found that they had not changed rulers for the better, and that he fleeced them as much as had the pachas appointed by the Sultan. They therefore entreated the Sultan to take them under his protection. He accordingly sent an army to their relief. It was now that England and Austria thought it time to interfere. Neither of them wished the Egyptians to succeed, because the Russians would have had an excuse for interfering. The Russians did not want anybody but themselves to interfere, but when the English, Austrians, and Prussians came forward, they were compelled to put a finger into the pie, to counteract the efforts of the French. The French would gladly have aided the Egyptians for the sake of gaining a footing in the country, but as they were not ready for war they thought it wiser to refrain from all open acts of hostility. The Turkish army advancing sustained a defeat from the Egyptians, while their fleet, which had been sent to the Dardanelles, sailed for Alexandria, and joined that of Mehemet Ali.

The four powers accordingly entered into an agreement to make him withdraw his army from Syria, and offering him the ultimatum of the hereditary sovereignty of Egypt and the possession during his life of Saint Jean d’Acre. If he refused, he was to have only the government of Egypt, and the four powers were to compel him by force to accept this arrangement. The sturdy old pacha, however, backed by France, resolved to hold out. A British squadron was therefore sent to blockade the ports of Egypt and Syria, with a few Austrian and Turkish ships, Russia undertaking not to take possession of Constantinople. The French had not been consulted in the matter, and had they felt themselves sufficiently strong, there is little doubt that they would have supported Mehemet Ali, at the expense of a war with England. Thus much was at the time known to Captain Lascelles. Much circumspection was therefore required, for it was difficult to understand who were friends and who foes. The French commanders might have received secret orders to attack the English after a certain day; the Egyptians might at any moment do so, if they felt themselves strong enough to be assured of victory; while it was more than probable that any Turkish ships might have gone over to the Egyptians, and have thus become enemies. Few of the officers turned in that night; they were all anxious to ascertain who the stranger was, and what could possibly have become of him. Captain Lascelles took the frigate in as close as he could venture, and though each time every eye on board was turned eagerly towards the shore, not a sign of a ship could be discovered. At length daylight dawned, and a white sandy shore was seen, with bare dark rocky heights rising behind it. “There she is! there she is!” broke from many voices as all the glasses on board were directed towards the shore. There lay stranded the huge black hull of a ship, her masts gone by the board, and her rigging hanging down in confused masses on either side, while the white surf dashed up around her. What had become of the people it was impossible at that distance to say. Captain Lascelles, who was on deck, ordered the ship to be hove-to.

“I wonder what is next to be done,” said Jack to Murray; “I hope if the boats are ordered away you and I will have to go in them.” Very soon the order was given. “Barge and first and second cutters away!” Jack and Alick belonged to the two latter. They hurried to get them ready. The crews were armed, and a three-pounder was placed in the bow of each boat. Mr Thorn had charge of the expedition. It was not expected that there would be any fighting, but as a precautionary measure it was necessary to be armed. No one now supposed that the stranger was French. There could be little doubt she was either Turkish or Egyptian, but why she had run on shore it was difficult to say. The idea was that she had been purposely lost. In high glee at the thoughts of an adventure, the party shoved off from the frigate. Mr Thorn was directed to ascertain the character of the ship, and to render assistance if it was required. A light breeze from the westward enabled them to stand in under sail towards the shore. As they drew towards the wreck, they looked anxiously to ascertain her condition. She was on shore about a quarter of a mile from the beach. All the masts were gone, some of the guns had been hove overboard, others had their muzzles still appearing through the ports. Many of the crew were on board, but a considerable number had made their escape to the shore, their red caps and petticoat trousers showing that they were either Turks or Egyptians. As the boats got close up to the ship, the people on board began to gesticulate furiously, and it seemed with no very friendly intentions. Of this they gave proof, for they got some smaller guns on the quarter-deck slewed round, and began firing away at the boats. Fortunately their gunnery was very bad, or they might have cut them to pieces. On seeing this, Mr Thorn made a white pocket-handkerchief fast to a boat-hook, and waved it towards them, but the barbarians seemed to hold a flag of truce in very little respect, as they continued firing as before. Just then, Rogers and Murray observed a young officer; he seemed to rush up from below, and furiously attack the men with his sword, driving them from the gun. He then leaped upon the taffrail and waved his hand to them and shouted, but they were too far off to hear his voice.

“Murray, Murray, who do you think that is?” shouted Jack.

“I know who it is like,” answered Murray. “It is like—”

Just at that moment a terrific roar was heard. The entire vast mass of the wreck seemed to be lifted up bodily into the air. Up, up it went. Lurid flames and dense volumes of smoke burst forth, and then down came the huge mass shattered into a thousand fragments; beams, and guns, and planks, and human bodies, and the various contents of the ship all mingled together. A cry of horror escaped from the boats’ crews when they saw what had occurred.

“Pull for your lives, my lads,” shouted Mr Thorn. “Give way now.”

The men, recovering from their amazement, required no second order, but pulled away as hard as they could from the burning wreck. Happily they were no nearer, for in an instant afterwards down came burning fragments of the wreck, covering the sea far and wide, the terrific shower almost swamping the boats. Although several pieces struck them, no one was materially injured. The whole occurrence occupied not a minute of time. The ship, however, continued burning furiously, and the guns in the forepart of her, which appeared not to have been blown up, as the flames reached them went rapidly off, one after other, sending their shot whizzing away on either side.

“Some of the poor fellows may have escaped with their lives, and may be struggling in the water. Can’t we go back and try to pick them up?” said Jack to Hemming, who commanded his boat.

“A right notion—that we ought, Rogers,” answered Hemming, who was too high-minded even to refuse to take a suggestion offered by a junior. Hemming made the proposal to Mr Thorn, and back dashed the boats, not a man in them recollecting even for a moment that the people they were now so eager to save, had but a few minutes before been most unwarrantably firing away at them. Jack too had a strange feeling that he knew the appearance of the young officer who had interposed in their favour, but still it was too vague to allow him to ground any strong hopes on it. Murray had, however, conceived the same idea. With what eagerness they pulled about looking out for their struggling fellow-creatures! First they hauled on board a stout Turk, who did not appear to be much the worse for his flight and ducking, except that he was, not unnaturally, in a dreadful fright. If he had conceived the idea that he had already entered Paradise, the big-whiskered jolly tars, instead of the houris he might have expected to welcome him, must quickly have shown him his mistake. He looked up with a stare of astonishment as he was placed at the bottom of the boat. Another poor fellow had had his leg almost blown off, but still he clung on to a piece of plank. Hemming quickly formed a tourniquet with a handkerchief to stop the bleeding, while a savage-looking fellow was being hauled in, who even then cast a scowl of defiance and hatred at his preservers.

“You might as well have said thank you, instead of looking so glum, old boy,” observed one of the men as he placed him alongside his companions.

“There’s a young Turk hanging on to a spar away there, and waving to us,” cried Jack, putting the boat’s head in the direction he indicated. “Give way, my lads.”

Murray’s boat was pulling in the same direction. Jack got up first to the young Turk, as he called him, and almost tumbled headlong into the water in helping him on board.

“It is, it is,” he shouted; “it is himself! I thought so.”

“Who? who?” asked Murray eagerly.

“Paddy Adair?” cried Jack, almost bursting into tears. “It’s Paddy himself.”

“Paddy Adair, hurrah! hurrah!” was echoed from all the boats.

“Paddy, my dear boy, where have you come from?” asked Hemming, with unwonted gentleness in his tone. Jack had got Terence’s hand, and would not let it go.

“The last place I came from was the poop of that Turkish ship which is burning away there; then I went up into the air, I believe; and lastly, you have hauled me out of the water; the remainder of my adventures would take some time to tell, so you had better try and pick up any more of my shipmates who may still be alive. There were a good lot of us altogether turned into sky-rockets.”

Paddy had not forgotten his habit of joking. The boats altogether picked up some fifteen or twenty Turks, whom they landed on the beach, with the exception of those who had been injured, whom in mercy they conveyed on board the frigate. A considerable number had been drowned from leaping off the forecastle when the ship was in flames, and being unable to swim. Altogether a very large number of the crew must have been lost.

“But, Paddy,” said Jack, looking earnestly up in Adair’s face, while he still held his hand, “you haven’t really turned into a Turk, have you?”

“Give me a boiled leg of pork, and some pease pudding, and prove me,” answered Terence, laughing. “No, indeed; these wide nether garments and this red cap are the chief Turkish things about me, and the latter I thus gladly cast from me, and as soon as I can get a pair to supply their place, I’ll gladly throw the others after the cap.” Paddy as he spoke hove the fez into the sea with a look of intense satisfaction. “If you knew what I have gone through, you would not be surprised at my pleasure of getting rid of everything to remind me of it,” he observed.

The boats made the best of their way out to the frigate, to report what had occurred.

“What have you been about? what has happened?” were the questions eagerly asked, as they got alongside and handed up the wounded Turks.

“Why, we have been and found Paddy Adair,” shouted Jack, unable any longer to restrain his feelings.

The eager faces of several midshipmen were seen at the gangway, looking out to ascertain the fact by ocular demonstration.

“It’s quite true, Paddy Adair is found, Paddy Adair is found,” exclaimed a dozen voices in joyful tones. The words were taken up, and echoed along the deck, “Paddy Adair is found; hurrah for Paddy Adair!” Especially vociferous were his own messmates, who were delighted to get him back again, and happy at the same time to have an excuse for using their lungs. The boats were hoisted up, and Paddy, having changed his wet Turkish costume for a dry midshipman’s uniform, was sent for into the cabin to give an account of his adventures to Captain Lascelles. He, however, reserved a still more detailed account to give to his messmates in full conclave assembled in the midshipmen’s berth. The only person on board who had not heard of Adair’s arrival was Pigeon. He had laid down after breakfast on a sofa in the first lieutenant’s cabin, and gone fast asleep. About luncheon-time he awoke, and rubbing his eyes sat up, and feeling hungry after all the excitement and fright he had gone through, arose and went into the gun-room. Finding no one there, he bethought him that he would go and honour the midshipmen with a visit, and talk of what he would have done if the ship had gone into action, and his services had actually been required. He was, somewhat to his surprise, welcomed with a cordiality to which he was not much accustomed. In a short time the conversation turned to the loss of the Onyx, and to the character of Paddy Adair. One said one thing of him, and one or two hazarded slightly disparaging observations. The bait took.

“Oh, he was, I remember, always a foolish dunder-headed Irishman,” observed Pigeon; “I could thrash a dozen such fellows as he was. No one thought anything of him at school, I remember.”

“Oh, bully Pigeon, oh, bully Pigeon, that you know right well wasn’t the case,” exclaimed Paddy, popping his head in at the door of the berth.

Pigeon looked up at hearing the voice, and turning very pale, while his countenance exhibited a look of intense horror, fell back in a fainting fit, which afforded an excellent excuse to several of the youngsters for throwing half a dozen tumblers of water over him. Some of the water was cold, and some was rather hot, but the effect was the same. He got a thorough ducking, and after spluttering not a little, and coughing as the water dashed into his mouth, he quickly recovered his senses. It was some little time, however, before he could be convinced that Paddy Adair in propria persona sat before him. Harmony was soon restored, and Paddy assured him that he did not intend to frighten him so much, and that he hoped he would forgive him. Never was a happier party assembled in the berth at dinner than on that occasion. Paddy’s health was drunk, and he was warmly congratulated on his escape and return on board, even by the seniors of the mess.

“And now, Adair, let us hear all about it,” said Hemming, when the cloth had been removed and the young gentlemen were discussing their walnuts and wine.

“Why, it is not a very long story,” observed Paddy, “for do you see most of the events took place in a somewhat rapid way, my last skylark especially. However, you shall hear. We had just got on board the Onyx, and the commander had ordered the boats to be hoisted up, when, as the men were engaged in the operation, the squall struck her, and over she went in a moment—not a rope parted, nor a sail, I believe—just like a nine-pin knocked over by a ball. I was still in the captain’s gig on the weather side. Feeling her going, or rather gone, I believe it was more from fright or instinct than from any exercise of my reasoning powers, I seized a couple of oars under my arms, slid overboard down her bottom, and struck out with all my might away from the sinking hull. I never struck out so hard in my life, for I felt that I was swimming for my life. I believe that I gave myself a shove off with the oars, which helped me rapidly to increase my distance from the brig. Suddenly I felt myself drawn back, and I thought that I was going to be sucked under water—so I was for a short time; but I held a tight grasp of the oars, and once more quickly rose to the surface. When I looked round there was not a sign of a brig. I shouted, no one answered. I could see no one floating alive on the spot where the trim craft had lately glided in all her pride and beauty. I was alone on the dark troubled sea. The foam dashed in my face, and the waves tumbled me about terribly, and I thought more than once that I should have to let go and sink with the rest. I felt very miserable and very sorry that so many fine fellows had lost their lives, for I was too certain that I alone had escaped, and then I began to think how grateful I ought to be that I had been so mercifully preserved. I can’t talk about that; but I wish you fellows to know that I do not think or feel lightly on the subject, that is all. Night was rapidly coming on, my prospects were far from pleasant, and somewhat limited too, as I could only just make out the tumbling seas on either side of me. I felt pretty certain that the frigate would come back to look after the brig; but scarcely hoped that such a speck as I was would be seen. Still I determined to keep up my spirits, and to hang on to the oars as long as I could. Sometimes I put my legs up over them, and thus I both changed my position and floated very comfortably. Perhaps an hour had passed after the brig had gone down—it appeared as if several had elapsed—when I felt a sort of drowsiness come over me. Suddenly there appeared right over me a big dark object. I guessed that it was the bow of a vessel. I sang out with all my might. She was very nearly running me down. As she did not quite run over me, it was fortunate that she came so close. A rope was hanging over her side; I found my hands grasping it. It must literally have been towed over me; I clutched it with all my might, and found myself hauled up on the deck of a low latine-rigged craft running under her foresail before the squall. The crew had red caps on, and loose trousers, and talked a language I could not understand, so I concluded that they were Turks or Moors, or Egyptians; they were very good-natured though. They took me below and gave me some arrack, which was very nasty, and they took off my wet things, and rigged me out in one of their own suits. When I explained that my ship had gone down, they understood me perfectly. Next they made me eat some lumps of meat off a skewer, with some rice and biscuit, and then signified that I might lie down on a mat in the cabin and go to sleep. I did not awake till morning. I wanted to put on my own uniform again, but they would not give it to me, and I began to fear that they were going really to turn me into a Turk.

“For several days we sailed on. Where we were going to I could not make out, for they would never let me see their compass. At last we made the land somewhere on the coast of Syria, I am pretty certain; and, running in, we found a fifty-gun ship, brought up in a roadstead a couple of miles off the shore. The Mistico went alongside and stores of all sorts and provisions were hoisted up out of her, and then without my leave being asked I found myself transferred, like the rest of the bales of goods, to her deck. I had not had a particularly pleasant time of it among the very dirty crew of the Mistico, so I thought that I might have changed for the better. I was much obliged to them, however, for saving my life; so we parted very good friends, and when the little craft shoved off, I waved them an affectionate farewell. I soon found that I had not much improved my condition. The larger the ship, the greater was the amount of dirt and disorder. No one knew their duty, at all events no one did it. How they managed to exist a day without being blown up or foundering, I do not know. They were constantly smoking with the doors of the magazine open and ammunition scattered about, and night and day with every prospect of a squall, the lower deck ports were ever left open. I got hold of some of the officers, and tried to show them the danger they were running; so they rubbed their caps about their heads and opened their eyes and tried to look very wise, and followed my suggestions. But the next day things were as bad as ever. However, when they found out that I was up to a thing or two, they insisted on making me an officer. What rank I held I never could tell. I only knew that everybody obeyed me, and that none of the officers interfered with my commands. This complaisant conduct did not arise so much from respect for me, as that they might save themselves trouble. I never met with men who seemed to hate it so much, from the captain to the youngest powder-monkey. My great difficulty arose from no one understanding a word I said, nor could I understand anybody. Still, we got on very well under ordinary circumstances by signs. At last I happened to go forward and to utter a few words of English. One of the men forthwith pricked up his ears.

“‘Beg pardon, sir, you’d find an interpreter convenient, I think,’ he said, touching his cap.

“‘What, are you not a Turk?’ said I.

“‘I am not and I am,’ he answered; ‘I have become a Turk.’

“‘You are a renegade, in truth,’ said I.

“‘Your honour has hit it,’ he replied.

“I am sorry to say he was an Irishman.

“‘But I’m ready to serve a countryman, and I think I can help you at a pinch.’

“‘I shall be much obliged to you,’ I answered; and from that time forward Pat Hoolan became my interpreter and right-hand man.

“He was a great ragamuffin, and I did not trust him more than I could help; but he was very useful to me, and I believe faithfully interpreted the orders I issued through him. I learned also from him some of the politics of the ship. The captain was a great rascal according to our notions. He cheated the crew of their pay and their rations, and his government of the stores and provisions, and indeed anything on which he could lay his hands; while he had been tampered with by some of Mehemet Ali’s emissaries, and was only waiting an opportunity to carry his ship into Alexandria. Such was the state of affairs when we put to sea. He had just before found out that his treachery had been discovered, and that another Turkish ship had been sent in pursuit of him. He tried to get to Alexandria but could not, so we knocked about running from our own shadow till you hove in sight. He then did what he had long resolved to do, ran the ship on shore. He and most of the officers and some of the men escaped in the boats, leaving me with the remainder to be blown up as a reward for my services. No thanks to them I escaped, and that’s the end of my story.”

Two days after this a brig of war hove in sight. She signalised “Important news,” “The war has begun.” The frigate made sail towards her. The two men-of-war, as they drew near each other, hove-to, and the commander of the brig came on board the frigate. It was soon known that the Racer was to join the squadron of Sir Robert Stopford. All sail was immediately made on both ships, and together they steered a course for the coast of Syria.

Chapter Seven.

To save the Flag.

“I say, Jack, can you tell me what all this row is about between us and these wide-breeched, red-capped niggers, the Egyptians?” asked Adair, as he stood by the side of Jack Rogers on the quarter-deck of the Racer, while the latter, with his spyglass under his arm, was doing duty as signal midshipman. The outlines of many a picturesque hill and white stone stronghold, famed in ancient and modern history, rose in the distance on the Syrian coast out of the blue glittering ocean.

“Why,” replied Jack, “I’m not much of a politician, Paddy, but as far as I can make out, old Mehemet Ali wants to be Sultan of the Turks, and we won’t let him; and so Charlie Napier told him that if he didn’t draw in his horns within twenty days, we would blow his fortresses on this coast about the ears of his pachas. He, in return, told Charlie to go to Jericho, that he intended to keep what he’d got; and so now we’re going to do what we promised. We shall have some fun, depend on it.”

“Now I understand all the ins and outs of the matter,” replied Paddy. “There’s nothing like knowing what you are fighting about.”

“There, up goes a signal from the flag-ship,” cried Jack, putting his glass to his eye, and pointing it towards the Princess Charlotte, Sir Robert Stopford’s flag-ship, which, with the Powerful, Thunderer, Benbow, and several other line-of-battle ships and frigates, sloops and steamers, joined by a Turkish squadron under Admiral Walker, and a few Austrian ships, was cruising off Beyrout.

“The signal for the captains of each ship to assemble on board the Princess Charlotte,” cried Jack. “Hurrah! the fun’s to begin.”

The captains having visited the flag-ship, the squadron stood in, the larger portion taking up a position opposite the town, which they forthwith commenced bombarding, while the rest were employed in landing troops at different points to co-operate with the Turks, and to distract the attention of the Egyptians. Suliman Pacha, Governor of Beyrout, in spite of the shot and shell showered into his fortress, held out bravely and fired away in return as hard as he could. It was the first time the three midshipmen of the Racer had been under fire, but as she had not to take any very active part in the affair, they voted it very slow work.

“Is this what you call fighting?” said Jack. “It seems to me as if all the fun was on one side.”

“Stay a bit, my boy,” observed Hemming; “this is only just the beginning of the game. Before many days are over perhaps we shall be at something which will make you cry out the other way.”

“At all events, we have silenced them; see, up goes a flag of truce on the old castle,” exclaimed Jack.

Jack was right in his fact but wrong in his conclusions. A boat was instantly sent on shore to inquire the meaning of the white flag. She quickly returned to the flag-ship bringing the Indian mail, with a polite message from Suliman Pacha, assuring the admiral that he was not at war with individuals, and that he should feel a satisfaction in forwarding all letters to and from India. Sir Robert Stopford, himself so generous and polite, was the very man to appreciate such an act of courtesy: he therefore sent back the boat immediately with a case of wine, warmly thanking the pacha, and begging that he would accept it as a slight acknowledgment of his kindness. This little episode over, the belligerents began firing away at each other as hard as ever. The pacha showed that he was as brave as he was courteous, for in spite of all the cannonading he would not give in. A short drama was, however, enacted, which showed the midshipmen a little more of the realities of war. An Egyptian deserter came on board one of the ships, and gave notice that a train of gunpowder had been laid along a bridge leading to the eastern castle, in which was collected a large quantity of gunpowder, with the intention of blowing up into the sky any of the besiegers who might succeed in entering the place. The deserter offered to guide any party formed to cut off the train. Commander Worth, of the Hastings, undertook to accomplish the dangerous service; and numbers of officers and men volunteered to accompany him. Jack and Murray and Adair were among others eager to go. However, it was not likely that more than one midshipman from the frigate would be allowed to accompany the expedition. The morning of the day in which it was to take place, Murray had been sent with a message on board the Hastings. He came back with a flush on his cheek and a look of intense satisfaction on his countenance.

“Jack, Terence, my dear fellows, congratulate me. I’m to go. W—, who has known me for some time, has applied for me. He did so in most flattering terms. He said he wanted a midshipman who would be calm and collected whatever might occur, and yet one on whose courage and resolution he could perfectly rely, and he has selected me. It is that he has spoken of me in such flattering terms that has given me so much pleasure. I wish that you two fellows were going also.”

“I wish we were,” said Jack. “But I congratulate you, Alick; you’ll do justice to W—’s choice. That I know right well.”

“There will be more work to be done than when we attacked the pirate’s stronghold the other day,” observed Adair. “Well, I hope that my turn will come before long; I don’t feel as if I had any right to wear starch in my shirt-collar till I’ve taken part in some real downright fighting.”

Jack and Terence warmly shook Murray’s hand, as he stepped into the boat which was to convey him on board the Hastings.

“I say, old fellow, don’t now forget to come back to us safe and sound in life and limb,” cried Terence, laughing; “remember the fright I gave you and Jack. Don’t give him and me the same, and we’ll take care that Pigeon does not malign your character in your absence.”

Away went Murray. To say that he was in high glee would be to use a wrong term. There was a calm satisfaction and proud joy in his heart at the thought that the time had arrived when he might have an opportunity of distinguishing himself in the noble profession he had chosen, and to which he was so devotedly attached. Neither Rogers nor Adair would have felt as he did; and yet, though neither of them could be considered less brave than he was, yet in reality he was the bravest of all three, because his mind was so constituted that he clearly saw all the dangers to be encountered and knew every risk he was running. The expedition rendezvoused round the Hastings. The ships stood in as close as the depth of water would allow them, and then, opening their fire, the boats shoved off and pulled away for the bridge which led to the castle. As soon as they appeared a heavy fire of musketry was opened on them from the fortifications; but in the face of it the men clambered upon the bridge and, led by their gallant commander, rapidly pushed on across it. Jack and Terence eagerly watched the progress of the boats through their telescopes. Their chief sympathy was concentrated on that which contained Murray and his fortunes. They looked upon him as a dear brother, and, in spite of their apparent light-heartedness, they both felt the deepest anxiety for his safety. In a very short time the whole party were hid from sight by the thick smoke which surrounded them. Murray, with his brave companions, in spite of the leaden shower which came pattering around their heads, pushed on till they reached the spot where the train was laid. A few buckets of water, brought for the purpose, quickly cut off the train; then on they went to the gates of the castle. They were not long in blowing it open. In they rushed, putting the defenders to flight, who made their escape by an opposite gate, rejoicing in the belief that the infidel besiegers would soon be blown up sky high, and become the food of ghouls and vampires. They were sorely disappointed when they found that the castle did not blow up, and that the giaours had taken entire possession of it. The English leader saw that no time was to be lost. He and his men hunted about and soon came upon the casks of powder of which they were in search. “Now, my lads, heave them over the walls into the sea,” he sang out, setting the example which the men were ready enough to follow. Cask after cask was stove and thrown into the sea till some sixty or seventy casks had been destroyed. Sentries had been placed to give notice of the approach of the enemy. Notice was given that they were returning in force. “Now, my lads,” cried Captain W—, “we’ll carry off some of these casks to pepper the fellows with their own powder.” The idea just suited the taste of the seamen. Each man shouldered a cask, and, fearless of the consequences should a spark of fire get inside one of them, away they scampered through the gates and across the bridge with their booty. As soon as the enemy caught sight of them they again opened their fire. Several of the daring party were hit. The officers cheered them on. The fire was hotter than ever. One officer fell. He was a midshipman. The men rallied round him, and lifting him on their shoulders bore him on towards the boats. He did not breathe or give a sign of life. “Who is it? who is it?” was asked. They reached the boats and shoved off, for the Egyptians were gathering in force to attack them. Jack and Terence, perched on the hammock-nettings, were looking out for the return of the expedition. The frigate was close in, and the boats had to pass her on their way to their respective ships. One of the boats of the Hastings came first, the one in which Murray had embarked. A union jack was thrown over a part of the stern-sheets.

“Who have you there?” asked Jack, not able to restrain his anxiety.

“A midshipman, sir, who has been killed,” was the answer.

“Oh, Terence, it must be Murray!” exclaimed Jack, almost falling off the hammock-nettings overboard. “And yet, no, it can’t be; it must not be. Who is he, that midshipman?” shouted Jack; but the boat was already at some distance, and the people in her did not hear the question asked.

The report soon got about the decks that Murray was killed. Jack and Adair would have been gratified at hearing all the things said about him, and the grief expressed at his loss. Still, after giving vent to their grief for a time, they began to hope that possibly he might not have been killed, but only desperately wounded, and they resolved to ask leave to go on board the Hastings to ascertain the state of the case. As they were going aft for that purpose, a boat came alongside, and in a few seconds afterwards, who should appear on deck uninjured in limb, and in capital spirits, but Murray himself.

“Who are you? what are you? where do you come from?” exclaimed Terence, scarcely knowing what he said. “Why, Alick, to a certainty you are dead, are you not?”

“I hope not,” answered Murray, laughing at the reception his two friends were giving him. “I have not been hit or hurt that I know of.”

“All right,” exclaimed Jack, springing forward and grasping his hand, which he wrung heartily. “I am so glad. It would have been too dreadful if you had been killed.”

“Unhappily, one poor fellow of our party, a midshipman, L—, of the Hastings, was killed,” observed Murray. “However, let us promise each other for the future, not to fancy that any accident has happened to those who are absent, unless we have very strong evidence of the same.”

“Agreed! agreed!” the other two exclaimed. “Whatever anybody else may tell us, we’ll all believe that we shall meet again somewhere or other, and be happy together.”

It is extraordinary what an effect the notion the three midshipmen had taken up had on them. If Adair was away, though perhaps on some far-distant station, Jack frequently had to say that he did not know where he was to be found, but he always added, “I am certain that we shall meet again before long. What message shall I give him?” Murray said much the same thing of Jack or Adair, and they said the same of Murray. I cannot follow them through the various scenes of the war in Syria. While Sir Charles Napier, to his great delight, was acting the part of a general on shore, with some of his naval followers as his aides-de-camp, they were employed on board their ship, which, with the rest of the squadron, was engaged in sailing along the coast in cooperating with the army, and in blowing up and capturing one fortress after another of those which still held out for Mehemet Ali. Now and then both bluejackets and marines landed, and, much to their satisfaction, stormed the old pacha’s strongholds, and literally fulfilled Charley Napier’s promise of pulling the stones about the ears of his governors. On one occasion success did not attend the British arms, but, as Paddy Adair observed, “It’s an ill wind which blows no one good,” and he here had an opportunity which he had so long desired of distinguishing himself. The fortress was a very strong one, with a high thick-walled tower which looked fully capable of defying the battle and the breeze for a thousand years. The ship stood in with the intention of battering it down, but after firing away for an hour or more, little impression was made, and it was resolved to endeavour to take it by storm. Jack had to stay on board, greatly to his disgust, and he did say that he considered himself a most ill-used officer. Adair and Murray accompanied the body of seamen who, with the marines of the squadron, and some mountaineers who had been taken on board along the coast, were landed to form the storming-party. The ground between the castle and the sea was laid out in gardens. Here a body of the enemy was drawn up. The storming-party landed to the south of the town, covered by the fire of the ships, which also cleared the gardens of the enemy. The marines and bluejackets now pushed bravely on, but encountered a terrific fire from the troops within the forts. Murray and Adair were side by side, scrambling over walls and leaping ditches, and cutting through hedges of prickly pears in spite of the showers of shot which rattled round their heads.

“I say, Alick, poets talk of genial showers; I wonder what they would call the shower now rattling round us?” cried Adair, as he waved on his men.

“A leaden shower, I should think,” said Alick.

“Not far wrong, my boy, but I’m afraid it will not make us grow, though,” answered Adair. “But I say, the shot do pepper, though.”

They did, indeed. Numbers of the marines and sailors were knocked over.

“There’s another poor fellow down,” cried Adair, stooping down to help up the man, but his aid was of no avail. A deep groan escaped from his bosom, his musket fell from his grasp, and he was dead. Adair with a sigh, for the marine had been his servant, let go his hand and sprang on. In vain the British and their allies fired away at every loophole and embrasure where a man’s head or firelock was to be seen. The enemy rattled away as rapidly as ever, and no impression seemed to be made on the walls, while numbers of the storming-party were falling one after the other around. Now a poor fellow would spring up into the air shot through the head, and now would fall down with a groan, and rolling over, clutch convulsively at the earth; one would utter a sharp shriek as he fell; others, with the blood streaming from their limbs, would endeavour to scramble on till they sank with a cry of pain exhausted to the ground. The midshipmen now began to comprehend more clearly than they had ever before done the stern realities of warfare. They got within thirty yards of the walls when they found themselves in front of a crenelled outwork with a deep ditch before it. In vain the officers looked for some part of the castle wall which might prove practicable. Not a spot appeared accessible, and nothing but the ugly-looking muzzles of the enemy’s muskets were visible through the loopholes. Most unwillingly was the command given to retire, and most unwillingly was it obeyed.

“I say, Murray, I don’t like this—to have to turn my tail on those red-capped gentry,” exclaimed Adair.

“We must obey orders, at all events,” observed Murray. “Steady, my men, steady,” he added, as some of the sailors were turning round to take a parting shot at the foe.

The marines were drawn off in beautiful order, and the whole party were soon out of the reach of shot. As they were pulling off, Murray and Adair remarked that a flag which had been planted in the garden, in front of the fort, was left flying.

“That will never do, the enemy will be getting it,” cried Adair. “I say, Alick, let you and I go and see if we cannot pull it down, and carry it off.”

“With all my heart,” answered Murray. “Let us put back at once; we must ask Captain A—’s leave as we pass his boat. He will not refuse it, I am sure.”

The crew of their boat were delighted at hearing what the midshipmen had resolved to do, and pulled back to the shore with a will.

As they passed Captain A—’s boat Adair sang out, “There’s an English flag left flying on the shore there, sir; those red-capped fellows will boast that they took it from us if we let it stay. May we go and get it?”

The commander of the expedition saw that if it was to be done, no time was to be lost, as the risk to be run would increase by delay, or the Egyptians might see the flag, and sally out and take it.

“A brave idea; go and prosper, my lads,” he answered promptly.

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” answered Murray and Adair in one breath, while their crew bent with all their might to their oars.

“Oh, Alick,” said Adair, “I do so wish that Rogers was with us. This is just the thing of all others he would have liked.”

“I wish he was, indeed,” answered Murray. “But I dare say something else will turn up before long in which he may be able to take a part.”

The boat very soon reached the shore. All the crew wanted to go on the expedition, but the midshipmen would only consent to take one. They had their cutlasses by their sides, and pistols in their belts, but their arms were not likely to be of much use. The instant the boat’s stem touched the beach, they sprang on shore; and, running along across the beach, scrambled over the first wall they encountered, and found themselves in the garden.

Scarcely were they there, when the sharp eyes of the enemy fell on them, and they were saluted with a hot fire of musketry.

“Skip about—dodge them—fly here—fly there; take care they don’t hit you,” sang out Paddy, suiting the action to the word. “The more we jump, the less chance we shall have of being hit.”

The midshipmen’s movements, as they hurried on, were not unlike those of Wills-of-the-Wisp.

The enemy could not conceive what they had come for, and probably supposed that they were madmen who had escaped on shore, and were coming to join them. For a short time the firing ceased. As the smoke cleared off, those on board the ships could see what was taking place, as well as could the enemy. Every glass was turned towards them. Jack among others recognised his friends, and saw what they were about. They were not wrong in supposing that he would long to be with them. He would have given a finger, or even a right arm, for the sake of being of their party.

On they went. They had another wall to get over. They climbed to the top of it. The enemy at last suspected what they were about, and came to the conclusion that if they were mad they had method in their madness, so they began once more furiously firing away at them. Eastern matchlocks are fortunately not like Enfield rifles; or their lives, if they had had nine, like cats, whom they so resembled in their activity, would not have been worth a moment’s purchase. Murray and Adair raced on as merrily as if they had been playing a game of prisoner’s base. They clambered up a wall, at the top of which the flag-staff had been placed. They waved it about their heads; and, giving a loud cheer, down they leaped to the ground, where their companion was ready to receive them. Happily they did so, for the next moment a thick shower of musket-balls came rattling across the spot they had left.

“Not hit, Alick?” asked Adair, as they scampered back as hard as their legs would carry them.

“No; I hope you are not,” said Murray.

“Can’t say for a certainty,” answered Terence; “I feel a funny stinging sensation in my side as if something or other was the matter.”

Whatever it was it did not impede his speed. At length it seemed to strike the Egyptians that though they could not manage to knock over the young giaours with their matchlocks they might with their scimitars; so a band of fierce-looking fellows with long moustachios, wonderfully wide breeches, and gleaming blades, sallied out of the fortress to endeavour to overtake them. The Egyptians ran very fast and felt very savage, but they might just as well have tried to catch three active tomcats. Dick Needham, their companion, was the first to perceive that the enemy was in pursuit of them.

“There’s a lot on ’em a scampering after us, sir,” he observed coolly.

“All right,” answered Terence. “Their friends inside the fort, then, will be less likely to keep firing at us; and I should like to see the followers of the prophet, whether Turk or Egyptian, who can catch us in a fair race like this.”

To do them justice, however, the enemy made good play over the ground. The outside garden wall was reached and leaped, and now the three adventurers had a fair run for it along the beach towards their boat with the red-capped gentlemen, as Adair called them, in hot pursuit. A long straggling branch of a tree had been thrown upon the beach. Adair did not observe it, and suddenly he found himself toppled over on his head. He thought that he had broken his leg.

“Take the flag and run, Alick,” he exclaimed, throwing the flag-staff to Murray. “Never mind me, I’m too much, hurt to move.”

“Not when I have a pair of legs to run off with you, sir,” cried Dick Needham, lifting Paddy upon his shoulders, running off with him as if he had been a baby. “It was not for that, sir, that I comed here to look after you.”

Paddy felt that it was not a moment to stand on his dignity, so he was very much obliged to Dick for carrying him. Murray took the flag, but would not leave him till he had seen him hoisted upon Dick’s shoulders. Away they went then as before; but the Egyptians had gained considerably on them, and hallooed and shouted, and, worse than all, fired off their pistols with as good an aim as they could take, running as they were at full speed. Fortunately the bullets did not reach the fugitives; just then the latter caught sight of their boat, which they had left under shelter of a rock. The Egyptians did not see her, and so they ran on, which they otherwise would not have done. What was their surprise, then, to find themselves saluted with a round of grape-shot from a gun in her bows, and a volley of musketry, while a true British cheer reached their ears. Dick and Murray responded to it, and so did Paddy in a voice which showed that there was not much the matter with him, and all three very speedily tumbled into the boat, while the enemy turned tail and scampered back to the fort. The boat immediately shoved off to return to the frigate.

“What is the matter with you, Paddy?” asked Murray, as soon as they had taken their seats. “I hope you are not much hurt. Let me see.”

“My knee bothers me a little, but my side is the worst,” answered Adair. “And, as I am a gentleman, look here, the fellows have shot away the handle of my sword!”

Such was the case. Adair had indeed had a narrow escape; his coat was torn and his skin slightly grazed. An eighth of an inch on one side, and he would have received a very ugly, if not a mortal, wound. Happily he was very little hurt, and the cheers with which the boat was received, as she got alongside the frigate, made him forget entirely that anything was the matter with him.

“Oh! I am so jealous of you two fellows,” exclaimed Jack, as they were all seated together in the berths. “You’ll make me volunteer to lead a forlorn hope, or to do something terrifically heroic. However, the fun is not over yet; we shall have plenty more work to do before long.”

The fun, as Jack called it, was not over. Sidon was soon afterwards attacked by a squadron under Sir Charles Napier, in his usual slap-dash gallant determined-to-conquer manner. The ships bombarded, then the Turks, marines, and bluejackets were landed, and stormed one castle after another, killing or putting to flight every one who opposed them. Jack, Murray, and Adair, to their great delight, were all on shore together. The cannonading had not, however, driven the Egyptians from their entrenchments, so the ships again opened their fire. Captain Austin, at the head of a Turkish battalion, had taken one castle, Captain Mansel, with great gallantry, led a body of marines into another, and then they fought their way into another castle which overlooked the town, not, however, without some loss. And now the commodore conceived that the time had come for storming the town itself, and, putting himself at the head of the troops, he led them on. The three midshipmen, with a body of seamen from the different ships, were with him. They broke into some strongly fortified barracks, and drove out the enemy, then they fought their way through the streets to the citadel. Several boats had brought their ensigns, Jack carried theirs at the end of a pole.

“Hurrah, now!” he sang out; “let us have our colours on the top of the wall before any one else.” Terence and Murray echoed the sentiment; and, leading on some of their men, they endeavoured to reach the spot before a boat’s crew of their Austrian allies, led on by a midshipman, as well as before other parties of British seamen. Never was there a better race. No one felt inclined to stop at obstacles, and everybody who attempted to oppose them was killed. The governor of the town was encountered. He was offered quarter, but he would not receive it, and before any officers could interfere two marines ran the brave old gentleman through the body, and he died like a true Turk as he was.

When the enemy saw that their chief was dead, and that there was no one to lead them, they wisely threw down their arms, resolved, like brave men, to live and fight another day for a more profitable cause.

Jack and his companions pushed on, and having now fewer enemies to encounter, made still greater progress. The higher part of the town was reached; with shouts and loud huzzas they scrambled up to the summit of the walls, and, planting the British banner, Sidon was proclaimed to have fallen into the power of the allies. Fortunately the commodore and his followers came upon a thousand men concealed in a vaulted barrack, who were prepared to rush out and cut them off, but who, instead, were very glad to lay down their arms, and in the end every one of the garrison, three thousand in number, was captured. Tyre, that ancient city, was next captured; so was Caiffa, Tortosa, and other places; and at last the fleet appeared before Acre, still one of the most important places on the Syrian coast. Here the midshipmen saw what real fighting was. Acre presents two sides to the sea, one facing south and the other west. In consequence of this it was necessary that the fleet should attack in two divisions. It was a grand sight to see the mighty line-of-battle ships and the fine steamers, armed with their engines of destruction, approaching in order the devoted town, and still more when they began thundering away from a thousand loud-mouthed guns, confusing the senses with their roars and filling the air with their smoke. Even Jack felt his spirits awed as hour after hour, without cessation, the mighty uproar continued, and houses were overthrown and strong stone walls were seen crumbling away before the reiterated shocks of the iron shower levelled at them. The enemy, too, were not idle, and shots and shell came whizzing about the ships, striking down here and there many a gallant seaman and marine.

“Well, Alick, what do you think of it?” asked Jack, as, in the course of their duty, the two friends were brought together.

“That we are in earnest in what we are about; though I wish I could feel the poor fellows we are slaughtering deserved their fate more than I think they do,” answered Murray.

“I don’t understand those niceties,” observed Terence, who had just then come up. “Those fellows don’t do what we tell them, so we’ve a perfect right to kill and destroy them as fast as we can; but, halloo, what’s that?”

As Adair was speaking a terrific noise, ten times louder than the roar of all the guns of the squadron put together, was heard, and high up into the air were seen to ascend fragments of walls, and beams, and human bodies, succeeded by a dense smoke, out of which flames burst forth and raged furiously. The castle had blown up, or rather the grand magazine within it, and in a moment nearly two thousand persons were hurried into eternity. The firing ceased—the combatants held their breath, aghast at the dreadful catastrophe; but the Egyptians, undaunted, soon again recommenced the action, and the ships bombarded on as before till sunset, when the action was discontinued.

“What tough fellows those must be to hold out so long,” said Jack. “I should have thought they would have had enough of it before this.”

The governor had already come to the same conclusion, and during the night he and his followers evacuated the place, and in the morning some Turks and Austrians were sent on shore to take possession. The capture of Acre terminated the war in Syria, for many of the tribes which had been hesitating which side to choose, joined the Sultan’s forces, and the army of Ibrahim Pacha dwindled from 75,000 to 20,000 men. Sir Charles Napier went to Alexandria, and Mehemet Ali, persuaded that the tide of war had turned against him, undertook to evacuate Syria, and to restore the Turkish fleet, as soon as the Sultan should send him a firman, granting him the hereditary government of Egypt. Everybody engaged in the Syrian war got a great deal of credit, and my three friends came in for a midshipman’s share of the honours showered on the victors. Once more the Racer was ploughing the waters of the Mediterranean with her head to the westward. She had been her full time on the station, and it was the general expectation that she would speedily be ordered home.

“Hurrah for old England!” was the joyous cry on board, and no one enjoyed the thoughts of returning home more than did the three friends, and yet there was a lump of bitter in the bottom of the cup to spoil this pleasure. It was the thought that in all probability they would be soon separated, for how long they could not guess—perhaps years might pass away before they could again meet. They resolved, however, to stick together if they could, and, at all events, never to fail in letting each other know their whereabouts.

The Racer reached Portsmouth at last. There was a paying off dinner, given by the midshipmen to the gun-room officers, at the far-famed Blue Posts. Old Hemming presided, and a very good president he made. The first course was over when a stumping on the stairs was heard, and the waiter, opening the door, announced Admiral Triton. Jack sprang up and grasped his hand warmly.

“I have taken the liberty of an old seaman to look in on you, gentlemen, on this occasion, uninvited; for I saw you just as you were all brought together, and I was anxious to meet you again before you all separate, probably for ever,” said the Admiral—who, as may be supposed, was most cordially welcomed—after waiting for some time till the speech-making had begun. “You have had, I am glad to find from my friend Rogers, a happy ship. Many of you will, I hope, some day be captains; and let me impress it on you that on you yourselves will then mainly depend whether your ships also are happy ships or the reverse. To make them so, you must command your tempers (you cannot begin too soon to practise the difficult task), you must endeavour to study and promote the true interests of all under you, and you must act justly towards all men. To do this I must not fail to remind you that you must pray for strength whence alone strength for all difficult tasks can be given.”

The Admiral’s speech in no way interrupted the hilarity of the evening, and he added much to it by several amusing anecdotes, at which no one laughed more heartily than he did. The next day he accompanied Jack to Northamptonshire. No one was ever more cordially welcomed in a happy home than was Jack. It need not be said that, for at least three days, everybody did their very utmost to spoil him, though after that time he was treated very much as he used to be before he became a midshipman.

Chapter Eight.

Bound for Africa.

One morning, towards the termination of breakfast, Jack Rogers was leaning back in his chair, with a bit of buttered toast in one hand and the Times in the other, on the contents of which he was making a running commentary, when he stopped short, put down his toast, took a hurried sip of his tea, and exclaimed, “So my old skipper has got a ship again, and they say is going out as commodore to the coast of Africa.”

“Dear me!” observed Mrs Rogers, “I am afraid that Captain Lascelles will not like that; I should always have such a horror of that dreadful station.”

“Oh, mother, don’t pray entertain such a notion as that,” said Jack, with no little emphasis. “There is in the first place plenty of work to be done there, which in these piping times of peace is a great consideration. Only think of the fun of capturing a slaver, and what is more, of getting an independent command; or at least that is of a prize, you know, and being away from one’s ship for weeks together. And then there is cruising in open boats, and exploring rivers, and fights with pirates or slavers; perhaps a skirmish with the dependents of some nigger potentate, and fifty other sorts of adventures, not to speak of prize-money and all that sort of thing, you know. Oh, to my mind, the coast of Africa is one of the best stations in the world, in spite of what is said against it.”

When Jack made this assertion, he had never been there. He talked on till he had worked himself up to a fit of enthusiasm, and almost made his family believe that the African station was not so bad a one after all. The truth was that when Captain Lascelles paid off the Racer he promised Jack that should he get another ship soon he would apply for him, and Jack therefore felt pretty certain that he should himself be very soon on station, and he of course was anxious to prevent his parents or sisters from feeling any undue anxiety on his account. He could not sit down or turn his mind to anything all day till he discovered a copy of the Cruise of the Midge, over the graphic pages of which he was observed to be intently poring; and then he went and routed out of the library one or two books descriptive of the west coast of Africa. At dinner he could talk of nothing else but the Gold Coast, and the Ivory Coast, and Congo, and other places in those regions.

“Why, Jack, we might suppose that you were contemplating going out there from the way you talk about those places,” observed one of his brothers, who wanted to bring some other subject on the tapis.

“And so of course I am,” exclaimed Jack. “I should like to stay at home among you all; but as I have chosen a profession, and there is not another like it, I hope to stick to it, and I intend always to look out where there is most work to be done, and to go there.”

“My dear child,” said his mother, “but not to the coast of Africa.”

Then Jack went into all the arguments in its favour, which he flattered himself had made so favourable an impression at breakfast, but which he found had all been forgotten, while the original very natural prejudice against it had once more asserted a pre-eminence in the minds of his family.

The next morning Jack was unusually fidgety till the post came in, and there was a blank look on his countenance when the post-bag was opened and it produced no letter for him. Soon after breakfast, however, Admiral Triton’s carriage drove up to the door, and out of it stepped the admiral himself. He quickly stumped into the drawing-room, and having made his salaams to the ladies, produced an official-looking document from his pocket. Jack had followed him eagerly into the room.

“Here, my boy,” said he, “is a letter from my friend Lascelles, your old captain. He says—let me see what he says. Oh! here it is. ‘I cannot find the address of Jack Rogers, so pray tell him to come down to Portsmouth at once and join the Ranger. I have just been appointed to her, to go out as commodore on the African station. Let his outfit be got ready accordingly. I have no doubt that he will find some opportunity of distinguishing himself; and as he has already served four years, there is a fair chance of his getting his promotion when he returns home.’ The rest is private,” observed the admiral, when he had concluded this somewhat laconic epistle. “And now, Jack, I congratulate you, my lad,” he continued. “You have been quite long enough on shore to rub up your shore manners, and that is as long as a midshipman ought to remain at home. How soon shall you be ready?”

“In ten days or a fortnight I think that I could get his shirts and flannel waistcoats made, and his socks marked, and his—”

“I beg your pardon, my dear madam, but by that time the Ranger may be halfway across the Bay of Biscay. Ten or fourteen hours you should say. He must go and see his ship fitted out. He’ll never be at home in her unless he does. Well, well, then the day after to-morrow I intend to go down with him. I enjoyed my last trip so much that I would not miss the opportunity of seeing him on board his new ship. I know what you would say, my dear madam, but a longer delay would be objectionable. Rogers will agree with me. There, it is settled, so let us say no more about the matter.”

Thus Jack found himself, more speedily than he expected, about to go once more afloat. That afternoon, in company with two of his brothers and his sister Mary, he galloped round and paid his farewells to his friends in the neighbourhood; and then his chest was packed, the contents of which all the womankind in and out of the house, for a long way round, had been employed without cessation, night and day, in getting ready. So when the admiral, as he had done four years before, drove up to the door, he was perfectly ready to accompany him. Jack did his best to keep up the spirits of his mother and sister to the last, though just as he was going they gave way, and he himself was nearly upset. All the fighting he had seen had not hardened his heart. Away he and the admiral went down to Portsmouth. The next morning they were, soon after breakfast, on board the Ranger, then fitting out alongside a hulk. She was a six and thirty gun frigate, no great improvement on the Racer, but still a ship which an actively disposed officer might well be glad to get. Several of the officers had already joined, and the admiral made a few favourable remarks about Jack, which placed him at once in a favourable light in their eyes. Captain Lascelles, who was living on shore, welcomed him very kindly, and Jack was very well pleased with what he saw of his future companions. The third lieutenant of the frigate had not been appointed. However, three or four days after Jack had joined, who should make his appearance but old Hemming, who had, on the paying off of the Racer, got his somewhat tardy promotion. Jack did not know that he was promoted, and was not a little pleased to find that he was their third lieutenant. Jack had written to Adair and Murray directly he found that he was appointed to the Ranger, urging them to exert all their interest to get appointed to her likewise, but he had not yet heard from either of them. One was in Ireland, the other in Scotland. Hemming laughed when he told him what he had done.

“Their friends may take some trouble to get them on board a ship going to the Mediterranean, or to keep them on the Home station; but depend on it they will not bestir themselves to have them sent out to the Coast,” he remarked.

Captain Lascelles’ character was well-known, so he soon got his ship manned and ready for sea. Admiral Triton had gone over to the Isle of Wight, and now came off to Spithead to see the last of them. There was still room for another midshipman. They were expecting every day to sail, and Jack was in despair at not hearing from either of his friends, wondering what would have become of them, when a shore-boat was seen coming off to the ship, and Paddy Adair and his chest came up the side.

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Jack, as soon as he saw him; “that is jolly. But I say, old fellow, where is Murray? I wish that he was here too.”

Adair could not tell, and they puzzled their brains in vain to account for his silence. The topsails were loosed, the capstan was manned, and to a merry tune the men were running round and heaving up the anchor, and as the fine old admiral was shaking hands with all he knew on board just before stepping into his boat, Jack could scarcely persuade himself that four years had passed over his head since, with the exception that Murray was not present as one of the dramatis persona, precisely the same scene had been enacted. The Ranger had a quick run to Sierra Leone, where her arrival was welcomed with very great delight by all on board the ship she came to relieve. The frigate at last cast anchor opposite Freetown, and Jack and Adair were allowed with several of the officers to go on shore.

They were surprised at finding so large and flourishing a town, with a population, although the greater number are black or coloured, so generally intelligent and well off. They saw churches, and colleges, and schools, and places of education of all sorts. They were told that many of the negroes liberated from slavers have become wealthy, and that the sons of men who landed on those shores twenty years ago ignorant savages, are now receiving a first-rate education, and studying Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, many of them diligently preparing for becoming ministers of the gospel. Freetown, built on rising ground, close to the sea, has a very picturesque appearance. Jack and Adair were also struck with the number of people who came into the town to trade, and with the signs of industry everywhere visible. However, they were not sorry to find themselves once more at sea, with a sharp lookout kept night and day for slavers. The officers were in general very different in appearance from those in the Racer, though they were all very good sort of fellows. The oddest looking was Dr McCan, the surgeon. He was a jovial-faced short man, and from having lived a life of ease on shore he had grown enormously fat. As he had also got into a very comfortable practice, he did not at all like coming to sea, but at the same time, as he was a true philosopher, instead of moaning and groaning, he tried to make himself as happy as under the circumstances he was able. The first lieutenant was a veteran of the old school, tall and thin, but as lithe and agile as he had been when he was twenty years younger. He was constantly employed, because every captain who knew him wanted him as his first lieutenant, and so, because he was so very good in that capacity, John Holt remained still a lieutenant. He did not complain beyond an occasional grumble; indeed those who knew him suspected that he rather preferred being looked on as one of the best first lieutenants instead of holding a higher rank, when he would have had to remain on shore and be forgotten. The second lieutenant and master were both rough and ready seamen, short, strongly-built men, with light hair, and large bushy whiskers and beard; they were wonderfully like each other. The purser was one of the most gentlemanly and best educated men in the ship. The marine officer was also a very excellent fellow, but he squinted awfully, which made him carry his head somewhat on one side; and his face was broad and strongly seamed with lines, which twisted in a way that made him look as if he was always laughing. He however did laugh very frequently, more especially at his own jokes, which, if not always original, were very amusing. In the midshipmen’s berth there were several mates of long standing, who had come out on the station in the hopes of getting their promotion, while besides Rogers and Adair there were three other midshipmen, with their usual complement of other grades. The frigate lay long enough off Freetown to make every one rejoice to find themselves once more at sea. Lookouts were constantly aloft on the watch for slavers. They had not been at sea many days, when the exciting cry of “Sail ho!” was heard from the mast-head. Several of the officers were soon seen going up the rigging with their spy-glasses slung over their shoulders to look out for the stranger. She was made out to be a ship dead to leeward. All sail was instantly made in chase—she might be a merchantman, or possibly a man-of-war; but that was not likely, and Captain Lascelles had received information that a large slave-ship was expected off the coast. It was not till nearly an hour had elapsed that the stranger bore up and made sail to escape. This left no doubt as to her character, and every one looked forward to the capture of an important prize. The frigate sailed remarkably well, but a stern chase is a long chase, and several hours more passed before the topsails of the stranger were seen above the horizon. Jack and Terence could scarcely tear themselves from the deck even to go below to dinner.

“I say, Paddy,” observed the former, “I wonder whether you or I shall be sent away in her when we take her. Will Hemming go in command, or will one of the mates?—Lee or Weedon, perhaps.”

“Let us catch our hare before we eat her,” said Adair. “I tell you what I do wish; that we were in a smaller craft, and then you and I would have a chance of getting sent away together. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Jack agreed that it would, but both of them began to look very blank when darkness closed in on them, and the chase was still several miles ahead. When the frigate first made out the chase she was standing to the eastward, and was about a hundred miles off Cape Palmas. She was then running towards the Bight of Biafra. Captain Lascelles kept the frigate on nearly the same course, edging slightly in towards the land, for he suspected that the ship was bound in for one of the harbours on the Gold or Slave-Coast, and would probably stand in towards the land during the night. Neither of the midshipmen turned in that night. The thought that they were about to take their first prize kept, indeed, many others out of their hammocks, and sharp eyes were on the watch for her in every direction during the night. In spite of their sharpness, however, not a sign of the chase could be discovered. Yet as she was not seen on either hand, the probabilities were that she was still ahead.

“Do you know, Terence, this reminds me of the time when we chased the Turkish frigate which had you on board off the Egyptian coast,” said Jack. “I only hope that we may be more fortunate, and catch her before she gets on shore and blows up.”

“I shall be glad if we can catch her on the water, or earth, or sky,” answered Terence. “These slavers are slippery fellows, and it is no easy matter to get hold of them.”

The night wore on. When the morning at length broke the mast-heads were crowded with visitors. They rubbed their eyes and their telescopes, and then looked through the latter, and rubbed and rubbed again; and then they pulled very long faces at each other, for the ship could nowhere be seen. Many of them remained aloft, still looking for her, but at last they came down and looked at each other, and voted themselves sold. However, they went to breakfast, and as they walked the deck after it they hoped that they might have better luck next time.

The men’s dinner was just over, when once more everybody was put on the alert by hearing “Sail ho!” sung out from the mast-head.

“Where away?” asked Captain Lascelles, who was walking the deck at the time.

“Right ahead, sir,” was the answer.

The captain himself went aloft. When he came down again he told Mr Holt that he believed she was the identical ship they had chased the previous day. The frigate rapidly got up with her.

“How jolly to think that we shall catch her after all,” exclaimed Jack, as they got near enough to the chase to see halfway down her courses. “But what is the matter with her? She seems to have altered her course.”

“She is becalmed, to be sure,” answered Lieutenant Hemming, who heard the question. “Daddy Neptune has brought her up all standing, to place her as a punishment in our power. I only hope he will not make a mistake and becalm us till we get up to her.”

In another hour or less the stranger was seen floating in the middle of a shining sheet of water of silvery hue. Still the frigate carried on the breeze. It was a question whether the stranger would get it, and perhaps make a fresh start, leaving her pursuer in the lurch. The excitement on board the frigate became greater than ever when the stranger was seen, for there was no longer any doubt about her character. Her taut masts, her square yards, the great hoist of her topsails, and her light cotton canvas, all showed her to be a slaver, probably combined with the occupation of a pirate. Gradually the wind decreased as the frigate neared her; when within about a couple of miles it fell a dead calm. Captain Lascelles gave a rapid glance round the horizon, and then ordered away the first and second cutters with a large whale-boat, and directed the second and third lieutenants and one of the mates to join them. Jack and Terence got leave to accompany Mr Hemming. It was very evident, from the appearance of the stranger, that she would give them some tough work before they took her. With loud cheers the expedition shoved off from the frigate’s side and pulled away for the ship. The three boats contained altogether from five and thirty to forty hands. It was broad daylight. There would have been no use in disguising their intentions. If the slaver attempted to defend herself at all, they might well expect some desperate fighting, and from her appearance it could scarcely be expected that she would do otherwise. Hemming’s boat, which pulled the fastest, got the lead. The men every now and then gave a cheer to animate each other. They rapidly neared the slaver, as the smooth shining water bubbled and hissed under the boats’ bows. Oh, how hot it was, as the sun’s rays came directly down on their heads; but no one thought of the heat, and they laughed and joked as if they were employed in some amusing occupation.

“I say, Paddy, I think we could do a beefsteak brown on these stern-sheets,” observed Jack, putting his hand down by his side.

“That to be sure we might,” answered Terence. “And here comes the pepper for them,” he added, as the pirate sent a shower of round shot, grape, and canister flying around, and stirring up the water on every side, though fortunately no one was hit.

“Give it them in return, my lads,” cried the second lieutenant; “marines, fire.”

The marines were not slow in obeying the order, and as the seamen bent to their oars, they continued firing away as fast as they could load. The slaver’s crew had evidently hopes of crippling their adversaries, for they kept up a brisk and well-directed fire; but, hot as it was, the gallant British tars were undaunted.

“That dark ship has, perhaps, four or five hundred poor wretches under hatches whom it is our business to set free,” cried Lieutenant Hemming. “And then, my boys, if we do take her, what a lot of prize-money we shall get? Hurrah! hurrah!”

Hemming had been too long at sea not to know how to excite the spirit of seamen.

“We shall have some tough work, hurrah! hurrah! You’ll knock over some of those pirates, depend on it.”

Each officer excited his men by similar cries. Their only fear was that a breeze might spring up, and that the enemy might escape them. However, though they pulled hard, nearly half an hour passed from the time the first shot was fired till they got up to the ship.

“What an ugly set of cut-throats the fellows are,” said Adair, pointing to the people who crowded the pirate’s deck. “Let’s be at them, Jack.”

Jack was quite ready to respond to the proposal. The two other boats boarded on the starboard side, amid a hot fire of langrage of all sorts poured down upon them. Hemming pulled up on the port bow, sprang up the side, and soon fought his way upon deck. Jack and Adair were climbing in at one of the ports when the pirates fired the gun through it directly over their heads.

“Come on, Paddy, come on,” Jack sang out; but Adair had been knocked over into the bottom of the boat.

Happily, however, he was only kilt, as the Irish say; so he clambered up again, and quickly followed his friend, accompanied by Dick Needham, who had joined the Ranger, and another seaman.

Fortunate it was for the midshipmen that they had so stout and true a seaman as Dick Needham as their companion; for they encountered a desperate resistance from the pirates, and were instantly engaged in furious hand-to-hand combats. Meantime, so surrounded were they by their enemies, that they could not tell what had become of the rest of their shipmates. More than once they were nearly driven back through the port by which they had entered. Jack saved Adair from an ugly cut on the head, and Adair in return saved Jack from being run through the body, by cutting down the pirate who was making the attempt to do it. Both of them, as well as Dick Needham, were nearly exhausted, and poor Tom Bowles, their companion, had received a wound which brought him to the deck, when Hemming’s voice was heard above their heads, and he leaped down from the forecastle, off which he had driven the enemy. With loud cheers he led on his men; the pirates gave way before them. Then Lieutenant Collard and Randall were seen fighting their way from aft. The pirates looked about them, and seeing enemies on every side, gave way, some leaping below, and some throwing themselves overboard. Fully a dozen pirates were killed, and a still greater number were wounded. Many did not even ask for quarter. Others threw themselves on their knees, as their captors followed them below, and entreated that their lives might be spared. The victory was not gained without loss. A marine and two seamen were killed and five were wounded, a large proportion out of the number composing the expedition. No sooner were the decks cleared than a terrific howl was heard from below. Mr Hemming rushed to the hold; just at that moment a whole host of negroes were seen emerging from it. He was barely in time to drive them back again.

“I know the rascally slavers’ trick,” he exclaimed; “they have been telling the poor wretches that we are going to murder them; and if they once had gained the deck, we should have had no little difficulty in preventing them from murdering us.”

Then looking down the hold on the heaving mass of black humanity, he cried out, “Hear me, you piratical rascals; if you don’t make those poor negro fellows understand that we are their friends, and have come to set them free, we’ll hang every one of you at your own yard-arms before ten minutes.” He knew that many of the crew understood English perfectly, indeed that some of them were English and Americans.

The pirates, finding that their plot was defeated, wisely came on deck, having explained to the slaves that no harm was going to happen to them. As they came up they were secured by the manacles which they had prepared for their unhappy captives. Some time was thus employed, and at length a breeze sprang up, and the frigate was seen bearing down upon them. The prisoners looked very blank when they found that they were to be transferred to her. The gallantry of every one engaged was warmly commended by Captain Lascelles. Hemming got the command of the prize, and to their great delight Jack and Terence were allowed to remain in her. The frigate and her prize then made sail together for Sierra Leone. They kept close in with the land in the hopes of picking up another prize. Before, however, they got round Cape Palmas they met with a strong westerly gale, which compelled them to bring up in a sheltered bay, which is to be found some way to the eastward of it. The scenery was not very interesting. Near them was a narrow neck of sand, with a few palm-trees on it, and a muddy lagoon on the other side. Still, men who have been long aboard are glad to find anything like firm ground on which to stretch their legs. Now the surgeon and the lieutenant of marines were constantly joking each other as to which of them possessed the greatest physical powers. If one boasted he had ridden fifty miles without stopping, the other had always gone ten miles farther. If one had leaped over a wide ditch, the other had leaped over one five feet wider, or if one said he had kept up a Scotch reel for an hour, the other had danced one for a quarter of an hour longer.

“I’ll tell you what, doctor,” explained Lieutenant Stokes; “I’ll undertake to race you for a mile, each of us carrying another person on our backs.”

“Done,” cried Doctor McCan; “it shall come off at once. I’ll take Adair as my jockey; you can take whom you like.” Adair was the lightest midshipman on board, and the doctor thought that by getting him he had stolen a march on his military competitor.

“Agreed,” answered Lieutenant Stokes, cocking his squinting eye in the most ludicrous way. “I’ll take Rogers. He’s a bit heavier than Adair, but I don’t mind that. As you had the first choice of a rider, I must choose the ground. From the extreme end of that spit of land to the palm-trees near the neck is, I guess, about a mile.” This was said while the frigate and her prize were brought up on their voyage to Sierra Leone. Doctor McCan looked at the white spit of sand, and thought what heavy work it would be running over it; but he felt that he was in honour bound to keep to the proposed terms. A party was soon made up to go on shore, and all hands looked forward to the fun they expected to enjoy from the exhibition. They had first to pull alongside the prize to call for Rogers and Adair. Hemming gave them leave to go, and they of course were nothing loath to accept the invitation. What Captain Lascelles would have thought of the matter I don’t know. He might have considered that the exhibition of an officer of marines racing with a midshipman on his back was somewhat subversive of discipline. There was no surf on the shore, and the boats landed without difficulty. The ground was measured by the umpires. It was from the end of the point round the palm-trees and back again about a quarter of the distance to make up the mile. The doctor felt the sand with his feet. It was very fine and soft, and he began to repent of his proposal.

“Now, gentlemen, take up your burdens and be ready at the starting-post,” said the master, who was chief umpire. They went to the ground, tossing up the midshipmen to make them sit comfortably on their backs.

“Now—one, two, three, and away you go!” cried the master.

Off they went, the marine officer prancing away with Jack in the pride of his strength, while the doctor ploughed his way steadily on through the sand, finding, even with Adair, that he had rather more flesh and blood to carry than was pleasant. Still Mr Stokes did not gain upon him. He too found that Rogers was no slight weight, though he was only a midshipman—as Jack said of himself, “All that is of me is good.” For some time they were neck and neck. Hot enough they found it, for the sun was bright, the sand was soft, there was but little air, and what there was was in their backs. They were lightly clad, to be sure; but had they worn as little clothing as the most unsophisticated of negroes, they would have found it hot enough. They puffed, and they blew, and they strained, but still they persevered. At first neither Rogers nor Adair cared much about the matter, but they soon got as excited as the men who carried them, and eager for their respective steeds to win.

“I say, doctor,” observed Adair, after they had gone about half the distance, “the sand inside of us there, along the lagoon, looks hard. It would not take us much out of our way if we were to go there, and you would then get along famously.” Terence intended to give good counsel, and the doctor followed it. To his great delight he found the ground hard, and was getting on at a great rate. Jack urged Mr Stokes to take the same route.

“Stay a bit; all is not gold that glitters,” was the answer. “That’s treacherous sort of ground.”

“But see, see how magnificently they get along,” cried Jack, again wishing that he had a bridle to guide his refractory steed.

All this time the umpires and other spectators were keeping up merry shouts of laughter.

“There they go,” shouted Jack; “they will be round the trees in no time.”

Just as he spoke there was a loud hullabaloo from Terence, echoed by the doctor. Over they both went head first, but the doctor’s heels did not follow, for they had stuck fast in the mud, into which poor Terence’s head plunged with a loud thud. The doctor heroically endeavoured to pull him out, but his own legs only stuck deeper and deeper. As the marine officer came up and passed by them, he began capering about and neighing in triumph, while Jack barbarously inquired whether they would like to have a tow. At last Terence, covered with mud, black and most ill-odorous, scrambled out, and, by throwing to him the end of his handkerchief, contrived to haul out the doctor, who once more took him on his shoulders, and in sorry plight continued his course. Jack looked round and saw them coming just as Mr Stokes was about to round the palm-trees. He crowed loudly and waved his hand. It would have been wiser, however, if he had not begun to triumph so soon, for his steed’s foot catching in a falling and half-hidden branch, over they both went, and were half buried and almost stifled in the soft hot sand. However, they picked themselves up; and, Jack, mounting, away they went towards the goal where their friends were ready to receive them. Just as they got up to it, down came the gallant marine once more, but Jack stuck to his back, and on all fours he crawled up to the winning-post. The poor doctor, with Terence, as Jack said, like a huge baboon clinging behind him, came in soon after; and the doctor declared that it was the last time, with or without a jockey, he would ever run a race on the shores of Africa or anywhere else. In the afternoon the blacks in parties were taken on shore under an armed escort to bathe and exercise themselves; and the next day, the wind shifting, the frigate and captured slaver again made sail for their destination.

“The frigate is signalising to us,” said Jack one morning to Lieutenant Hemming, who had just come on deck. “She is going in chase of a sail to the southward. We are to continue our course for Sierra Leone.”

In a couple of hours the frigate was out of sight. There appeared to be every promise of fine weather.

Hemming’s chief concern was for the blacks, who were sickly. Several had already died, and not a day passed without four or five being added to the number. It was important, therefore, to make the passage as quickly as possible. For this object the commanding officer kept probably more sail on the ship than she would otherwise have carried.

Jack one afternoon had charge of the watch; all seemed satisfactory. As he was taking a turn on deck, he saw Dick Needham hurrying towards him and pointing to the sea to leeward. It was a mass of white foam. He shouted out, “All hands shorten sail!”

Hemming and Adair rushed out of the cabin. Hemming without speaking seized an axe, and began cutting away at the halyards; Adair and Jack followed his example. The crew flew into the rigging with their knives, but it was too late. The tornado was upon them; over went the ship; down, down she heeled. The seething water rushed in at her ports. Shrieks and cries arose from the unhappy negroes confined below. Jack and Needham’s first impulse was to knock off the hatches, and a few blacks sprang on deck before the sea closed over their heads.

“The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking,” was the cry fore and aft.

“Then a raft must be formed, my lads,” sang out Lieutenant Hemming. “Never say die, while life remains.”

Chapter Nine.

Wreck of the San Fernando.

The heart of the bravest man may well sink within him when he hears the cry uttered, in accents of despair, “The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking!” Rogers and Adair looked at each other, and thought that their last moments had really come. All the bright visions of the future which their young imaginations had conjured up, vanished in a moment. Well might they, for the ship lay hopelessly on her side, with more than half her deck under water. There arose from every side shrieks and cries of terror. There were the distorted countenances of the blacks, as they crowded up the hatchway, through which the sea was pouring in torrents, while their own men, intent on preserving their lives to the last, were clambering up the bulwarks or working their way forward, which was the part of the ship the highest out of the water. Hemming, followed by the two midshipmen with axes in hand, endeavoured to gain the same part of the ship. It was no easy task. The howling wind blew with terrific violence around them, and the seething ocean bubbled up, and sent its fierce waves dashing over their heads. “Oh, save me, save me!” cried Adair, as a sea struck him and washed him down the deck; but Hemming and Rogers caught the rope he had happily clutched and hauled him up again. At length they gained the forecastle, where most of their own crew had assembled and some few of the unfortunate blacks. They were the only survivors of the four or five hundred human beings who lately breathed the breath of life on board. Mr Hemming, looking round, saw that there was not a chance of the ship righting herself. He accordingly promptly issued orders for the formation of a raft. Such spars as were loose or could be got at, were hauled up on the forecastle. The topgallant masts and royals had been carried away, and fortunately still floated near; Jack saw them and got them hauled in. Hemming, meantime, was wrenching up the forecastle deck to assist in the formation of a raft. There was not a moment to lose, for it was evident that the ship was fast settling down. Fortunately a hammer and some nails were found forward.

“Here, my lads, lash the ends of these spars together, so as to form a square,” cried Hemming, working energetically. “That will do; now this one diagonally—that will strengthen it; now these planks; nail them on as we best can on the top. That will do bravely; next lash these lighter spars above all, they will form a coaming, and prevent us from slipping off the raft.” Thus he went on, by his activity and cheerful voice, keeping up the spirits of his men, and encouraging them to exertion.

“Mr Hemming,” said Jack, “how are we to live without food? I must try and get some—who’ll follow me?”

“I will, with all my heart,” cried Dick Needham. Jack and he fastened ropes to their waists, and dashed aft towards the chief cabin, which was already under water. The tornado had passed away as suddenly as it began, so that the water was tolerably smooth, or they could not have attempted this daring feat.

“I know where a cask of biscuits was stowed. If we can get it out, it will be a great thing,” cried Jack, preparing to dive into the cabin.

“I saw some beef in one of the starboard lockers,” said Needham, accompanying him. Another good swimmer and diver followed them. All three remained under water so long, that those forward thought they were lost. Adair could not restrain himself, and was dashing aft, when Jack came to the surface puffing and blowing like a grampus. He had discovered the cask of biscuits, but no beef was to be found. What, however, was of great consequence, was a breaker of water which Needham found, and both were floated up to the raft forward. Two other attempts were made to get provisions, but in vain. All the rest of the party were engaged with all their might in increasing and strengthening the raft. Then the cry arose, “She is going down, she is going down!” Jack looked about him as he came to the surface out of the submerged cabin, and seeing that not a moment was to be lost, summoning his two followers, sprang forward. Adair, with outstretched hand, was ready to help him on to the raft as he felt the big ship sinking under his feet.

“Shove off, shove off, my lads!” sang out their commander. With spars and oars, the seamen forced the raft away from the foundering hull. Then, as the eddy formed by the huge mass going downwards through the water caught it, the helpless raft was whirled round and round, and then horrible seemed the fate in store for them. One side dipped into the sea, and all believed that it was going to be drawn down amid the vortex. The people held on tightly for their lives. Tossing violently, however, up it again came to the surface, and floated evenly on the water. Still their condition was melancholy in the extreme.

On counting numbers it was found that the fifteen men who formed the prize crew including officers, had escaped, with two Spaniards out of those who had been left on board to assist in working the ship, and twelve negroes. To supply all these people with food, there was only a cask of biscuits and about twelve gallons of water. How long they might have to remain exposed to scorching heat, fierce storms, or chilling fogs, it was impossible to say. Jack looked at Adair, and Adair looked at Jack, to read each other’s feelings in their countenances. They felt for each other as brothers, and each trembled for the fate which might overtake his friend.

“How far do you make it out we are from the land?” asked Adair.

“Oh, not more than a hundred miles,” answered Hemming. “That is nothing. The sea-breeze would drive us in there in the course of the day.”

He did not say this because he thought it; he wanted to keep up the spirits of the people under his charge. Nor did he remind them that they were five or six hundred miles from Freetown, Sierra Leone, and a very considerable distance from Manovia in Liberia. A fore-topgallant studding-sail had been hauled on board the raft, and this set on a spar served them as a sail. As soon as the ship had disappeared, and everything floating out of her had been picked up, Hemming’s first care was to arrange the people so as to trim the raft properly. He made them sit in rows back to back, with their faces to the sea. He, with Jack and Terence, sat in the centre by the mast on the cask of biscuits and the water. A spar, with a plank nailed to the outer end, served as a rudder, and two very inefficient oars were manufactured in the same way. For some hours after the tornado they were becalmed, and then a light air from the southward sprang up, which enabled them to steer towards the land. After some consideration, Hemming stood up and addressed the men. Jack and Adair admired the calm and collected, and, indeed, dignified way in which he spoke, so different to his manner when he was a mate. “My men,” he said, “we are placed by Providence in a very dangerous position. We must trust to the help of the Almighty, not to our own arm to save us; still we must exert ourselves to the best of our power to take care of our lives; we must husband our resources, we must behave with the utmost order, we must be kind to each other, and we must keep up our spirits and hope for the best. If we pray to God, He will hear us, and if He sees fit, He will save us. Now, my lads, let us pray.” On this the lieutenant offered up a sincere prayer for their preservation, and all who could understand him joined in it. Even the benighted blacks comprehended that he was performing some rite by which they were to benefit. After it, Hemming again got up, “I told you, my lads, we must husband our resources. Till we see what progress we make, it will be wise to take only one biscuit a day. That will support life for some days, and if we take more our stock will soon be exhausted.” The men replied cheerfully that they would limit themselves to any quantity he thought best. Poor fellows, they were to be sorely tried; the sun went down, and an easterly wind blew, and not only prevented them from approaching the coast, but again drove them slowly off it. When the sun rose the wind fell altogether, and they lay exposed to the full fury of its scorching rays. A thirst, which the small quantity of water served out in a teacup during the day could in no way assuage, now attacked them. Jack and Adair felt their spirits sinking lower than they had ever gone before. They could scarcely eat their small allowance of biscuit. They knew too that in another day the bottom of the cask would be reached. Still they tried to imitate Hemming in keeping up a cheerful countenance. Many of the people complained bitterly of their sufferings. The poor blacks said nothing, but three of them, almost at the same moment, sank back on the raft, and when those near them tried to lift them up, they were found to be dead. They were speedily lowered into the water.

“Adair, what is that?” asked Jack, as a dark fin was seen gliding round the raft.

“A shark,” answered Adair. “See, there are two, three, four of them. We must have one of those fellows. They will eat us if we don’t eat them, that is very certain. Here, Needham, have a running bowline ready to slip over the head of the first who comes near enough.” The idea was taken up eagerly by the men; there being plenty of line on board, several of them sat ready with the bight of a rope in hand, hoping to catch one of those evil-disposed monsters of the deep. But death in the meantime was busy among their companions. One by one the blacks dropped off, till one only remained. He was a fine-looking, intelligent young man, of great muscular strength, and evidently superior to the rest in rank. He sat by himself, slowly eating crumb by crumb his share of biscuit, and gazing with steadfast eyes towards the land of his birth. Once more the wind got up, and sent the water washing over the frail raft, which worked fearfully, as if it would come to pieces.

“Never fear, my lads,” said Hemming, “I know of no part which will give way. It will hold together, depend on that.” In spite of all the working it did hold together. Hemming’s face, though his words were always cheering, looked very grave. “Rogers, Adair, my friends,” he said solemnly, “the water is expended, and there are no more biscuits—how shall I announce it to these poor fellows?” He thought a little. “Come now, lads,” he cried out, “be smart about catching some fish; a change of food will do us all good.”

No one asked for more biscuits or water; they knew it was all gone. Some gave way under the appalling thought. One of the Spaniards went raving mad, and threw himself into the sea, whence no one had strength to pull him out; the other fell back and died quietly.

“Some of our men won’t hold out much longer,” observed Jack to Hemming; “can we do nothing for them?”

“Nothing,” answered Hemming solemnly. The cool air of the night seemed to revive them; but when the hot sun came out, and shone down on their unprotected heads, they died. Two more went raving mad. They chattered and sang, and then howled and shrieked. It was with difficulty they could be held down. One of them escaped from his companions, and threw himself into the sea. The other was prevented from following his example, but his strength gradually decreased till he also died. Scarcely was his body sent into the deep, than a fair wind sprang up, and the sail being hoisted, the raft went along at the rate of three or four miles an hour. No one had relaxed their efforts to catch a shark. A shout was given (not a loud one, for their voices were already hollow and weak), and several men were seen hauling in the head and shoulders of a large shark. How eager and anxious was the expression of their countenances, for they all dreaded lest their prize should escape them. Their strength too was scarcely adequate to the task. At last he was hauled up on the raft, but so violent were his struggles, that he nearly threw some of the people into the sea as they crawled up to him to despatch him with their axes. At last Jack, not knowing what mischief might be committed, sprang towards him, and aiming a blow at his tail, struck directly on it, and instantly he was quieted. Scarcely was the monster dead than the men’s knives were cutting away at him. Some drank his blood, and others eagerly ate the yet almost quivering flesh. The officers, however ravenous they felt, got some thin slices, which they dried in the sun before eating. Food had thus been providentially sent them, but their sufferings from thirst soon became very painful. It was piteous to hear some of the poor fellows crying out for water when there was none to give them. Several more died from the grievous thirst they were suffering. Mr Hemming anxiously looked round the horizon. Not a sail was in sight in any direction. Hour after hour passed away. Their tongues became parched, and clove to the roofs of their mouths.

“This is dreadful,” whispered Jack; “I don’t think I can stand it much longer.”

“I would give a guinea for a bottle of gingerbeer,” exclaimed Terence.

“Oh, how delicious! don’t talk of such a thing. I would give ten for a pint of the dirtiest ditch-water in which a duck ever waddled,” said Jack; “however, we must try and not think about it.”

Some hours passed slowly by after this, when Hemming’s eye was seen to brighten up.

“Is there a sail in sight?” asked Jack and Adair, who were constantly watching his looks.

“No,” he answered, “but there is a cloud in the horizon. It is a small one, but it rises slowly in the north-west, and I trust betokens rain. If it does not bring wind at the same time, our sufferings may be relieved.”

How anxiously all on the raft, who had yet consciousness left, watched the progress of that little cloud, at first not bigger than a man’s hand. How their hearts sank within them when they thought that it had stopped, or that its course was altered; but it had not stopped, though it advanced but slowly. Still it grew, and grew, and extended wider and wider on either hand, and grew darker and darker till it formed a black canopy over their heads; and then there was a pattering, hissing noise heard over the calm sea, and down came the rain in large drops thick and fast. The men lifted up their grateful faces to heaven to catch the refreshing liquid in their mouths as it fell, but Hemming lowered the sail, and, ordering the men to stretch it wide, caught the rain in it, and let it run off into the breaker till that was full. Then they filled the cask which had held the biscuits, and each man took off his shirt, and let it get wet through and through; and eagerly they sucked the sail, so that not a drop more than could be helped of the precious fluid should be lost. Then when they found that the rain continued, each man took a draught of the pure water from the cask, which they again filled up as before by means of the sail.

“Oh, Terence, how delicious!” exclaimed Jack, drawing a deep breath.

“Nectar,” said Adair, draining a last drop in his cup. It was of a doubtful brown hue, and in reality tepid from falling on the not over clean and hot sail.

Jack and Terence learned the lesson, that the value of things can only be ascertained by being compared with others. That shower was the means sent by Providence to preserve the lives of many of those on the raft. Some were already too far gone to benefit by it. They opened their glassy eyes, and allowed their shipmates to pour the water down their parched throats; they seemed to revive for a short time, but soon again sank, and some even died while the water was trickling over their cracked lips. All this time the raft was constantly surrounded by sharks. The flesh of the first caught was almost exhausted, and though dried in the sun had become rather savoury.

“Come, my lads, we must have another of those fellows,” cried Hemming, standing up, and supporting himself against the mast. “Can any of you heave the bight of a rope over one of them?”

“I’ll try, sir,” said Dick Needham, kneeling at the edge of the raft, for he had not strength to stand. How changed he was from the stout seaman he had appeared but a few days before. He made several trials in vain. Jack Shark always kept at too great a distance when the rope was thrown. At last one of the seamen took off his shoes, and, tucking up his trousers, stuck out his leg and moved it slowly backwards and forwards. The voracious shark saw the tempting bait, and made a dash at it. The seaman drew it in, and as the fish, disappointed of his prize, turned round whisking up his tail out of the water, Needham adroitly hove the rope over it. As the shark darted off Dick was very nearly drawn overboard, but the rope tightening brought up the shark; and as he turned round to ascertain what had got hold of his tail another rope was thrown over his head, and he was hauled, in spite of his plunges and struggles, on board. A few blows on the spine near the tail quickly finished him. He was soon cut up, some part of him was eaten fresh, and the rest was hung up to dry. The men would have thrown what they did not want overboard, but their commander reminded them that bad weather might come on, when they could not catch another, and that they should preserve a store for such an event. It was fortunate this forethought was shown, for that very night a strong breeze sprang up, and the frail raft was tossed up and down till there appeared every chance of its upsetting or being knocked to pieces. Happily more rain came down and refreshed them, and the clouds sheltered them from the scorching rays of the sun, or not one of them would have held out.

Sadly were their numbers reduced. Ten Englishmen and the young African chief only now remained alive. Some of them appeared almost at death’s door, and they would have slipped from the raft had not their comrades held them on. Darkness again came down on the waters, and the wave-tossed raft drove onwards no one knew in what direction. The stars were hidden—they had no compass—nor, had they possessed one, was there a lantern by which to see it. Great were the horrors of that night and of two succeeding nights; still neither did the gallant Hemming nor his two younger companions allow their courage to desert them. They conversed as much as they could, they talked of their past lives, they even spoke of the future; nor did they forget to pray to Heaven for strength to support whatever might yet be in store for them. Still the wet and cold of the night, and the heat of the day, was telling fearfully on all of them.

“When do you think we shall reach the shore, sir?” asked Jack. “We have been driving for a long time towards it nicely.”

“In two days if the wind holds,” answered Hemming; “perhaps in less time we may sight it.”

But the wind did not hold. Once more they knew that they were being blown off it. Their hearts sank. They wellnigh gave way to despair. Each of the officers took it in turns to stand up to keep a lookout for a sail or for land. Jack was standing on the top of the cask, holding on by the mast, when his eye fell on a white glittering object to the northward.

“Yes, it is! it is!” he exclaimed; “a sail! a sail! she must be standing this way.” All but the weakest or most desponding turned their anxious eyes in the direction Jack indicated. The sight of some was already too dim to discern her, but others raised a feeble shout, and declared that she was standing close hauled towards them. How eagerly they watched her, till their anxiety became painful in the extreme. Some shouted, “We shall be saved, we shall be saved;” but others moaned out, “No, no, she’ll not see us, she will pass us.” Hemming stood up, watching the approaching vessel. He said nothing. He was not certain that she would near them. One hour of intense anxiety passed. There was very little wind. Another hour glided on.

“Yes, my lads, she is undoubtedly standing this way,” cried Hemming. “But—” and he stopped. “She may be a slaver, and if so, I know not whether we should be better off than we now are.”

“Surely, bad as they may be, they would not leave us,” said Jack.

“Don’t let us be too sure of that. There is nothing too bad for slavers to do,” observed Hemming; “however, let us hope for the best.”

The stranger approached. She had very square yards, very white canvas, and a black hull. If she was not a slaver, she looked very like one. Still, even if they had wished it, they could not have avoided her. On she came. Her course would have taken her somewhat wide of the raft. It was not seen apparently. Then suddenly her course was altered. Some one on board had made them out. The brig stood towards them. When she was scarcely more than half a mile off, it fell a dead calm. A boat was lowered.

“Those fellows pull in man-of-war’s style,” observed Hemming. “Grant she may be an English cruiser: but I fear not.”

The almost dying seamen endeavoured to cheer, but their weak voices were scarcely heard over the waters. The boat dashed towards them. They could hear the officer in her speaking to his men. It was in Spanish.

“Then they are slavers, after all,” cried Jack, with a sigh.

He had taken a great antipathy to slavers. To an Englishman no class of men are more hateful. The boat came alongside. The people in her regarded them with looks of commiseration. Well they might have done so; for more wretched-looking beings could scarcely have been seen. Two of them stepped on board the raft, to which they secured a rope, and began towing it towards the brig. Neither Hemming nor any of his companions could speak Spanish, so they asked no questions. They were soon alongside the brig, and were handed up on deck. They felt sure that they were going on board a slaver or perhaps a pirate; but what was their surprise to see several officers in uniform on deck, one of whom stepped forward and addressed them in very good English: “You are on board her most Catholic Majesty’s brig the San Fernando. We will not ask you how you came into this plight. You shall be taken below, and all possible care shall be bestowed on you.”

Hemming tried in vain to reply to this very kind and polite speech. He pointed to his mouth and signified that he could not speak. The necessity for exertion being over, he felt himself completely unnerved.

The officers were conveyed to the captain’s cabin, the men to a sick-bay on deck; and the surgeon, if not very clever, was kind; and what they chiefly wanted was rest and food. Jack and Terence fell asleep, and slept twenty-four hours without waking: so they said. Several days passed, however, before they were able to sit up in their beds. At last they were able to crawl up on deck. It was wonderful then how soon they picked up their strength. Hemming took longer to come round. Dick Needham was about as soon as they were. Two poor fellows died on board, so that eight only of the prize crew ultimately remained alive. The brig, they found, had come out nominally in search of pirates, and was then bound across to Cuba. The captain was a very gentlemanly man; so were some of the officers, especially the first lieutenant, who spoke English well. One of the sub-lieutenants, or mates, also spoke a little English, so they got on capitally. The captain said he would not go back to Sierra Leone, but would land them at Fernando Po. The brig, they found, had touched, while they were in bed, at several places along the coast: and what with light winds and baffling winds her progress was much delayed.

“I wonder, Paddy, when we shall ever get on shore again,” said Jack. “I should like to get back to the frigate, to let them know that we are not all lost; for I’m afraid that they will be writing home not to expect to see us again, and all that sort of thing; and then all our families will be going into mourning for us.”

“I’m afraid mine would find it a hard matter just now to pay for the said black garments,” said Adair. “They were in a bad way as to money matters when I left home. The famine and the fever killed the people, and rent did not come in; and to say the truth, I don’t know that any of them will trouble their heads much about me.”

“Oh! don’t say that, Paddy,” exclaimed Jack; “still I don’t know. Sometimes I have wished that the dear ones at home would not be so unhappy when they hear that we are lost; and then again I should be very sorry if they did not love me, I own. I only hope that they may not hear of the loss of the prize.”

When they were able to observe the state of things on board they discovered that the brig was in a very bad state of discipline. The crew were a worthless set of vagabonds, the scum of some Spanish port, pirates, slavers, and cut-throats of all descriptions. The officers tried to get obeyed but could not, and at last seemed to give it up as a bad job; some of them, indeed, were very little better than the men. The brig consequently was constantly getting into irons or being taken aback by careless steering, and it was only wonderful that she had got thus far on her voyage without a serious accident. The captain and first lieutenant, though pleasing in their manners, were evidently not much of seamen, and took their observations in a very careless way. Hemming, on questioning them, found that they had not been to sea for a long time, and, had they not been compelled, would not have come now. They seemed fully aware that things were not as they should be; but they shrugged their shoulders, and said that they could not help it. By this time Hemming, as well as the rest of the people, with the exception of two poor fellows, had almost recovered their strength. The weather had hitherto been fine, but it came on very thick one night, and began to blow hard; but the wind was fair, and the captain, who was in a hurry to get over his voyage, continued to carry on a press of sail. Lieutenant Hemming and the two midshipmen, who did not like the look of things, with the rest of the English, continued on deck.

“Are you certain that you know your exact position?” asked Hemming of the first lieutenant.

He was not indignant, but he laughed and said that the master was a good navigator, and that he must be right; Hemming had formed a different opinion. An hour passed. Suddenly, Jack and Adair, who were walking together, were startled by a cry from the lookout forward, which they guessed was, as it proved, “Breakers ahead.” They, with Hemming, ran forward to ascertain the state of things, and there they made out through the darkness on the port bow amass of white breakers. No sooner did Hemming see them than he rushed aft to put the helm to port, while the officers on deck were giving different orders. When he got to the wheel he found that it had been put the wrong way, while the yards were being braced up first in one direction, then in another. The next instant the brig struck with a tremendous crash, throwing those on deck off their legs, and those below out of their berths. The following sea lifted the brig nearly her entire length more ahead, jamming her between two rocks, and a third came rushing on board, and made a clean sweep of everything on her decks. Jack and Adair and Needham were together.

“There are those two poor fellows below, sir. Don’t let us forget them,” said the latter.

“Certainly not,” exclaimed Jack and Adair together. They dived below and brought them up, and then followed Hemming and the rest of their shipmates into the main rigging. The authority of the Spanish officers was now completely gone. Not an order was obeyed; indeed, every man seemed to be aware that he must look out for himself, and that there was no one on whom he could depend.

The first sea which came on board washed away several unfortunate wretches; their shrieks and cries for help were heard as they were dashed against the rocks, no one being able to render them the slightest assistance. The greater part of the crew began to collect in the rigging and the tops, and there they seemed to prepare themselves to spend the night. Indeed, dark as it was, it would have been difficult, even with strict discipline, for them to have concerted effectual measures to save themselves. The gale increased, and with it occasionally bright flashes of lightning darted from the black clouds. By their light, as they went zigzagging around them. Jack, whose eyes were the sharpest, thought he discerned close to them a rock, towards which he resolved, should the vessel go to pieces, to endeavour to make his way. He pointed it out to his companions.

“Stick by me, Paddy, you know; as I’m a good swimmer I may be able to lend you a hand,” he sang out to his messmate, who knew full well that he could trust to his help.

Terrific, indeed, was that night. Few of those who long to follow a sea life, if they could see pictured out before them all the sufferings and hardships they may be called on to endure, would not hesitate before adopting it. The roar of the waves as they dashed over the rocks, the howling of the wind in the rigging, the groaning of the hull at each successive blow she received from the seas, mingled with the cries and shrieks of those who had remained on deck, or had fallen from the rigging and been washed overboard, together with the oaths and blasphemies of many of the survivors, mingled in one chaotic and terrific uproar, which stunned and bewildered the senses. Some hours thus passed. At last Hemming’s voice was heard calling them quickly out of the rigging; without hesitation they obeyed him. The brig had heeled over on her side, and her decks were exposed to the full fury of the sea.

Scarcely had Jack and Terence descended than the mainmast with a crash went by the board, throwing off many who clung to it and crushing others.

“Follow me, my lads, and we’ll try to get on the rock close aboard us,” shouted Hemming, as he began to clamber, often covered by the seas which roared up over the ship, along the unstable mast, the extreme end of which just touched the wave-washed rock.

“Come along, Paddy, come along,” cried Jack, as they also endeavoured to work their way in the direction taken by their commander.

Chapter Ten.

Again United.

The lightning flashed brightly, the sea, roaring loudly and wildly, dashed over them, seeming angry at being disappointed of its prey, as the two midshipmen climbed along the mast, till, reaching the very cap of the topmast, they found that it rested on a small rock. Here all the English were collected, including the sick men, who had been helped along the mast by their messmates. They soon found, however, that the sea broke over the greater portion of the rock, and that even the highest part was wet and slippery with the spray. It also was evident that the wreck considerably broke the fury of the seas, and that when she went to pieces the rock would be untenable. No one, however, felt inclined to fold his hands to rest. At length Hemming said that he thought he saw something dark on the opposite side of the rock, and that he observed when the sea washed up it came surging back as it does between two rocks, and that thus he hoped there might be a larger one farther on. They had contrived happily to get hold of the topgallant halyards. Unreeving them, Hemming fastened one end round his waist, and ordered the men to hold the other while he felt his way across the seeming gulf. Jack and Adair strained their eyes eagerly after him as he disappeared in the pitchy darkness among the roaring waters. On he went, they gradually paying out the rope. Suddenly it slackened, and with horror they felt that he was being carried off by the hungry waves. They were about to haul in the rope to try to save his life, when once more it straightened and he seemed to be proceeding as before. At last they felt that the end was being lifted up, and all the slack hauled in. They fancied also that they heard his voice shouting to them; but it came to the teeth of the wind, and they could not understand what was said.

“I will go over and learn what he wants,” cried Jack, guessing that he wished them to join him.

Jack, as he spoke, seized the rope, and grasping it tightly worked his way on till he found himself surrounded by the foaming sea as it dashed through a passage which he saw evidently separated two rocks. More than once he was plunged over head and ears, but on he went wading among the rugged rocks, and every instant expecting to be carried off his legs. Often he had to stop to recover his breath. Once he was completely off his legs and had to float on his back, while he worked his way along by the rope. At length he reached the side of a large rock, and by the fact of the lichens growing out of its crevices he knew that he must be above the reach of the waves. In another minute he found himself alongside Mr Hemming, who congratulated him on getting safe across. They shouted to the other people to join them, but their voices were drowned by the noise of the tempest. At last Jack begged that he might go and hurry them over, and argued that as he was the slightest of the two, he should run less risk of being carried away. Jack seized the rope, and in spite of the waves which washed over him, by stopping every now and then and grasping it with all his might, he succeeded in returning to the spot where his shipmates were collected. Some of the Spanish officers and men were also on the rock, though others were on the forecastle of the brig, and a few still clung to the shattered poop. At that moment a tremendous sea knocked the poop to pieces and sent most of the wretches who clung to it to destruction, a few only reaching the rock.

“Come, Adair, now is your time to cross,” cried out Jack. “Quick, quick.”

Jack, seizing Terence’s hand, guided him to the rope. Terence crossed without much difficulty, Dick Needham and the rest following with their sick comrades; Jack brought up the rear, but a sea caught him, and he had to hold on like grim death to save himself. Dick and another man had, just before they left the wreck, snatched up a couple of muskets. They had both once been cast away among savages when they had felt the want of arms to defend themselves. The first faint streaks of daylight were appearing in the sky when the Englishmen found themselves assembled on the top of the rock. No sooner did the Spaniards ascertain where they had got, than they made a rush to follow; their officers and men indiscriminately crowding over, shoving each other aside, and all trying to be first. The consequence was that numbers were washed away and drowned. Hemming’s first care was to ascertain the condition of his own people. None were much hurt. The two sick men had been brought over in their blankets. These were spread out in the air, where they quickly dried, and the poor fellows were then wrapped up in them again and placed in the most sheltered spot on the top of the rock. In the meantime the afterpart of the brig had gone to pieces, and the foot of the rock was strewn with a vast number of things sent up by the waves. Among them, unfortunately, was a cask of spirits which had come out of the hold. The Spanish seamen quickly discovered it, and in spite of all their captain and officers could do, they insisted on broaching it. Often British seamen have done the same, but there have been numerous instances where, without uttering a word of complaint, a crew have seen casks of spirits started by their officers that they might not have the opportunity of getting drunk. At first the Spaniards were quiet enough, till they produced some leathern cups and rapidly passed the liquor round. The officers no longer attempted to exert any control, and some even sat down and drank with the men. How desolate was the scene on every side of the barren rock on which the Englishmen stood! Below them were groups of men, many of them already half drunk, sitting round the cask of liquor only just above the wash of the sea. The shore was strewn with fragments of the wreck, with casks, chests, furniture, sails and rigging, and with mangled bodies, many of whom might probably have been saved had their comrades exerted themselves. On the small rock a few wretches were still collected, the sea every instant breaking over them. Now one and now another would be washed away, while scarcely one made an attempt to save himself. The bow of the brig still held together. On it were collected some dozen men or more. Having hitherto found it a place of safety they seemed afraid to quit it, while on the sea around fragments of the wreck and broken spars were floating, a few poor fellows clinging to them and crying for help to those who could afford them none. A dull grey sky was overhead, and far as the eye could reach the ocean seemed a mass of white foam increasing the dreariness of the view, while in the far distance appeared a blue line so faint that many doubted whether or not it was the land. On the rock not a blade of grass nor a drop of water was to be found, so Hemming saw that it would be necessary to use every exertion to provide for his men. Accordingly he sent Jack and Adair with three of them to collect what things they could pick up at the foot of the rock. Fortunately they discovered four small breakers of water, and a couple of casks of salt meat with a bag of bread. These they dragged to the top of the rock, hoping to conceal them from the Spaniards. Unhappily the latter caught sight of the casks of water, and, fancying that they contained brandy, came hurrying up to get them into their power. In spite of all Jack and Adair could do, one was broached and the invaluable contents recklessly spilt on the ground. Still the Spaniards, unconvinced that the others only contained water, advanced with threatening gestures towards the English. Needham grasped his musket, Mr Hemming seized another, and made signs that if they approached nearer they would blow out the brains of a couple of them at all events. This made those in advance of the rest hesitate, for they did not remember that the muskets had been thoroughly wetted and could not go off. The Spanish officers generally sided with the English, and tried to explain that, as there was no water on the rock, all would be suffering from thirst, and that therefore the contents of the casks were more precious than any spirits.

“That may be the case, but then those hated Englishmen shall not boast that they prevented us from doing what we intended,” exclaimed one of them, rushing to seize a cask.

Hemming waited till the fellow got within reach of his fist, and he then hit him such a blow on the chest that he sent him rolling back head over heels till he reached the edge of the rock, when down he went among a group of his comrades, who were sitting carousing together below. Each of the Englishmen singled out an opponent, and treated him much in the same way, all this time many of the Spanish officers standing by and not attempting to interfere. The Spanish seamen, finding that nothing was to be obtained but hard knocks, retreated to secure their share of the liquor. Often had Jack and Adair cast their eyes round the horizon in the hopes of discovering a sail by which they might escape from the rock, but none appeared. Meantime hunger was pressing; the head of one of the meat-casks was knocked off, and the biscuits were spread out to dry. In vain they tried to light a fire. There was plenty of driftwood, but it was too wet; so they had to eat the meat raw. Their appetites were thus quickly satisfied. At first the sky gave indications of an improvement in the weather, but by noon it came on to blow as hard as ever. They made all the signals they could devise to induce the people who still remained on the wreck to quit it, but they soon found by the wretches’ frantic gestures and maniacal shouts that they also had got hold of a cask of spirits, and were in as bad a condition as their comrades. They were soon indeed seen snapping their fingers, and dancing about the decks as if they were in a place of perfect safety. One poor wretch slipped overboard, but his companions, instead of trying to help him, only laughed and shouted the louder, nor did they appear to comprehend that he was drowning before their eyes. A few remained on the small rock. Every now and then one would carelessly get within the influence of the seas, and several were thus swept away. The larger part of the crew who had been carousing at the foot of the big rock, soon began to dispute with each other; their voices grew higher and higher, their actions more vehement. Knives at last were drawn, and one lay a corpse by the side of his companions. This act of violence, instead of sobering the rest, induced another to take up the quarrel, and another and another joining, in a short time the greater portion were engaged in a deadly hand-to-hand struggle. The officers contented themselves with merely shouting and ordering them to desist, and of course their commands received no attention. In a few minutes several of the combatants lay weltering in their blood, and two of them, locked in a deadly embrace in each other’s arms, fell off the rock into the sea, and a huge wave rolling in washed them both away. The gale was increasing, the wreck rocked to and fro, large portions were constantly being detached and hove against the rock. At length a sea heavier than any of the preceding ones came roaring in. It struck the wreck. High over it the foaming waters rushed, the spray from it almost blinding Hemming and his companions, far above it as they stood. A piercing shriek reached their ears, the squall passed by. They looked towards the spot where the brig had been. Not a particle was to be seen hanging together. Not one of those clinging to it escaped. This catastrophe appeared to have no effect on the other Spaniards. Even when a sea came and washed away several of those who had remained on the lower rock, the rest went on quarrelling and shouting and shrieking as before. Sometimes, without any apparent reason, a wretched man would throw himself off the rock, when he was soon swept out of sight by the retiring sea. Some rolled off helplessly drunk into the water, and were washed away. Hemming and his companions would have helped them had they been able, but their own countrymen would not allow the English to interfere, and they were compelled to desist. They felt, indeed, all the time, that those who held their own lives so cheap were not likely to pay any respect to theirs. While watching with painful interest the scenes which have been described, they observed a cask drifting towards the rock. The Spaniards saw it also. Adair, with Needham and three other men, hurried down to secure it. The Spaniards rushed to the spot at the same moment, and two of them, in their eagerness to obtain the coveted prize, for they of course believed it to contain spirits, fell headlong into a surging sea, which, sweeping out again, carried them both far away. Adair meantime got hold of the cask, and was in triumph bearing it up the rock, when the Spaniards surrounded him, and, though Dick and the other men fought most desperately, succeeded in carrying it off. The effect of the fresh supply of fire-water was most disastrous. The Spaniards became almost raving mad, and, excited to fury by the opposition they had encountered from the English, now drawing their knives, advanced once more in a body towards them. Some even of the Spanish officers joined them, others, however, stood surrounding their captain, but seemed inclined to take no part in the fray.

“Are you going to see us murdered before your eyes, gentlemen?” exclaimed Hemming with indignation. “If they murder us they will murder you, depend on that.” The appeal had an effect, and, drawing their swords, the Spanish captain and his superior officers sided with the English. On rushed the infuriated Spaniards, uttering the fiercest oaths and threats of vengeance. Fortunately, besides the two muskets many of the English had knives, and all had provided themselves with boats’ stretchers, or pieces of spars, which served the purpose of singlesticks. They were thus not ill prepared to meet their assailants. The shock came. Headed by Lieutenant Hemming they stood firm. One of the first victims was a young Spanish officer. He fell pierced to the heart by the knife of one of his countrymen. It showed the Spanish officers that their safety depended on that of the English. Again and again the infuriated wretches rushed at them; but were beaten off by the English quarter-staves. All this time the wind had been howling and the sea dashing fiercely against the rocks; indeed, the elements were in perfect accordance with the mad strife going forward on that isolated spot of earth. Night too came on to add to the horrors of the scene. Then the clouds opened and flashes of the most vivid lightning darting from the sky played like fiery serpents round the rock, while crashing peals of thunder rattled and roared around them. At first the seamen took no notice of the storm; then came a loud, thundering explosion, and two of their number lay blackened corpses on the ground. In an instant, seeing what had occurred, they fled with shrieks of dismay down the rock to the spot whence they had come. Amid wind and rain, the lightning flashing and the thunder roaring, the survivors passed that terrific night.

The day dawned at last. Hemming’s first resolve was to try and conciliate the unfortunate wretches by offering them food. Their officers gladly agreed to the proposal. The sun came out, the driftwood dried, and at last a fire was kindled. The Spanish officers were far superior to the English in the art of cooking. They made hot cakes out of the wet biscuit, and in a short time had a number of nice-looking little bits of meat ran upon wooden skewers. Having satisfied their own hunger, they offered the food to the men below, who at first thought that they were mocking them; but when assured that the Englishmen were willing to forget what had passed, one by one came up with a sulky and doubting manner to take what was offered to them.

“I doubt those fellows even now,” observed Adair; “the sooner we are away from them the better.”

Hemming hearing this, observed that he proposed making a raft, and in spite of all they had undergone, venturing on it to the coast of Africa, which he was confident was visible to the eastward. It was agreed therefore that they would set about building it at once, and should no sail appear in sight, push off as soon as it was completed. On the east side of the rock was a bay sheltered from the view of the other part. Here a number of spars and planks were driven in, as well as rope and canvas. Hemming thus had soon a raft constructed capable of carrying twice as many men as wished to trust themselves on it. He also had a supply of provisions and water carried down to it without being observed by the drunken seamen. When all was ready, he invited the Spanish officers to accompany them, but they declined, saying that they could not leave their men, though from the glances they cast on the raft, it was evident that they did not wish to entrust themselves on it. They, however, did not object to the Englishmen taking the water and provisions, the latter promising that if they got safe to any European settlement they would send them assistance.

“Now, my lads, we’ll launch our raft,” exclaimed Hemming, when all their arrangements were made.

The Spaniards had not been aware of the nature of their proceedings, but unfortunately two or three of the more sober, who had begun to scramble about the rock, caught sight of them. Believing naturally that they were about to make off with the provisions and water, summoning their comrades, they rushed fiercely towards them.

“Now, my boys, a hearty shove altogether, and we’ll have the raft into the water before the scoundrels can come up to us,” shouted Hemming, setting an example by putting all his strength to the work. The Spanish seamen, brandishing their knives, were close to them.

“One shove more and the raft will be afloat,” cried Jack.

“Hurrah, hurrah, she’s afloat,” sang out Terence. Their two sick shipmates were speedily placed in the centre of the raft, and the rest leaped on to it. The Spaniards were close to them; one seized a rope which still held the raft to the shore. Quick as thought Hemming took one of the paddles they had prepared, and springing on shore, used it with such good effect that he drove the wretches back before him, then leaping again on to the raft, he shoved it a dozen yards off from the shore. As the Englishmen vigorously plied their paddles they saw the Spaniards making all sorts of frantic gestures at them, shaking their fists and hurling abuse at their heads. When they got from under the lee of the rock, they hoisted sail and found that the raft steered very well, and with the aid of the paddles made good way towards the land. Gradually the rock sank lower and lower in the horizon, till it was almost hid from sight; but when they looked towards the shore, that appeared almost as far off as ever. They had hoped to reach it before sunset, but that hope gradually faded away, as the breeze which had hitherto favoured them grew less and less, and finally sank into a calm. However, that was better than a gale, and they could still paddle on their raft in the direction in which they wished to go. They were also far better off than they had been on their former raft. It was more strongly made, they had better provisions, and the prospect of reaching land in a short time. The sun, however, went down, and they were still far from it. Jack and Terence sat side by side, and endeavoured to keep up each other’s spirits during that long, long night. It came at last to an end. The sun rose; they looked round the horizon; no sail was in sight. Some of the seamen began to grumble, as even the best will at times, and to complain at having been enticed off the rock. Hemming overheard them.

“What think you, my lads, would have been our lot had we remained with those madmen?” he said. “I’ll tell you; by this time not one of us would have been alive.” As the sun rose, the breeze came strongly off the land and drove them once more away from it. “Never fear, my lads; we shall have the sea-breeze soon to send us back again,” he cried out cheerfully to keep up their spirits. It did not come as soon as he expected. At last a rock appeared rising out of the water. It rose higher and higher. The raft drifted slowly by at a distance; still the atmosphere was so clear that they could discern figures on the top. They all looked earnestly. There could be no doubt of it; the people were struggling like madmen. Now and then one of them, it appeared, was cast off the cliff into the water, but the distance was so great that it appeared rather like some dreadful dream than a reality. While they were gazing at this spectacle the wind fell; then in a short time the breeze came from the west, and hoisting their sail they once more rapidly approached the shore. For the remainder of the day they made good progress; still they knew that they could not hope to reach it that night, and once more the sun went down and left them in darkness. The night passed as the former had done. No one now expressed a wish that he had remained on the rock. Jack and Terence had kept up their spirits wonderfully. At length, leaning on each other’s shoulder, they fell asleep. They were startled with a cry of “A sail ahead!” In an instant every one roused up. As they looked out they saw a large brig on the port tack, standing to the southward across their course. In a few minutes more she would have shot ahead out of hearing. “Now, my lads, shout, shout, till you crack your voices,” cried out Hemming; “she is a man-of-war brig; one of the cruisers on the station. I know her by the cut of her canvas.” Weak as all on board the raft at this time were, they raised a shout such as Englishmen only know how to give. They listened eagerly. Directly afterwards a cheer came in answer towards them. The rattling of blocks was heard, and the brig’s helm being put down, and her maintopsail backed, she came up into the wind. In another instant they were alongside. Cramped and half starved as they all had been, they had great difficulty in getting on board. Hemming was the only man who went up by himself, and his knees trembled so much when he gained the deck that he had to lean against the bulwarks for support. The officer of the watch came forward to receive them. Hemming gave his name as a lieutenant of the Ranger.

“Delighted to see you,” exclaimed the lieutenant of the brig; “we heard at Sierra Leone that you were lost, for several vessels have been sent to look for you, and not one could gain tidings of you. But come below; you want sleep and food, and dry clothes.”

The captain of the brig, hearing what had occurred, turned out, and had berths made up for the two midshipmen in his own cabin, while one of the lieutenants gave up his berth to Hemming in the gun-room. The doctor was soon in attendance on all the party, and sleep, which they all so much required, soon sealed their eyelids. Jack and Terence slept for a long time. When they awoke the sun was shining right down the cabin skylight. At the cabin table was sitting a midshipman reading. They could not see his face, but there was something in his figure and attitude which made them both sit up and exclaim, “Hallo! who are you?” The midshipman sprang from his seat, and in another instant Alick Murray was shaking them warmly by the hand. “This is jolly, this is delightful,” exclaimed Jack; “tell us all about it, though.” Alick accordingly told them that the brig was the Archer, of sixteen guns, that she was commanded by a relation of his, Captain Grant, who had got him appointed to her, and that she had only just come out direct from England. Murray then got his friends to give him an outline of their adventures, which they had to repeat to Captain Grant himself, who shortly after came into the cabin. Meantime the steward had brought them some breakfast; for midshipmen are not heroes of romance, and require feeding before they are fit for much. After breakfast they felt wonderfully recovered, and were able to get up and go on deck. Hemming had before this explained to Captain Grant his promise to bring relief to the Spaniards, and the brig was accordingly beating up towards the rock. As they drew near they looked out for signals, but none were made. They got still nearer. “Where can the people have got to?” exclaimed the captain, looking through his glass. As the brig approached the rock the lead was kept going, but the water was found to be quite deep. She sailed round and round it, but not a human being was seen there alive. Whether some dreadful catastrophe had occurred after the English left the spot, or whether some vessel had visited it and carried off the survivors, was never ascertained. Jack and Terence did their best to banish the dreadful scenes which had occurred from their thoughts, and it was with infinite satisfaction that the three midshipmen found themselves once more together. “This is the station for adventure,” exclaimed Jack; “depend on it before long we shall have lots to do.”

Chapter Eleven.

Life on an African Cruiser.

That naval officers do not idle away their time when at sea, on beds of roses, the adventures of my three old schoolfellows will, I think, convince all my readers. Who would have thought when we were together at dear old Eagle House, that they would, ere many years had gone over their heads, have actually crossed swords with real red-capped or turbaned Mahomedans, fought with true Greek romantic pirates, hunted down slavers, and explored African rivers with voracious sharks watching their mouths, hungry crocodiles basking in their slimy shallows, and veritable negroes inhabiting their banks; yet here were all the three, Alick Murray, Jack Rogers, and Terence Adair, collected on board Her Majesty’s brig of war Archer, commanded by Captain Grant. Alick had come out in the brig from England, the other two, after being shipwrecked, nearly drowned, murdered, and starved, eaten up by sharks, and having undergone I do not know how many other terrible dangers, had at last been picked up by the Archer, their own ship, the Ranger frigate, being they did not exactly know where. This last circumstance did not probably weigh very much with them. Midshipmen are not generally given to suffer from over anxiety from affairs terrestrial; but Rogers certainly did wish that he could let his family know that he was well, and picked up again, after having, as was supposed, gone down in a slaver the frigate had captured off the African coast. They were capital fellows, those three old friends of mine. Rogers was a good specimen of the Englishman—genus middy—so was Paddy Adair of Green Erin’s isle, full of fun and frolic; and a more gentlemanly, right-minded lad than Alick Murray Scotland never sent forth from her rich valleys or rugged mountains. He too was proud of Scotland, and ever jealous to uphold the name and fame of the land of his birth.

The Archer was a fine brig, and Captain Grant was a first-rate officer. When naval officers or seamen go on board ships of war they have to take their share of the duty with the rest of the crew; so Rogers and Adair found that they should have plenty of employment, even though they might not for some time be able to join their own ship. Captain Grant considered that idleness is the mother of all vice, so he took care that no one in his ship should be idle, and certainly he had the knack of making good seamen of all who sailed with him.

The midshipmen’s berth in the Archer was a very happy place, because the occupants were, with few exceptions, gentlemanly, well-disposed, and, more than all, well and religiously educated young men. I do not mean to say by that, that they always acted with the wisdom and discretion of a bench of judges. Far from that. They were merry, light-hearted fellows, full of fun and frolic, but they could be grave, and treat serious things as they ought to be treated, with reverence and respect. Jack and Paddy quickly found themselves perfectly at home among them. The Archer had been standing off the coast of Africa under easy sail, when, just as the cold grey light of day stole over the waters, a vessel was seen inside of her, evidently making for a harbour in the neighbourhood. As the light increased, she was discovered to be a schooner.

“All hands make sail,” cried the officer of the watch, who had just made his report to the commander.

“All hands make sail,” echoed the boatswain, giving with his shrill pipe the well-known signal. “Tumble up there, tumble up there,” roared out the boatswain’s mates, with their gruff voices, to the sluggards who seemed inclined to stick in their hammocks.

In a few moments the watch below were rushing up on deck and flying to their stations, and then, as if by magic, the masts and yards of the brig were covered with the broad sheets of canvas which had been furled during the night. Topgallant-sails, royals, and studding-sails being set in rapid succession, away glided the brig with her head towards the land, through the calm, leaden-coloured water. Jack and Terence had with the rest sprung on deck, not taking many moments to slip into their clothes. Few landsmen can understand how quickly that operation can, by constant practice, be performed. They had there joined Alick, who had the morning watch. Together they all went aloft to take a look at the chase.

“She’s a slaver, from her evident wish to avoid us, and from the way she is standing,” observed Alick, after having taken a long look at her through his glass. “We may prevent her from embarking her slaves, and save the poor wretches the horrors to which they are always exposed, when once they get on board these iniquitous prison-ships. To look down on a slave-deck crowded with human beings, is quite sufficient to make a man abhor slavery for ever after, and to desire to put an end, with all his might, to the system which can produce such horrors.”

Jack and Adair agreed that they should have great satisfaction in capturing or destroying every slaver on the coast. The stranger soon discovered that the brig of war was in chase of her, and having crowded all sail, kept away directly for the land. From the wide spread of her white canvas, and from the way she had behaved, there was no doubt she was a slaver. Everybody felt certain that they should capture the stranger; the Archer was undoubtedly overhauling her, and she could not escape either to the north or south without their perceiving her, and cutting her off. An hour’s chase brought them in sight of the land. It was a low, uninviting shore, lined with a dense belt of mangrove bushes, a few tall palms appearing here and there above them; then the ground rose slightly, with some ranges of blue hills in the distance. As the sun rose, a mist was drawn up which floated just above the water and shut out the lower branches of the mangrove-trees, though their tops, forming a wavy dark line, could just be seen above it. None of the officers of the Archer had been on the coast before, and as she had no pilot, it was necessary to approach it with caution. The lead was therefore kept going. The schooner stood boldly on.

“The fellows will, I am afraid, run her on shore, if they can find no other means of escaping,” observed the captain, after scrutinising the chase and the coast she was approaching through his glass.

“We shall have her, she can’t escape us, that’s one comfort,” cried Jack Rogers.

On flew the schooner. The wind freshened somewhat. Suddenly she entered the belt of mist. Everybody on board the brig rubbed their eyes. Where was she? Not a vestige of her was to be seen. As they approached the land, the roar of the surf on the shore reached their ears. There could be little doubt that the schooner had been run on shore, and would probably soon be knocked to pieces, while her crew had made their escape to the land. Captain Grant was anxious to stand in as close as he could.

“By the deep nine,” sang out one of the men in the chains.

“By the mark seven,” soon repeated another.

To approach nearer would not have been prudent. The canvas was therefore flattened in, and the brig’s head was once more turned to seaward. Scarcely had she hauled her wind, than the sun having risen high above the land, the mist lifted, and the whole line of coast fringed with mangrove bushes, and here and there with a white belt of sand, appeared in sight. But the chase, where was she? Not a sign of her appeared on the shore, while neither to the north nor to the south was she to be seen. Jack looked at Adair, and Adair looked at Jack, and together they discussed the matter with Alick, but neither of the three could offer any satisfactory explanation of the matter. Captain Grant and the rest of the officers appeared equally puzzled. As the brig stood closer in-shore there was a chance of the mystery being solved. The hands in the chains were kept heaving the lead, which showed that the brig was slowly shoaling her water. At length she was hove-to, and two boats were lowered. Their own lieutenant, Hemming, who had escaped with them from a sinking slaver, volunteered to take charge of one of them, and Evans, the second lieutenant of the brig, went in the other. The former, as the senior officer, had charge of the expedition.

“As she cannot have escaped along shore, and certainly has not evaporated into the air, the chase must have got into some creek or inlet, the mouth of which we cannot distinguish,” observed the captain. “You will therefore search for such an entrance, and pursue, and bring her out if you can.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered Hemming, delighted with the work in prospect.

The three midshipmen got leave to go in the boat. Jack accompanied Evans, the other two went with Hemming, as did Jack’s old follower Dick Needham. Away they pulled in high spirits. As they approached the shore they observed that a long line of white surf was breaking heavily on it. Hemming stood up and scanned the coast narrowly, thinking that after all the schooner might have been run on shore, and as slavers are but slightly put together, might have speedily been knocked to pieces. As he stood up, and the boat rose to the top of the swell, he saw not what he expected, but a piece of clear water inside a narrow spit of sand, and a little to the south he observed a spot where the surf broke less heavily, and which he concluded was the entrance to the creek or river.

“I have little doubt that this must be the place where the schooner has taken refuge; and as she has gone up, so may we,” shouted Hemming, pointing it out to his brother officer.

Evans agreed with him, and the two boats pulled away in the direction indicated. That there was an entrance was evident, but it required great caution in approaching it. A capsize would probably prove fatal to all hands—for had any escaped drowning, they would have fallen a prey to the sharks, which in southern latitudes generally maintain a strict blockade at the mouths of rivers, to pick up any offal which the stream may bring down. The boats rose and fell on the smooth swells as they came rolling in. At last Hemming observed a space on the bar clear of broken water. He gave the signal to go ahead.

“Now, my lads, now pull away,” he shouted.

The boats dashed on, the surf roared and foamed on either side of them, and not only did the three midshipmen, but most of the older men in the boats, hold their breath till they were well through it, and once more floating in smooth water inside the bar. Instead of being in a mere creek, they found that they had entered a broad deep river which seemed to come down from a considerable distance in the interior. They pulled on more certain than before of finding the chase. However, after they had gone some distance, they arrived at a spot where the river formed two distinct branches, or, rather, it might be, where another broad stream joined the main current. Up which the schooner had proceeded it was impossible to say.

“I’ll take one stream, you take the other,” shouted Hemming to Evans; and the boats dashed on.

It was important to overtake the schooner before she got higher up, and perhaps hidden away in some narrow creek where it might be no easy matter to find her. The scenery was far from attractive. Little else on either side was to be seen but long lines of mangrove bushes, and as the tide fell black banks of mud began to appear, which it was evident would soon narrow the width of the stream. Evans and Jack took the branch of the stream which came from the southward. It wound about a good deal, so that they were aware they might any moment come on the schooner. They kept their muskets by their sides ready loaded.

“I say, Mr Evans, I wish that we could see the chase some time before we get up to her,” observed Jack. “What are we to do should we find her, sir?”

“Jump on board, and knock every fellow down who resists,” was the lieutenant’s answer. “Depend on it she is a slaver or pirate, probably both, and her crew will not give in without a tussle.”

“With the greatest pleasure in the world,” replied Jack, who was very practical in his notions about fighting, and had no idea of half measures.

The current was now making down very strong, and the boat consequently progressed but slowly. Still Mr Evans persevered. The men bent lustily to their oars, and reach after reach of the river was passed, but there was no sign of the chase. Now and then there were openings in the mangrove bushes, and more than once Jack felt certain that he saw some dark figures running along parallel with the river, and evidently watching their movements. Jack pointed them out to Mr Evans.

“That looks as if we had enemies in the neighbourhood,” observed the lieutenant. “Be ready, my men—marines, look to your arms.”

The boat pulled eight oars, and there were two marines in the bows, and two in the stern-sheets, sitting with their muskets between their knees. In the bows of the boat was a small swivel-gun, and all the bluejackets with cutlasses and pistols. Besides the lieutenant and Jack, there was the coxswain, and there were some half-dozen long pikes which, as the latter observed, would come in handy, if they had a fight with another boat or had to attack a fort, but for boarding he would not give a rush for them. The ebb-tide rushed past the boat dark and smooth, but with swirling eddies, which showed the strength of the current against which they had to contend.

“I wonder whether the other boat has fallen in with the slaver.”

“I envy them if they have,” observed Jack, who didn’t much like being silent just then.

There was something very oppressive in the atmosphere, and in the dark solemn scenery which surrounded them. The sea-breeze had by this time set in and blew up the river, but it had not yet been strong enough to make it worth while to hoist the sail.

“I scarcely think the schooner could have got up so far as this,” observed Mr Evans. “But we will pull on a little farther, and then if we do not see her, we will go back, and join the other boat.”

They had just then arrived at the end of a reach. The extent of the next one was hidden from their sight by a point of land thickly covered with trees. They pulled on, and soon doubled the point. Directly they did so there appeared before them, pressing up the stream, under all sail, the object of their search. The men required no urging, but, bending to their oars, away they pulled in hot chase after her. The schooner stood on steadily, as if no one on board was aware of the presence of the boat of a British man-of-war. The boat rapidly came up with her. As they drew near, Jack remarked that her decks were crowded with a very ill-looking set of ruffians, but he cared little for that, and he knew that every man in the boat would be ready to attack even twice as many as there were there. They had got up to within a hundred yards of the schooner without any notice being taken of them.

“Give way, my lads; we’ll be alongside in a moment,” shouted the lieutenant.

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when a couple of guns were ran out at the schooner’s stern ports, and a shower of langrage, nails, bits of iron, lead, and missiles of all sorts, came rattling among them, accompanied by a volley of musketry. One or two of the seamen and one of the marines were hit, but the boat pulled on as fast as before.

“Marines, give it the scoundrels,” cried Mr Evans. The red-jackets, turning round, deliberately picked off several of the people who had fired at them. They had scarcely time to load again before the boat was alongside the schooner, and the seamen, cutlass in hand, began to scramble up on her decks. Pikes were poked out at them, pistols were flashed in their faces, and cold shot hove into their boat, but fiercely as the pirates fought, they could not prevent the British seamen from gaining the deck of their vessel. Desperate was the struggle which took place there. Both parties fought for their lives. The English knew that they should receive no quarter. The pirates did not expect it either. Jack was soon knocked down, but he got up again with a somewhat ugly gash on his arm, and went at it as hard as ever. At length Mr Evans and his men gained the afterpart of the vessel, and were thus able to command her movements, but the pirates still clustered thickly in the bows, and were evidently preparing to make a rush aft. The English had left their boat, which was alongside, with her painter made fast to the fore-chains. This was an oversight. The pirates perceived it, hauled her ahead, and instead of attempting to regain their vessel, the greater number, jumping into her, made off, leaving four or five of their companions in the hands of the British. These few threw down their arms and sang out for quarter. This was granted them, little as they deserved it. Meantime the rest of the pirates pulled away for the shore, and were soon concealed from view behind a wooded point.

“See the cable ranged, to bring up, Mr Rogers,” was the first order given by the lieutenant.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Jack, but he found that he could not obey the order, as there were neither cables nor anchors on board. It was therefore necessary to keep the vessel under weigh, and to endeavour to beat down the river. Had the English known the channel, this might have been a more easy task than it was likely to prove. They were obliged to make very short tacks for fear of getting on shore, and in whatever reach they were the wind always seemed to head them, so that their progress, notwithstanding the strong current in their favour, was but slow. Their victory had not been gained without considerable loss: a marine had been killed, and three other men, besides Jack, had been wounded, two of them so badly that they were unable to help in working the vessel. This made Mr Evans not a little anxious, and he kept looking out ahead, in the hopes of seeing the other boat coming to his assistance. Jack also, who never failed to make good use of his eyes, was not altogether comfortable, for he had observed in the openings where he had before seen people, a much greater number, evidently keeping a watch on the movements of the schooner. As long as she could be kept moving, there was no great cause for fear; but should she get on the mud, it was difficult to say what might happen. Jack was stationed forward. At length the schooner entered a reach which ran nearly north and south, and the wind enabled her to lay nearly down it.

“No sign of the boat yet, Mr Rogers?” sang out Mr Evans, from aft.

“No, sir,” answered Jack; “but there are a number of dark objects in the water which look remarkably like canoes. They seem to be waiting for us at the end of the reach, where we must go about.”

“We must run some of them down, and give the rest a taste of the pirate’s guns,” replied Mr Evans. The guns were got forward, but neither shot nor powder was to be found. Still undaunted, the seamen and marines stood ready to receive the expected attack. Things looked serious. Jack soon made out not less than twenty canoes full of men, with a couple of large boats so posted that it would be almost impossible to avoid them. The schooner was but a very little way from the junction of the two rivers, and the other boat might come to her assistance, but her best chance of escaping was by getting a strong breeze, so that she might dash past the fleet of canoes before they could manage to catch hold of her. There was a prospect of this. The wind had for some time been blowing in fitful gusts, and now it came down on them stronger than ever. To shorten sail was out of the question, but in another minute Jack and his companions found that they had more than the little vessel could well stagger under. That was all right though. On she flew towards their enemies.

“Why, there is our boat among them,” exclaimed Jack; “she must have got down by some other channel. We shall have a hard tussle for it.” The critical moment was approaching. They could already see the faces of their enemies, and most villainous-looking ruffians they were. Many of them were blacks, but there were several white men among them.

“Steady, my lads, now. Don’t throw a shot away till they attack us,” sang out Mr Evans. “Stand by to go about.” Down went the helm. The jib was shivering in the breeze. A loud shout arose from the canoes and boats, and, making a dash at the schooner, many of the villains began clambering up on each quarter. At that moment a violent gust coming down between an opening in the trees struck the vessel. It was not a moment to start sheet or tack. Every one, indeed, was engaged in the desperate conflict with their assailants. Jack was rushing forward to drive back some fellows who had just hooked on their canoe at the lee fore-chains. The marines were thrusting away with their bayonets. A huge mulatto had grasped Mr Evans by the throat, and several of the seamen were grappling with their opponents. Over heeled the vessel. Just as she was in midstream another gust, more furious than the first, struck her. In an instant Jack felt that she had gone over not to rise again. He scrambled up over the bulwarks into the weather-chains, where he hung on while the rest of the combatants, English, pirates and negroes, were precipitated into the rapidly running stream. Two or three of the canoes were swamped. Some of the blacks swam to the other canoes, and were picked up, but numbers of the combatants, grappling with each other, went down in the dark whirling stream, their shouts, cries, and struggles quieted only by the water which closed over their heads. Jack climbed up to the bottom of the vessel and looked around. His heart sank within him. Where were his late gallant comrades, Mr Evans and the rest? Not one remained. The capsized schooner was drifting rapidly down the stream.

Jack, however, found that he was not alone; but he would gladly have dispensed with his companions. Two blacks had hung on by the rudder-chains, and now, as they climbed up, they caught sight of him. Their eyes flashed vindictively. They had their knives in their belts, but no other weapons. He had retained his grasp on his cutlass, and he had a pistol in his belt, but he feared that the priming must have got wet. The blacks began to creep slowly towards him. They grinned horribly, and were evidently intent on his destruction. Jack saw that he had not the slightest prospect of escape, and must depend entirely on his own exertions. He had no notion, however, of giving in.

The schooner rapidly drifted away from the place where she upset, and none of the canoes were following her. Jack grasped firm hold of the keel of the vessel while he held his weapons in his hands ready for action. Fortunately the blacks could only move on by following each other. They shouted to him in fierce, rough tones, but what they said he could not understand. He was not alarmed, but he held his pistol very tight. The ruffian got close to him; Jack cocked and presented his pistol: if it missed he had his cutlass ready. The negro smiled or rather grinned. He thought the pistol would not go off. Jack pulled the trigger; the negro fell over and over down the side of the vessel into the water. He tried to swim and to regain his lost hold, but his strength failed him, and, with a cry of disappointed rage, he sank under the tide, a small circle of ruddy hue marking the spot where he had gone down.

Jack had not, however, a moment to think about this; he had just time to grasp his cutlass in his right-hand, before his enemy made a spring on him. Jack was still only a boy, though a good stout one, but his nerves were well strung and his muscles were strong. He swung his cutlass round with all his might till the blade met the neck and shoulders of the black, and over he went into the water, where he at once sank, without even attempting to strike out for his life, indeed Jack’s blow had almost severed his head from his body. A very short time had been occupied in this encounter; still the schooner had drifted down some way, and neither the pirates nor their allies seemed inclined to follow her. Notwithstanding this, Jack’s position was far from a pleasant one. If the vessel drifted on to either bank of the river, he would probably be murdered, and if she continued in the stream, she would soon be among the heavy breakers on the bar, where he would, in all probability, be washed off and devoured by the sharks. With straining eyes he looked out for Hemming’s boat, but she was nowhere to be seen. He soon drifted past the channel up which she had gone: not a sign of her could he perceive.

On drifted the schooner. The channel must be very deep, he knew, or the masts must have stuck in the bottom. Should this latter happen, he was afraid that the current gathering round her would speedily wash him off his hold. He felt very grave and sad, and though he was certainly not afraid, he could not help being aware that the life he had found so pleasant and so cheerful, and to which he had so many ties, was slipping away from him. The courage of an older man might well have given way. Jack sighed deeply, but his courage did not give way, for he said to himself, “God’s will be done.” In that feeling was his strength and support. “I am in God’s hand, He will preserve me if He thinks fit.”

On drifted the schooner. The current, strengthened by the additional stream, grew more rapid. The vessel kept in mid-channel. He might have gained nothing had she verged on either side, unless he could have got near enough to catch hold of a stout branch of some mangrove bush, where he might have hung on to it till the boat came by, when, should anybody see him, he might be rescued, otherwise a lingering and painful death would be his lot, instead of the speedy one he had every reason to expect. The roar of the breakers on the bar sounded mournfully on his ears. He could see the white surf dancing less high above the sandbank, and he knew that in a few minutes he must be among those roaring, hissing, raging breakers. He thought that he could see the white sails of the brig in the offing, but she was much too far off to render him the slightest assistance. There was, he thought, one chance more. The current might set against the sandspit which crossed its course, and if so, he might be washed on shore. He watched eagerly to ascertain if any logs or branches floating down took that direction. There was nothing to give him assurance of this. For a minute he thought that she was going towards the spit, but the current again seized her, and whirling her round, sent her driving rapidly onwards towards the boiling breakers. Jack felt the wreck rise and fall. He clutched firmly hold of the keel, useless as he believed it to be. The foaming waters sounded in his ears, the foam washed over him, and he knew that he was on that terrible bar, in the midst of the raging breakers.

Chapter Twelve.

Adventures on Shore.

While Jack Rogers, with Lieutenant Evans and his unfortunate boat’s crew, took the southern branch of the river, Mr Hemming, with Murray and Adair, pulled away in the boat up the northern channel, each party believing that they were following the track of the schooner of which they were in search. On dashed Lieutenant Hemming’s boat, the crew, as British seamen always will when work is to be done, bending bravely to their oars. They also, as had the other boat, met a strong current.

“Hurrah, my lads, hurrah!” shouted the lieutenant, bending forward almost mechanically to give time to their strokes. “If the chase has gone up the channel, we must take care that she does not creep away from us, that is all.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Dick Needham. “No fear but we’ll hunt her up if she is above water.”

In a chase on shore some signs discernible either by the eyes or the olfactory nerves are perceptible by which the pursuers may be guided, but the gallant seamen had only hope on this occasion to lead them on. That, however, was enough. The scenery of this branch was as monotonous as that of the other. Mangrove bushes, with a few tall palms appearing over them, lined the banks, and here and there an opening left blank by nature, or perhaps made by the dark-skinned natives.

“I wonder if, after all, the schooner did come up this way,” observed Paddy Adair sagaciously. “If she went up the other, I don’t think she could.”

His remark of course produced a laugh. No great amount of wit was required to do that. They looked about in every direction, to discover some one from whom they might obtain information, but no one was seen.

“It is not very likely the black fellows would trouble themselves with telling us the truth, so it doesn’t much matter,” said Paddy. “They are all in league with the slavers, from the king who dresses up on great occasions in a cocked-hat, top-boots, and an old blanket, to poor Quasho, who has never had his nakedness covered since he was born.”

Notwithstanding their want of success, still they perseveringly pulled on.

Suddenly Murray put his hand on Adair’s shoulder, pointing at the same time with the other ahead. “I say, Terence, what do you see away there at the end of the reach?” he asked. “Does it not look to you like the stern of a vessel?”

“So like it that it must be one,” said Hemming. “Hurrah! the slaver must be ours after all.”

Just at that moment the sound of firearms coming from a distance was heard, borne faintly on the wind through an opening in the mangrove bushes. Shot after shot followed. “The other boat must have fallen in with some of the rascals; the two channels cannot be far apart,” exclaimed Mr Hemming. “Give way, my lads, give way.”

He could not help in his eagerness saying this, although the men were already pulling as hard as they could. He was eagerly looking about all the time for some passage through which they might get to the assistance of their comrades. The boat dashed on up the river, and very soon they came in sight of a schooner moored close to the bank of a small creek. They were quickly up to her and mounting her sides. No one opposed them, and not a human being was to be seen. There were, however, evident signs that people had only just left her. A stage of planks led from her deck to the shore. Her sails were bent, her anchor stowed, she was in perfect readiness for sea. A hurried glance below showed that she was undoubtedly a slaver, and about probably that very day to receive her human cargo on board. In her hold were leaguers or huge water-casks filled with water; a large supply of wood and provisions, especially of farina, on which slaves are chiefly fed. Then there was the slave-deck, scarcely thirty-six inches in height, and large coppers for boiling the slaves’ food, and some hundred pairs of slave irons or manacles for confining their legs or arms; indeed, nothing was wanting to condemn her. Although Hemming guessed that the crew would soon be back, he was so eager to go to the assistance of Mr Evans, that leaving Murray and a couple of men on board the schooner, he leaped again into his boat and pulled up the creek, thinking that he might get through it into the other channel. It narrowed, however, very rapidly. The trees grew closer and closer together till the branches touched, and finally arched so much overhead as to shut out the view of the sky. It was almost evident that there could not be a navigable passage into the other stream, and Hemming felt that he was not doing a prudent thing in thus pushing on into what might prove not only a hornets’ nest, but a hornets’ trap, where he and those whose lives were entrusted to him might be stung to death without the power of defending themselves. Still he did not like to abandon his purpose. To push over land would be still more dangerous. The question about proceeding was settled for him. The boat, although in mid-channel, ran her stem into the mud. With a falling tide it would have been madness to proceed farther.

“Back all!” cried the lieutenant.

There was barely room for the oars between the two banks. It seemed doubtful, at first, whether the boat could be shoved off. Delay in this case, as it is in many others, was dangerous. Paddy Adair and several of the men on this instantly leaped out, but sank very nearly up to their middles in slime and water. With their weight, however, out of her the boat floated, and the rest standing up and shoving at the same time, they got her a little way down the stream. Paddy, who was always ready to do anything, however unpleasant, for the sake of setting an example, continued in the water shoving the boat along; the black banks on either side showing the importance of getting out of the trap into which they had gone as quickly as possible.

“Jump in Adair—jump in—she’ll freely swim now,” said Hemming.

“We’ll just get her past this log of wood and give her a shove off from it,” said Paddy, making a spring on a dark brown object close to them. He jumped off again, however, very much faster, and sprang towards the boat, for the seeming log opened a huge pair of jaws, exhibiting a terrific row of teeth, with which it made a furious snap at the midshipman’s legs. Happily Mr Hemming, leaning over, caught him by the arm and dragged him in, while one of the men gave the monster a rap with the end of his oar, which somewhat distracted his attention, and allowed the rest of the men to scramble on board, which they did in a very great hurry, and no little consternation exhibited in their looks. The alligator first vented his rage by gnawing the blade of the oar, and then made a terrific rush at the boat.

“Shove away, my lads—shove away,” cried Hemming, not wishing to waste time in a contest with the beast.

The men, standing up, urged on the boat with their oars as fast as they could; but the savage brute still followed, biting at the blades and trying to get in between them. Terence, however, who very speedily recovered from his alarm, seized a musket, and, watching for the moment when the alligator next opened his huge mouth, fired right down it.

“A hard pill that to digest, if it does not kill him,” cried Paddy, when he had done the deed.

At first the brute seemed scarcely aware that anything unusual had gone down his throat; but, as he was making another dart at the boat, he suddenly began to move about in an eccentric way—as Paddy said, “as if something troubled him in his inside,” and then, turning away, buried his huge body in the mud, while his tail lashed the water into foam. Round the spot above where his head was probably hidden, a red circle was formed, which, whirling round in the eddies of the current, came sweeping past the boat, proving that Adair’s shot had not failed to take effect. Well content to get thus easily rid of their unpleasant antagonist, the men shaved the boat on rapidly down the creek. They had not quite come in sight of the slave schooner when a shout reached their ears. It was repeated. It sounded like a cry for help.

“It is Murray’s voice, sir,” exclaimed Adair; “he is shouting to us; he is attacked, depend on it.”

So Mr Hemming thought. The boat was got round, the men sprang into their seats, and, getting out their oars, dashed away down the stream. The sound of several pistol-shots reached their ears and increased their eagerness to get on. They soon came in sight of the schooner. Murray and his two companions were on her deck, and keeping at bay a dozen Spaniards and blacks, who were attempting to force their way across the platform. Several other people were coming up, and in another instant Murray and the two seamen would have been overpowered. Even when united the Englishmen were far outnumbered by the Spaniards and blacks. Murray heard the shout of his friends as they drew near, and it encouraged him to persevere in his hitherto almost hopeless defence of the prize. In another instant the boat dashed alongside. The crew quickly scrambled on board, and, whirling their cutlasses round their heads, with loud shouts they charged the enemy, and drove them off the platform.

They next set to work to cut it away. They were not long about it. Not a moment was to be lost. More people were coming up, blacks and whites, armed with muskets. The warps which moored the vessel to the shore were speedily cut. Three hands jumped into the boat, and the end of a hawser being heaved to them, they towed round the schooner’s head—the current caught it and helped them. Meantime the topsails were loosed and the jib run up; a puff of wind also came down the creek. Away glided the schooner—the boat dropped alongside. The slave-dealers, now mustering strong, began firing at them. They fired in return, so as to drive the villains to seek shelter behind the trees. It might well have enraged the Spaniards to see their vessel carried away from before their very eyes. They did their best to revenge themselves by trying to pick off the Englishmen; but though two of the latter were slightly wounded, no one was disabled, and the schooner held her course unimpeded down the stream. Our friends found, however, before long, in one of the reaches, the wind heading them; and, looking astern, they saw that several large canoes and other boats had put out from the shore, and were in pursuit of them. The slavers probably calculated on their getting on shore, to enable them to come up with them. The current, however, was strong, the wind was tolerably steady, the schooner went about like a top, and a few tacks carried them through each of the reaches, when the wind headed them. Thus they made good way; but still there were many dangers to be encountered. They might, for the present, easily keep ahead of their pursuers; but, unless they could get a free wind, to cross the bar, they must bring up, as it would otherwise be madness to make the attempt. They had gone a long way up the river, and it was difficult to say how the wind might be at the mouth. At last, in a long reach, they ran the pirates out of sight. They, however, suspected that the latter were stopping to collect more of their forces before coming on to the attack. At length the schooner reached the main channel of the river. Hemming and Murray and Adair looked anxiously up the other stream in the hopes of seeing Mr Evans’ boat.

“Perhaps she has come down, and will be waiting for us at the bar,” observed Hemming. “If she has got hold of the schooner we were looking for, we shall very likely find her ahead of us; at all events we must keep on till we find her.”

The little vessel was accordingly kept on down the river. Great was their disappointment, on coming in sight of the bar, to find a heavy surf breaking over it, while the breeze which came in set very nearly up the stream. It was absolutely necessary to bring up. The anchor was dropped, and as the vessel swung to the tide the dark waters came whirling and eddying by with a force which made Hemming thankful that he had not attempted to cross the bar. As soon as he had brought up, he made every preparation for defending the vessel from the attack to be expected. Having got all their arms ready, he had ropes passed round and round the vessel above the bulwarks, so as to serve in the place of boarding-nettings, and then, not without great difficulty, they hoisted their own boat on board, and stowed her amidships. These important preparations being made, they lighted the fire in the caboose and cooked a dinner, for which an abundance of provisions was found on board. A couple of hours passed away. They were anxious ones to Hemming—so they were to Murray, and perhaps to Adair, though the men did not probably trouble themselves much about the matter. A constant lookout, however, was kept—up the river, lest the pirates should come on them unawares, and down the river, in the hopes of seeing the surf diminishing on the bar and the wind set more out of it. What could have become of Mr Evans, Rogers, and their party, was also the constant subject of conversation.

“Hurrah!” at last cried Murray, who had been looking out astern, “the bar is getting quite smooth. See, there is scarcely any current passing us, and the wind is setting almost out of the river.”

“And here come the canoes in battle-array,” cried Adair from forward. “They will be down upon us before many minutes are over.”

“Heave up the anchor, my lads,” shouted Hemming; “let fall the topsails. Run up the jib and fore-staysail. Set the foresail and mainsail.” These orders followed in rapid succession. The men did not require to be told to be smart about the work. Round came the schooner’s head. Her sails filled, and, under complete command, she stood towards the bar. A clear piece of water showed the only passage she could take with safety. The slave-trader’s fleet of canoes came on, but they were just in time to be too late. The schooner stood on, and, well piloted, dashed through the dangerous passage; the surf boiling up still on either side, but not breaking on board her. In another minute she was over it, and floating free in the open ocean.

The brig was at a considerable distance, in chase of a vessel in the offing; but there was no sign of the other boat, or of the schooner, which it was hoped she might have captured. Not knowing the sad fate of Mr Evans and his party, Murray and Adair were eagerly on the lookout for them. Occasionally they turned a glance astern to see what had become of their pursuers; but the pirates seemed to have considered it useless or too hazardous to attempt to cross the bar, and had given up the chase.

“I say, Alick, what do you make out that dark object to be there?” exclaimed Adair, pointing to the southward. One after the other examined it through the glass.

“It’s a whale or a ship’s bottom,” answered Murray, after a long scrutiny. They reported what they had seen to Hemming.

“No whale is likely to have floated into these latitudes,” he remarked; “some vessel must have been capsized. Keep her away towards it.” The schooner, with a fair breeze, rapidly approached the object they had seen. It was soon ascertained that Hemming was right in his conjectures. They got close up to the wreck. There was no one on her! “By the set of the current here, I judge that she may have come over the very bar we have just crossed—not very long ago either,” observed Hemming, thoughtfully. Twice he sailed round the wreck, examining her narrowly. “I am afraid something has happened,” he observed at last; “I am not happy on the subject. It cannot be helped though. It may be the lot of any of us. Keep her up once more for the brig.”

Alick and Terence became very sad when they heard these remarks. They scarcely liked to ask Hemming what he meant. As they talked over the matter, they felt very much alarmed on Jack’s account. Still they could not believe that he, their old friend and companion, could possibly be lost.

“No, no, he’ll turn up somewhere, I’m sure,” cried Paddy.

“I trust he will,” answered Alick, gravely; but he felt very sad and depressed in spirits.

Hemming seemed doubtful what to do; whether he would across the bar, make a dash at the pirates, and run up the river and look for his friends, or stand on at once and get greater force from the brig. The latter was the wisest course, and he determined to follow it. The Archer had stood away in chase of another vessel of a suspicious appearance, and when night fell she was nowhere to be seen. Hemming, therefore, hove the schooner to, to wait till her return. Had he gone after her they might very probably, in the darkness of night, have missed each other.

Never, perhaps, had my two old schoolfellows passed a more anxious night, even when they were wrecked on the coast of Greece; then the three friends were together; now their minds were racked with doubts of the most painful description as to what had become of Jack and his companions. Had they known of the destruction of the boat and her crew, they would, if possible, have been still more anxious.

Hemming also kept pacing the deck all night long, looking out on every side, like a good officer, as he was, who felt that the lives of the people with him were entrusted to his care. He did not dread any attack from boats, but he knew that armed slavers might be attempting to run in or out of the river while the brig was away, and that if they attempted to molest him, he should find them very difficult customers to dispose of. Still he was not the man to allow a slaver to pass him without attempting to capture her, inferior as he might be to her in force. The night was very dark, now and then a few flashes of phosphorescent light played over the ocean, or were stirred up by the bows of the schooner, as she slowly worked her way through the water; but even the sharpest eyes on board could scarcely distinguish anything two or three hundred yards off. Terence and Alick could not bring themselves to lie down nor take any rest, even though Hemming urged them to do so. They were leaning together over the bulwarks. They neither of them could have said whether they were asleep or awake. The wind had dropped considerably, and at intervals the sails shook themselves and gave a loud flap against the masts. Terence felt a hand suddenly resting on his shoulder.

“What is that? Do you hear a sound? Did you see anything?” said a voice in his ear.

The voice appeared so deep and hollow and strange, that he did not at first discover that it was Murray speaking to him. Alick repeated the question twice before he replied. He had, in truth, been fast asleep, but he did not know it.

“No—what? see, hear what? I don’t see anything,” was his somewhat incoherent answer.

“There it is again; music—some one singing,” continued Alick. “Can you see nothing?”

The two midshipmen peered eagerly out into the darkness, but nothing could they discern. They, however, drew Hemming’s attention to the circumstance. He had been walking the deck, so the noise of his own footsteps prevented him from hearing the sound. He now listened with them, but after some time, hearing nothing, was inclined to think that they had been deceived by their fancy. Murray thought not, and, keeping his eyes on the point from which he believed the sounds had come, was almost certain that he could distinguish the sails of a square-rigged vessel passing at no great distance off, standing in towards the coast. He called Hemming’s attention to it, but whether or not the night mists had at the moment he was looking lifted up, and again sunk down, and allowed him to see a vessel really there, or that his fancy still misled him, it was impossible to say. Certainly no sail was to be seen, nor was a sound again heard. Slowly the hours of that night seemed to pass away. Day came at last, a gloomy coast of Africa morning, with a thick damp ague-and-fever giving fog. In vain they looked out for the Archer. They began to fear that she might have followed the vessel after which she had gone in chase to a considerable distance, thus delaying the expedition they were so anxious to undertake in search of the other boat. As the sun rose, however, his rays began a struggle with the mist, and, aided by a light breeze which sprung up from the northward, finally triumphed, and rolling off their adversary, they beamed forth on the dancing blue waters, and on the white canvas of the brig, which came gliding on majestically towards them, followed by another vessel, which she had overtaken and captured. The prize had half a cargo of slaves on board, and was on her way up to another place where her owners had agents to complete it. The first question which Alick and Terence asked on getting on board the Archer, was for Rogers and the other boat’s crew. Their hearts sank within them, when they found that nothing had been seen of the boat. Captain Grant listened to all the information they could give, and promptly formed a plan, the execution of which he entrusted to Hemming and the two midshipmen, complimenting them at the same time for the gallant way in which they had captured the slaver and brought her out of the river.

Chapter Thirteen.

To fight his Friends.

Poor Jack Rogers! His lot was indeed a hard one. We left him clinging to the keel of the schooner, while she was carried on by the rapid current over the bar, amidst the raging waters and blinding foam. Every moment he expected to be torn from his hold; but life was dear to him, and he exerted every particle of strength he possessed to hold on. Now a sea would come and wash over the vessel, almost drowning him, and completely preventing him from seeing; then he felt that he was whirled round and round, till he looked up—but it was only to see another huge breaker rolling up ready to overwhelm him. He felt the terrific dash of the wave, its roar sounded in his ears—he was almost stunned. He prayed that he might be preserved from the terrible danger to which he was exposed. The roller passed on, leaving him still firmly clutching the wreck. Again he looked up. The blue sea danced cheerfully before his eyes; the sun shone brightly; the wreck had drifted clear of the influence of the breakers. Most grateful he felt at having been thus far preserved. Still he knew that he was not out of danger. The schooner might any moment go down, and he might be left, without a plank to rest on, to the mercy of the ravenous sharks which swarmed around. His first impulse was to look out for the brig. She was in the offing, standing away to the westward. He had no hope from any help she could render him. Then he looked back over the bar, in the expectation of seeing the other boat coming out; but nowhere was she to be discovered. He saw, meantime, that the wreck was drifting to the southward down the coast, and at no great distance from it. He calculated the distance, and thought to himself that he could swim on shore. If he delayed, the vessel might drift farther out to sea, and the feat might be impossible.

“The sooner it is done, the better,” he thought to himself. “I have swum as far in a worse sea before now.” Before slipping off into the water, he commended himself with a hearty prayer to the care of a Merciful Providence. He was on the very point of letting go his hold, when, as he looked into the water, his eye fell on a dark triangular object, just rising out of it, slowly moving past. He looked again with a shudder, for he recognised the fin of a shark. Another and another passed by. Truly thankful did he feel that he had not trusted himself voluntarily within the power of their voracious jaws. If the vessel sank though, where would he be? He could not help thinking of that. He got up and gazed around. He was beginning to feel very hungry, and to his other dangers the risk of starvation was now added. Still, he did not allow himself to despair. He hoped that his old schoolfellows and Hemming would soon recross the bar, and, seeing the wreck, come and find him. After a little time, as he was casting his eye to the southward, he thought he saw a dark object moving along close in-shore, just outside the surf. He soon made out that it was a canoe, and then that she was manned by blacks. As they drew near, it was evident that they saw him on the wreck, for they at once pulled towards him. He scarcely knew whether to hail them as friends or foes. They were very ill-looking fellows he thought. There were also two white men in the stern-sheets of the canoe. He did not like their looks at all either. They were soon alongside, and when they saw his uniform, they looked up at him with no very friendly eye. Having held a short parley among themselves, they hailed him, but what they said he could not make out. Dangerous as his present position was, he felt no inclination to entrust himself to their care. However, they made signs to him to come down into the canoe, and after a little reflection, and thinking it better not to show any fear or mistrust of them, he complied with their demands, and as he slid down over the side of the vessel, they caught him, and hauled him in. He saw them minutely examining the vessel, and then they asked him a number of questions in Spanish, or a sort of mongrel Spanish, which he could not clearly comprehend, and he thought it more prudent not to show that he understood them at all. He made out, however, that the strangers were inquiring how the vessel was capsized, and how he came to be on board her. He guessed also that they knew that she was a slaver, and had been captured by the party to which he had belonged. When they found that he did not reply to their questions, they let him sit down at the bottom of the canoe, while the two whites and one of the black men talked together among themselves. They every now and then cast glances ominous of evil intentions towards him. Poor Jack did not at all like their looks, still less the tenor of the few words whose meaning he caught. “Knock him on the head at once,” said one. “Throw him overboard, and let the sharks have him,” proposed another. “Shoot him with pistol,” quoth the big negro,—grinning horribly. These words were uttered with the most cold-blooded indifference, as if the act proposed by the speakers was one of everyday occurrence with them. Jack, as he listened, longed to make an effort to save his life; anything was better than to sit there quietly and be murdered. Far rather would he die struggling bravely for existence. Still, as the pirates did not make any further demonstration, he thought it would be wiser to appear unconscious of their threats, and remained where he was without moving. Jack, however, every now and then, looked over the gunwale of the canoe, to ascertain where they were going. They quickly arrived off the bar, but the slave-dealers or pirates, or whatever they were, seemed to think that there was too much surf to allow them to cross it. They therefore pulled back a little way to the south. Jack observed a patch of sandy beach, with a clear channel up to it, between two rocks. They waited for a short time, and then the canoe, mounting on the top of a roller, was carried rapidly forward, the foam hissing and bubbling round her, till she grounded on the beach. In a moment the crew, jumping out of her, ran her up out of the reach of the succeeding roller, which roared angrily, as if disappointed of its prey. Jack was going to walk on, but he felt a hand laid heavily on his shoulder, and his arms, being seized by two of the black fellows, were bound behind him, and he found himself a prisoner on the coast of Africa, without the slightest prospect, as far as he could see, of making his escape from his ruffian captors.

Poor Jack was dragged along by his savage companions, the muzzle of a pistol or the point of a long knife every now and then being shown him, as a hint that he must keep up his spirits and move on. This was no easy matter without stumbling, for the ground was strewed with decayed timber, while creepers and parasitical plants of numerous species formed traps to catch his feet. He saw, too, the grass frequently moving, as a hideous snake or some other reptile crept away among it. Overhead were birds of every variety, and of the richest plumage; parrots, trumpet birds, pigeons, whydahs, green paroquets, and numberless others, which he was in no humour just then to admire, while monkeys of all sorts skipped about among the boughs of the lofty palms, and chattered away, as if to inquire where the stranger had come from. In one or two openings between the giant palms, bananas, and other lofty trees, Jack caught sight of some blue ranges of mountains in the far distance, and towards them, as they pushed their way through the dense underwood, his captors seemed to be proceeding. The dreadful thought occurred to him, that he was being carried off into the interior to be turned into a slave, and perhaps that he should never be able to make his escape. The jungle grew thicker and thicker, and the forest more gloomy as they proceeded, till he could scarcely work his way along, and even the Spaniards and blacks, with their arms at liberty, had no little difficulty in making progress through it. At last they came to a standstill, and a talk among themselves. Poor Jack caught the very ominous words, “mata el chico,” which he knew too well meant “kill the little chap.”

“He is not worth the trouble he costs us,” added the ferocious Spaniard who had spoken. “This knife of mine will settle him with a blow.”

“It is a pity we did not do it in the canoe, and save ourselves trouble,” growled out his companion, drawing his long knife from his belt.

Jack felt that his last moments had come. He, however, eyed his captors boldly, and tried to nerve himself for the expected stroke. A short time before, some villains of the same character as those into whose power he had fallen had murdered a young midshipman, whom they had found on board a prize they had retaken, and he knew that they would have no scruple about killing him. The blacks stood by, enjoying, apparently, his agony; for, brave as he was, it was a bitter thing thus, without cause, to be cruelly murdered in cold blood. No one spoke. Jack tried to offer up a prayer to Heaven, but, at such a moment, even to pray was difficult. His heart, though, was praying, and One who knows what is in the heart heard him. Suddenly there was a rustling of leaves, a crashing of boughs. A loud shriek was uttered, and a huge animal leaped through the brushwood, and, seizing one of the negroes, again bounded off into the thicket. The unfortunate wretch cried out piteously for help. The Spaniards and the negroes turned to pursue the wild beast. From the glimpse Jack had of it, he believed it to be a tiger. The negro who had been seized was the smallest of the party, and of light weight; and the savage brute was more accustomed to make his way through the tangled underwood than were his pursuers. On he went, bounding through the thicket, his miserable victim in vain crying for assistance. The rest pursued as fast as they could, apparently forgetting Jack altogether. They were soon hid from his sight by the trees. He had no wish to follow them, even had he possessed the power of so doing. His arms were bound, and before he could do anything he must contrive to get them loose. He tugged and tugged away frantically. He was afraid his captors would be back before he could get free, and execute their murderous threats. By what means he was to escape, he could not just then tell. The first thing was to obtain the use of his limbs. He worked away for life and death.

At last he twisted the rope round so that he could reach one of the knots with his teeth. He pulled away lustily. He found that he was slackening it. He listened for the shouts and cries of the pirates. He thought that their voices sounded louder and nearer again. He was every moment getting the ropes looser. One more tug, and his hands were at liberty. He struck out on either side to assure himself that he had the free use of them. He looked round; no one was in sight. His first impulse was to set off and run back to the coast, but then he recollected that he might be easily pursued, that it must be seven or eight miles off at least, as three or four hours had passed since he and his captors had left it. After a moment’s reflection he determined to find his way as soon as possible to the banks of the river. He was certain that the boats would be sent in to look for his party, and, by watching for them, he hoped to be able to make some signal to call their attention to himself. He still heard the voices of the pirates. A tall palm-tree was near. He thought that the safest plan would be to get to the top of it. He could easily hide himself among the wide-spreading leaves, and the Spaniards, believing that his arms were bound, would never think of looking there for him. He would also have the advantage of watching all that was going on below. He had seen blacks climb a tree with a band partly round their stem and partly round their waists. The rope he had just got clear of his arms would help him up in the same way. He rapidly fitted it, and, with knees and hands working away, up he went the smooth stem. He had got nearly to the top, when he heard a chattering, and looking up, he saw a very ugly face grinning down upon him. An ape had previous possession of his proposed stronghold. He was not to be daunted, however, but, swinging himself up on the bough, prepared to do battle for its possession. He had still a pistol in his belt, though it was not loaded. The pirates had forgotten to deprive him of it. He held it by the muzzle, and Master Quacko, who seemed to be a very sensible monkey, thought that it would be foolish to pick a quarrel with so well-armed a stranger. As Jack advanced, he retreated, till Jack reached the centre of the tree, where he could coil himself away without the possibility of any one below discovering him. He looked round before sitting down. Below him was a dense mass of foliage, with only here and there an opening. To the west, in the far distance, was the sea, looking bright and blue; to the east were ranges of mountains, the most remote evidently of considerable elevation; while to the north he caught a glimpse of the river, to his great satisfaction, not very far off. He could still hear the voices of the pirates, but he could not discover whether they had succeeded in rescuing the wretched negro from the fangs of the tiger. Meantime the monkey sat on the farther end of a branch watching him.

“I hope you have formed a favourable opinion of me, Master Quacko,” he said, looking at the ape, for even in the dangerous predicament in which he was placed he could not resist a joke.

“Quacko, quacko, quacko,” went the monkey, in a tone which Jack thought was friendly.

He felt about in his pockets, and found a piece of biscuit. He nibbled a bit, and then held it out to his companion. The ape drew near, at first, hesitatingly; Jack nibbled a little more of the biscuit. Quacko thought that it would all be gone if he did not make haste, so he made one or two more hops up towards Jack. Jack nibbled away, then once more held out the biscuit. The monkey made one spring, and nearly caught it, but Jack drew it back, that the animal might feel that it was given him. Then he held it out, and the ape took it quite gently, but ran off to the end of a bough, that he might examine this new sort of food, and eat it at his leisure.

The pirates had now found their way back to where they had left Jack. He could plainly hear them asking one another what could have become of him. They were under the tree in which he lay so snugly ensconced.

“He must have hid himself in the brushwood; he cannot be far off,” said one.

“If he had had his hands at liberty, I should say he would have got up one of these trees,” observed another. “Those English sailors can climb anything. I have seen them go up the side of a slippery rock without a hole in which to stick their nails.”

“He cannot be up this tree,” remarked the first. “See! there is a monkey quietly eating a nut on one of the branches. There is no other tree near in which he could hide.”

After this the men hunted about on every side, and Jack hoped that they would then go away.

“He must still be near,” exclaimed one of them. “Sancho, do you climb that tree and look about you. You will soon find out where he is by the shaking of the bushes as he moves along. Up! man, up!”

Jack knew, by the voice which replied, that one of the negroes was climbing up. The monkey had finished his biscuit, and, liking it very much, came back for some more, not observing what was occurring below. Jack had now won his confidence; and by giving him a very little bit at a time kept the animal close to him. Up climbed the black. Jack knew that he could knock him down again with the butt end of his pistol, but if he did he would only hasten his own destruction, as the others would quickly find means to get hold of him. He felt that the black was close under him. He caught sight of his woolly pate working its way through, the leaves. “Now or never,” thought Jack. He seized the unsuspecting ape, and threw him down directly on the negro’s head. The monkey, as much astonished as anybody, laid hold of the woolly crop with his claws, and scratched and bit, chattering away with all his might.

“Fetish! fetish! fetish!” screamed out the negro, sliding down the tree a great deal faster than he had come up, coming down the latter part by the run, and reaching the ground more dead than alive; while the monkey clambered up again, and, not daring to approach Jack, took his seat at the end of a bough, chattering away in the greatest state of agitation.

Jack lay snug. He had hopes that none of the other blacks would attempt to climb the tree after the reception their companion had met with; and from what he heard them say he had great hopes that they really believed they had seen a fetish. The Spaniards too, though pretending to laugh at the superstition of the negroes, having no real religion of their own to supply its place, were very strongly impressed with the black man’s superstition, and would on no account have attempted to climb up the tree. Jack therefore began to hope that he should escape from his intending murderers, and he did not despair of ultimately getting back to his ship.

In a short time the Spaniards and negroes, uttering loud oaths at their ill luck in having lost one of their companions as well as their captive, set off once more; and Jack watched them as they worked their way through the brushwood to the eastward. He felt truly glad when they were no longer to be seen. He was now also in a hurry to be off. “Good-bye, Mr Quacko,” said he, turning to the monkey, and making him a profound bow, for Jack was the pink of politeness. “I am much obliged to you for the accommodation your tree has afforded me, and for the assistance you have rendered me, and if you will ever venture afloat I shall be very happy to see you on board our ship. Good-bye, old fellow, give us a paw.” He felt in a curiously excited state, and ready to talk any nonsense. Quacko, who thought he was to have some more biscuit, came near, but when he saw that there was none he hopped off again and chattered away louder than ever.

Jack now descended in the same way that he had got up. His first care was to cut a thick stick to serve as a weapon of defence, for he thought to himself, “If the tigers about here are so bold as to carry off a black man, they are just as likely to attack me.” He accordingly kept his eyes about him, and, steering as well as he could by the sun, he pushed away towards the north. He could not help expecting to see a tiger spring out towards him, and every now and then he was startled by a snake crawling across his path; while the cawing of parrots and parrakeets, and the chattering of monkeys, made him feel like one of those knights in fairy stories, who have to traverse a forest haunted by evil spirits, who do their utmost to turn him from his gallant purpose of rescuing a lovely princess from the enchanted castle in which she has been shut up. Jack, however, was not to be turned from his intention of getting down to the banks of the river. He forgot that he would have to cross through a mangrove swamp, unless he could hit upon one of the few paths used by the negroes for the purpose of crossing it. Night was now rapidly approaching. He saw that unless he would run a very great risk of serving as the supper of some hungry wild beast, he must get up into a tree and pass it there. He was getting very hungry also, and he had but a few scraps of the biscuit he had shared with the monkey. Still, as long as there was daylight, he was anxious to push on, for he was sure that the boats would be sent in to look for him the first thing in the morning, and he wanted to be near the river to signalise to them. So he pushed on, beating down the bushes with his thick stick. Many a snake, lizard, and other creeping or crawling thing hissed or croaked at him as he passed. At last he saw before him an open space. “Ah! now, at all events, I shall be able to push on rapidly,” he thought to himself. So he did, and he went on some way, when on a sudden he found himself in front of a pailing with some grotesque-looking figures carved in wood grinning above it, and within it a bamboo-leaf-covered hut, before which stood a remarkably big ugly-looking blackamoor. Jack looked at him, and he looked at Jack, and uttered some words which clearly were meant to express, “Hillo, youngster, where are you hurrying to?” Jack followed a very natural impulse, which was to run as fast as he could. Under other circumstances this might have been a wise proceeding, for he certainly could run faster than the black man, who was not only big but fat. He had scarcely begun to run when a piece of painted wood came whizzing through the air after him, which would certainly have knocked him down had it hit him. He dodged it, however; but the next moment he heard the gruff voice of the black hounding on a dog, and when he turned his head he saw a huge Spanish bloodhound leaping over the pailing, followed by the negro. To attempt to escape was now hopeless, so he ran forward, flourishing his stick in the hope of keeping the dog at bay. When the negro saw he was coming back he called the hound off him.

“For why you run so?” exclaimed the negro, who saw that he was an Englishman.

“For the same reason that a pig does, because I was in a hurry,” answered Jack, who saw that his best course was to put a good face on the matter.

“Ah, you funny young ossifer, you laugh moch,” observed the negro.

“Yes, it runs in the family, we are addicted to laughing,” replied Jack with perfect coolness. “And now, old gentleman, I’m very sharp set, and as I doubt not that you have, plenty of provender in your house, I shall be much obliged to you for some supper.”

The negro evidently could not make out what Jack was about, and seemed to have an idea that he had run away from his ship. Jack was not sorry to encourage this. The black was evidently balancing in his mind whether he should make most by giving him up and claiming a reward, or helping him to hide, and then getting possession of any wealth he might have about him. He, in the most friendly way, led Jack into his house. It was very neatly built of bamboo, of considerable size, oblong in shape, and divided into four or five rooms. In one was a table, with some chairs; and the negro, having given some orders in a loud voice to several ebon-hued damsels, who appeared at the door, in a short time several dishes of meat and grain were placed on it. “Come you eat,” said the host. Jack stuck his fork into the meat. It was not a hare, or a rabbit, or a pig, or a kid. He could not help thinking of his friend Quacko, as he turned it over and over. However, he was very hungry, and he thought he would taste a bit. It was very tender and nice, so he resolved that he would not ask questions, but go on eating till his appetite was satisfied. There was a sort of porringer of farina, and some cakes of the same substance. He ate away, and felt much more satisfied than at first with the state of affairs. His host informed him that he was a grand pilot of the river, and showed him a variety of certificates which he had received to prove the fact, from the masters of English, American, Spanish, Portuguese, and French traders. Some praised him, but others remarked that he was one of the greatest rascals unhung, and that he would cheat and rob whenever he had the opportunity, and tell any falsehood to suit his purpose. “A nice sort of gentleman,” thought Jack, but he did not express his opinions, and tried to make himself as comfortable as he could. The negro placed wine and spirits before him, but he partook sparingly of them.

“You say I good man,” observed his host. “Go off to fight ship. Tell moch. Ah, ah!” And he winked and nodded and turned his eyes about in a curious way.

Jack concluded that he proposed going off to the ship, and would give some information about the slavers, and that he wanted him to vouch for his character.

“All right,” answered Jack; “you come on board; we shall be very happy to see you, and bring your book of certificates—remember that.” Considering the small vocabulary possessed by the negro, he managed to carry on a good deal of conversation with his guest. At last he made a sign that it was time to go to bed, and, pointing to a bundle of mats, he told him to lie down, and that no harm would come to him. Jack did as he was bid, and, having a good conscience and a good digestion, was very soon asleep.

The household was astir by an early hour. When Jack opened his eyes, he saw that two or three strangers were in the room. They looked at him askance, with no friendly glance. His host soon after entered, and it was very evident that a change had come over the man’s feelings towards him. Jack, however, got up, and, shaking himself, tried to look as unconcerned as possible. The bloodhound also, which had been very good friends with him the previous evening, walked in and stalked, snuffing, and growling round and round him. Jack did not like the look of affairs. Some food at last was brought in for breakfast—baked yams, fried fish, farina, and other delicacies, of which his host invited him to partake, but was evidently inclined to treat him with very little ceremony. When the meal was over. Jack intimated that he should like to begin his journey to get on board his ship. The negro laughed and said something to the other men. “You no go dere now, you go wid dees.” Jack’s countenance fell. The other blackamoors grinned, and without ceremony took him by the shoulder to lead him off. The midshipman’s impulse was to resist, and he began to lay about him with his stick, which he snatched up from a corner, but the blacks threw themselves upon him, while the horrid bloodhound sprang at his legs, and in an instant he was overpowered, and his hands once more bound behind him. Jack thought that before he was carried off, he would try and induce the big negro to help him, so he exclaimed, “I say, friend pilot, perhaps you can’t help this; so just let them know on board ship where I am, and you will be well rewarded.” He saw the negro grin, but before he could get an answer, he was hurried off by his new masters. They conducted him along over ground very similar to that which he had passed the previous day. Now and then he saw fields of Indian corn, and small patches cultivated with other grains, but otherwise the country was covered mostly with a dense jungle, very narrow paths only being cut through it. After travelling five or six miles, they reached the river, and having dragged a canoe from among the bushes on the banks, all the party got into it, and paddled away up the stream. The cords were by this time really hurting Jack’s arms, and he made all the signs he could think of to induce the negroes to remove them. To his great satisfaction, after talking together, one of them got up and slackened the knots, so that he could throw the rope off. He expressed his thanks to the negro, and placed it gently by his side. Scarcely had he done so, when his eye fell on a piece of board floating by. He stretched out his hand and got hold of it. That instant the idea flashed into his mind, that this board might enable him to communicate with his shipmates. It very soon dried, and then, as if to amuse himself, he took out his knife and began cutting away at it. If he could carve but a few words, they might be sufficient to signify where he had gone. He carved, in no very regular characters, “A prisoner, up south branch.—Jack R.” As soon as he had done this, pretending to be tired of the amusement, he threw the board into the stream and watched it floating down towards the sea. “It is a hundred to one whether it is picked up,” he said to himself with a sigh, “I’ll double the chances though.” So he looked out for another board or piece of stick; and having before long got one, carved that in the same way. The blacks did not seem to suspect his object, and allowed him to continue the operation. After paddling about an hour, they ran up a small creek with black mudbanks; and when they had drawn the canoe on shore, Jack found himself standing before a strong stockade or fort with a deep ditch round it. There was no gate on the side turned towards the river, but going round some way, they arrived at an entrance over a rough drawbridge. The negroes talked a few minutes together, and then led Jack in. The object for which the fort was used was very clear. In the centre stood a large barracoon full of slaves. This barracoon was a shed built of heavy piles driven down into the earth, lashed together with bamboos, and thatched with palm-leaves. Jack, as he passed, looked in. Sad was the spectacle which met his sight. The negroes who had charge of Jack did not appear to have found the person of whom they were in search; for after waiting some time they led him again out of the fort and took the road up a hill away from the river. After walking some way they reached a village or town. It was surrounded by a bamboo fence. They entered by a narrow gateway at the end of a street. The houses, or rather huts, were all joined together, forming one long shed of uniform height on each side of the road. Each habitation had a small low door, which alone showed the number of separate dwellings in a row. The sides were composed of broad strips of bark, and bamboo leaves served for the thatch. Here and there were larger houses built of bamboo, with raised floors, marking the residences of chief men. At last they reached a house nearly a hundred feet in length, and, having ascended some steps, Jack found himself ushered into the presence of a burly negro, who was sitting in oriental style on a pile of mats smoking a pipe. He had on a cocked-hat and a green uniform coat covered with gold-lace, wide seamen’s trousers and yellow slippers, a striped shirt, and a red sash round his waist. From his air he evidently considered himself a very important personage, and Jack did not doubt that he was in the presence of some Indian potentate. Round the room were several mirrors in gilt frames, and on a table stood a large silver bowl, while there were a couple of chairs and a sofa covered with damask or silk. The king, for so he called himself, looked at Jack sternly and said, “For what you come to my country, eh?”

Jack answered that he had been brought there against his will, and that he had no intention of coming. But his Majesty seemed to doubt him, and asked him a number of questions to elicit the truth. At length, however, he seemed satisfied. Jack was in hopes that he had made a favourable impression, and as he was getting hungry, he intimated that he should like some dinner. The king seemed pleased at the request, and ordered it to be brought into the room. It was a very good repast, and Jack was getting very happy, and hoping that there would be no great difficulty in making his escape, when the aspect of affairs was once more changed by the appearance of the two Spaniards who had picked him off the wreck of the slaver. They looked very fierce, and made threatening gestures at him, and abused him to the king for running away from them, and he discovered that they knew all about the expedition of the Archer’s boats up the river, and the capture of the schooner. He, however, went on eating his dinner, and tried to look unconcerned about the matter. This enraged them still more. What they might have done he could not tell; but suddenly a man rushed into the room, and gave some piece of information which seemed to put them all into a state of great agitation. They seized upon Jack and dragged him off, and they and a number of other people, headed by the king, rushed down the bill towards the fort. From the few words dropped which Jack could comprehend, he understood that they expected an attack to be made on it for the purpose of rescuing the slaves, and that they were resolved to defend it to the last. He found himself dragged along till he was carried into the fort with the crowd; he was then shown a gun, and it was intimated to him that if he did not do his best to fight, he should forthwith have his brains blown out—a dreadful alternative, but from which he could discover not the slightest prospect of escaping.

Chapter Fourteen.

In the Negro Prison.

Jack Rogers stood near the gun at which he had been placed in the slavers’ fort. He had plenty of time to consider how he should act; but, turn the matter over in his mind as much as he would, he could not arrive at a satisfactory decision. The alternatives left for his choice were to fire at his friends or to be shot himself. The slave-traders and their assistants, and the slavers’ crews who stood around him, were fellows whose very ill-looking countenances showed that they would not scruple to execute with very scant warning any threat they had made. An older man than Jack might have felt very uncomfortable under such circumstances. A more evil-disposed band of ruffians could not often have been collected together. They were of all colours, from those who called themselves white to negroes of the most ebon hue. Not that the whites had much claim to the distinction, for they were so bronzed by sun and wind that they were almost as dark as the Africans, and certainly they were not the least villainous-looking of the gang. Two of them especially, who had belonged to the crew of the schooner Jack had assisted to capture, seemed to have recognised him, and paid him very particular and disagreeable attention. One of them politely handed him a rammer, and showed him how he was to load his gun, while the other put a pistol under his nose, and exhibiting the perfect condition of the lock, explained with a mild smile that it was not at all likely to miss fire. Jack smelt at the pistol, and flourished the rammer.

“Very good powder I have no doubt,” he remarked, looking as unconcerned as possible, “but I cannot say that I admire its odour. If any of you have a pinch of snuff to offer me now, I should be obliged to you. I want something to overcome the smell of the mud, which is anything but pleasant, let me assure you.”

The Spaniard, though he did not understand what Jack said, comprehended his signs; and, thus appealed to, could not resist pulling out his snuff-box and offering it to him, though he fully intended, in case of any sign of insubordination, to blow out his brains at a moment’s notice. Jack dipped his fingers into the snuff-box with all the coolness and as great an air as he could command. He knew that his best chance of escape was to throw his captors off their guard. “Bueno, bueno,” he remarked, scattering the snuff under his nose as he had seen Spaniards do, for in reality he had no wish to take any up his nostrils. The slave-traders could not help shrugging their shoulders, and thinking that they had got hold of a very independent sort of young gentleman. They talked together a good deal, and from what they said Jack made out that they were proposing to invite him to join them. “A very good joke,” he thought to himself; “the rascals! I’ll humour them in it, however; it will certainly afford me a better chance of escape.”

During this time a number of blacks were pouring into the fort, carrying all sorts of arms, most of them matchlocks of very antique construction, though some were muskets which had probably not long before left the workshops of Birmingham. Jack, hoping that he had thrown his captors a little off their guard, shouldered his rammer, and walked about to try and obtain a more perfect notion of the state of affairs. Looking through the stockades, he saw that the fort commanded entirely the reach of the river, at the extreme upper end of which it was situated. The stream there made a sudden bend, nearly doubling back on itself; and as the fort was placed almost on this point, the guns in it could fire point-blank right down the stream. No boats had yet appeared, but from the look of intense eagerness exhibited on the countenances of all the blacks, he had no doubt that they were near at hand. The whole fort was in a great state of bustle, if not of confusion. The black warriors were running about here and there, chattering away to each other, and examining not only their own arms, but those of everybody else. Some of them Jack saw squinting down the barrels of their companions’ muskets, to try and ascertain the cause, apparently, of their not going off, while the man at the other end would snap the lock without giving the slightest warning. One of them after this came up to Jack, and, by signs and a few words of English, requested him politely to look into the muzzle of his musket and ascertain why it would not “fire! bang!” as he expressed it, intimating that he had already put in several charges.

Jack declined that mode of proceeding, but begged to look at the other end. Jack burst into a fit of laughter. “The reason, amigo, is this intendez ustedes,” he answered, as soon as he could find breath to speak. “There’s no flint to your lock, and if there had been, the touch-hole is well stopped up with rust, so you had two very secure preventives against its going off. I only hope that the rest of you have arms of a like character. Not much fear for my friends then.” He picked out the touch-hole, however, for the negro, telling him that he must put a match into the pan when he wanted to fire it. He resolved, however, to stand clear of the negro when he fired it; for he had little doubt that when he did so the barrel would burst, and do much more damage to the defenders of the fort than to the assailants. Jack was in hopes that the guns mounted in the fort would prove to be in a similar condition; but on examining them he soon saw that they were ship’s guns, and were in very good order. He had managed by his independent manner, by this time, to throw the slave-dealers off their guard. He waited for an opportunity when they were not watching him, and then hurried back to the gun of which they had given him charge. As he could not manage to withdraw the shot, he knocked in a wedge, which gave it an elevation calculated to carry it far over the heads of any of the attacking party. He looked round when he had done this, to ascertain whether he had been observed, but the white men had turned round for some purpose, and the blacks did not seem to comprehend what he had been about. “At all events, I shall not have to fire at my friends,” he thought to himself, “and now the sooner they come on the better for me.” Scarcely had these words passed through his mind than he observed a great commotion among the motley garrison of the fort, and, looking through the embrasure at which his gun was placed, he caught sight of several boats just rounding the point at the other end of the reach. He could not make out who was commander-in-chief of the present gang of villains with whom he was associated. The two Spaniards, who had at first paid him so much polite attention, were evidently not even officers. A huge black man, with a very ugly visage, seemed to have considerable authority. He was engaged in marshalling the negroes, and posting them at the stockades ready to make use of their firearms. The burly sovereign of the territory was nowhere to be seen. He probably thought discretion the best part of valour, and had retired again to his capital, to await the results of the contest. At last Jack’s eyes fell on a little wizened old Spaniard in a straw hat, nankeen trousers, and a light blue coat, who, as soon as he made his appearance, began to order about everybody in an authoritative and energetic manner, and very quickly brought the confused rabble of defenders into order. Two or three other Spaniards, who from their appearance seemed to be officers, came with him. He had evidently just arrived from a distance, summoned in a hurry, probably, to defend the fort. He went round, looking at the guns, and Jack was very much afraid that he would examine his. Just, however, as he was about to do so up went a rocket high into the sky, let off probably as a signal for some purpose or other. It had the effect of calling off the old man’s attention from him. The people in the advancing boats seemed not to have any notion that they were so near the fort, for they pulled on, without in any way quickening their speed, right up towards the guns.

Jack had remarked the mode in which the place was fortified, so likely to lead strangers into a trap. In front of the stockades was a deep broad ditch, and then beyond it rose a low bank of soft slimy mud, held together by reeds and aquatic plants, and which sloped away again down to the river. This bank was covered at high water, but even then Jack doubted whether a boat could be got across it. The slave-traders and blacks grinned as they thought of the trap into which the British seamen were about to fall. Jack watched the approach of the boats. Oh! how he longed to warn his friends of the danger threatening them. He would have shouted out to them, but they could not have heard him; and then he thought that he would climb up to the top of the stockade and warn them off; but he knew that the moment he was seen by the blacks to make any signal, a pistol-bullet would be sent through his head. Jack was perfectly ready to run any risk for an adequate object; but after a moment’s reflection he felt perfectly sure that the boats would come on notwithstanding anything he might do, and that the moment for sacrificing his life had not yet arrived.

As the boats drew near so did the flurry and excitement among the blacks increase: the white men looked along their guns and prepared for action; the little wizened old Spaniard posted himself in a position whence he could observe all that was going forward. Jack saw that he was watching him, and he also heard him tell one of the Spaniards, who had before paid him so much polite attention, to keep an eye on his movements. The old man, probably, had no great confidence in Jack’s honesty of intentions. Luckily no one found what Jack had been about with the gun, or it would have fared ill with him. Jack cast many an anxious glance through the embrasure, to catch the movements of the boats. There were a good many of them—that was one comfort. His friends were not so likely to be overpowered as he at first feared. Evidently another ship, or perhaps more, had joined the Archer and accompanied her boats up the river. He could not help also turning round to see what the old Spaniard was doing. There he stood on his perch surveying his motley crew—the impersonation of an evil spirit—so Jack thought. Yet he looked quite calm and quiet, with a smile—it was not a pleasant one, however—playing on his countenance. In a moment afterwards his whole manner changed; he sprang off the ground and clapped his hands, crying out loudly, “Tira! tira, amijos.” “Fire! fire, my friends! and send all those English to perdition.” He was under the belief that the boats had just come in a direct line with his guns, and that every shot would tell on them. The Spaniards and blacks were not slow to obey the order. Off went the guns, and the small-arm men began peppering away till the whole fort was in a cloud of smoke. Jack delayed firing as long as he could, that he might be more certain that his shot would fly over the heads of his friends. He would have waited still longer, had he not seen a Spaniard near him cocking his pistol and giving a very significant glance towards him. He had already begun to stoop down to fire, when a bullet whistled by his head, and he heard the sharp voice of the old Spaniard, “Take that, young traitor, if you don’t choose to obey orders.”

Jack felt that he had had a narrow escape of his life. Looking along his gun, and seeing that the arc he believed the shot would make would extend far beyond the boats, he fired. He could not see where his shot went, for at the same moment the British, though at first not a little surprised at the warm reception they had encountered, had brought the guns in the bows of the boats to bear on the fort, and had opened a hot fire in return.

With loud cheers they advanced; but Jack guessed that they had something in store which would astonish the blacks much more than the round shot; nor was he mistaken. Up flew, whizzing into the air, a shower of rockets, which came down quickly into the middle of the fort, and made both Spaniards and negroes scamper here and there at a great rate, knocking each other over, shrieking out oaths and prayers in a variety of dialects, and trying to hide themselves from their terrific pursuers. It was as if a number of wriggling serpents had been turned loose among a crowd of people. The old Spaniard stamped and swore with rage, calling the people back to their guns, abusing them, and firing his pistols right and left at them to bring them to order. Jack ran a great risk of being shot in the mêlée, either by friends or foes. Oh, how he wished that the former knew the state of affairs inside the fort, and would make a dash at that moment and get into it! It was high tide, and the water covered the mudbanks. The favourable moment was however lost, and by the fierce energy of the little old Spaniard the defenders of the fort were driven back to their guns. Jack pretended to be very busy loading his. He had managed to get in a shot during the confusion, and one of the blacks next rammed in the powder and put another shot in after it. “All right! now blaze away, my hearty!” he sang out. He had piled up a good quantity of powder over the touch-hole, so there was an abundance of smoke, and the negro whom he addressed fully believed that the gun had gone off.

“Now more powder and shot, old boy,” cried Jack; “ram away!”

Jack’s gun was not likely to hurt his friends, but had the old Spaniard seen his tricks, he would very likely have had another bullet fired at him. Fortunately the old fellow was too much engaged. The whole fort was full of smoke, and the defenders, having got over their first alarm at the rockets, were blazing away with all their might. Jack caught sight of the boats for an instant, separating on either hand so as to avoid the direct fire from the fort, and then he heard in another minute that true hearty British cheer, which has so often struck terror into the hearts of England’s enemies. On either flank there came pouring into the fort a fresh flight of rockets, and almost the next instant Jack saw the boats’ bows run stem on to the mudbank, which almost surrounded the fort. In vain the seamen endeavoured to shove the boats over it—they stuck fast. Jack shouted as loud as he could, in hopes that his voice might be heard, for he caught a glimpse of Alick Murray in one of the boats and Paddy Adair in another, using every effort to get up to the stockade. Perhaps they heard him, for he saw them leap overboard, followed by their men, with the intention clearly of wading up to the stockade, ignorant of course of the deep ditch between them and it. Jack felt sure that they would be shot down by the blacks if they made the attempt. He could restrain himself no longer, but ran towards them, shouting out, “Back, back! you can’t get in that way!” Whether they heard him or not he could not tell, for a heavy blow on the head was dealt him by the butt end of a pistol, the owner of which, one of his Spanish friends, would certainly have shot him had it been loaded, and he fell to the ground, stunned and helpless.

How long he thus lay he could not tell. It could not have been for any length of time, for the battle was still raging when he came to his senses. He instantly crawled to one of the embrasures, and looked out. The English had suffered severely. One boat lay on the mud, disabled, and the dead bodies of several men strewed the mudbank, which the falling tide had left dry. Then he turned his head, for he heard loud cheers and shouts, and cries and howls, on one side of the fort. A fresh attack, he suspected, had just been made. It was resisted with all the desperation of despair by most of the Spaniards and many of the blacks. The British were forcing their way in. He caught sight of the heads of the seamen surmounting the stockade, and then he saw that it was Alick Murray leading them on. The spectacle gave him fresh life. He jumped on his legs and gave a loud huzzah.

He had better have been silent. The old Spaniard, who had been flying about in every direction with the most wonderful activity, encouraging the people, pointing the guns, and showing himself the leading spirit of the gang, caught sight of him. It had now become evident that the fort would be taken; there was but one outlet by which the gang could escape; the ruffians began to give way. Numbers were wounded; many lay dead on the ground. Several of the fugitives passed him. He was hoping that the moment of his deliverance was at hand, when he felt his shoulder grasped by the little old Spaniard, and found himself dragged along by a power he could not resist. He struggled, but struggled in vain. Small as the old man was, he was all sinew and muscle; his clutch was like that of a vice. There was a fierce rush, blacks, Spaniards, and mulattoes were all mingled together; and good reason they had to run, for at their heels came fast a body of English seamen, slashing away with their cutlasses, and firing their pistols. Hemming, Murray, and Adair were leading them, and Jack recognised some of the officers of his own ship, the Ranger. He now knew how it was the expedition had been strengthened. He sought to escape from his captor. “If you shout, I’ll shoot you!” said the old man, in English, grinning horribly. He was in hopes his old schoolfellows would have recognised him. Back he was hurried. Still he felt sure that his friends would overtake him. The retreating villains had got close to the barracoon, and not far from the last entrance to the fort. The seamen pressed on. There was still some space between the parties, when the old man fired his pistol into a cask sunk into the ground; a thick smoke came out of it. Back, back the pirates pushed. In an instant more a dense mass rose before them of earth, and stone, and timbers, horribly mingled with the arms and legs and bodies of human beings;—a mine had been sprung. Jack was in an agony of fear for the fate of his friends. He could see nothing of them. He observed only that the mine had taken effect under one end of the barracoon. The terrible shrieks and cries of its wretched inmates rang in his ears. A large number of them had been liberated, and with loud yells were following in the rear of the slave-dealers, for whom they served as an effective shield against the shot of the seamen. The slaves had been told that the English would kill them, so they ran away as soon as they were let out of the barracoon, as fast as the rest. The piratical crew, for such they really were, took their way up the hill, towards the king’s residence, followed closely by the slaves and all the rabble who had escaped out of the fort. Jack expected that his friends would have pursued, and should he escape the pistol of the old gentleman who had him by the arm, he hoped before long to be rescued. They had not, however, got far up the hill when he saw flames burst forth from the barracoon, in which he knew, judging from those following, that a number of poor wretches had been left in chains, and he truly guessed that his countrymen were stopping to try and rescue them. The flames burst fiercely, and blazed up high, as they caught the dry inflammable timber of which the building was composed. Nothing could arrest their progress. The gallant seamen, he knew, would be dashing in among them in spite of the hot smoke, and doing their best to rescue the unfortunate wretches, but he feared that few would be saved. Even where he was he could hear their piteous shrieks, as the flames caught hold of them, chained as they were and unable to escape. As was too likely the pirates had set fire to the barracoon on purpose to delay the English; this plan succeeded perfectly. Often the same sort of thing has been done at sea, and when a slaver has been hard-pressed, blacks have been thrown overboard by the crew, to induce the English cruiser to stop and pick them up, and thus enable them to escape. Jack was dragged away up the hill, through the gateway of the town, and into the king’s palace. That worthy was seated where Jack had first seen him, and employed much in the same way—smoking a pipe.

“Why have you brought him?” inquired his sable majesty of the little old Spaniard, whom Jack heard addressed as Don Diogo.

“He will serve as a hostage—they have got some of our people,” was the answer.

“But will they give us back any of the slaves?” asked the king.

“Not one—whatever we may threaten,” replied the Don, grinding his teeth. “They will not have got many, that is one comfort. A considerable number came with us, and most of those we were unable to set loose have been burnt. Our enemies have not gained much by their victory in any way, for we killed a good many of them, and destroyed some of their boats. We have had a desperate fight of it, though.”

“It may be as well, then, not to kill the youngster, though it might be a satisfaction to you,” said the king, looking at the Don.

“Not for the present,” said Don Diogo. “We will keep him for a short time, and see how high his friends value him. If they refuse to give enough in exchange for him, as he can be of no use here, we can then shoot him!”

Jack, of course, could not understand all this conversation; but he made out enough to comprehend its tenor, which was certainly not of a character to enliven him. After a little time he found himself hauled out of the king’s presence and thrust into a small hut by himself. A black, with a brace of pistols in his belt, and a musket which looked as if it would go off, was placed sentry over him. He either would not, or probably could not, reply to any of the questions Jack put to him, whenever he thrust his head in at the door, apparently to ascertain that his prisoner was all safe.

Thus passed the day. Towards the evening Jack began to be very hungry and very sick, and to wonder whether he was to be starved to death. He pointed to his mouth, and made every sign he could think of to show that he was hungry, but the sentry appeared to take no notice of him. At last, however, another man opened the door and placed a bowl of farina before him. It was not very dainty fare, but he was too sharp set to be particular, and so set to on it at once and gobbled away till he had finished it. He was wondering whether he should have to sleep on the bare ground, when the same man appeared with a bundle of Indian corn and other leaves, and threw them down in the corner, making a sign that they were to serve him as his bed. “Thank you, old fellow, I might go farther and fare worse.” His spirits rose somewhat, for he judged rightly that his captors would not take so much trouble about him had they intended to murder him. He did not forget how mercifully his life had been preserved during the day, and he offered up his thanks on high before he threw himself on his bed of leaves to go to sleep.

He slept as soundly as a top all night, and when he awoke he could scarcely remember what had occurred during the previous day. Before long his former attendant appeared and placed another bowl of farina before him. “If they were cannibals, I might have some suspicions of their intentions,” he said to himself; “they don’t propose to eat me; but I know that I shall grow enormously fat if I go on long ramming down such stuff as this.” However, as he was very hungry, he did swallow the whole of it. Hours passed away; no one else came near him. He fully expected to find the town attacked by the English, and waited impatiently to hear the sounds of the commencement of the strife; but, except that occasionally he heard tom-toms beating at a distance, and a few shots fired, everything in the town was quiet. It was sometime in the afternoon when two armed blacks appeared, and marched Jack out of his prison up to the king’s palace. The king scarcely took any notice of him as he entered the reception-room. Soon after Don Diogo appeared.

“Will they give up the slaves?” asked the king.

“Not a bit of it,” answered Don Diogo. “They say that if we kill that lad, then they will kill six times as many people of ours.”

“That can’t be helped,” observed the king. “The people were born to be killed.”

“Certainly,” answered Don Diogo; “but there are some Spaniards among them, and I require their services.”

“But is it not possible that they may come and burn my town? I have no wish for that to happen, even for your sake, my friend,” said the king.

“Shoot the midshipman if they do,” answered Don Diogo, turning a not very pleasant glance at Jack. “At present, however, they do not seem disposed to attack us. We have given them enough to attend to for the present. We killed a good number, and the boats have gone back with the wounded and prisoners.”

“Then the young jackanapes of an officer may be shut up in prison again,” said the king.

Scarcely had the order been given when a Spaniard rushed with fierce gestures into the room. “Those English have killed some of our friends, and we are resolved to have our revenge,” he exclaimed, looking savagely at Jack, and handling his long knife.

“Don’t kill him yet, though,” said Don Diogo, with his usual coolness; “it will be time enough when he is of no further use. Take him away now.”

These were not exactly the words Jack heard used, but he made out that such was their tenor.

Poor Jack! He was thrust rudely back into his dark, dirty hut, and the only food he received was a bowl of the ill-dressed farina, of which he was getting heartily tired. His spirits began to fall lower than they had ever before done. He saw no hope of escape; for he was certain that should the English threaten to attack the town, that instant he would put be to death, even should he escape the long knives of some of the Spaniards who had evidently a hankering for his blood. At last he fell asleep. Midshipmen have a knack of sleeping under the most adverse circumstances. His powers in that way were very considerable. It was daylight when he awoke; but there were no sounds to indicate that the negro population was astir. He could not help fancying that some attempt would be made by Captain Lascelles and Captain Grant to rescue him; but the day passed on, and no one except the man who brought him his insipid farina came near him. If he had had any mode in which to employ himself, he could, he thought, have the better borne his imprisonment and the dreadful state of suspense in which he was placed. All he could do was to walk about or sit on his bed of leaves with his head resting on his knees. Now and then, as the evening approached and his weariness increased, he jumped up and thought that he would force his way out and make a run for it: but then the feeling that he would most certainly be killed if he made the attempt, besides recollecting not knowing where he should run to, induced him to sit down again and chew the cud of impatience. Night came again. He was more melancholy than ever. He thought that he was deserted, or that probably his friends fancied he was killed, and would not trouble themselves further about him. He had no inclination to sleep even after it grew dark. He listened to the various noises in the village, or rather city it should be called. They amused him somewhat—the odd tones of the negroes’ voices, the shouts, the laughter, the cries of babies, the barking of curs, the beating of tom-toms. At last, however, even they ceased, and he dozed away till he forgot where he was and everything that had happened. How long he had slept he could not tell; or rather, had he been asked he would have asserted that he had not been asleep at all, when he opened his eyes and saw by the light of the moon, which shone through a hole in the roof, the round face of a black boy looking down upon him with a friendly and compassionate expression.

Chapter Fifteen.

In Search of Jack.

Three of the Archer’s boats were manned, and under the command of Lieutenant Hemming, Murray having charge of one and Adair of the other, were about to shove off and proceed up the river to search for their missing shipmates, when a sail was seen from the mast-head standing down toward them. She was quickly made out to be a large ship, and in a short time little doubt remained that she was an English frigate. Captain Grant, therefore, ordered the boats to delay their departure that a more powerful expedition might be forthwith despatched to compete with any enemies with whom they might fall in. “Hurrah! she’s our own ship the Ranger,” exclaimed Adair, who had gone aloft to have a look at the stranger, and now came below to make his report to Hemming; “Captain Lascelles is just the man to back up Captain Grant; if he knows of any barracoons or slavers’ strongholds of any description, he will be for going in and blowing them all up without a moment’s delay.”

To prove that Adair was right, the Ranger soon after made her number, and at the same time another sail appeared to the northward. She turned out to be a brig-of-war, the Wasp. Captain Grant immediately went on board the frigate. Captain Lascelles entered fully into his plan, and instead of three, as soon as the Wasp came up, fortunately ten boats started on the expedition. Hemming was much gratified when Captain Lascelles declined to supersede him, assuring him that no one was better qualified to be entrusted with the command. There is always something very exciting in an expedition, no matter what the object, but when there is some uncertainty and danger, and a prospect of fighting, everybody gets into the highest possible spirits. Murray and Adair would have been in high spirits also had they not been anxious about Jack. Not that they were very unhappy. They had all so often missed each other, and been in difficulties and dangers, that they thought he would turn up somewhere before long. The boats dashed over the bar, and pulled up the south branch. As it was flood-tide they made rapid progress. They had gone some way up when they saw some one on the bank of the river beckoning to them. “A mere naked nigger,” said Adair, looking through his glass, “not worth waiting for him I should think.” Hemming seemed to be of the same opinion, for the boats continued their progress. Seeing this the negro set off running as fast as he could go, and was soon lost to sight in the jungle. Not long after they came to the end of a reach, and then it appeared that the river doubled back as it were on itself.

“Hillo, there is something in the water ahead of us,” sang out Adair to Murray.

“It is a negro swimming off to us. Do you see him, sir?” said Murray to Hemming, whose boat was near his.

The negro lifted up his hand, as if trying to make a signal to them, and wishing to be taken into one of the boats. Hemming told Murray to pull towards the negro, and ascertain what he wanted. In a few minutes Murray had hauled a young negro lad into his boat. “What is it you want, my lad?” asked Alick, in his usual kind way. The poor negro evidently wanted to speak, but could not find English words enough to express himself, though he was very voluble when employing his own language. No sooner, however, had Murray returned to the line of boats and retaken his place near Hemming, than the black lad’s countenance brightened up. “Ah, Massa Hemming, Massa Hemming,” he exclaimed, trying to spring into the lieutenant’s boat. He would in his eagerness have jumped overboard, had not some of the seamen held him back.

“He seems to know you, sir,” said Murray.

“Is, is—me know Massa Hemming; is, is, kind massa,” exclaimed the young negro, eagerly catching at the words.

“Let him come into my boat, and I’ll hear what he has got to say,” said Hemming, greatly to the delight of the negro, who clearly understood him. No sooner was the black lad on board Hemming’s boat, than he seized his hand and kissed it, and showed every mark of affection. Then with evident eagerness and haste he made all sorts of signs, aiding them by such few words as he knew. “Man come—bad, no, no,” he said, pointing up the river. Hemming understood that some one would come and try and mislead them, and that they were not to trust to him. Then Hemming tried to ascertain the fate of the missing boat’s crew. His heart sank when the negro explained by signs that he could not mistake that they had all been murdered.

“No one escaped?” he asked.

The negro shook his head, no, not one survived, it appeared. Murray and Adair were soon made acquainted with the information, and then indeed they began to fear that Jack Rogers, their gallant jovial companion, was lost to them for ever. Grief and indignation, and a desire to punish the perpetrators of the deed, took possession of their hearts. That was but natural. It is difficult to distinguish between revenge, which is wrong, and a desire to punish evil-doers, when we ourselves are affected by their misdeeds.

The young negro, after talking away and making signs to Hemming for some time longer, desired to be put on shore. Murray was ordered to convey him there.

“Good man—good man, Massa Hemming,” he kept saying all the time. “Take care, bad man come off shore.”

As soon as he landed, off he darted again through the mangrove bushes, and was lost to sight.

“He seems to be an old friend of yours, sir,” observed Murray when he got back.

“Yes, I find that he is a lad I once, when he was a young boy, jumped overboard to save in the West Indies after he had been taken out of a slaver,” answered Hemming carelessly. “He made me out when we were in the river before taking the Spanish schooner, and has ever since been watching for an opportunity to speak to me. I cannot make out exactly what he wishes to guard us against—some treachery, I conclude. I could not fancy that he would have recollected me so long. It shows that blacks have grateful hearts.”

Hemming sympathised much with Murray and Adair, for he knew of their attachment to Jack, and he fully believed that he had been lost with the rest. Bitter and sad were their feelings. “Oh, Jack, Jack!” muttered Adair in a tone of grief, “are you really gone?” The flotilla of boats proceeded some way farther, when a large canoe was seen paddling out towards them from the shore. A burly negro sat in the stern and made a profound salaam with his palm-leaf hat as he approached.

“Me first pilot in dis river,” he shouted with a stentorian voice, “take me board—me come show way.”

Hemming ordered his crew to cease rowing, and took him into his boat to hear what he had got to say for himself. He had, however, exhausted nearly all his vocabulary in his first address, and there was some difficulty in understanding him. In vain Hemming tried to gain some information about the missing boat and her crew. The negro either knew nothing or was resolved not to tell. At last he produced a book of certificates, and when Hemming had glanced over them he burst into a fit of laughter, and handed them back. The big negro looked exceedingly indignant, and, striking his breast, repeated vehemently—

“Me good man—me show way.”

Many of the certificates had been far from complimentary to the negro, but still Hemming thought that he might be useful as a pilot, till he recollected the warning he had just before received.

“This is undoubtedly the very fellow I was to expect,” he said to himself. “No, no, you go on shore; we can do without you,” he exclaimed, addressing the negro.

The burly savage blustered and protested, but he was made to step into his canoe, which had been paddling alongside, and Hemming signified to him clearly that he must take himself off. They observed him watching them for some way; then he hauled up his canoe, and taking a path inland, they saw no more of him. They had pulled on for half an hour or more when Murray caught sight of a board floating in the water. He could scarcely account for the impulse which made him steer towards it and pick it up. His eye brightened as he looked at it.

“Hurrah!” he shouted joyfully; “hurrah! Jack Rogers is alive; here is a note from him. There is no doubt about it. It is short though—he says, ‘A prisoner. Up south branch. Jack R.’” The shout was taken up by his own crew and the crews of all the other boats, and the banks of the stream rang with their loud hurrahs. This brief notice instigated all hands to make still greater exertions to try and recover Jack, wherever he might be. On they went; reach after reach of the winding river was passed, and they had got a long way up, higher than any of them had been before, when a shot, seeming as if it came out of the bank, flew over their heads. Another and another followed.

“We are just in front of the pirates’ battery,” exclaimed Hemming; “on, lads, on! we’ll storm it without delay.” The seamen required no further encouragement. A shower of rockets was first fired into the enemy’s fort, and then on they dashed, in spite of the heavy fire of musketry, as well as of grape-shot and langrage, which was opened on them in return. To their rage and disappointment, the boats stuck on the mudbank just outside the stockades, which they only then discovered. Many of the seamen leaped out of the boats and attempted to wade onwards, but they either at once sank into the mud or fell forward into the deep ditch, where several were shot down before they could be rescued by their comrades, while others were drowned or smothered in the mud. It was horrible work. An enemy whom they despised was close to them, and yet could not be got at. Hemming, his heart burning with anger and grief at the loss of so many poor fellows and the almost hopelessness of success, ordered the boats to shove off, with the intention of making an attack on some other part of the fort. The blacks continued firing away under cover without much fear of being hit in return. It was melancholy to have to retire, and to see the bank, from off which the water had begun to recede, strewed with the bodies of those who a few minutes before were as full of life and energy as themselves. Before getting to any great distance, Murray thought he saw a channel to the right, which must run near the fort. He pointed it out to Hemming, who told him to lead the way. He was right; the negroes had neglected to fortify it, and in a few seconds the boats were close up to the stockades. Not a moment was lost in storming them and hauling them down. In rushed the gallant bluejackets, led on by Hemming, Murray, Adair, and other officers, and at length they got their black enemy face to face.

“There’s Rogers, there’s Rogers!” shouted Murray and Adair, for they both saw him at the same time. They were certain of it, though his features were considerably begrimed with powder, smoke, and dirt. This was incentive enough to make them push on with still greater haste, had they not been eager to punish the abominable slave-dealers and their crew of ruffians. The brave fellows little knew the terrible trap prepared for them. Murray and Adair had sprung on ahead, and believed that in another minute they would have rescued Jack from the grasp of his captors, when they felt themselves suddenly pulled back by Hemming and Will Needham.

“Back, back, lads, back!” sang out the lieutenant. At that moment up ascended right before them a mass of earth and stones and wood, with a dense cloud of smoke and dust, accompanied by a terrific roar, and they felt themselves lifted off their feet and sent heels over head, while down upon them came showering all the more solid portions of the above-mentioned materials about their ears, as they lay half stunned and stifled and vainly endeavouring to rise. Another foot in advance, and they would have been blown to destruction. Hemming had seen the old Spaniard fire his pistol into the tub, and guessed what was coming. Murray and Adair felt themselves very much hurt, so indeed were Hemming and Needham; while several poor fellows were maimed or killed outright. The two schoolfellows, after lying stupefied for a few seconds, lifted up their heads and began to crawl out from the mass of ruins which surrounded them.

“Where’s Jack?” exclaimed Murray.

“Where’s Jack?” cried Adair, getting upon his legs and helping Murray, who was hurt more than he was.

These were the first words they uttered. He had not been out of their thoughts, in spite of the dreadful commotion. As the smoke cleared away they caught sight of the group of fugitives, among whom they supposed he was, ascending the hill which rose beyond the fort. They were eager to pursue, but when they looked round and saw so many of their companions disabled, and Lieutenant Hemming himself on the ground, they could not help fearing that pursuit would be hopeless. Still they were moving on, when Hemming, recovering himself, called them back.

“It is of no use, lads,” he cried. “The scoundrels have escaped us this time. See, see, too, we have work here,” As he spoke, flames burst forth out of the barracoon, part of which had been blown up by the mine. The seamen who could stand, wounded or not, rushed forward, led by their officers, to help the miserable slaves. They hacked away desperately to get them free of their manacles, trying to cut through the solid iron or the beams to which the chains were secured. Meantime the hot flames were raging around them, and almost prevented them from performing their work of mercy. Still, in spite of the fire, the heat, and the smoke, and the possibility of being again blown up, the undaunted fellows laboured on. Numbers of the poor slaves had been liberated, and several children had been carried off who would otherwise have been left with their mothers to perish; but at last the terrific element gained the upper hand. The seamen’s clothes were literally scorched off their backs before they would quit the work of humanity on which they were engaged, but even they were at last obliged to retreat, leaving the miserable captives to their fate. Again and again, however, now one, now another, would make a dash in among the flames, and try to haul out some poor burning creature whose imploring cries their tender heart could not withstand. One gallant fellow was killed by the falling of a burning beam before they would desist altogether from their brave efforts.

By this time the retreating slave-dealers had got completely out of sight, and when Lieutenant Hemming looked round and saw the number of men he had lost, and the disabled state of some of his boats, and of so many of his followers, he felt that he could in no way be justified in attempting to continue the pursuit. An officer often shows his bravery and fitness for command as much by his discretion and by holding back as by pushing forward.

Hemming was just one of these men. If he thought a thing ought to be done, he did not stop to consider what others would say about it, he did it. He now ordered his party to collect, and having conveyed some of the lighter guns to the boats, and spiked and turned the others over into the mud, and set fire to what would burn in the fort, he ordered all hands to make preparations for embarking with the rescued slaves, as well as with four Spaniards, three of whom were wounded, and several negroes who had been captured. He had formed a plan which he hoped to carry out. Some time, however, was occupied in repairing two of the boats; one was so completely destroyed that he could not carry her off. Before all these arrangements were concluded and the party were prepared to embark, it was late in the day. Hemming wanted, by a show of retreating, to throw the slave-dealers and negroes off their guard; and then to make a sudden dash up the stream and to come upon them unawares, having previously sent down the river to the ships some of the boats with the captured slaves. The rest of the officers agreed to the plan as soon as he propounded it to them, and Murray and Adair were consoled at the thought of soon being able to return and attempt Jack’s rescue. The state, however, of his wounded men, and the difficulty of navigating the river in the dark, compelled Hemming to bring up sooner than he had intended. A spot of high ground near the river which he thought might be easily defended induced him to land. Some bamboos and young trees were cut down to form a stockade, fires were lighted, sails were spread to form tents, and every preparation was made for passing the night.

“I only wish that Jack was here; he would enjoy this,” observed Paddy to Alick. “I say, by hook or by crook, we must get him out of the hands of those ruffians. I’ve been turning the matter over in my mind, and I am resolved, if Mr Hemming does not think fit to go back and try and rescue Jack, that I will make the attempt myself. I could very soon black myself all over, and a nigger’s costume will not take long to extemporise. I would soon frizzle up my hair, and with an old palm-leaf hat on the top of it, and my shirt with the tails hanging down, and tied round the waist by a piece of rope-yarn, I should look every inch of me a blackamoor.”

“Capital,” observed Murray; “I’ll accompany you if we find better measures fail; but still I fear that we should run a great risk of being discovered by the blacks.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Adair; “the very daring of the thing would throw them off their guard. They would never expect that two white people could so speedily turn themselves into niggers. Of course we must pretend to be dumb: though we can talk first-rate nigger gibberish in the berth, it won’t pass current, I fear, among the natives of these parts.”

“Not very likely. However, your idea of pretending to be dumb is good. I think I had better pretend to be an idiot,” answered Murray. “But the question is, who will they take us for? where do you fancy they will think we have come from? My idea is that we should rather try and find where Jack is, without falling foul of any of the natives. I want to set off directly it is dark, clamber up the hill where we saw him last, and cut him out. It is to be done, I am certain, and Jack is well worth all the risk we should have to run.”

“That he is,” exclaimed Adair warmly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, and I’m sure he would do anything for us.”

The subject was fully discussed, and then the midshipmen went to Hemming, and asked leave to put their plan into execution. Hemming might on another occasion have been inclined to laugh at the proposal, but he was too anxious to get Jack out of the slavers’ power, for he felt his hands tied somewhat with the fear of what the blacks might do to the midshipman should he attack their town. He was, therefore, ready to try any plan, however desperate, to recover Rogers. Having obtained the leave they wanted to put their plan into execution, Murray and Adair set to work to devise the details. As they could only hope to carry out their scheme at night, they agreed that they need not be very particular as to the correctness of their masquerade. There was no time to get any dye, but burnt cork well rubbed in with oil they agreed would answer the purpose. It was too late, however, to take any active steps that night. It was settled that the next morning the flotilla, with some parade, should proceed down the river, while they, with Dick Needham and a picked crew, should lie hid in the smallest boat till dusk the next evening; then they were to land and try and find out where Jack was.

Once discovering the locality of his prison, they fully believed that they could, as they called it, “cut him out as easily as many a rich Spanish galleon has in days of yore been cut out from an enemy’s fort, even though protected by the guns of the fort.”

The night passed away quietly. The party had expected an attack from the slave-dealers, but these gentry had received a sufficient notice of the warm reception they were likely to encounter, not to make the attempt. In the naming, however, Murray, who had the lookout while the rest were preparing to strike their tents, observed a party approaching with a white flag. He reported what he had seen to Lieutenant Hemming.

“The impudent scoundrels,” he exclaimed; “no flag of truce ought to shelter them. However, while poor Rogers is in their power we must treat with them as we best can.”

The party soon arrived at the temporary encampment. The most prominent person was the burly negro who had introduced himself down the river as a pilot, and there was a Spaniard and several blacks. The big negro was spokesman, as he professed to know more English than any of the rest. Hemming received them in a very haughty way.

“What is it you want? Have you come to excuse yourselves for firing on my boats and killing my people?” he asked in a stern voice.

It was difficult to understand exactly what the negro said in return, but Hemming made out that he knew nothing about firing on the boats, as he had not been at the fort, but that he had been sent by the king of the country to demand back some prisoners who had been taken while defending the territories of the said king against an unlawful attack made on them by the English boats. Also, there were some Spanish cavaliers, his honoured allies, who must be likewise restored to liberty: there were some slaves too, who must be given up, or the king would visit the English with his intense displeasure.

The long rigmarole speech, of which this was the substance, would have made Hemming laugh on any other occasion. However, now he merely replied, “Listen. Tell the king, or whatever he calls himself, that the English are here to punish evil-doers, to set slaves at liberty, to put a stop to the slave-trade, to encourage commerce, and to prevent wars. If the people we have caught are found to be pirates, as such they will be hung. We keep no terms with people who, like him, support piracy and the slave-trade.”

Hemming said something more to the same effect. The negro had, however, a last card to play, which he fancied would win the game.

“Ah, then, if you kill our people, the king says he will kill a little officer we have of yours. His life may not be worth much, but he shall die.” The negro grinned horribly as he said this.

“If he does,” exclaimed Hemming furiously, “tell the king that we will never rest till we have pulled him off his throne and his town about his ears, and burnt up all his country. Now you have got my answer. Go.” Hemming wisely would not condescend to say another word after this. He knew pretty well how to treat such barbarians. The sable ambassador and his motley suite, finding that nothing more was to be got out of the English officer, took his departure. Scarcely had he gone, when a figure was seen to creep out from among some bushes in the neighbourhood. It proved to be the negro lad who had warned them of the black pilot’s intended treachery. He ran forward and threw himself at Hemming’s feet, showing every sign of delight at finding him again. Hemming at once thought of asking him about Jack. The very thing it proved he had come about. He had heard of him, had gone and discovered where he was shut up, and understood that his captors talked of killing him should any harm befall their people who had been taken prisoners.—Hemming felt sure that he might be fully trusted, so did Murray and Adair. They therefore explained their plan to him, and asked him to assist them. This he at once joyfully undertook to do. Very little change in their plan was necessary. He agreed to act as their guide. They were to assume the character of slave boys belonging to a distant tribe whom he was conducting to his uncle, a chief of some influence in the country, and who was secretly favourable to the English. Wasser, the negro lad, assured them that he was very glad they had not ventured to make the attempt by themselves, as their detection would have been almost certain. Hemming delayed as long as he could before embarking, and he promised to wait for Murray and Adair some way down the river while they went on their expedition. Their boat, with Dick Needham, their new friend Wasser, and three other picked men, all well-armed, shoved off with the other boats, and soon darting in towards a sheltered nook, which they had before observed, lay as they believed perfectly concealed from all passers-by. Wasser, however, advised them to cut down boughs, and to fasten them in front of the boat. This they did, and, as Paddy observed, they could not desire to pass the day in a pleasanter way than in a shady bower with nothing to do and plenty to eat.

Chapter Sixteen.

A Flight for Life.

The time passed slowly by while the Archer’s boat, with Murray, Adair, and Dick Needham aboard, and the young African lad Wasser, lay hid under the bank of the river, waiting for the time when they might sally forth to the rescue of Jack Rogers. Everybody was eager for the moment, for all longed to have him safe among them.

Wasser’s deep gratitude to Hemming was very remarkable, after a separation of so many years, as was also his recollecting him. Murray felt sure that if any one could rescue Jack Rogers, Wasser was the person to do it. The day at length passed away, and after the party had taken a supper, as soon as Wasser thought it was safe, they issued forth from their leafy bower, and with rapid strokes pulled up the stream towards the fort which had been the scene of contest. Wasser remarked that none of the blacks would be venturing there at night, and that it would be the best place for the boat to remain at. Murray and Adair only landed. Needham had directions to wait for them till within an hour of daylight, and then, if they did not appear, to conclude that they were taken, and to pull down as hard as he could to inform Mr Hemming, and to bring him up to their assistance.

Wasser led the way, Alick and Paddy following close after him. Little would any of their friends have recognised in the two half-naked blackamoor lads the neat midshipmen who were wont to walk the deck of Her Majesty’s ship Ranger, in all the pride of blue cloth, gold-laced caps, and gilt buttons. Now, except a pair of scanty drawers, a shirt fastened round the waist with a piece of rope-yarn, and a tattered straw hat, clothes they had none. Their feet were tolerably hard, from the custom in which they indulged, in common with most midshipmen, of paddling about without shoes or stockings when washing decks. They were not however unarmed, for both of them had a brace of pistols and their dirks stuck in belts concealed by their shirts. It was curious also to see one of the despised negro race taking the lead as Wasser did on the present occasion.

They landed close to the fort, when without hesitation he led the way inland, and then after a little time they found that they were going up hill. Up, up they went for a long distance, it seemed a mile or more, over a well-beaten path.

It was not so dark as it had been. The light was increasing, it was that of the rising moon. They found that they had arrived in front of some palisades. They formed the wall to the negro city. Wasser signified that they must get over it to see their friend, and conducted them to the left, along the outside of the palisade. At last they got to a spot where he showed them that they might climb over, and whispered that there were no houses near whose inhabitants might discover them. The moon, as I was saying, was rising, so there was no time to be lost in reaching Jack’s prison before the light might render the approach more difficult. Cautiously they crept on under the shadow of the houses. The inhabitants appeared to be asleep. Now and then a dog barked, but they saw no one. At last, at the end of a street, they came to an open space, in which stood a solitary hut. Wasser pulled up, and said, “Dere your friend.” How Alick’s and Paddy’s hearts longed to get at him! Their impulse was to run across the square and to let him out, but at that moment a sentry appeared from the other side of the hut with a musket on his shoulder. Though they did not fear the musket, they knew he might possibly let it off and alarm the town, so they stood under the dark shade of a wall, deliberating what was to be done. They watched him for some time, and ascertained that, like a clockwork figure, he always made the same round at the same pace.

“We shall have time to get across the square and to seize him before he makes his round,” observed Murray. Adair signified that he thought the same, as did Wasser.

“Then,” added Murray, “you and I, Paddy, will seize him, while Wasser lets Jack out of the prison, and he can come and help us bind and gag the sentry.”

“Now is our time,” whispered Murray. “One, two, three, and away!” Down the square they dashed at full speed. Paddy leaped like a wild man of the woods on a sudden on the astonished sentry’s back, and pressed his hand tightly over his mouth, while Murray grasped his musket, putting his hand on the pan, to prevent it going off (he need not have taken so much trouble, as it had no flint in it), while Wasser climbed up to the top of the hut, where he had ascertained there was a hole. It was his honest countenance Jack saw looking down upon him. Jack little thought all the time how near his friends were, and what essential service they were rendering him. Wasser put down his hand, and Jack catching it, Wasser, with a strong tug, enabled him to grasp some of the rafters. Jack very quickly was on the roof, and seeing two negro lads struggling with the sentry, guessing that they were in some way trying to serve him, leapt down to help them. The sentry had very little chance against four stout lads, and so they soon had him down and gagged, and dragged inside the hut.

“Now run, run,” whispered Wasser, “no moment lose.”

Away they all ran as hard as they could pelt. They reached the palisade and began to scramble over it. Jack had not recognised any of his deliverers, but he was much obliged to the little black fellows for the help they had afforded him. Just then a dog barked, then a man’s voice was heard shouting, then another and another joined in the outcry. There could be no doubt that the town was aroused.

The wild hubbub in the negro town increased. The midshipmen and their sable ally had too much reason to fear that they should be captured. Wasser led the way over the palisade, Jack followed, Alick and Paddy brought up the rear. Jack had not yet discovered his friends, as in consequence of their dread of being discovered no one had spoken. Jack only thought that some negro lads, for some reason or other, had come to his assistance.

“Run, run!” cried Paddy, as they jumped down on the outside of the palisades. There was little necessity for his saying this though.

“Who are you?” exclaimed Jack, the truth breaking oh him.

“Alick—Terence,” they answered.

“Oh, capital! just what I should have thought you’d have done, if I had fancied it possible,” said Jack. “Then let’s stop and fight them.”

“No, no,” said Wasser, “too many men come to fight. Run on, run on!” His advice was evidently the wisest, so run they did, and at a very great rate too. It was clear that by some means or other the sentry had made himself heard. He probably did not describe, in the most complimentary of terms, the people by whom he had been knocked down, gagged, and bound. Some horrible fetish had done it, that of course he believed and asserted. The blacks must have thought that their town was attacked, and very quickly tumbled up from their beds (they had not many clothes to don) and flew to their arms. Shots were heard in different quarters, and the previous stillness of the night was rudely broken by shouting and hallooing of men, barking of dogs, and crying of children, and screaming of women to each other to inquire what it was all about. The noise, however, was not a thing to be much-dreaded. It showed that the negroes were awake, but it was also pretty evident that they had not yet begun the pursuit, so Jack and his companions thought. Wasser led them back into the chief pathway up the hill. There was no other by which they could reach the boat. They had, therefore, to pass very close again to the principal gate of the city. There was a great chance of their being seen as they did so. There was no help for it, so on they dashed. Never had any of them ran faster in their lives, for they were running for their lives. Down the hill they went. They heard a shout; some men were rushing out of the gate of the city in pursuit.

“On, on—mans come—neber fear,” cried Wasser.

“I should think not,” observed Jack, but he did not slacken his speed. Their pursuers came on at a great rate. They knew the ground and their feet were accustomed to it. Alick and Paddy found theirs hurt horribly, while Jack, having on shoes, could not run as fast as the negroes. It was a long way to the boat. Happily, however, the path wound about a good deal, or probably their pursuers, who had arms, would have fired, that is to say, if the arms had locks and were loaded—slight points in which negro soldiers are not always very particular. Luckily they had to go down the hill instead of up it. At length they reached the bottom; still they had some way to go. The voices of their pursuers grew louder and louder. They fancied that they heard some Spaniards among them, uttering their usual horrid oaths. They knew that those wretches were far more barbarous than their black brethren. With the negroes they might have had some chance of escape, with the Spanish pirates none. On they went. They dared not look round. There was a sharp report of a pistol—a bullet flew by them. Another and another followed. Happily, as their pursuers were running, they could not take steady aim; still they were getting dreadfully near. Another enemy was added to the pursuers. The midshipmen heard the baying of a bloodhound. There could be no doubt about the sound. The brute was still at a distance though; probably let loose by some of the Spaniards not roused till late to join in the chase. Murray and Adair remembered their pistols, and it was a satisfaction to feel that they might possibly shoot him before they were torn to pieces. Not that the task would prove an easy one though. Just then appeared before them through the dark foliage a sheet of silvery hue; it was the river. The sight nerved their limbs afresh; they had need of something to encourage them. Scarcely thirty yards behind them came the savage rabble. The fugitives had difficulty to keep ahead of them. Fierce were the shouts of blacks and Spaniards, and more savage was the baying of the bloodhound. Paddy, who brought up the rear, could scarcely help shrieking out, for he felt the brute close at his heels. He cared much more for it than he did for the bullets. He was certain that in another moment the animal would have hold of his legs, when up there started, just in front of the fugitives, honest Dick Needham and two seamen, well-armed with muskets and cutlasses. Dick, springing forward, made a cut at the savage brute, which almost severed its head from its body, and then shouted, “Back, back, you villains, or we’ll blow you into the sky!” and then, in another tone, he cried out, “Run for the boat, young gentlemen, we’ll cover your retreat.” No one required to be told this a second time, and Needham and the seamen, facing the crowd of blacks, and firing as they retreated, kept the enemy completely at bay till the midshipmen and Wasser had reached the boat. They were not long in jumping in after them, and, shoving off, away they pulled, shouting with delight at their success, and leaving their enraged pursuers swearing and grinning with rage on the shore.

“A miss is as good as a mile,” cried Paddy, as he seized one of the oars; but they were not altogether out of the fire. Many of the people collected on the shore had muskets, and began blazing away at them, several of the shots striking the boat, and others coming uncomfortably near; this only made them pull the faster however. While some of the slave-dealers’ people were firing, others ran along the bank, and, launching several canoes, paddled off in pursuit. This was much worse than their shooting. The British boat, a light gig, pulled well, but the canoes would probably paddle faster. Nothing daunted, however, Jack and Murray set to work to reload all the muskets and pistols, to make as good a fight of it as they could, should they be overtaken. They could count the canoes as they appeared darting out from among the bushes on the banks—one, two, three, four, five, six, came out one after the other. It was a long way down to the spot where Hemming had said he would await their return. Before they could reach it the blacks must have overtaken them, unless Jack and Murray could manage to pick off some of their chief men, and so perhaps frighten them back; both said that they would do their best to effect that object, however. Wasser sat quiet; he could do no more for the present—not all men even can sit quiet. The canoes drew nearer and nearer. However, a sailor feels very differently on the water and on shore, for even when compelled to run away on his own element, he can face his enemy and show fight: this Murray and Rogers now did to some effect. The canoes had got well within range of their muskets: the sooner, therefore, they began to fire, the better chance they would have of stopping their pursuers. Old Brown Bess, however, was never celebrated for carrying very straight, and neither Jack nor Alick did much execution. At the same time, now and then, they saw the negroes bob their heads as the bullets whistled unpleasantly near them. Some of the people in the canoes fired in return, but, as Dick Needham observed, they might as well have been firing at the moon for all the harm they did.

The English boat pulled on, the canoes following. A long reach was before them. Surely and steadily the canoes were gaining on the boat. The greater portion of the distance to the end of the reach was got over, and now in another five minutes, perhaps less, the canoes would be up with her. “While there is life there is hope;” so thought Jack and his companions, and so they continued making every effort to escape. The voices of the negroes chattering away in the headmost canoe, sounded very loud. Jack and Murray had ceased firing—for the best of reasons—they had come to the end of their ammunition. Perhaps it was fortunate; they could have done no good, and would only the more have enraged the negroes. The latter also had not fired for some time, probably on the same account.

“I feel somewhat inclined to squeak, as a hare does when a greyhound catches hold of her, but I won’t,” said Jack, as the headmost canoe got almost up to them. “You two in the bows, Johnson and Jones, keep pulling, while all the rest lay about them to drive off the blacks. We are not going to be beat by a parcel of pirates and niggers.”

The men cheered at Jack’s address, and, grasping their cutlasses, stood ready to obey his directions. Now came the tug of war. The other canoes got up and crowded round them, but again the undaunted seamen cheered, and firing their pistols right and left among the pirates, laid about them most lustily with their well-sharpened cutlasses. As they cheered, what was their surprise to hear their cheers answered, and at the same moment five dark objects on the water were seen coming round the next point. Murray exclaimed that they were men-of-war boats. They must have made out that their presence was much needed. On they dashed towards the canoes. The pirates saw them coming, and dared not stand their onslaught. Before they turned to fly, they made a desperate attempt to capsize the boat, and to carry off some of the English as prisoners. They very nearly got hold of Paddy, whom, in spite of his costume and colour, they had discovered not to be a negro; but Jack and Alick hauled him back, with the loss only of part of his shirt. Poor Wasser was in the same manner saved by Needham; had they got him they would, to a certainty, have killed him. The other boats, now dashing on, put them to flight, and off they went at a great rate up the stream. Hemming himself had come to their rescue. He had felt some misgivings about them, and had returned, intending, if he did not meet them, to land and threaten to ravage the black king’s whole territory with fire and sword if they were not given up. Jack was received with warm congratulation by his friends; but there was not much time for compliments, as Hemming instantly went off in pursuit of the canoes. The canoes paddled fast, but the men-of-war boats pulled just then faster, and the negroes and their Spanish allies, finding escape problematical, ran the canoes in on the bank, and, leaping on shore, left them to their fate. As they were undoubtedly employed to assist, directly or indirectly, the nefarious slave-trade, Hemming set fire to them all with the exception of one, which he carried off as a trophy. As it was important to get on board as soon as possible, Hemming pulled at once back to the place where the rest of the boats, with the prisoners and liberated slaves, had been left. They were all safe, and by noon the next day the expedition returned once more to the ship. Sad indeed was the loss they had to report—so many fine fellows cut down in a nameless fight with a band of rascally pirates. The captives not only exonerated Hemming of all blame, but assured him that they believed he had done all that a man could do under the circumstances of the case. Everybody on board both ships welcomed Jack, and poor Wasser was highly delighted with the way he was received and praised for the assistance he had afforded in rescuing him from the slave-dealers; nor did Murray and Adair fail to get their meed of applause.

“I am much obliged to you for all what you have to say,” answered Paddy, laughing, “but I wish some of you would tell me how to wash a blackamoor white. I have heard that it was a difficult operation. The burnt cork would have come off by itself, but Dick Needham rubbed in the oil and grease so hard that soap and water won’t do it.”

Doctor McCan, when applied to, looked rather grave, and, after he had heard the circumstances of the case, delivered a long lecture to prove that black powder rubbed in in that way, in such a climate, when the pores were open, would take root and become ineradicable.

Terence saw a twinkle in the doctor’s eye, which made him suspect a quiz, and the laughter of Jack, Alick, and some of his other messmates who stood round, confirmed this suspicion. At first he felt that he ought to be very indignant, but his good-humour seldom kept away many seconds together, and he quickly joined in the laugh against himself. He then accompanied Alick into the hospital, where, in a tub with some hot water and soap, and some alkali the doctor gave them, they very soon got washed white, and returned on deck as spruce-looking midshipmen as they usually appeared. Theirs and Jack’s great regret was, that as Alick had to go back to the brig, and they must join the frigate, they would again be separated. Rogers and Adair were once more or board the Ranger, with Lieutenant Hemming and Needham, and the rest of the people who had escaped the various dangers to which they had been exposed since they quitted her. Captain Lascelles was of opinion that it would be necessary to inflict a severe punishment on the slave-dealing king and his white allies, and accordingly resolved to send another expedition up the river without delay, to burn his town and any other barracoons which might be in the neighbourhood; or to induce him to break off all intercourse with the Spanish slave-dealers. The Commodore was able to carry out his object even sooner than he expected, by the arrival of two other brigs, the Rambler and the Tattler. Jack and Terence were very much disappointed when they found that they were not to go. To their earnest request to be allowed to volunteer, Captain Lascelles replied, “I admire your spirit, my lads, but as you are not made of iron, and I cannot afford to expend my midshipmen, others must take their share of the work. You are both of you already as thin as thread-papers.”

Certainly by this time they had become very brown and wiry, and bore but a slight resemblance to the rosy, jolly-looking midshipmen they were when they left England. Hemming, however, again went in command, and Wasser begged that he might accompany him as interpreter. With somewhat of an envious feeling the midshipmen saw a considerable flotilla of boats cross the bar and pull up the river.

The day passed away, and so did the greater part of the next, and still the boats did not reappear. Captain Lascelles became somewhat anxious. Hour after hour went by. “There they come, there they come!” was shouted by several who were on the lookout on deck. Not only were all the boats seen, but several large canoes were in their company. In one of the latter, as they drew near, Jack recognised his friend, the negro king, seated in the stern and dressed in the same magnificent uniform in which he had appeared in his own palace. He seemed perfectly happy, and was smoking a pipe with true regal dignity. The side was manned to receive him, and with a grand air he stepped on deck, making a profound bow and a wide flourish with his cocked-hat. Captain Lascelles, on this, went forward to meet him, and, ordering up some cushions from the cabin, begged him to be seated and to continue smoking his pipe, while he ascertained from Hemming the particulars of the expedition. The expedition had proceeded up the greater part of the way towards the fort without meeting any one. When near it a canoe appeared approaching them. In it were the stout pilot, Jack’s friend, and three other blacks rigged out in what they considered full fig. They came, they said, as ambassadors from the king. He wished to inform the English that Don Diogo and the rest of the Spanish slave-dealers had gone away overland, to the south—he could not tell where—and that, as he wished to be friends with everybody, he hoped that no further harm might be done to his country. Hemming replied that he was very glad to hear this, but that profession was not practice, and that he must have stronger proofs of his sincerity. The pilot said the king hoped all the English would visit his capital. Hemming answered, that half would go and half would stay to look after the boats. Whether treachery was intended or not, the idea was, it appeared, abandoned, and Hemming, with thirty of his men well-armed, proceeded up the hill to the king’s capital. They found it to be a tolerably strong place, and though they might have taken it by storm, not, perhaps, without difficulty and loss. The king received them very courteously, and seemed to be really a sensible fellow, perfectly alive to his own interests. During a long palaver, Hemming explained to him that if he persisted in carrying on the slave-trade, the English would destroy his barracoons, and injure and annoy him in every possible way; but that if he abandoned it, and refused to have anything to do with slave-dealers, but would engage in commerce, encourage agriculture, well treat his people, and act like an honest man, they would assist and encourage him in every possible way; that the Queen of England would be friends with him, call him her well-beloved brother, and send him presents of far greater value than any he got from the Spaniards. So eloquently, indeed, did Hemming put the case before him, that his negro majesty expressed his eagerness to come off to the good queen’s big ship and ratify the treaty, which he desired might forthwith be drawn up. Captain Lascelles lost no time in clenching the matter. All sorts of presents were bestowed on the black sovereign; a gun, some crockery, a pair of boots, a tooth-comb, a pair of epaulets, and half a dozen gaily coloured pocket-handkerchiefs, the pilot and the other chiefs coming in for a share of the good things, the captain hinting that this was only a forestalment of what they might expect if they behaved well. Highly pleased with all that had occurred, under a salute of eleven guns from the frigate, and more than half-seas over, the negro potentate and his great ministers of the realm, and other followers, betook themselves to the shore.

“They are slippery as their own skins,” observed the Commodore; “we must have a sharp look on them, to keep them to their engagements.”

The Ranger had captured several slavers, and sent them away to Sierra Leone for adjudication, and had driven many more off from the rivers into which they were bound to take in their cargoes, when, being under easy sail, about six miles off the coast, a large schooner was seen in-shore of them. Though all sail was made in chase, as the schooner increased her distance, Captain Lascelles ordered two boats to be manned in order to pursue her. To their great delight Jack got command of one, the cutter with eight men, and Adair of the other, a gig with six, many of the other officers being away in prizes. Their chief object was to come up with her before the setting in of the sea-breeze. Both boats, however, pulled badly, being soddened from having been so constantly in the water, besides which they leaked not a little. However, Jack and Paddy had learned that perseverance conquers all difficulties. Hot, as usual, was the sun. “Another warm day, Jack,” cried Terence, as they pulled away; “I wonder how much marrow we shall have left in our bones and how much fat outside them when we get home.”

Two hours and a half passed before they got up with the chase. The gig, from pulling best, was ahead. Jack did not grudge his messmate the honour, though he liked to be first when he could. The schooner, with all her sweeps out, as the boats neared her, put her helm up, and tried to run them down, opening at the same time a sharp fire of musketry. They, however, were too quick for her, and, pulling on either side, each man seized his musket and let fly in return. Loading again with the greatest coolness, as they passed her, they poured in another volley. The sweeps being rigged out, prevented them from climbing up by the chains.

“Never mind,” cried Jack, “let us try the quarters.” He pulled up to one quarter, Adair to the other, and before the slavers knew where they were going, the boats had hooked on, the seamen, led by their two gallant young officers, were springing over the low quarters of the schooner. Adair, however, got a severe lick on the shoulder, which would have sent him back into the boat had not one of his men given him a shove up; while Jack got an ugly gash on his arm from a cutlass, and would have had his head laid bare, had not Dick Needham’s trusty weapon interposed to save him. All this time the slaver’s crew were firing away down into the boats. One of the cutter’s men was shot, and fell over. A messmate, Brown, attempted to lift him up, but he sank down like a piece of lead.

“It’s all over with him,” cried Brown, springing over the bulwarks, and resolved to avenge him. It was too true. He had been shot through the heart. A like fate befell one of the gig’s crew. Still, with diminished numbers, the British fought on, but the odds were fearfully against them. They had, however, gained a footing on the slaver’s deck, and as they had cutlasses and pistols in their hands, which they well knew how to use, they felt themselves to be on equal terms with six times their number of the sort of mongrel wretches who made up the slaver’s crew. The latter at the same time seemed in no way daunted, and fought on with the greatest desperation. Hitherto neither Jack nor Adair had made out who were the officers of the wretches opposed to them, for the smoke hung so thickly over the deck, crowded as it was with people of every hue and every variety of costume, that it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. At last Jack caught sight of a little man, urging on his companions. The voice too he had heard before. A puff of wind cleared away the smoke: Jack recognised his old enemy, Don Diogo. The Don knew him also. “Ah, ah, have you come to be killed?” sang out the little man, with a horrid grin. “Cut him down, cut down the little spy, my men. He was one of those who destroyed our barracoons and deprived us of our property. The sea-breeze will soon be up to us, and we may laugh at the frigate. Revenge, revenge!” Instigated by these shouts from their fierce chief, the slaver’s crew, uttering loud imprecations, made a desperate rush against the English, and Jack, in spite of the gallant defence made by those around him, found himself brought on his knee to the deck.

Chapter Seventeen.

Aboard the Prize.

Don Diogo and his companions did not know what Englishmen were made of if they thought that they were going to win the day without a hard fight for it. Adair, wounded as he was, threw himself before Jack, and, aided by Needham and some of his best men, pistoled some of the Spaniards and cut down others, hurrahing so loudly, and charging so fiercely, that the rest, in spite of the little Don’s exhortations, gave way before them. They pushed on till they reached the mainmast, where a resolute stand was made by the slaver’s crew. During this time Jack recovered sufficiently again to join in the conflict. The little Don, seeing how things were going, rallied a number of his people around him, evidently prepared to make a stand to the last, and Jack, from what he had observed of his character, was fully convinced that he would make some desperate attempt to destroy them, even perhaps by blowing up the schooner and all on board.

Fortunately the hatches of the schooner’s decks were open to give air to the unfortunate slaves confined below. They all the time were uttering the most fearful shrieks and cries, not knowing what was going to happen. Pressed backwards, several of the pirate’s crew were tumbled down the hatchways among the negroes, adding to the confusion and dismay below. Others, pressed by Jack, who was fighting his way forward on the starboard side, leaped overboard, and, to avoid the cold steel of the avenging British, found that death from the ravenous sharks to which they had consigned so many of their black fellow-creatures. Although some gave way, others kept rallying round the mainmast, and so Adair had to keep them engaged to prevent them turning and attacking Jack in the rear. So hotly was he engaged, however, that he had no time to look about him. A loud shout made him turn his eyes for a moment forward, and then he saw Jack, who had gained the forecastle, waving his cutlass in triumph. The Spaniards, who had hitherto shown a bold front, on hearing the shout, and seeing that their chance of victory was gone, threw themselves pell-mell down the hatchways among their companions, who had by this time regained their legs. What was bad, they had also kept possession of their arms, and began to fire upon the English. The seamen could easily have shot them, but the cowardly scoundrels retreated among the chained slaves, believing that their enemies would not dare to fire, for fear of wounding the poor blacks also. They counted, however, without their host. Never was there a cooler fellow than Dick Needham, and, getting his musket ready, he ran forward, and judging where the Spaniards had stowed themselves, picked out a couple of them from the very middle of the blacks; then leaping down, cutlass in hand, followed by three of his shipmates, they very soon made the rest of the wretches cry out for quarter. When Jack and Terence looked around the deck they found it cleared—not a little to their surprise. What had become of Don Diogo?

“The villain must have gone below, and will be blowing us all up!” exclaimed Terence, rushing aft.

Forward he certainly was not, or Jack would have seen him. They both, pistol in hand, rushed into the cabin, expecting to have a desperate encounter with the fierce little Spaniard. The door gave way before them.

“Hillo! the fellow is not here,” cried Jack.

“Then he’s concealed somewhere,” answered Paddy. “It’s very unpleasant to feel that any moment he may be sending us up like rockets into the sky. I wish that we could rout him out before he commits any mischief.”

Just then they were recalled on deck by the shout of one of their men. They hurried out of the cabin, and, looking over the quarter, they saw what they would have perceived before had they looked in the right direction. The Don, with six or seven of his followers, had jumped into their own gig, and was pulling away with might and main towards the shore. Jack and Terence at first thought of following him in the cutter, but then there was the danger of the Spaniards left on board rising, and overpowering the rest of the English. He also would certainly not yield without a most desperate resistance.

“The Don will say that exchange is no robbery,” exclaimed Paddy, “we had better let him go. He has got our gig, and we have got his schooner, and a very magnificent craft she is, with 400 or 500 slaves on board. We can well spare him the gig.”

Jack agreed to this, but suggested that if the sea-breeze reached them soon, they might still catch the Don by the ear. Meantime they set to work to secure the slaver’s crew. Many of the villains had stowed themselves away among the slaves, and were endeavouring to let them loose, telling them that the English had come to murder them, and that their only chance of saving their own lives was to rush upon deck and to murder the English instead. Happily the attempt was discovered before many of the negroes were set at liberty, and the slaver’s crew were all knocked down and, having both hands and feet lashed together, were brought on deck and placed in a row under the bulwarks.

Jack saw the breeze coming, and gave an order to trim sails to take advantage of it so as to go in pursuit of the gig with Don Diogo in her. The frigate lay about eight miles off and of course had not perceived the escape of the Don. She being more in the offing, would get the sea-breeze first. Jack and Terence watched her trimming sails, and then her white canvas began to bulge out, and on she came gliding proudly towards them. Not long afterwards they got the breeze. To tow the cutter would have impeded them, so they dropped her to be picked up by the frigate and stood after the gig. Don Diogo had got a long start, but still, from the gig pulling heavily, as they knew to their cost, they did not despair of overtaking her. Everything was done to increase the schooner’s speed, as it was important to get hold of one of the most daring slave-dealers and slave-captains on the coast—a man whose head had grown grey in the vile traffic in which he was engaged, and who had already spent half a dozen fortunes made by it.

“Paddy, I believe we shall catch the Don after all,” exclaimed Jack, who had been watching the gig through a glass, and at the same time inspecting the coast beyond. “I can make out no creek for him to run into, and if he attempts to beach that boat he will be swamped to a certainty.”

“And serve him right too,” answered Terence. “But, hillo, what is that for?” As he spoke a shot fired from the frigate came whizzing over their heads. Another and another followed in rapid succession. One of them flew directly between their masts.

“I don’t like to heave-to, or we shall lose our chance of catching the Don,” observed Jack; “but this is getting rather too serious to be looked upon as a joke.” It was, indeed, for in another second, three or four more shot came crashing through the sails and against the spars of the schooner, one of which, the foretop-gallant yard, was shot away.

“We must signalise them, and beg them to be aisy,” cried Terence. “But, hillo, I say, Jack, who could have left that abominable flag flying at the peak?” There, sure enough, at the peak of the schooner flew out the often disgraced flag of Spain.

“We’ll haul it down, and settle that point afterwards,” said Jack, suiting the action to the word and hauling down the flag. He was but just in time to save the schooner from a tremendous peppering, which the frigate, now ranging close up astern, had prepared for her. Jack ran up the rigging nearest the frigate, and pointed ahead to show that he was chasing something; indeed, by that time the gig when looked-for must have been seen clearly from the deck of the frigate.

“I am glad we did not fire into you, my lads,” shouted Captain Lascelles through his speaking-trumpet. “You’ve done well—very well, but why did not you haul down the slaver’s flag?”

“We’d so much to do, we never saw it, sir,” shouted Jack in return. “There’s the slaver’s captain—we’re after him.”

“Stand in as close as you can, but don’t get on shore, though,” cried the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Jack, well pleased to follow the orders given.

The frigate stood on for some distance after the gig, but she had to be hove-to that the depth of water might be ascertained, and this gave the Don an advantage of which he did not fail to profit. Though guns were continually fired at him, the gig was too small an object at that distance to enable even the best of marksmen to hit her with any certainty. When the frigate hove-to, the schooner once more passed her. Nearer and nearer she drew to the shore.

“We must take care not to wreck our well-won prize,” observed Jack to Terence, and a lead and line having been found, he wisely sent a hand into the chains, to heave it as soon as he had rounded the schooner to. Well was it that he did so, for in a very few minutes more the schooner would have been on shore. It was provoking, however, to see the wicked old Spaniard pulling on triumphantly. They watched the gig as long as they could with their glasses. She disappeared amid a cloud of foaming surf, which seems ever, even in the calmest weather, to be breaking on that shore.

“The old fellow has escaped us now, but we will still have him some time or other—depend on that,” said Jack, shutting up his glass. “However, we have destroyed his barracoons, and now we’ve captured his schooner—that’s one consolation. He can’t love us, though.”

Truly, indeed, did Don Diogo nourish a bitter desire for revenge against the British generally, and the officers and the crew of the Ranger especially, which he was one day destined to have an opportunity of gratifying to the full. The frigate’s studding-sails being rigged in, she, with her prize in company, shaped a course for Sierra Leone. Both Jack and Terence had been so severely handled when boarding, though they did not feel much of their wounds during the excitement of chasing the Don, that it was necessary for them to return on board the frigate to be under the doctor’s hands, while another officer was put in charge of the prize. This was a great disappointment, but Captain Lascelles promised them that they should have command of the next prize the frigate might take. Having seen the prize some way on her course, the Ranger stood back to her cruising ground to the southward. In consequence of head-winds and calms she made but slow progress, and thus some weeks slowly passed away after the events I have described, before her people had much work to do. This was a great advantage, as it enabled Jack and Terence and the sick and wounded men to recover, away from the noxious air of the coast.

At length it became advisable to communicate with King Bom-Bom, whose prisoner Jack had been, and as both he and Terence knew the river, they were ordered to proceed up it, to deliver the message, and to return as soon as possible. I ought to have said that Wasser had attached himself to his old friend Hemming, and had entered regularly as a seaman on board the frigate. A very steady and careful lad he was too. He now went with the expedition to act as interpreter. The boat crossed the bar safely. Several traders were in the river, exchanging Manchester goods and cutlery for palm-oil, ivory, gold-dust, and other articles of value. King Bom-Bom received the midshipmen most politely, and gave them a handsome feast, though, as Paddy remarked, the cookery was rather dubious. He then frankly assured them that he was growing far richer as an honest trader, keeping a monopoly of the chief articles himself, by-the-by, than he had by all his connexions with the slave-dealers, taking into account the occasional burning of his barracoons, and the hot water in which he was continually kept. Of course King Bom-Bom was a sensible fellow, and saw things in their true light.

“What we have heard from our regal friend fully reconciles me to all the hard work we have to go through on this coast,” observed Jack, as he and Terence were talking the matter over on their return down the river. “One thing is clear, this abominable slave-trade must be put down, and I believe that we are setting the right way to work to do it. First make it unprofitable and very dangerous, and then show the natives the advantages of civilisation and commerce.” When the boat reached the mouth of the river, the frigate was nowhere to be seen. “Then, Paddy,” exclaimed Jack, clutching his rifle, “let us have a cruise on our own hook. You remember the prize you took among the Ionian Islands, old fellow?” How merrily they laughed at the recollection of that early freak of theirs. Paddy, of course, was delighted to join in any scheme of Jack’s. They could not tell in which direction the frigate had gone. They, at a hazard, steered to the southward. They had a good supply of provisions in the boat, and King Bom-Bom had given them still more. All that day they looked out anxiously for a sail, but sighted none. The greater part of the next passed much in the same manner. They were growing impatient. It is not pleasant to have to sit cramped up in a small boat under a burning sun off the coast of Africa with nothing to do.

At last the sea-breeze set in, and soon afterwards Paddy jumped up and, in his delight, almost toppled overboard, exclaiming, “A sail! a sail!” As the stranger approached, Jack made her out to be a long, low, black brig; he ordered the boat’s sail to be lowered, and the people to lie down in the bottom of the boat, and to cover themselves up with the sail.

They both thought that the approaching brig was a slaver, but to make more sure they called Wasser to them. He crept along under the sail, and put his eyes up over the gunwale: “Yes, big slaver, no doubt,” he observed; “but no get slavie in yet.”

“Then we’ll follow and board her,” cried Jack. “If she won’t heave-to, we’ll make her.”

This seemed rather a vaunting boast for two midshipmen and six men in a small boat to make, but Jack was perfectly in earnest about the matter. The men had their oars all ready to ship at a moment’s notice. The brig stood on till she was within about 400 yards of the boat, and Jack, who was watching her from under the sail, thought that he should have to get out of her way to prevent being run down. Suddenly she changed her course, and hauled more off the land. Perhaps her people suspected a ruse. In an instant, as Jack gave the order, up sprang his men, out went their oars, and away after the brig they pulled. The character of the brig was soon shown, for no sooner did her crew see that they were pursued than they began peppering away at the gig, while a gun was run out at a port on her quarter, which opened a fire of round and grape-shot. Her low bulwarks afforded no protection to the crew working the gun, so Jack stood up, and taking deliberate aim, shot one of them just as he was about to fire.

“Terence, give me your rifle, and reload mine,” he exclaimed. Terence did as he was bid. Another of the gunner’s crew fell; a third and a fourth shared the same fate. The slaver’s people could not understand how this had happened, but terror seized them, and they refused to go to the gun. This, however, did not save them, for the unerring rifle picked out several on different parts of the deck. The breeze was freshening, and the slaver made all sail away from the boat. But as a thresher pertinaciously pursues a whale till it has destroyed it, so did the little gig follow the large brig, which looked large enough to destroy a hundred such pigmy cockle-shells. Jack felt that everything depended on his coolness and the steadiness of his aim. Aided by Terence, well did he do his work. The astonished crew of the slaver must have fancied that they were pursued by evil spirits rather than by men. Once more they kept away dead before the wind, and, crossing the bows of the boat, stood towards the coast, it became evident that their intention was to run the vessel on shore and abandon her. Jack and Terence had no fancy that they should do that, as they did not wish to lose their prize. The breeze, however, increased so much that they could hardly keep way with her. Still they followed, firing as rapidly as before. At last Jack found that his shots were no longer telling, and as he was afraid of expending all his ammunition, he ceased firing, but still followed hard after the slaver. A sandy little bay was ahead, sheltered somewhat by a reef of rocks from the roll of the Atlantic. Towards it the slaver was steered. She grounded in smooth water. A boat was lowered, and into it some of her crew tumbled, while others appeared to be swimming on shore.

By the time they got up to the brig’s quarter and climbed on board, all the crew had escaped with the exception of two men, one of whom was dying, the other was dead.

“Oh, Terence,” exclaimed Jack, as he looked at them, “this is very dreadful!”

“What?” asked Adair, surprised.

“That my hand should have done that,” answered Jack, gravely; “to know that one has been killing people is bad enough, but to see them afterwards—oh, I wish that I hadn’t done it!”

“Then, you see, Jack, the slaver would have got off, and taken 300 or 400, or more, poor black people away from their homes and families, a third of whom would have probably died miserably on board, and the rest would have been destined to spend their lives in abject slavery, and to become the parents of a race of slaves. Those Spaniards, or Portuguese, or whatever they are, have brought about their own deaths. Every shot you fired contributed to prevent a vast amount of wretchedness and suffering.”

Leaving the wounded man to Wasser’s care, they went below to examine their prize. They found that she was fully equipped for carrying 700 or 800 slaves, instead of only 300 or 400, as Terence had supposed. She had two brass guns, an ample supply of arms and ammunition of every sort, so that she was as well able to act the pirate as the slaver. They could not decide what to do with her. They feared if they left her that her crew would return and burn her, while at the same time they were anxious to get back to the frigate. After waiting some time their course was decided by seeing the Ranger in the offing.

“Terence,” said Jack, “you must go off to her. Leave me and the rifles, with Dick Needham to load them; and if the pirates appear I will keep them at bay till you return.”

In vain Terence expostulated. Jack would have it so, and he was compelled to obey.

Thus were Jack and sturdy Dick Needham left alone on board the stranded vessel. They watched the gig as she pulled away, till she was lost in the distance.

“Now, Needham,” said Jack, “if the pirates come back, which is more than likely, we must be prepared to give them a warm reception. See you load the rifles and I’ll fire them.” Jack very quickly got over his scruples about killing his enemies.

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Dick, not at first quite comprehending what a warm reception meant. “But, sir, as they’ve left plenty of ammunition on board and these two brass guns, besides no end of muskets, we might give ’em a warmer still. If you think fit, sir, we’ll load the guns with langrage, and range the muskets along the deck; and then any spare moment when you are using the rifles I might be popping them off.”

Jack highly approved of Dick’s notion, and only wished that the slaver’s crew would come back, that he might carry it into execution. They both had been so busy that they had not thought of the poor wretched Spaniard. Suddenly Jack recollected him. He had been placed in the shade, under the poop-deck. He was still breathing.

“Eu moro de sede (I die of thirst, I die of thirst),” groaned the miserable man, showing his glazed eyes. His parched lips showed how much he was suffering.

“Dick, bring some water for this poor fellow,” cried Rogers.

“Oh! senhor, you are very kind. I am a wretch, I know; but, as I hope to be forgiven, I forgive the man who shot me.”

These were very nearly the last words the Spaniard uttered. A cry from Needham called Jack out on deck. There appeared on the beach the whole crew of the slaver, and in addition some twenty or thirty others, white men and negroes. They evidently did not perceive that anybody was on board, and began deliberately to launch the boat by which they had reached the shore, and which Terence had neglected to tow off before he left the brig. Jack waited till they had shoved off.

“Now, Dick,” said he, creeping to one of the ports, “stand by to load, and hand me the rifles while I—do my duty.” He was going to say, “pick them off.”

Shot succeeded shot, and three men were hit before the pirates knew where their enemies were concealed. The boat was seen to put back, the people in her leaping in a desperate hurry on shore.

“It won’t do to let them fancy that they are safe yet,” cried Jack. “Hand me another rifle.” He continued firing away, seldom failing to hit the man he aimed at.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Needham. “They are running off, they are running off.” So they were, but they had not gone far before a man was seen galloping up on horseback. Jack thought he looked remarkably like Don Diogo. He began striking right and left with a sword at the fugitives, and was evidently urging them to make an attempt to regain the brig. At last he succeeded in inducing another party to embark, but he himself remained on shore. Several times Jack had aimed at him, but he seemed to bear a charmed life. None of the bullets took effect. Jack was afraid of firing at him again, for his rifle ammunition was almost expended. Finding the firing cease, the pirates gained courage and pulled boldly towards the brig.

“Now’s the time for our dose of langrage, sir,” cried Needham. Jack nodded his consent. Dick ran out one of the guns. Jack pointed it and fired. Then they sprang to the other, and fired that. Shrieks and cries followed, and the boat in a sinking condition put back to the shore. Don Diogo got off his horse, and stamped with rage. He could not make it out, but the men would not make another attempt. In a minute more they had all disappeared. As soon as they were clear off Jack and Needham set to work to examine the vessel more minutely, in the hopes of discovering some small quantity of water, or other liquid which they could drink. Vain again was their search, but on opening a locker Jack observed a box thickly bound with brass. He tried to pull it out, but could not move it alone, so he summoned Needham to his assistance. It was very heavy.

“We’ll see what is in it,” said Jack. Perhaps had he reflected, he might have waited to deliver it over unopened to Captain Lascelles. However, this did not occur to him at the moment. A cold chisel and hammer were soon found, and on the chest being forced open rolls of glittering gold coin lay exposed to view.

“Here is a mint of gold,” cried Needham. “I wonder them pirate chaps didn’t try to walk off with it.”

“It shows what a fright they must have been in to leave it behind if they knew it was here,” answered Jack. “However, we must shut the box up again. It is lawful prize-money, and will be divided in due proportions among all hands, that’s one comfort.”

“By-the-by, Needham,” said Jack, after the box had been closed, “it strikes me that old Don Diogo must have known that the gold is on board, and that makes him so anxious to get hold of the vessel to recover it. Oh, how thirsty I am. For my part, just now, I would rather have a quart of water than that box of gold.”

“So would I, sir,” answered Needham; “may be, though, we shall find it cooler on deck, where there is a breath of air.”

Fortunately Jack took Needham’s hint. On looking towards the land the whole beach was covered with men carrying among them six or eight large canoes, while the little Don appeared as before on horseback, directing their movements. Jack, knowing the incentive which was influencing his enemies, and seeing the preparations made to attack the brig, might well have despaired of successfully resisting them. He and Needham were not people to sell their lives cheaply. As before, they loaded the brass guns, and all the muskets and rifles. He waited, however, to fire till the canoes were launched. Then he immediately opened on them. The canoes came on. Don Diogo was in one of them. He was eager probably to secure his gold. Jack took a steady aim at him, down he sank to the bottom of the canoe. Still that same canoe came on, and Jack fancied that he could see the old man’s arm lifted up and still pointing at the brig. He could not bring himself to fire at him again, as he thus lay wounded and almost helpless. Needham, however, had marked the canoe; and, pointing his gun at her, let fly a whole shower of langrage about the heads of the negroes paddling in her. Many were knocked over; and the remainder, turning her round, made the best of their way to the beach. The other canoes stopped and wavered. Jack plied them well with bullets. The people on shore seemed to be beckoning them back. Jack bethought him of taking a glance seaward to ascertain if assistance was at hand, and there he saw the Ranger under full sail, standing towards him. His danger was not yet over. The pirates made another desperate attempt to regain the brig, but were as gallantly repulsed as before, the negroes not being able to withstand the hot fire kept up on them. Jack and Needham set up as loud a cheer as their parched throats would let them give, when, in a short time, they saw Hemming in a boat and Adair in another, approaching the brig. Fortunately she had taken the ground so softly that she was hove off that very evening. Adair, however, in consequence of the exertions he had gone through, was too ill to accompany Rogers in charge of her to Sierra Leone; and so Jack, much to his regret, had to go by himself, not forgetting his faithful rifle.

Meantime the Ranger stood to the southward. Adair had got almost well: he was on the lookout aloft, when his eye fell on a dark object floating on the water. At first he thought it might be a rock, then a dead whale. At length he felt convinced that it was a vessel, either capsized or with all her canvas lowered. He descended below, and reported the circumstance to Captain Lascelles. The ship was steered towards the object, and his last conjecture was found to be the right one. As they got close to the vessel, a small schooner, one person only was seen walking the deck.

“That’s a midshipman, sir,” said Adair to Mr Hemming. “And I can’t make him out quite, but he looks very like Alick Murray.”

The frigate was hove-to, a boat was lowered, in which Adair went; and sure enough, Alick Murray was the person seen. He looked ill and thin.

“My dear fellow, how do you come to be this in plight?” asked Terence, as he jumped on board the little craft.

“It’s a long story,” said Murray. “We took her to the southward off Benguela, and Captain Grant put me in charge of her to carry her to Sierra Leone. She had the fever on board, I have no doubt, at first. It broke out the other day after we parted company with the Archer, and one after the other my poor fellows died. A black man and boy, whom we took in the prize, are the only survivors, and they are still below sick with the disease. I have been waiting in hopes of their getting well and strong enough to make sail to proceed on my voyage. I’ll give you a fuller history another time.”

“The best thing you can do is to let the little craft go her own way, and come on board us,” observed Adair.

“What, Paddy, would you counsel such a course?” exclaimed Murray. “Captain Grant put me in charge of the vessel to carry her to Sierra Leone, and while I’ve life in me that is what I am bound to do.”

“Then, old fellow, I’ll go with you, if Captain Lascelles will let me,” answered Terence, warmly. “That’s settled; I’ll go on board and get leave, and bring Dr McCan to have a look at your people, and to leave some physic for them to take.”

Away went Terence. He had a hard battle to fight with his captain, who, however, expressed his admiration of the spirit evinced by Murray. Needham and Wasser, and another man and a boy, were directed to go on board to act as crew. Dr McCan came on board the schooner: and having prescribed for Murray and his two negroes, and pronounced them in a fair way of recovery, took his departure. Murray then made sail and shaped a course for Sierra Leone, much happier than he had been for a long time.

Chapter Eighteen.

An adventurous Voyage.

Who would not rather command a gunboat, or even a despatch vessel or fire-ship, than be a junior lieutenant, mate, or midshipman on board a line-of-battle ship or the smartest frigate afloat? Such were Murray’s feelings as he and Adair paced the deck of the somewhat unseaworthy little schooner of which he had been placed in charge by Captain Grant. While he stood away towards Sierra Leone, the Ranger continued her course to the southward.

“I can’t say much for your accommodation,” observed Terence, after they had stood watching the fast-receding frigate, and Murray had shown him over his craft.

“I won’t boast of it, and if I had to fit out a yacht, I should choose something better,” answered Murray, laughing. The whole cabin was only eight feet long, and though it was five high in the centre, under a raised skylight, it was scarcely more than three at the sides, which being right aft, it decreased rapidly as the stern narrowed. There was a fore-peak, in which the two poor negroes lay, but there was no room in it for more people, so that the rest of the crew were obliged to live in the after-cabin. Adair certainly did not know the discomforts to which he was subjecting himself when he undertook to accompany Murray. Not a particle of furniture was there in the cabin, the beams and sides were begrimed with dirt and cockroaches, and a considerable variety of other entomological specimens crawled in and out of every crevice in the planks, and found their way among all the provisions, as well as into every mess of food cooked on board.

The schooner was laden with tobacco and monkey-skins, which latter she had taken on board at one of the ports, in exchange for some of her tobacco, the remainder of which she was about to barter for slaves.

“Negro-head for negroes,” as Paddy remarked, when Murray gave him the account.

Several days of the voyage had passed with light winds and smooth sea, and not unpleasantly, though but little progress had been made, when as Adair, who had the first watch at night, was walking the deck, thinking that all was right, he heard a roaring noise on the port quarter. He looked astern. A long white line of curling foam came rolling up at a rapid rate towards them.

“Lower the peak, slack away the main halyards, in with the mainsail, brail up the foresail! Murray, Murray! on deck here; all hands on deck! In with the jib and down with the fore-staysail!”

The sudden quick jerking of the little vessel would soon have awakened all the watch below had his voice not done so. The sails were not lowered a moment too soon. On flew the schooner under bare poles, the seas roaring up on either side, and often breaking over her. Every man had to hold on for his life; away, away she flew; every instant plunging more and more, while the foaming seas seemed still more eager to make her their prey. Murray, attended by Wasser, disappeared below. He soon returned.

“Paddy,” he said, touching Adair on the shoulder, “I’ve bad news. We’ve sprung a leak, and I fear that the vessel is sinking.”

Both Murray and Adair had gone through so many dangers, that neither of them were inclined to despair, even when they found themselves on board a little rotten vessel, plunging along through terrific seas with a leak in her bottom, which was letting in the water at a rate which must speedily send her far down to the depths of old ocean. Away flew the little craft under bare poles, the dark seas, with thick crests of white, rolling up on either side of them, with loud roars, and threatening to come right down upon the deck and swamp them. Tumbling about as the vessel was, it was no easy matter even to get the pump rigged in the dark. That task, however, was at length accomplished, and all hands set to with a will in the hopes of clearing the vessel of water. At first it seemed to be rushing in as fast as it gushed out.

“I believe after all it was only the water which got down the hatches when the first sea broke aboard of us,” said Murray, and with this idea both he and Terence were much comforted. Drearily and wearily drew on the dark hours of that tempestuous night. Daylight came at last, and only exhibited the scene of wild commotion around; the leaden sky, the dark grey waves broken into strange shapes, leaping and rolling over each other, and covered with masses of white foam. Off that strange African coast, storms and calms succeed each other with but scant warning. By seven o’clock the wind suddenly dropped, and in another hour the sea went down, and the lately wave-tossed bark lay perfectly becalmed.

“Terence,” said Murray, “look over the side of the vessel; doesn’t she strike you as being much lower in the water than she was?” Terence feared so. The well was sounded, and three feet of water was found in the hold.

“Man the pump!” cried Murray. This was done, but before many minutes had passed the pump broke. The damage was considerable; but Needham was a handy fellow, and could manage nearly any work. The two young officers lent him a hand. All sorts of devices were thought of, all sorts of things were substituted for those which were wanting; but with the quantity of water in the hold, and in the way the craft was tumbled about by the swell, the operation took much longer time than might be supposed. It is very exciting to read of a ship sinking with the pumps out of order, and half a dozen leaks in her bottom; but the reality, though it may also be exciting, is very far from pleasant. People under such circumstances are inclined to labour away rather in a hurry, and not to stand on much ceremony as to what they do. Night was coming on rapidly. They laboured and laboured away. It was difficult enough to do it with daylight: it was a question whether they could make any progress at all in the dark.

“There, sir!” exclaimed Needham, giving a hearty blow with his hammer, and relieving his pent-up feelings by a loud outletting of his breath between a groan and a sigh; “I hope that will do.” Without stopping a moment, he and Wasser, with White, the other seaman, seized the break, and began labouring away with all their might. To the great joy of all hands a clear full stream came gushing upon deck, and ran out through the scuppers. The blacks, and all not immediately engaged in mending the pump, had been baling away all the time with buckets. They pumped and pumped away, and after half an hour’s toil they found on sounding that they had much lessened the water in the hold.

“Huzza!” shouted Needham; “we’ll do now, never fear, lads!” Nearly three hours, however, passed before the vessel was completely cleared of water. It was Adair’s watch.

“I shall sleep more soundly than I have done for many a day,” said Murray, as he prepared to turn into his horrible little berth. “We have been so mercifully preserved that I trust the same Almighty hand will protect us to the end of our voyage. Paddy, my dear fellow, do you ever pray? I never see you on your knees.”

“Pray!” answered Adair, with some hesitation, “of course I do; that is to say, sometimes—when I recollect it. I dare say I ought more than I do.”

Murray took his shipmate’s arm as they stood together near the taffrail of their little craft, looking out over that heaving ocean whose smooth, glass-like undulations reflected ever and anon the bright stars which glittered in the dark sky above their heads. “Tell me who but One whose hand is powerful to save could have preserved us from the numberless dangers into which our duty, but how often our thoughtlessness, has led us. Were it not by His mercy, we should even now be sinking beneath those glassy but treacherous swells on which our vessel floats securely; then should we not, my dear Adair, pray to Him, not only now and then, when we may think of it, but at morning and evening, when we rise and when we sleep, and oftentimes during the course of the day? Remember what the Bible says, it tells us to pray always.”

“You are right, Murray, you are always right,” answered Adair, with a sigh. “I know, too, that you practise what you preach, or I would not listen to you. I’ll try to follow your advice. I’ll pray when I turn in by and by. I’ll thank God that we have not gone to the bottom, and I’ll pray that we may be saved as we have been all along in the dangers we may have to encounter.”

“Why not pray at once?” exclaimed Murray. “All on board here have been equally preserved. The same God made us all, the same God will hear our prayers.”

“Yes, yes, all right—I’ll do what you like,” said Adair.

The young midshipmen called the crew around them, after Needham took the helm. They and Wasser and the other seamen knelt on the deck, and though in no set phrases, offered up their hearty thanks for their preservation from the dangers which had threatened them; and earnestly did they pray that they might be carried in safety through those they might yet have to encounter. Murray was one of those people who could think well, and when he wrote had no difficulty in expressing himself, yet when he came to speak aloud, and more particularly to pray aloud, found that the exact words he might have wished to use were not forthcoming. The two poor blacks who, perhaps, had never in their lives seen white men praying before, stood by astonished at what was taking place. They asked Wasser what it was all about. He was rather more enlightened than they were. He told them to the best of his knowledge. They listened attentively. They said that they should like to know more about the matter, and he promised them that he would ask Mr Murray to speak to them on the subject. Thus was a way opened into the hearts of these two benighted sons of Africa to receive the good seed of the truth by this unpremeditated act of the young midshipmen. How many other midshipmen might do the same, with the most blessed results, if they themselves did but feel the importance of performing boldly and fearlessly their duty as Christians.

With the return of daylight the weather promised to be fair, and, making sail, they again shaped their course for Sierra Leone. As may be supposed, even in calm weather they had no very great amount of enjoyment. When the sun shone they were almost roasted by its burning rays, and when it was obscured they were pretty well parboiled. Do all they could, also, they could not keep the cabin clear of cockroaches and numberless other creeping things. A meal was anything but an easy or pleasant operation. The only chance of not having half a dozen live creatures sticking to each mouthful was to keep not only the dishes but the plates covered up. Disagreeable as it was, Murray and Adair could not help laughing at each other as at every mouthful they had to pop in their forks under the covers, which were instantly clapped down again, and what was brought out thoroughly examined before it was committed to the mouth, while, as Adair remarked, the soup was more properly “beetle broth” than anything else. The schooner rejoiced in the name of the Venus, though, as the midshipmen agreed, she was the very ugliest Venus they had ever seen. She had, besides tobacco, a quantity of monkey-skins on board.

They were sitting at dinner one day, for the sun was too hot to keep on deck, and they had no awning.

“I say, Murray, is there not a somewhat disagreeable odour coming out from forward?” observed Adair, sniffing about. “Tobaccoish, I find it.”

“Rather,” answered Murray, laughing. “I have perceived it for some days. It is enough to cure the most determined smoker of his love for the precious weed. It is from the tobacco we have on board. After being thoroughly wetted it has now taken to heating. However, we may hope for the best, at present it is bearable.”

A bright idea struck them soon after this. They might turn the monkey-skins to advantage. They had needles and a good supply of twine, so they set to work and neatly sewed them together till they had manufactured an awning sufficiently large to cover a good part of the deck. They could now take their meals and sleep occasionally, when the weather was fair, in fresh air, which was a great luxury. At length Wasser, who had the lookout one morning, shouted, “Land! land!—land on the starboard bow!” Everybody in a moment jumped up. After examination, Wasser declared his conviction that it was somewhere off the Gold Coast, not far from Cape Coast Castle. Still Murray and Adair agreed that it would be far better to stand on, because if they could manage to weather Cape Palmas they might have a quick run to Sierra Leone. The schooner was soon afterwards put about. No one complained, though they might have cast a wistful eye at the harbour they were leaving astern.

“We are doing what is right, depend upon it,” observed Murray. “If so, all will turn up right in the end.”

The provisions had, they knew, been running short. They now carefully examined into their stock, when, to their dismay, they found that they had only a supply remaining for three or four days.

“Never mind,” was Murray’s remark. “We will go on half allowance. In three or four days at most we shall weather the cape, and then we shall have sufficient provision to keep us alive till we get in.”

No one even thought of complaining of this arrangement, but took with thankfulness their half allowance of food. Murray was much pleased with the way the men bore their privations. He never thought about himself, and took less than any one.

“I remember hearing an account given by some friends of ours of the behaviour of their servants during a famine in England many years ago,” observed Murray. “Corn was very scarce, and bread being consequently at an enormous price, they determined to put their household on an allowance, and to allow so many slices to each servant in the day, giving them rice and other things instead, not stinting them, therefore, in their food. This excessively enraged the pampered menials, and their old butler, who was the most indignant, ate so much meat and puddings of various sorts, and drank so much beer, that he actually brought on a surfeit, and died from it. How angry most of the fellows at school would have been if told that they could not have butter, or sugar in their tea. Never mind if the butter was not to be procured, and the sugar had by chance not come from the grocer’s. How differently do these poor seamen and the ignorant blacks behave. Not a grumble is heard, not a look even of annoyance is seen.”

Day after day they stood on, thinking that they must sight Cape Palmas before many hours had passed, and then, after making the land, they found that they could not be many miles farther to the west than they were before.

“Still we might do it, if we could but get a stiffish breeze,” observed Murray. “I think the wind is drawing out more from the north-west and east. What say you, Paddy?”

“Let’s keep at it to the last moment. I’m ready for what you are?” answered Adair.

The schooner was once more put about with her head to the westward.

Everybody whistled as they walked the deck—even the blacks did so—though they did not know the reason why.

The breeze did not come a bit the faster on that account. However, at night it blew pretty strong off the land, and their hopes again revived. But as the sun rose, it backed once more into its old quarter, and once more they had to tack. On making the land, there were the identical hillocks and clumps of trees they had before seen. Murray and Adair agreed that there must be all the time a strong current setting them to the eastward, and this, on running in closer, heaving-to, and trying the bottom with the lead, they found to be the case. Provisions for two days, and less than half allowance, was all they had now got. Murray and Adair consulted together.

“We shall have to make for the nearest port, I fear, after all, or run the chance of starving,” said Adair.

“There is no alternative,” answered Murray, with a sigh. “We have done our best.”

“That we have,” replied Adair quickly. “There is no doubt about that. You have, that is to say—I should have given up long ago. The sooner we shape a course for Cape Coast Castle the better.”

The schooner was kept away to retrace her steps to the eastward. But now the wind fell altogether, and they began to fear that after all they should get nowhere. The little food they had left was very bad. Gradually it disappeared, and at length they literally had nothing eatable on board.

“We must take a reef in our waistbands, and suck our thumbs,” said Paddy. “I see no other remedy for it.”

He said this in the hearing of the men, to encourage them as much as he could.

“We cannot be far off Cape Coast Castle, that is one comfort,” added Murray. “We will keep a sharp look out for it at all events.”

The day passed, and so did the next, and still the calm continued. They searched about in every part of the vessel, in the hopes of discovering a store of farina or rice, but nothing could they find but the rotting tobacco and the monkey-skins, and, starving as they were, they could not manage to eat them. Even when reduced to this extremity the young officers themselves did not despond, nor did their men, who looked to them for example, do so either. Murray calculated that if they could but get a breeze, they might reach the port for which they were steering in less than twenty-four hours. It was very tantalising to be so near it, and yet not to be able to get there. Had they had any fish-hooks, they would, they thought, be able to catch some fish, but none were to be found, nor had they a file with which to manufacture any out of old nails, as they had often heard of being done.

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” exclaimed Adair suddenly. “Here’s a piece of tin. I have some scissors in my dressing-case, and I think I could manage to cut out a hook or two before they are quite blunted. Let’s try, at all events.”

The scissors were produced, when, to their great delight, a file for finger-nails was discovered at the back of the blades. Not only were two tin hooks cut out, but three more were manufactured out of some nails before the files were rendered completely useless. Bait was the next thing to be procured. As there was nothing eatable on board, how was it to be got? That was the question. Adair solved it by trying one of his hooks without any. “Hurrah!” he exclaimed in less than five minutes, “I have a bite. Hurrah!” Up came a curious-looking monster in the shape of a fish. It was a question whether or not it was poisonous. A fire was made and a pot put on to boil, into which the creature, part of it being cut off for bait, was immediately popped. They would rather have caught a young shark, with whose character they were acquainted; but starving men are not particular. Before the pot had begun to boil, a fresh breeze came in from the offing, and away flew the little schooner with more liveliness than she had displayed for many a day. The lines were hauled in. Murray and Adair agreed not to touch the strange fish. They also advised the men not to eat of it. The sun went down, and all night they ran on at a fair rate. The next morning land was in sight. They hoped that it might be near their destination. Adair had just relieved Murray, who had turned in to go to sleep. He observed the black man looking very miserable, and presently the black boy complained of being very ill.

“What have you been about, Sambo?” asked Adair, looking into the caboose.

“Oh! massa, massa, me eat fish,” groaned the poor lad.

“It ought to have been thrown overboard, to have removed temptation out of your way,” observed Adair, taking the pot with the intention of suiting the action to the word, but on lifting the lid he found it empty. The negroes had eaten up every particle of the fish. They groaned and rolled about for some time evidently in some pain and in considerable alarm. It was no wonder they were ill, but it was evident also that the fish could not have been of a very poisonous character, or they would have been much worse. Indeed they speedily forgot all their sickness on hearing Wasser exclaim, “Dere, dere! dose hills above Cape Coast Castle!”

The words indeed had a great effect on all on board. Murray, who had been there before, the instant he came on deck pronounced Wasser to be right, and in a short time the schooner was running in towards a collection of conical and wooded heights, with the strong and formidable-looking fortress of Cape Coast, built on a mass of rock, in front of them, with the sea washing round a considerable part of it. It looked a very large fortification; indeed it covers several acres of ground, mounts upwards of a hundred guns, and is kept in the most efficient condition. The old castle stands in about the centre of the fortress, and is four storeys in height. The Governor and his suite, as do most of the public officers, find ample accommodation within its walls. It is garrisoned by black soldiers, chiefly from the West Indies, but their officers are all Englishmen. As soon as the schooner’s anchor was let go, Murray and Adair hurried on shore to report themselves to the Governor, and to obtain his assistance. The moment he heard of the state of the schooner’s crew he sent off provisions, insisting on the midshipmen remaining to dine with him, that they might relate their adventures.

“But you young gentlemen are probably hungry, and would rather not wait for dinner,” observed the Governor.

“Slightly so,” answered Adair, “seeing that nothing has passed our lips for the last two days. We were in a hurry to get food for our people, so had no time to eat before calling on your Excellency.”

The remark in a very few minutes procured the midshipmen an ample luncheon, to which they did full justice, and would very likely have done more than justice, had not the good-natured Governor stopped them, and hinted that they would spoil their appetites for dinner.

“No fear of that, sir,” answered Adair, laughing, “midshipmen make it a rule always to be ready to eat two dinners if called upon to do so in the way of duty. However, I dare say we can hold on now till dinner-time.”

Murray and Adair had no intention of spending the interval in idleness. Though they would have gladly gone to sleep, or taken a bath, they again hurried on board their craft, to ascertain that the provisions had arrived, and that their men were made comfortable. Needham had done all that they could wish, and was very proud of being left in charge of the schooner while they were on shore. The first thing to be done was to refit their vessel before she would be in a fit state again to put to sea, and to effect this they without delay took the necessary steps to procure rope and other stores. On returning to the port the Governor received them with the greatest kindness and hospitality, and as they sat in the cool dining-room in the castle, they agreed that it was a perfect paradise compared with their stuffy little cabin when the noonday sun was striking down on the deck.

“All things are by comparison,” observed Adair sententiously. “Some people now at home would not think this old fort on the African coast much of a paradise.” Several guests, merchants, and others were present, and they had to recount their adventures to all the party. On returning on board, having moored the vessel in a safe position, they turned in and slept as midshipmen thoroughly worn out with anxiety and fatigue, with good consciences and a comfortable dinner inside them, can sleep. The next morning all hands set to work with a will to refit the schooner. By heaving her down they got at what they believed to be the chief leak, and caulked it, and in four days they considered their craft once more ready for sea. The Governor supplied them with provisions for forty days, and very kindly sent them some extra luxuries for themselves. By the Governor’s advice, they took one entire day’s rest for themselves and their crew. Then, in high spirits, anticipating no further difficulties, they once more put to sea. They had arms and powder, and a six-pounder gun which had belonged to the schooner, and, as compared to their previous condition, they felt themselves in a condition to encounter any gale of wind or any enemies they were likely to meet with. When they went to pay their farewell respects to the Governor, he said that the state of their little vessel had been reported to him, and that he would really advise them to give up the attempt to take her to Sierra Leone, and to wait till a man-of-war should call off the castle to receive them on board. Murray’s answer may be supposed, though he thanked the Governor for his advice. The day was remarkably sultry and close. There was a haze, but not sufficient to obscure altogether the sun’s beams, while the only wind which blew came off the hot sands in the interior. They agreed that they would be better off at sea than roasting on shore, and so, getting on board, they hove up the anchor and made all sail to the westward.

“Paddy,” said Murray, as they were walking the deck after dinner, almost gasping for breath, “I don’t quite like the look of the weather; what do you think of it?”

“That we should stand by to shorten sail at a moment’s notice,” answered Adair. “See that white line of foam curling away over the glassy surface of the water out there. Here it comes.”

“I see it. All hands shorten sail!” shouted Murray, as he and Adair ran to help execute the order. They were but just in time when the tornado came thundering down upon them. The main and peak-halyards were let go, and the mainsail was handed while the topsail and jib-sheets were let fly, and round spun the vessel, almost capsizing as she did so, for the foresail was not yet brailed up. It was hard work to brail it up, fluttering as it was in the gale, but at length away she flew before the gale. Some people have an idea that the climate on the coast of Africa is all sunshine and heat. Hot enough it is, but at the same time the sky is often dark, lowering and gloomy in the extreme. Nothing can have a more depressing effect than the atmosphere at such times on all not thoroughly acclimated to it. Everything was made snug on board, but for three entire days they could scarcely show a stitch of sail, while the little vessel tumbled about so much that it was with difficulty they could light a fire for a short time in the caboose. They got some salt beef boiled, and then a sea came in and put the fire out, and though they tried hard, they could not light it again. However, the beef was pretty well done, and lasted them some days. Murray and Adair passed the time as they best could. They had but a small supply of books. The cabin was so close and hot, and on the deck the wind blew so hard, that it was a somewhat difficult undertaking to attempt to read. They did not manage therefore to add much to their stock of knowledge during the period of the gale. The vessel, however, happily held together, and at the end of three days the weather gave signs of moderating.

“That’s a comfort,” exclaimed Adair, as once more they were able to make sail, and the schooner, with everything she could carry, was put on her proper course; “it will be hard if we do not reach Sierra Leone before long now.” They, however, on taking an observation, found that they were much farther from their destination than they were when at Cape Coast Castle. At it again they went, however, but the wind fell, and for several days they made but very little progress. Still they were going in the way they wanted, and that was something. For about a week they stood on thus, with the wind not only light but very scant. One afternoon Wasser’s sharp eye discovered a sail to windward. Murray went aloft with his glass to have a look at her.

“What do you make her out?” asked Adair.

“A brig or brigantine; a two-masted vessel of some sort,” answered Murray. “She is standing this way. I do not altogether like her looks. She has a widespread of white canvas, and so, if she is not a man-of-war, she is a slaver, of that I have little doubt.” The crew heard what was said. Murray remained some time longer aloft. When he came down he looked grave and determined. “My lads,” he exclaimed, after exchanging a few words with Adair, “I have very little doubt that the craft in sight is a slaver or pirate, and that at all events she will treat us with scant ceremony. We must beat her off. I know that you all will do your best to do so.”

“That we will, sir, never fear,” answered Needham, in the name of the rest.

“I know that, my men; there’s no time to be lost in getting ready though,” said Murray. “Hand up the arms, and we’ll try to give the fellows, whoever they may be, a warm reception if they attempt to molest us.” All hands were instantly employed in getting ready for the enemy. The gun was loaded, and several shot placed in a rack near it; the muskets and pistols were also loaded, and cutlasses were buckled on. They had no boarding-nettings, and their only hope of victory was by showing so bold a front at first, that the enemy might be driven off without coming to close quarters. As the stranger drew near she was seen to be a most wicked, rakish-looking brigantine, and neither Murray nor Adair had any longer the slightest doubt in their minds that she was a slaver. They hoisted the English ensign, but she showed no colours in return.

“We shall have to fight for it,” observed Murray to Adair; “but though the odds are fearfully against us, I have a strange feeling of satisfaction in contemplating such a contest. I cannot help trusting that we shall come off victorious, in spite of the apparent strength of our enemy.”

“I am sure I hope so,” said Adair, who did not quite understand the thoughts which were pressing through his messmate’s head. “We will fight away as long as we have hands to fight with and an ounce of gunpowder for our muskets. It was a craft like that brigantine out there captured poor Hanbury, and murdered him and his boat’s crew. I only wish that we had a few more guns and men, and if that is the very pirate, we might avenge his death.”

“No, no, do not talk of vengeance, Adair,” said Murray gravely; “vengeance does not belong to man. It would be our duty, if we had the power, to take the miscreants and to bring them to justice; as it is, I trust that, though with infinitely inferior force, we may beat them off. But we must not, as Christians, allow ourselves for a moment to indulge in the idea that we are avenging the death or the wrongs of even the dearest of our relations or friends.”

“I had not seen the matter in that light,” answered Adair.

“Then, my dear fellow, try and do so. It is the true light depend on that.”

Who would have supposed, when looking at the two vessels, that those on board the little half-crippled schooner could for a moment have contemplated with confidence a conflict with the well-found, powerful brigantine? But there was just this difference. The midshipmen felt that they were, to the very best of their means, performing their duty, and they felt a perfect confidence in Heaven’s protecting power, while they knew that the slaver was engaged in the most nefarious of callings, and that the most abandoned miscreants composed her crew. On she came, as though triumphing in her strength. Hitherto the little wind blowing had been to the northward and east. As Adair was looking out to the northward, he observed a dark blue line coming rapidly along over the water. He pointed it out to Murray. “Trim sails,” was the order promptly given. In another minute the little schooner, close hauled with her sails like boards, was standing away to the westward, while the brigantine lay dead to leeward at the distance of at least two miles and a half. Some minutes passed even before she felt the breeze, and when she did it was pretty evident that it would take her many a weary hour to catch up the schooner. The midshipmen agreed that with the opportunity thus afforded them of getting away from the slaver, it would be the height of rashness to wait and encounter her. They felt grateful for having been thus preserved, and when the brigantine was seen to fill and keep away on her course, they could not help joining their men in giving vent to their feelings in a shout of joy. They stood on all night. Eagerly the next morning they looked out—not a sign of the brigantine was to be seen. For several days after this they were knocking about, making often very little way, and sometimes drifting back again during a calm double the distance they had made good during the last breeze.

“I do hope, sir, as how this voyage won’t last much longer,” observed Needham to Adair, pointing to numberless rents and torn places in the sails. “I don’t think this here canvas would stand another stiffish gale without flying into ribbons. I’ve been hunting about, and I’ve found a spare boat’s sail and some other stuff to mend them. To my mind, it’s the best thing we could do before another squall catches us.”

Needham’s advice was immediately taken, and the wind being very light, the sails were lowered, and all hands set to work to mend them in the best fashion they could. Needham having once belonged to the sailmaker’s crew, was a very fair hand at the work, but the rest were anything but expert. However, all used their needles to the best of their abilities. Adair pricked his fingers very often, and, as he observed, he left indisputable traces of his industry. So important was it to get their sails set again before night, that they scarcely allowed themselves time for their meals. Having done little else than drift about all day, it was with no little relief to their minds, that, just as the sun went down, they once more got the sails bent and hoisted. Murray’s sextant had been broken, and as he was leaving the Archer, a shipmate offered him his quadrant. It was a very indifferent one at best, and in one of the gales to which the Venus had been subject, it had received yet further damage, so that it was often ten or even twenty miles out of adjustment. Murray and Adair never lost an opportunity of taking an observation, while they kept their reckoning with the greatest care; but, after all, they often could only guess at their position. The weather, too, was very uncertain. Day after day down came torrents of rain—not merely English spring showers—but, as Adair observed, regular bucketsful, which compelled them to open the ports to let the water run off the decks, for fear of swamping the vessel. No people could behave better than did their little crew. Murray allowed no one to be idle. They were employed either in cleaning their arms, mending their clothes, repairing the rigging, and, when the sea was sufficiently calm, in fishing. Needham kept up his own spirits, and did his best to keep up that of his messmates. However, they were to be again severely tried. One evening, early in October, scud was seen flying rapidly across the sky, while thick masses of cloud banked up densely in the horizon. It was Adair’s first watch; Murray had been about to turn in. He cast his eyes around.

“Depend on it, Adair, we are going to have a heavy blow, a regular tornado will be down on us before long, and the sooner we make everything snug the better.”

Adair doubted whether there would be anything more than a squall. Just then the sails flapped ominously, and there was a perfect calm. The flame of a candle brought on deck would have ascended straight upwards.

“Adair, I tell you it will be down on us in a few minutes, and with terrific force too,” exclaimed Murray. “All hands shorten sail!” Not a moment was to be lost; Needham and the rest saw that. With the exception of the fore-staysail every sail was lowered and carefully stowed; the topmasts were struck, and everything on deck was lashed and secured. All the time a dead calm continued, the atmosphere was dreadfully close, so that even on deck at times it seemed difficult to breathe, while all around became darker and darker. Suddenly a sound, like heavy thunder, was heard in the distance.

“It is the beginning of the strife—the first gun fired in action. Look there, what do you say to that?” He pointed to a bank of foam which was seen rolling up through the dense gloom towards the devoted little vessel.

“Why, I suspect that we shall find ourselves in the midst of a sea which will pretty nearly swamp us,” answered Adair.

On it came, rolling and leaping, as if eager to destroy the little craft. No sooner did her head feel the force of the gale than off, like a sea-bird on the wing, she flew before it. The fore-staysail was now stowed, for, from the fury of the tornado, it would either have been torn out of the bolt-rope or run the vessel under water. On flew the little craft, the sea every instant getting up and the wind freshening.

“Hold on, all of you; hold on for your lives!” sang out Murray with startling energy.

The caution was not ill-timed. On came a monster sea, roaring astern. High above her quarters it rose, and down it rushed on her decks, wellnigh swamping her. All the hatches had before been secured; but, had not the ports been open, so as to allow the water immediately to run out, it would have swamped her. The half-drowned crew shook themselves as they once more emerged from the weight of water above them. Happily, none were washed away.

Chapter Nineteen.

In perilous Condition.

The little half-sinking schooner dashed on amid the raging seas, now lifted up to the summit of one surrounded by hissing foam, now sinking down into the gloomy hollow between others which seemed as if they were about instantly to engulf her. Again another sea struck her; and had not every one held on tight to the rigging or bulwarks, her deck would have been cleared, as it made a clean wash fore and aft.

“We must not run this risk again!” exclaimed Murray. “All hands go below; one on deck is enough. I’ll take the helm. No expostulation, Adair; remember, I am commanding officer. I am determined to do it.”

Adair, with a bad grace, was obliged to obey with the rest. They all went below, and Murray battened down the hatches. Lashing himself to the helm, he alone remained on deck through that fearful gale. The sea roared around the little vessel, the wind whistled through the shrouds, fierce lightnings darted from the dark heavy clouds, the thunder rattled in deafening peals, while deluges of rain and spray flew about his head and almost blinded him. Yet, undaunted as at the first, he stood like some spirit of the storm at his dangerous post.

Those below tried to sleep, to pass away the time, but so fearful was the tumult that sleep refused to visit even the seamen’s eyes. Hour after hour passed by. Still, by the noise and the movement of the vessel, it was too evident that the gale continued. Adair calculated that it must already be almost day. Just then the vessel became more steady, and the noise of the storm considerably diminished. Adair was surprised that Murray did not take off the hatches. He was anxious to go on deck to relieve him. He knocked and knocked again on the skylight. He called and called out again and again. There was no answer. With frantic energy he attempted to burst open the skylight. The dreadful idea seized him that Murray, his brave and noble friend, had been washed overboard and lost.

He and his companions again knocked several times. Still there was no answer. They themselves were almost stifled with the heat of the atmosphere and the odour of the rotting tobacco and monkey-skins. “This will never do,” exclaimed Adair, becoming more and more alarmed for Murray’s safety. “We must force the hatches off, or break our way through the skylight.” They groped about and found a handspike which had been chucked down below. “Now, lads. Heave he!” cried Adair, and getting the end under the skylight, with a loud crash they prized it off, and one after the other sprang on deck. There stood Murray lashed to the helm, and looking more like a man in a trance than one awake.

“Hillo, where am I?” he exclaimed, gazing wildly around.

“On the deck of the Venus, old fellow,” answered Terence, taking him by the hand. “Right gallantly you steered us through the gale, and as soon as it fell calm you dropped asleep, and small blame to you. We did the same below, and I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you safe: we all thought you had fallen overboard.” Murray was very much surprised to find that he had slept so long and so soundly, but he soon gave evidence that he had not had enough rest, for Adair had a mattress brought up and stretched under an awning on deck, and the moment he placed his head on it he was off again as soundly as before.

“We must turn to at the pumps, sir,” observed Needham, coming from below. “If we don’t bear a hand, I fear the craft will sink under us.” Such it appeared would probably be the case, but no one was daunted. All set to work and laboured away as manfully as before. When Murray awoke he found that the schooner was again almost cleared of water. The last man to leave the pumps was Wasser. He was still labouring away, when down he sank on the deck. Murray and Adair ran to lift him up. He could scarcely open his eyes, and looked thoroughly worn out. They lifted the poor fellow to the mattress from which Murray had just risen, and as soon as the fire, which had gone out, could be lighted, they made some beef broth, which they poured down his throat. They also gave him a little rum. Alick and Terence differed as to which was the best restorative, but, unlike doctors in general, they agreed to administer them alternately. Paddy wanted to give them in equal proportions—that is to say, for every cup of broth Alick gave, he wanted to give a glass of grog; but fortunately to this arrangement Murray would not consent. He argued that one tumbler of grog, half and half, was stronger than a dozen basins of broth, and he would therefore allow only half a tumbler in the day. When Wasser was at length able to speak, to Adair’s astonishment he declared in favour of the remedy of the rival practitioner, and Murray and his broth carried the day. In spite of the heat, Wasser had to be carried below, and all who could were glad to take shelter there, for down came the rain with terrific force, and continued without intermission, almost swamping the little vessel. Her crew had work enough to do all their time in keeping her clear of the water, which poured in through the leaks in bucketsful. For days and nights together no one had on a dry jacket. By such observations as they could manage to make, Murray and Adair began to suspect that all their seamanship was set at nought; for though they at times made some way through the water, they as quickly lost all the ground they had gained, and thus it became evident that there was a strong current against them.

“This is dreadfully trying,” exclaimed Terence, after they had become convinced of this disagreeable fact. “Let us try and make the land again, and see whereabouts we are. Perhaps by hugging the shore we may be able to get round Cape Palmas after all.” Murray agreed to this proposal, although he was not very sanguine of success. He knew that the currents were probably as strong in-shore as where they then were, but he hoped that they might possibly get a slant of wind off the land, which would enable them to stem the current, and help them along round the Cape. Murray had been making his calculations on paper.

“I could scarcely have believed that we could have been so unfortunate,” he observed, looking calmly up. “For the last six days we have not made good more than four or five miles—perhaps scarcely so much. I have no wish to pay another visit to Cape Coast Castle, though I dare say the old governor would be as kind to us as before.”

“I agree with you,” answered Adair. “Let us stick at it. We must get the wind in our favour some day or other It does not always blow from the nor’ard, I suppose.”

Like true British sailors they did stick at it. Such is the spirit which has animated the numerous brave voyagers who have explored the arctic regions, the southern seas, and the wide-spreading Pacific. At length the land was made. It was a long way, however, to the southward, or rather to the eastward of Cape Palmas. The wind fell soon afterwards, and slowly they drifted in toward the shore. Their glasses as they approached were directed at it, and they could see a number of blacks collected on the beach and evidently watching them. The part of the coast they were now off is called the Ivory Coast. As far as the eye could reach it was flat and monotonous, but along its whole extent appeared rich groves of cocoa-nut trees, extending a considerable distance inland. Here and there, embosomed by the cocoa-nut groves, they could see small villages and separate buildings, the cottages with high conical roofs, thatched with palmetto leaves. To the east appeared a long thin spit of sand, separated from the main beach by a lagoon, into which several rivers and streams appeared to fall. As they approached the shore a terrific surf was seen rolling in towards it, and breaking with a loud roar on the sand.

“What will become of our little craft if we get in among those breakers?” said Adair. “She will have hard work to swim, I suspect.”

“I doubt if she will ever float through them,” answered Murray. “If she does, and we are stranded, which is the best fate we can then hope to happen to us, I fear that those black gentry on the shore will not give us a very friendly reception. They are flourishing their spears as if they would like to dig them into us.”

“We shall be completely in their power, and, what is the worst, we have not the means of showing fight,” said Adair, watching the people on the shore through his glass. “They have some big canoes hauled up on the beach, and they seem disposed to launch them, and come in chase of us, should the rollers not send us to them.”

“I wish that there was a chance of that,” exclaimed Murray; “I should have very little fear of them if they came to attack us. Ah! there’s a puff of wind off the shore. Our blacks have discovered it. They are wetting their fingers and holding up their hands. We may yet be able to stand off the land.”

The minutes passed slowly by. They were full of the most anxious suspense. Now the promised breeze died away, and the little vessel floated helplessly in towards the dreaded surf. Now it came on again, and she was able to get a little farther off, again to be left to drift back towards the land. Then, just as her case seemed hopeless, another puff would come, and once more her sails would fill, and all on board hoped that she would make a good offing. Had they possessed sweeps, with the help of the transient breeze, they might have got to a safe distance from the land. As to anchoring, that was out of the question. Even had there been bottom to be found with such an inset, their cable would not have held them for an instant. When the schooner got near enough to the shore, they saw that the natives were still watching them eagerly, and no sooner did the breeze return, than preparations were made to launch several of their canoes. From the gestures of the blacks, Murray and Adair agreed that their intentions did not appear to be friendly, and therefore it would be wise to avoid them altogether if they could, and at all events to be prepared to receive them warmly, should they overtake the schooner. Her progress was very slow, and there appeared too great a prospect of their doing this. Every preparation was therefore made for such a contingency. The wind was light, but it appeared to be increasing, and by degrees it was evident that the little craft was forging ahead more and more rapidly through the smooth shining ocean. The negroes on shore must have seen that their chance of overtaking her was every moment lessening, and they were observed to make several strenuous efforts to launch their canoes through the surf. The first two were capsized and sent back on the beach, which the people in her (or rather out of her) very easily regained, as if perfectly accustomed to that mode of proceeding. Again, however, the canoes were righted and launched, and this time four gained the open sea. The fifth was driven back, and probably received some damage, for she was not again launched. Four large canoes full of strong active negroes, completely armed according to their own fashion, were antagonists not to be despised; still it was evident that they had not firearms, or that if they had, they must have been rendered completely useless from the thorough drenching they must have got. Night was drawing on. The wind in a few minutes drew more round to the eastward, and gave signs of once more dropping. Of course every inch of canvas the little Venus could carry was set on her, so that unless the breeze, increased it was impossible to make her go faster than she was doing through the water. As yet she was keeping well ahead of the canoes. The two midshipmen anxiously watched the proceedings of the latter. The blacks in the stern-sheets were standing up and gesticulating, and flourishing their clubs and lances, and encouraging their companions. The sun at length went down, and with the last gleam of light shed by his rays they could see the canoes still in pursuit. Darkness, however, now rapidly rose over the deep, and hid them from their view. Murray wisely bethought him of altering the schooner’s course more to the southward for a short time. Nearly an hour passed, and there were no signs of the canoes. They had therefore little apprehension that they would overtake them. The schooner was hauled up again on a wind. The night passed away, and when morning broke neither the canoes nor the land were in sight.

“If the breeze lasts we may hope to regain the ground we lost last night,” observed Murray. But it did not; and when once more they reached in towards the land, they found that they had made as little progress as before. Again, too, their provisions were running short. Though they might catch some fish, the supply was uncertain.

“We shall have to bear up again for Cape Coast Castle after all, I am afraid,” observed Adair to Murray. “And really, Alick, if I were you, I would leave the old craft there, and let us find our way as we best can to Sierra Leone. Yet, of course, if you resolve to continue the voyage, I’ll stick by you. You’ll not think I hesitated about that point.”

“I know full well that you’d not desert me, Paddy, even if things were ten times as bad as they are,” answered Murray. “But you also know me well enough not to suppose that I would disobey my orders and abandon the schooner while she holds together. If she gets a slight repair, with a fresh supply of provisions, she will be as well able to perform the voyage as she was at first. There is no use starving, though; and as we have scarcely anything left to eat on board, we’ll keep away at once for Cape Coast Castle.”

The order to put up the helm was received with no little satisfaction by Needham and the rest, and in less than three days the schooner was riding safely at anchor before the old fort. The Governor received the two midshipmen with the greatest kindness.

“Well, my lads,” said he, “I suppose you have had enough of this knocking about in your rotten old tub, and will not object to leave her this time. We shall soon have a man-of-war here, which will carry you up to Sierra Leone, and I will bear you free from all blame with your captain or any one else. You should no longer risk your own lives or those of your people in such a vessel.”

“I am much obliged to you, sir,” said Murray. “I’ve made up my mind long ago on the matter, but I am willing to let any of the people leave me who wish it, and will try to get others in their stead.”

The Governor, who really was anxious about the safety of the young officer, whose perseverance he very much admired, the next day went on board the schooner, hoping to persuade the crew to abandon her; and expecting to gain his point under the belief that no other people would be obtained to go in her. They assembled on deck. The Governor addressed them. Murray said nothing.

“I sticks by my officers,” said Needham, touching his hat and going behind Murray. Not another word did he utter.

“So do I, sir,” said White, doing the same. Wasser and the other blacks, grinning from ear to ear, and scratching their woolly pates, followed Needham and White. Murray felt much gratified.

“There, sir,” said he to the Governor, “you see that my men will not desert me or the ship. We are bound to continue the voyage.”

“I give up all hope of preventing you,” said the kind-hearted Governor, with a sigh. “However, as go you will, we will try to make you as comfortable as we can.”

The Governor was as good as his word, and provisions and stores of all sorts were sent on board. There was little chance of their starving this time, though that of their going to the bottom was not much diminished, as few means were procurable of giving anything like a substantial repair to the little craft. Among other gifts Alick and Terence received a couple of parrots and a monkey. The first two were presented to Murray, the latter to Adair. The little craft was once more pronounced ready for sea. They had been employed all day in setting up the rigging, and in bending sails, when one of the men proposed a swim overboard, to cool themselves after the heat to which they had been subject. In an instant all hands were in the water swimming about round and round the vessel. The boat was in the water on the starboard side. Murray, intending to bathe afterwards, was alone on deck. Suddenly he saw the ill-omened fin of a shark rising above the water at no great distance off, and then his snout appeared, and his wicked eyes were visible surveying the scene of action. Murray shouted to Adair and the rest of the people to come on board. No one lost an instant in attempting to obey the order. Wasser alone was on the port side at the moment, and nearest to where the shark had appeared. He was a good swimmer as he had before shown, and instead of singing out for a rope with which to climb up on that side, he struck out to pass round the schooner’s stern. It was a fatal resolve. Murray was watching the ominous fin. It disappeared. “Swim towards the stern! swim towards the stern! splash about with your legs, Wasser!” he cried out, running aft, and heaving the poor negro a rope. “Catch hold of this, my lad, catch hold of this!” Wasser made a spring at the rope, for instinctively he was aware what was behind him. He had half lifted himself out of the water, when he uttered a fearful shriek. The monster shark had seized him by the legs. In vain he struggled; in vain Murray hauled away to drag him out of the water; the ferocious fish would not let go his hold; the poor negro shrieked again and again. By that time Terence and Needham had climbed on board, and, coming to Murray’s assistance, they leaned over the counter, and seizing Wasser by the arms, pulled him up still farther out of the water, and then White, joining them with a boat-hook, drove the point into one of the monster’s eyes, when he at length opened his jaws, and retreated to a short distance, still, however, watching his writhing prey, as if ready to make another attack. It would be too horrible were I to describe the dreadful condition in which the shark had left poor Wasser’s legs. One foot was entirely gone, while the other leg was bare to the bone. A mattress was got up on deck, and Murray and Adair, with all the skill they could command, set to work to doctor the negro lad, while they sent off to the port for assistance.

“No use, thank ye, massas,” said Wasser, shaking his head. “Doctor no do good. My time come. Me die happy. Once me thought fetish take me, now me know where me go—who wait for me.”

He pointed solemnly upwards as he spoke. The deathbed of that poor black lad might well be envied by many a proud white man. Wasser’s predictions proved not unfounded. When the doctor came on board he pronounced his case utterly hopeless, and as Wasser himself entreated that he might not be sent on shore, he was allowed to remain where he was. All night the two midshipmen and Needham sat up watching him, and doing their best to relieve his pain. At daybreak they were to get under weigh, and with the dying lad on board they once more left Cape Coast Castle and shaped a course for Sierra Leone. The wind still continued light, and in order to keep them from gloomy thoughts or apprehensions, Murray set all hands to work to fish. They had plenty of lines and bait this time, and as they sailed along the sea seemed literally alive with fish of every description. There were bonettas, and dolphins, and skipjacks without number, all affording sport and very pleasant provender; while the seaman’s arch-enemies, the sharks, cruised round them as if they had made up their minds that they were to become their prey. Poor Wasser had lingered on from day to day, it appearing that each hour would prove his last, when, just at daybreak on the fourth morning, after leaving harbour, he called Murray, with a faint voice, to his side. “Me go, massa! me go up dere, good-bye,” he whispered, and with his hand pointing upwards, he fell back. His arms dropped by his side, and Murray saw that the faithful lad was dead. A funeral at sea is often an impressive ceremony. That of poor Wasser was short, for though there were few in attendance it was not the less sad; for by his gentle and obliging manners, and his coolness and courage in danger, he had won the affection and respect of all with whom he had sailed. The body was sewn securely up in his blankets and hammock, with such heavy weights as could be spared fastened to the feet; and when launched overboard, after Murray had read the funeral service, it shot quickly out of sight.

“Well, Tom, I don’t think as how Jack Shark will be able to grab the poor fellow before he gets safely down to the bottom.”

I do not know exactly what sort of a notion sailors have of the bottom of the ocean, but I rather think they have an idea that it is a comfortable sort of a place, where people can spend their time pleasantly enough, if they can but once contrive to reach it without being caught by a shark or other marine monster.

When they had got over the feelings produced by Wasser’s death, the little crew managed to amuse themselves tolerably well. Murray taught his parrots to sing and whistle, and to talk, till they became wonderfully tame and fond of him; while Paddy contrived to instruct his monkey Queerface, as he called him, so well, that he fully rivalled his old friend Quirk on board the Racer. Paddy used to observe that as Queerface could act like a human being, while the parrots could talk like one, their united talents would enable them to make a very fair representation of a young savage; or indeed of some of his acquaintance who considered themselves polished young gentlemen, but often acted no better than monkeys, and scarcely knew the meaning of what they were saying more than did the parrots. There was no fear of the parrots flying away, so they were allowed full liberty, and in calm weather they used to sit on the rigging, nodding their heads and cleaning their feathers, and talking away with the greatest glee till Queerface, who had been watching them from the deck, would take it into his head to spring up the rigging after them and chase them from shroud to shroud, or they would keep out of his reach by circling round and round the vessel, completely laughing at his beard. One day a huge shark was seen following the vessel.

“I wonder what he wants with us?” exclaimed Paddy, gravely. “If we do not catch him, perhaps he will catch one of us.”

“Such a notion is a mere superstition,” observed Murray. “However, we will try and catch him.”

A bonetta had just been caught, and that, it was agreed, would serve as a good bait for the shark. There was no hook on board large enough to secure him, so another plan was adopted by Needham’s suggestion. The bonetta was secured to a small line, while with the end of the peak-halyards a running bowline-knot was formed and placed over it, or rather round it. The fish was thus in the very centre of the hoop, or slip-knot it might be called, but a short distance before it, “We shall have the gentleman, no fear of it,” observed Paddy, as he watched the shark dart forward towards the bait. Murray managed the line with the bait, Paddy kept the bowline to draw it tight when the shark should get his head well into it. Silently and cautiously the monster glided on, his cruel green eye on the bonetta, which Murray gradually withdrew till it was close up to the counter. Then suddenly the shark, afraid of losing his prey, made a dart at the fish till the bowline was just behind his two hind fins, when Paddy, giving a sudden jerk to it, brought it tight round him. The men, when they saw this, endeavoured to catch a turn with the rope to secure the monster, but, quick as lightning, he gave a terrific jerk to the rope and tore it through their hands. Out flew the rope. Unhappily, Paddy was standing in the middle of the coil, and before he could jump out of it a half-hitch was caught round his leg.

“Hold on! hold on, lads!” he shrieked out; “oh, Murray, help!” It was too late. He was drawn up right over the gunwale, but just as he was going overboard he seized hold of the peak-halyards, where they were belayed to the side, and held on like grim death. The shark tugged and tugged away terribly. He could hold on no longer. He felt his fingers relaxing their grasp, and in another moment he would have been dragged under the water with small chance of escape, when Needham seized him firmly by the jacket. Ned, however, forgot that it would be necessary for him to get a grasp at something; but before he had done so, he found himself dragged over with Paddy. At that moment White sprang up, and grasped hold of his legs just as they were disappearing over the gunwale; and at the same time Sambo, the other black, caught hold of White, who would inevitably otherwise have followed Needham, and thus poor Murray saw himself in a moment about to be deprived of his brother officer and crew. He himself now sprang to their assistance. All I have been describing took place within a few seconds of time. With a boat-hook, fortunately at hand, he got a hold of Paddy’s jacket, which considerably relieved Needham; and at the same moment, the shark coming up again towards the schooner, he and Needham were hauled on board again, his leg being happily released from the coil which had caught it without the necessity of cutting the rope. Poor Paddy’s leg was, however, dreadfully mangled; and, unable to stand, he sank down with pain on the deck. Queerface was all the time chattering and jumping about in a state of the greatest excitement, evidently understanding somewhat of his master’s danger; and no sooner did Adair regain the deck than he ran up, and, squatting down by his side, made so ludicrous a face that in spite of his pain Terence could not help bursting out into a fit of laughter, which, as he afterwards remarked, must wonderfully have relieved poor Queerface’s mind. The shark meantime was hauled on board, though when they had got him thus far he flapped about and struggled so violently that he almost took the deck from the crew. Little mercy had he to expect from their hands. His enemies now attacked him with anything which first came in their way, but they made little impression on him while his head was the chief point of assault. Queerface chattered away and skipped about, taking very good care, however, to keep clear of him; and the parrots, Polly and Nelly, sang and talked as vehemently as if very much interested in the scene, till Sambo, the black cook, watching his opportunity, rushed in with his cleaver and gave the monster a blow on the upper part of his tail, which in an instant quieted him. Not another flap did he give with tail or fin, his huge jaws closed, and he was dead. After all their trouble, he was of no great use to them. They cut a few slices out of him for frying; for seamen will often eat shark’s flesh with much the same feeling that a Fejee islander or a New Zealander a few years ago used to eat their enemies taken in war. His skin, however, was of some value, and that accordingly they took off and preserved.

Poor Paddy suffered very great pain from his hurt. The only remedy any one on board could think of applying was oil, and with that they continued to bathe it liberally, as it did just as well afterwards to burn in the lamps. The wet season was not yet over. Day after day they had torrents of rain, so that no one on board had a dry rag on their backs. The schooner too grew more and more leaky and the cargo of tobacco more and more rotten, till the odour arising from it was scarcely bearable, and at length they were completely driven out of their cabin. Often they wished to heave it overboard, but they dared not; for had they done so the vessel, already somewhat crank, would certainly have capsized. Still, whenever the two midshipmen could get a glimpse of the sun they took their observations; and they found that they were making progress, though slowly, to the northward.

“Can you believe it, Paddy?” exclaimed Murray, “you have been on board here upwards of three months, and four have passed away since I was placed in command of her. Still my motto is ‘persevere,’ and I intend to stick to it.” Right gallantly did the little crew follow his example.

A few days after this, on taking their observations, they found that they had in this last twenty-four hours made good no less than forty miles, and two days after that they went over fifty miles of ground. This put all hands in good spirits; and Adair’s leg getting better, he was once more able to move about as before. They even began to fancy that all their trials were over, and that they should make an easy passage to Sierra Leone, but they were mistaken. That very evening the sky gave signs of a change of weather. The wind began to moan in the rigging, white crests rose on the summits of the seas, which increased rapidly in size as they rolled tumultuously around them. All the canvas was closely reefed, when the gale came down upon the schooner. She stood bravely up to it on her course till it increased in strength, the lightning darting from the clouds with a vividness, and the thunder rattling and crashing with a fury which no one on board had ever before experienced. Sometimes so intense was the heat of the electric fluid as it passed round and about them, that they expected to be actually scorched by it if they happily escaped being struck dead. The rain all the time came down in torrents, leaking through the deck and half filling the vessel, which was also letting in the water at every seam. They had thus not a moment for rest, for they soon found it necessary to keep the pumps going all the time. At length the gale ceased; but it left them in a deplorable condition, with the leaks much increased and their sails in tatters. All the canvas had been expended, and it seemed impossible to repair them, till they bethought them of the monkey-skins in the hold; and as soon as the wind fell they were lowered down, and all hands turned to for the purpose of mending them with this novel contrivance.

“We shall do very well now,” exclaimed Adair, when once more they were set. “But my friend Queerface does not seem quite to understand the joke of seeing his brothers and sisters stretched out there before him, and I should say feels remarkably uncomfortable in his own skin lest we should some day think it necessary to make use of his hide in the same way.”

For three or four days they ran on to the northward, when down came another gale upon them, which gave every sign of being heavier even than the first.

“I will have no man’s life exposed unnecessarily to this fearful lightning,” exclaimed Murray, as flash after flash darted vividly around them.

Night had just come on. Between the intervals of the flashes the darkness was such as could be felt. Adair attempted to expostulate, and the rest would gladly have disobeyed orders; but Murray was firm, and insisted on being left alone as before.

“Well, my dear fellow, mind you don’t go to sleep,” observed Adair, as with the crew, Queerface, and the two parrots, he dived down into the noisome little cabin.

Hour after hour Murray gallantly stood to the helm, the little schooner dashing through the foaming seas, for he judged it better to keep her on her course than to heave her to. Terrifically the thunder rolled. Crash succeeded crash almost without cessation, while the lightning darted from the sky and played with even more fearful vividness round the little vessel than on the former night. Still Murray undaunted stood at his post with perfect calmness. Though he scarcely expected to escape, it was not the calmness of despair or stoicism, but that which the most perfect trust in God’s mercy and all-just government of human affairs can alone give. “If He thinks fit to call me hence, His will be done,” he repeated to himself over and over again during that dreadful night. Several times Adair, anxious for his safety, lifted a little scuttle which had been contrived in the skylight, and inquired how he got on, and at times wondered at the fearless tone in which he replied. Still the danger of foundering was to be feared, for, what with the torrents of rain from the skies, and the opening leaks, the little vessel was rapidly filling with water. Dawn was at length breaking and the wind was decreasing, when, as Murray looked around, he thought he saw a vessel to windward bearing down upon them. Just at that instant a cry arose from below that the schooner was sinking, and Adair and the crew leaped on deck. The pump was instantly rigged, and they worked away at it with a will. Still the water appeared to be gaining on them. On came the stranger. She was a large and fine schooner. As the wind had decreased she was making sail; rapidly she neared them. There could be little doubt from her appearance that she was a slaver. To offer any resistance, should she wish to capture them, would be out of the question. Their hearts sank within them. Just then the glitter of some gold-lace on the cap of an officer standing on the schooner’s poop caught Adair’s eye. He seized his telescope, and directly afterwards a cheer came down to them, as the schooner, shooting up into the wind, prepared to heave-to. “Huzza! huzza!” exclaimed Adair. “It’s all right!—there can be no doubt of it!—There’s Jack Rogers himself.”

Chapter Twenty.

Slave-Hunting.

The big schooner and the Venus were soon hove-to, and while the two vessels were bowing and bobbing away at each other, a boat was lowered from the quarter of the former, which came dashing over the seas urged by four stout hands towards them. Jack Rogers sat in the stern-sheets. He sprang on board and grasped Alick’s and Terence’s hands. For nearly a minute he could not speak. He looked at one and then at the other.

“My dear fellows, you do look terribly pulled down,” he exclaimed at length. “Still I am glad to see you even as you are. The truth is that it has been thought you were lost, when week after week passed and you did not appear. Many of them gave you up altogether, and thought that you and the schooner had gone to the bottom, but I never entirely lost heart. I couldn’t have borne it if I had, and I was certain that you would turn up somewhere or other. What have you been about?” Their story was soon told. “That’s just like you,” cried Jack, again, wringing Murray’s and then Paddy’s hand. “You are right. A fellow should do anything rather than desert his colours. I am glad, indeed, that you’ve got safe through it. But, I say, the craft seems to be moving in a very uneasy way. What is the matter?”

“If we don’t keep the pumps going, she’ll be going down in a few minutes,” put in Needham, touching his hat.

Jack called his crew out of the boat, and all hands set to work at the pumps. It was high time, for the crazy little craft was settling fast down in the water. Four fresh hands pumping away while the rest baled once more got the leaks under, and in a couple of hours, Jack returning on board his schooner, sail was made for Sierra Leone. The schooner was a prize lately captured by the Ranger, and Captain Lascelles had put Jack in charge of her to carry her up to Sierra Leone, while the frigate continued her cruise to the southward. He was to find his way back to his ship by the first man-of-war calling at the port. Jack wished very much that he could remain on board the Venus, to keep up, as he said, his friends’ spirits, but as he had two or three hundred slaves on board his prize, he had to return to her to preserve order.

He promised, however, to stay by the Venus, come what might, and Alick and Paddy had no fear that he would desert them. He lent them a couple of hands to work at the pumps, but even with this assistance they had the greatest difficulty in keeping the schooner afloat.

“If another gale should spring up, I really do not think the craft would keep afloat an hour,” exclaimed Adair, with a ruthful countenance, after he had been pumping away for an hour, till he was, as he said, like Niobe, all tears, or a water-nymph.

“Then we must let her sink,” answered Alick, calmly. “We have done our best to keep her above water, though it would be hard to bear if, after all, we should be unable to carry her into Sierra Leone.”

“Never fear, Alick,” exclaimed Paddy, warmly. “As long as any of us have life in our bodies, we’ll pump away, depend on that. If pumping can do it, we’ll keep the old craft afloat.”

Not the least anxious of the many anxious hours they had passed on board the Venus were those they had now to endure. Jack Rogers, however, kept close to them, so that they had no fear about their lives. It was with no slight satisfaction, therefore, that at length they heard the cry from the foretopmast head of the Felicidade, Jack’s prize, of “land ahead,” and soon afterwards the high cape of Sierra Leone hove in sight. They ran up the river above five miles, when they came to an anchor off Freetown, the picturesque capital of the colony. It is backed by a line of lofty heights of different shapes and sizes, which are covered to their summits with trees, and add much to the beauty of the scenery, the Sugarloaf rising in the distance behind them. The river immediately in front of the town forms a bay, which affords good anchorage to vessels of all classes. The town rises with a gentle ascent from the banks of the river, and presents a very good appearance for nearly a mile long, and the streets are broad and intersect each other at right angles. The town is open to the river on the north, but on the east, south, and west it is hemmed in by the wood-crowned hills, which are about a mile or so from it, the intervening space being filled up with undulating ground, forming altogether a scene of great beauty. Here and there in the distance could be seen the palm-thatched roofs of the cottages, which form several villages scattered about on the sides of the hills, and all united by good roads.

“What a pleasant place this would be to live in if it wasn’t for the yellow fever, and the coast fever, and a few other little disagreeables,” observed Adair to Murray, as they stood on the deck of the Venus waiting for Jack Rogers, who was coming to take them on shore. Meantime Needham and the rest of the crew were still hard at work at the pumps, to keep the craft afloat. The schooner’s sails being stowed, Rogers was soon alongside. With no little satisfaction they stepped into his boat. Just as they were shoving off, Queerface, who had hitherto been looking over the side, chattering in the most voluble manner, made a spring and leaped in after them, and took his seat aft as if he thought himself one of them, as Paddy remarked. He looked about him in so comical a way that they all burst into fits of laughter, and when they tried to catch him to put him on board again, he leaped about so nimbly, that they were obliged to give up the chase and allow him to accompany them on shore.

“If Master Queerface was asked, I have not the slightest doubt but that he would say there were four of us in the boat now,” said Paddy, laughing. “Just see what a conceited look the little chap puts on; eh, Master Queerface, you think yourself a very fine fellow now.”

“Kack, kack, kack,” went Queerface, looking about him in the most self-satisfied manner.

“Hillo, who comes here?” cried Jack, as the boat was nearing the shore. He pointed at the Venus, whence two large parrots were seen flying towards them.

“Those are my pets,” exclaimed Murray, laughing. “We should in England be looked upon as the advertising members of some travelling menagerie.”

When they got on shore Queerface walked alongside Paddy with the greatest gravity, except that he every now and then turned round to grin at the little negro boys who followed, making fun at him in a way he did not approve of. One of them, more daring than the rest, tried to tweak him by the tail, when he made chase in so heroic a manner that he put them all to flight. Meantime Polly and Nelly, the parrots, kept flying above their heads, and occasionally alighting to rest on Murray’s shoulder. Sometimes for a change one of them would pitch on the head or back of Master Queerface, with whom they were on the most friendly terms. The dangers they had gone through together seemed to have united them closely in the bonds of unity. Thus the party proceeded till they reached the governor’s house. They in vain tried to keep out Queerface and the parrots, but the governor, hearing the disturbance, desired that all hands should be admitted. He was highly amused at the pertinacity with which the parrots and monkey stuck to their masters, and still more interested with the account Murray and Adair gave of their voyage. Indeed, they gained, as they deserved, great credit for the way in which they had stuck to their vessel. All three midshipmen were treated with the greatest kindness by the residents at Freetown, so that they had a very pleasant time of it, and were in no hurry for the arrival of a vessel to carry them back to their ships. They made friends in all directions, both among the higher as well as among the less exalted grades of society; indeed, they were general favourites. Even Queerface and Polly and Nelly came in for some share of the favour they enjoyed, for although neither monkeys nor parrots can be said to be scarce in Africa, their talents were so great and of so versatile a character, that their society was welcomed almost, Adair declared, as much as that of their masters. Queerface more than once, however, got into disgrace. The three midshipmen were spending the day at the house of a kind old gentleman a short distance from the town. It was as cool and airy a place and as pleasant an abode as could be found under the burning sun of Africa, surrounded with broad verandahs, French windows, and Venetian blinds. The hour of dinner arrived, and all the family assembled in the dining-room, but Mr Wilkie, the host, did not make his appearance. They began to get anxious about him, and some of the ladies hurried off to call him, when at length he came up the room laughing heartily with a white night-cap on his head. “I must apologise, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “but the truth is, I wear a wig, a fact you are probably aware of; but while I was taking my siesta somebody came and took my wig away. Sambo and Julius Caesar and Ariadne have been hunting high and low and on every side without success, and what is extraordinary my dressing-gown disappeared at the same time. However, I hope that you will excuse me, for I thought it better to appear as I am than not at all; for, I confess it, I have but two wigs, and my other one has been left at the barber’s to be refrizzled.”

Some dreadful suspicions came over Paddy’s mind when he heard this, and his fears were not allayed when he heard a loud chattering, and presently Queerface, with Polly and Nelly, appeared at the open window, the former with the missing wig on his head and the dressing-gown over his shoulders. In he popped, nothing daunted, and seeing an empty chair—the intended occupant had died of the coast fever that morning—he squatted himself down in it, and began bowing and grinning away round to all the company.

Paddy began to scold him, but Queerface merely lifted a glass which stood near him and nodded his head at him in the most cool and impudent way, as much as to say, “We understand each other perfectly—we are both men of the world.” Then he turned to the master of the house, and steadfastly looking at his white night-cap, adjusted the wig he had stolen in the most comical manner. Everybody present all the time was roaring with laughter, in which no one joined more heartily than did the master of the house.

“Come, come, Master Queerface, I want back my wig,” he exclaimed, at last; “my wig, old fellow—my wig—ha—ha—ha!”

But not a bit of it. Queerface was evidently too much delighted with the ornament on his pate to think of abandoning it, and the more vehement were the signs Mr Wilkie made the tighter did he haul it down over his ears. As he sat up in a big chair, with the coloured dressing-gown over his shoulders, and the wig hanging down on each side of his head, Paddy declared that he looked exactly like a judge on the bench.

“Will you or will you not give me up my wig?” at length exclaimed the owner of it—but Queerface held it tighter than ever. “Take that, then!” cried Mr Wilkie, recollecting a well-known story of his youth, and seizing his white night-cap he flung it at Queerface. The monkey was not slow to imitate the example, but whipping off the wig, he threw it at the owner with one hand while he caught the white cap with the other, and soon his ugly mug was grinning with delight from under it. Mr Wilkie, having delivered over his wig to one of his negro servants to be brushed and cleansed, begged his guests and family to begin dinner. Adair and his brother midshipmen apologised for the behaviour of their companion, but he assured them that he would not have missed the fun on any account, and that his wig was not a bit the worse for having been worn by the monkey.

After dinner they strolled out to see a monkey bread-tree, the baobab, a huge monster which Mr Wilkie asserted was three or four thousand years old. It was not more than seventy feet high, but the stem was close upon thirty feet in diameter, with immensely long roots, while the boughs hung down to the ground, forming altogether a wonderful mass of verdure.

“A jolly abode for the monkeys,” observed Adair. “I wonder whether my friend Queerface would like to take up his lodgings there, if I were to leave him on shore?”

Queerface seemed to understand the remark, and jumping up on Adair, showed no inclination to leave him. Murray had held up wonderfully during all the hardships he had undergone, and even after he came on shore he was able for some time to go about, but a few days after this the fever, which had been hovering about him, seized him. He would have had to go to the hospital, but Mr Wilkie sent a litter for him, and had him carried to his own house, and nursed him as if he had been his son. Jack and Terence went there every day, and assisted in nursing him, but for long he appeared to be hovering between life and death. Often his two messmates left him with sad and sorrowing hearts, believing that they might never see him again. At last he rallied, and seemed to be getting better. Now they longed for a ship, because they hoped that breathing again the pure sea air, unmixed with any exhalation from the land, might restore him. He was at last able to accompany them about the town.

Everybody will remember old Hobnail, the coloured boot and shoe-maker at Freetown. What a jolly, good-natured, genial-hearted man he was! Every naval officer was welcome at his shop, not because he wanted to make customers of them, for it seemed all the same to him whether they bought his boots and shoes, but really from his genuine kindliness of heart. He had a little room, cool and at the same time airy, with the last newspaper from England, and lemonade, or some other refreshing beverages, and not unfrequently a cigar of a quality rarely to be surpassed. Hobnail’s shop, as may be supposed, was often visited by the three midshipmen. They were good customers too, for Murray and Adair had worn out their shoes before landing, and Jack very soon finished off his with walking about.

The first ship which looked into the river was the Ranger herself, and as it was very important for Murray’s health that he should get afloat, Captain Lascelles carried him off, as well as his own two midshipmen, with, of course, Queerface and the two parrots. The Ranger went away to the southward, where she cruised without much success. Those only who have been long on the coast know what dreary work it often is, how homesick many poor fellows become, how easily, when the coast fever gets hold of them, the destroyer gains the victory. They had been some two or three weeks at sea, when a man-of-war schooner fell in with them, and handed a letter-bag from England, with some letters from Sierra Leone. Murray got several. One from the latter place. It was from no less a person than Mr Hobnail, who had taken a great fancy to him. It ran as follows:—

“Honoured and respected Sir,—You are a member of that profession which I deem the noblest and most praiseworthy of any in which man is employed, and more especially that branch of it which is engaged, like that of the squadron on this coast, in relieving suffering humanity, and thus I feel a great satisfaction in the privilege I enjoy of inditing a few lines to make inquiries respecting you. I trust, dear sir, that you may now be enjoying that seabreezetical health which a residence on the bounding billows of the free ocean is calculated to bestow. May you soon again return to this truly charming and delectable, though much and unjustly abused town, when I may again have the pleasure of holding those agreeable conversations on subjects of interest which have formed the solace of many hours which might otherwise have been spent in the society of ungenial spirits, whose base-born spirits cannot soar to those exalted heights of poetical sentiment in which I, it must be confessed, with due humbleness, delight to roam. Hoping soon to receive a response congenial to my heart, no more at present from your attached friend, if I may take the liberty of so calling myself,

“Peter Hobnail.”

The worthy shoe-maker’s epistle caused great amusement in the midshipmen’s berth, and Murray lost no time in replying to it in a strain which he hoped would be congenial to Mr Hobnail’s heart. The ship was some way to the southward, and had stood in for the land at a place called Elephant Bay. The boats were sent on shore to bring off water, the weather being fine, and the state of the surf allowing of a landing. Paddy and one of the assistant-surgeons were in one boat. While the casks were being filled, they came to a shallow pool, where the medico discovered a quantity of leeches.

“These will be most welcome on board,” he exclaimed. “We have been out of them for some time, and Dr McCan will be most thankful for a supply.”

Paddy had been carrying a jar for Frazer, the assistant-surgeon, for the purpose of holding any aquatic specimens of natural history they might fall in with. They were all now turned out, and the jar filled with leeches. They had got further than they intended, and when they returned to the beach they found all the boats gone, and only one canoe manned with Kroomen left to bring them off. The surf had in the meantime got up; however, the canoe was as well able to pass through it as any of the other boats.

“We must not run the risk of losing the leeches,” observed Paddy. “I will fasten the jar with a lanyard round my neck, and then, if the canoe is capsized, that will be saved at all events, as we can easily scramble into her again.”

This was done, and into the surf the canoe was launched. She breasted the rising seas bravely, for she was very light, and her black crew handled her beautifully. Both Adair and Frazer thought the last rollers passed, and were congratulating themselves on being certain to get on board without a ducking, when unexpectedly a white-topped sea rose directly upon them, and in a moment they found themselves rolled over into the water. They clung to the canoe, and the black crew swam round her, and striking out before they attempted to right her, towed her away entirely from the influence of the breakers. Paddy and Frazer had some unpleasant misgivings about sharks, but the blacks shouted and shrieked so loudly, that if there were any they were kept at a distance. They were soon, however, again seated in the canoe; and as the frigate had stood in to meet them, it was not long before they were close to her.

“I say, doctor, I feel some rather unpleasant sensations about my neck,” observed Paddy. “I can’t help thinking that some nettle-fish must have got hold of me in the water. I feel the stinging all over me, right down my breast. What can it be?”

“Bear a hand there and get that canoe up alongside,” sang out the officer of the watch from the deck of the frigate.

The order was speedily obeyed, and the dripping officers and black crew were soon standing on the deck.

“Hillo, Paddy, why what’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Jack, who had been watching the canoe, “you are all streaming with blood.”

“It’s a jelly-fish got hold of me, I conclude,” answered Paddy; but looking down he saw the jar into which he had put the leeches dangling at his neck, but the cork was out, so were the leeches, and they, of course, had fixed themselves to the first body with which they had come in contact. This was Paddy’s neck. They had just now begun to drop off, and streamlets of blood were running down from him in every direction. Poor Paddy was indeed a most pitiable object, with his hair all lank and wet hanging down his face, for he had lost his hat, and he had on only a linen jacket over his flannel shirt, inside of which some of the greedy leeches had crawled, while the rest hung round his neck and throat, their black bodies quickly swelling out and looking like so many pendants of polished ebony.

No sooner did Queerface, who happened to be up the rigging sunning himself, recognise his master, than down on deck he scuttled and hurried up to him. He seemed very much astonished at the look of the leeches, and evidently could not make out what they were. Adair held out his hand, when up he jumped, and thrusting his paw down his shirt pulled out a leech which had not yet fixed itself. The monkey’s first impulse was to put it to his nose, towards which the creature made a twist and fixed itself firmly. Poor Queerface opened his paw, and not knowing what had happened, off he scuttled again up the rigging with the leech hanging to his nose, and apparently not liking the feel of it, he had not the courage to pull it off till it dropped off itself on the deck. Everybody laughed, so did Adair, in spite of the pain and annoyance he was suffering.

“A pretty sort of a necklace for a nice young Irish gentleman of polite manners and respectable connexions,” he exclaimed, still laughing away. “But I say, doctor, do bear a hand and get these brutes off me, for they are becoming remarkably troublesome.”

“That I will, my boy,” answered Dr McCan, to whom he had spoken. “You are suffering in my service, and I am bound to do my best for you.”

The doctor at once got Adair below, and by applying salt to the tails of the leeches made them let go. And then a little cooling ointment set him all to rights, while the bleeding did him no particular harm. It was many a day, however, before he got rid of the marks of the bites.

As the appearance of the frigate off the coast put all the slave-dealers on the alert, Captain Lascelles adopted a plan which has frequently been successful. Standing in-shore, he would suddenly make all sail away, either to the northward or southward, as if in chase of some vessel, and then when the ship could no longer be seen from the land he would heave-to and send the boats in-shore, when very frequently they would pounce upon slave-vessels totally unsuspicious of their presence. While the boats were on shore watering, Hemming had with a few hands walked along the coast and ascertained that a number of blacks, prisoners-of-war they were called, were collected in the neighbourhood, and there could be no doubt that a vessel would soon be coming to take them off. Accordingly the usual ruse was put in practice, and the pinnace, under the command of Hemming, with Jack Rogers and Adair, left the ship to watch for her. Murray was still too unwell to engage in any such duty. They left the ship in the evening, so that it was dark by the time they neared the land. Hemming had fixed upon a spot among some high rocks where the boat might remain completely concealed either from people on the shore or from any one afloat. The only difficulty was finding the way into it among the rocks at night, still he hoped to effect that. There was a slight crescent moon, which shone on the calm waters and showed the white sandy breach and the tall wide-topped palm-trees rising up against the clear sky. There hung also over the land a slight gauze-like mist, which somewhat distorted objects. They rowed steadily on with muffled oars, making as little splash as possible.

“Starboard a little,” said Hemming to Jack, who was steering. “I think that I can make out the opening I want to find; yes, that’s it, I’m sure.” In a few minutes the boat glided in between high ocean-worn rocks, round from the waves of the Atlantic dashing against them for thousands of years past. A grapnel was hove on to the rocks, and there she lay as snug as any on board could desire. The boat was furnished with a little stove for cooking, and they had a good supply of eatables and drinkables on board, the latter being, however, more in the shape of tea, coffee, and cocoa, than spirits. Having supped, all hands turned in to sleep except two, an officer and man, who sat up to keep watch. Jack, Adair, and Hemming succeeded each other, but though they kept their ears open not a sound could they hear to indicate the approach of any vessel. At length the sun rose, but Hemming determined to remain where he was all day, hoping that, should a breeze spring up, the looked-for slaver might make her appearance. Hour after hour passed pleasantly enough, however, for they had no lack of provisions, and books, and chess, and games for the men. Captain Lascelles thought that his seamen, wearing out their days under the broiling sun of Africa, required being amused just as much as the gallant fellows who have been shut up for many dreary months amid the snow and ice of the Arctic regions. The consequence of his care in that and in a variety of other ways, was that he lost fewer men than any other ship on the station.

At last Jack suggested that it might be possible to make a lookout place from the top of one of the rocks. He first ordered the men to cut a quantity of seaweed and to tie it up in bundles, and then getting on to one of the rocks he crawled along on hands and knees till he reached the outer edge, when he found a cleft which exactly answered his wishes. Hauling up the bundles of seaweed, he placed them before him, so that he could look out without being seen himself. Without much difficulty he could crawl backwards and forwards to it from the boat. He had gone several times, when at length, early in the afternoon, he made out a sail in the offing. He watched her eagerly through his glass. She was a felucca, and as she drew near he made her out to be a large vessel for her rig, and a most rakish, wicked-looking craft. Her very appearance made him certain that she was engaged in no lawful calling. At last, when he saw her stand into the bay and drop her anchor, he hurried back to give the information to Hemming. Jack was for dashing out at once and capturing her, but his more cautious superior shook his head; “No, no, my boy, wait till she has got all her slaves on board and then we’ll have her and them too.” The boat, therefore, remained snugly hid. During daylight Jack kept crawling up to his lookout place to see what was going forward. At last he came back reporting that a raft had come off from the shore loaded with slaves, and that they were being shipped on board the felucca.

“All right,” observed Hemming, “it will take some time before they get their whole cargo on board, then we’ll be up and at them.”

“Does it not strike you that they are a long time getting the slaves on board?” said Jack at last to his superior.

“Why, yes, they are somewhat; but it is extraordinary how many poor wretches they will stow away between decks in those small crafts; but they take some time packing,” answered Hemming, in a whisper. “Probably too the raft is small and does not carry many at a time.” They waited some time longer till the former sounds continued, which showed that the raft was still going backwards and forwards.

“I cannot make it out,” muttered Hemming; “the villains are a long time about their work. They little dream that we are close to them, or they would be rather smarter about it.”

Some time longer passed, and then Jack proposed returning to his lookout place, to try and make out what was occurring. It was no easy undertaking, scrambling along over the slippery rocks in the dark, with a chance, if he lost his hold, of a tumble into some dark deep pool, or of getting jammed in some crevice, or perhaps being caught by some prowling ground shark or other monster of the ocean. However, he reached the point as which he aimed, but he had not been there a minute before he heard that peculiar sound of heavy blocks working, cheep, cheep, cheep. He made out clearly the tall pointed lateen sails of the felucca rising from her decks, and then the sound of the windlass working reached his ears; while a breeze, not felt below and every moment increasing, fanned his cheeks. He hurried back as fast as he could to the boat. As he sprang on board, he exclaimed, “The felucca is under weigh, and there’s a breeze off the land.”

In a moment the crew threw up their oars, the boat was shoved off from the rocks, and emerging from their hiding-place, away she started in chase of the slaver.

Chapter Twenty One.

Desperate Fighting.

On flew the felucca, urged by sails and oars. The Ranger’s boat dashed after her.

“Give way, my lads, give way,” cried Hemming; not that his crew required the slightest inducement to pull as hard as they could lay their backs to the oars.

The felucca had got considerably the start, and was going through the water somewhat faster than the man-of-war’s boat; the more also she drew off the land the stronger she got the breeze.

“There’s no use longer attempting concealment,” cried Hemming, “the chances are she has made us out already. Get a blue-light ready, Adair. The frigate will see it by this time, and be on the look out for her. Rogers, see to the gun forward. You may be able to send a shot into the felucca and knock away a spar, perhaps.”

These orders were promptly obeyed. While Jack sprang forward to fire the gun, Adair’s blue-light, blazing up, cast a lurid glare over the figures of the crew as they tugged at their oars, and which also extended far away across the surface of the ocean, while at the same moment the sharp report of the gun broke the hitherto almost perfect silence of the night. Jack could not see whether his shot had taken effect, but he had some hopes that it had. Again, at Hemming’s order, he fired, while, as soon as the first blue-light had gone out, Adair lighted another. Their eyes all the time were ranging the offing to try and discover the whereabouts of the frigate.

“There is her light, sir,” shouted Jack from forward, and when their own blue-light grew dim, hers was seen shining like a star floating on the water in the far distance.

Thus they went on, burning blue-lights, at longer intervals though than at first, and firing shot after shot at the felucca. The slaver bore it at first without attempting to return the compliment; but at length, when Rogers hoped that he had hit her, her captain seemed to lose patience, and she opened fire on the boat in return. The latter, however, especially in the night, offered too small an object to be easily hit. Still one shot came whistling over their heads, and another struck the water close to them, showing them, as Paddy said, that they were comfortably within range.

“I think that I have winged her,” shouted Jack; “if so, even should the breeze increase, and she escape from us, the frigate will get hold of her.”

Thus time sped on, the frigate and her boat showing at intervals their blue-lights, while the slaver, caught between them, continued pretty rapidly firing away at the latter. Still Hemming, at all events, did not feel at all certain that the felucca would be caught. Though the light on her deck could be seen, she was growing more and more indistinct as she increased her distance from them. At last she ceased firing. The breeze too was increasing.

“Do you still see her, Rogers?” asked Hemming.

“No, sir,” answered Jack. “She’s vanished altogether into thin air.”

“Then there’s no use firing at her, I suppose,” said Paddy to himself.

Some little time longer had passed, when Jack shouted that he again saw her light. Away the boat pulled towards it. The frigate, by sending up a blue-light, showed that she saw it likewise.

“We’ll have her this time, at all events,” cried Adair, rubbing his hands.

“Don’t be too sure of that, Paddy,” said Hemming; “still, towards the light we must pull.”

It was rather heavy work, for the people had been now some time at their oars without a moment’s rest. On they pulled, however, with renewed vigour, fully believing that they were about to pounce down upon the slaver. Nearer and nearer they drew to the light.

“The felucca must have hove-to,” cried Adair. “It’s strange, after getting so well ahead she should have given in.”

What Hemming thought he did not say. Some grave suspicions crossed Jack’s mind.

“There she is though. Starboard a little,” he sang out, “or we shall run into a tub with a light in it.”

“Oh, the scoundrels!” broke from many lips. Jack was about to douse the light, but Hemming told him to let it burn on. “It will serve as a beacon to us, and the felucca’s people will not know whether or not we have been deceived by it,” he observed.

It now became a question in which direction the slaver had gone. On they pulled, therefore, once more towards the frigate. Hemming wished to let Captain Lascelles know what had occurred, that he might thus steer a course on which he was most likely to come up with the slaver. With the increasing wind the boat would have little chance of overtaking the felucca, but by staying where they were the lieutenant hoped that they might possibly cut her off. The blue-lights and the flashes of the guns had dazzled their eyes, and the night seemed darker than ever. In vain Jack peered for some time into the darkness to make out the frigate. A thick bank of mist, blown off the land, lay upon the water. Suddenly, like a dark phantom stalking over the deep, the frigate’s hull, with her tall masts towering up into the sky, appeared, and he had barely time to shout out, “Port the helm, pull round the port oars,” before the boat was close under her bows, very narrowly escaping being run down. In another minute they were on the quarter-deck, and Hemming was reporting to Captain Lascelles all that had occurred. He suggested, that while the frigate stood after the felucca in one direction, he should be allowed to cruise in an opposite direction, to double the chances of falling in with her. All he wanted was a further supply of water, fuel, and provisions. To this the captain consented, and the boat being furnished with what was required, Hemming and the two midshipmen again shoved off from the frigate’s side. Jack had of course his faithful rifle with him, and he felt pretty certain that, should he once get a sight of the enemy, he should be able to use it with good effect. “I have not the slightest compunction about picking off those slaving scoundrels,” he observed, as he was busily employed in loading his piece. “They seem to be completely lost to all sense of what is right and just, such perfectly abandoned sinners, that there can be no hope of their reforming, so I only feel as if I was destroying a wild beast to prevent it doing further mischief.”

“All very right,” observed Hemming; “most people act from more than one motive, and it’s well that both should be good. It’s enough for me that it’s my duty to kill the fellows if they don’t give in.”

It wanted still nearly an hour to daylight. The boat had lost sight of the frigate for some time. She had made good way to the northward under sail. At length, when the first faint streaks of sunlight were observed breaking forth over the land, Hemming ordered the sail to be lowered. By this they had a better chance of seeing the felucca without being seen. The lieutenant stood up and slowly moved round, scanning every part of the horizon. The land breeze had now completely died away, and there was not a ripple on the water, though the slow moving glassy undulations which came rolling in and constantly rocking the boat, showed that they were not floating on an inland lake. Jack and Adair began to fear that the felucca was not in sight, when Hemming slowly sank down into his seat again, saying quietly, as he cast eyes on the boat’s compass, “There she is, though; out oars. Starboard the helm a little, Rogers, west-north-west. That will do. Give way, my lads.”

Away glided the boat, urged on by sturdy arms, in the direction mentioned. After pulling some time the light increased, and the tops of the felucca’s sails appeared above the limited horizon of the rowers. Once more Hemming stood up. The slaver lay perfectly becalmed. He ordered all hands to breakfast. The cocoa was quickly heated, and the meal was soon despatched with good appetite. Then he allowed those who wished it to smoke for a few minutes, and once more, the oars being got out, away went the boat in the direction of the slaver.

Before long they themselves must have been seen from her deck; but, to his surprise, as Hemming looked at her through his glass, he saw that her sweeps were not got out, nor was any attempt made to escape. There she lay rocking slowly on the slow undulating water, as if no human being was on board to rule her course. As they drew closer still, only one person indeed was to be seen on her deck. He was walking up and down it with a glass tucked under his arm, apparently scarcely noticing their approach. Hemming naturally suspected treachery. He well knew that the slavers were capable of the greatest atrocity. He was, therefore, prepared for any emergency.

“Why, sir,” exclaimed Jack, as they got almost alongside, “I do believe that is my old acquaintance Don Diogo. He’ll do us a mischief if he can.”

“Be ready, lads, to spring on board the moment the boat touches her side,” cried Hemming. Just before this three or four other men came up from below rubbing their eyes as if lately awoke out of sleep. The bowman the next instant hooked on, and the British sailors, led by their officers, sprang on board. The slaver’s people ran forward and aft to get out of their way, except the man at first seen, whom Jack had no doubt was no other than the old pirate, Don Diogo, as he called himself.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he, quite coolly, making the politest of bows to the lieutenant. “May I request to know what brings you on board here at this early hour in the morning?”

“You are known to be a slaver, and we have come to capture you,” answered Hemming, bluntly.

“Ho, ho, ho,” cried the Don; “there may be two opinions about that. You British officers don’t go upon surmises. You want proofs, and you are welcome to all you can discover.”

The Don’s coolness rather staggered Hemming and the two midshipmen. Jack was certain that he had seen the slaves carried on board in Elephant Bay, and he had no doubt as to the felucca being the same vessel he had seen in Elephant Bay. To settle this point, they lifted off the hatches.

“Don’t disturb my poor men. Some of them are asleep below,” said the Don, in an ordinary tone of voice.

Hemming, however, paid very little attention to his remarks, but ordered Jack and Adair to keep a sharp lookout on his movements on deck while he descended below. Hemming looked round the dark hold of the supposed slaver, but there was no sign of a slave-deck, nor, after a careful search, could he find anything to warrant him in detaining her. In the fore-peak a rather numerous crew for the size of the vessel were asleep, or pretending to be asleep, for some lifted up their heads even to have a look at the intruders. At length Hemming returned on deck.

“I told you so, gentlemen,” said the Don, making another excessively polite bow. “Suspicions, as I remarked, are not proofs. I might now ask by what authority you ventured on board this craft and nearly frightened some of my poor men out of their wits; but we are honest, peaceably disposed people, and have no desire to quarrel with strangers.”

“Do you mean to say that you hadn’t your vessel full of blacks last night, whatever since you have done with them?” exclaimed Jack, stamping on the deck with indignation, as he felt somewhat compromised in the matter.

“Be calm, young gentleman,” said the Don. “As I remarked, suspicions are not proofs. I am not accustomed to answer questions as to my movements, and therefore would advise you to be silent.”

There was no more to be done on board the felucca. Although Don Diogo was known to be a slave-dealer and guilty of numberless atrocities, he could not be touched, nor could his craft be detained. As the English returned to their boat he bowed and scraped, his mouth grinning, and his countenance wearing at the same time an expression of the most intense hatred. “We may meet again, gentlemen, before long, but perhaps you may not find me in so placable a mood as at present.”

Hemming made no answer, but the Don was seen bowing away and nourishing his sombrero as long as they could see him. Not a little vexed at the fruitless result of their expedition, Hemming and his companions pulled to the northward in search of the frigate.

“I cannot make it out,” observed Jack, after having been lost in thought for some time.

“I can, though,” said Hemming. “I have not the shadow of a doubt that, somehow or other, the Don got notice that we were in the neighbourhood, and that, as the slaves were taken in on one side of the vessel, he sent them back again by the rafts over the other. Had we made a dash at the felucca at once, we should have found some of them on board, and she would have been condemned. We will be wiser in future.”

It was not till late in the evening that they fell in with the frigate. She kept cruising off the bay, and two other boats were sent in to watch for the felucca; but the old Don was too wary a bird to be thus easily caught, and nothing was seen of the felucca. Soon after this a steamer hove in sight, and her commander, coming on board the Ranger, informed Captain Lascelles of an unsuccessful attack having been made on Lagos; at the same time delivering to him despatches from Mr Beecroft, the British Consul for the Bight of Benin, residing at Fernando Po, asking for further assistance. Sail was instantly, therefore, made for the northward, and, the wind holding favourable, they were not long before they got off the slave-coast in the neighbourhood of the place proposed to be attacked. Great was the satisfaction expressed by all hands, both in the gun-room and midshipmen’s berth, and throughout the ship, at the prospect of some real work being done. In the midshipmen’s berth, perhaps, the satisfaction was more vehemently expressed.

“There’s nothing like getting a real enemy right before you, and having an honest slap at him,” exclaimed Jack Rogers. “It is all very right hunting down those slave-dealers and chasing slavers, but the scoundrels are such slippery fellows, it is difficult work to get hold of them.”

“Or to keep them if you have got a grip of them,” observed Adair. “But I say, does anybody know who it is we are going to fight, and what we are going to fight about?”

“Something about the slave-trade,” said Hobson, one of the mates.

“The blacks hereabouts want a thrashing, so we are going to lick them,” remarked Lister, another midshipman, who was never very exact in his notions.

Just then Murray, who had had the forenoon watch on deck, came below. He was, on the point I have mentioned, a great contrast to Lister. He was forthwith applied to. “As soon as I have taken the sharp edge off my appetite I will tell you all I know about the matter,” he answered. The edge of people’s appetites on the coast is not very sharp, in the dog-days especially, so Murray was soon in a condition to begin.

“Now just look here,” he commenced, collecting some crumbs and bits of biscuit, which he began to place about on the table. “To the north and east of us is the slave-coast. Inland, due north, or thereabouts, is Dahomey, the king of which is something like a king, for he can cut off his subjects’ heads at pleasure; he has got several regiments of Amazons, who fight most furiously, besides other troops armed with matchlocks. To the east is the Yoruba country, and to the south, further round the bay, is the kingdom of Benin. The Yoruba country is between the other two I have mentioned. Its chief river is the Ogun. At the mouth is Lagos, a large town, held by an independent chief or king of considerable wealth and power. About seventy miles up is Abeokuta. Abeokuta is a very remarkable place. About twenty-five years ago the remnants of the inhabitants of a number of villages which had been broken up by the attacks made on them for the purpose of carrying away these people as slaves, betook themselves to a large cavern on the banks of the Ogun about seventy miles from the coast. In this place of concealment they remained for some time undiscovered, living on roots, and berries, and other natural productions of the ground, till they were joined by other fugitives from the hated slave-dealers. At length, their numbers increasing, they ventured forth from their cavern, and began to cultivate the ground and to build themselves houses. They chose as their chief a liberal-minded, talented man, called Shodeke; and it is said that at present there are upwards of 80,000 people in their community. They have built a large town, which they have called Understone, or, in their own language, Abeokuta, in memory of the cave under which they first took shelter. Now, if the blockading squadron had never done more than what I am going to tell you about, they would have performed a very great and blessed work. Among the thousands of negroes they have captured and liberated were many hundreds who had been taken from the Yoruba country, and who were settled at Sierra Leone. Here many of them had grown rich, and a considerable proportion had been converted to Christianity. Among them was a man named in their language Adgai, but called in English Crowther. He had been embarked as a slave on board of a slaver at Badagry in 1822. That slaver was captured by one of our cruisers, and taken to Sierra Leone. At that place he was well educated, was converted, and ordained as a minister of the Gospel. Now, several of the Yoruba natives I have spoken of, who had become possessed of property, purchased a vessel, and visited Lagos and Badagry to trade. At those places they heard of Abeokuta and the stand it had made against the slave-trade. On their return to Sierra Leone, from the accounts they gave of the new settlement, a considerable number of their countrymen resolved to go there. Among the first was Mr Crowther. He is, I am assured, a man of high intellectual powers, and of eminent piety. He persuaded other Christian Africans to accompany him. Nearly the first people he met on arriving at the new city were his mother and sisters, and they were his first converts. The greater part of the inhabitants are now Christians, and Mr Crowther is engaged in translating the Bible into the Yoruba language.

“The King of Dahomey looked with an evil eye on the growing power of Abeokuta, and led his army to destroy it; but he and his forces were, however, most signally defeated. On this he instigated the King of Lagos to attack Abeokuta. That chief has got a hundred war canoes, fully five thousand men all armed with muskets, and sixty guns.

“Happily the old King of Lagos lately died. He left his crown to a fellow called Akitoye, the younger of two sons, the elder, Kosoko, being a ragamuffin and banished. Akitoye, on coming to the throne, recalled Kosoko; but, true to his character, the elder brother managed to bribe the army, and to turn poor Akitoye out of the country. Akitoye took shelter in Badagry, which place Kosoko was preparing to attack, being promised a thousand men by the King of Dahomey. If he succeeds he will undoubtedly attack Abeokuta. To prevent this, Mr Beecroft applied for a naval force to bring Kosoko to reason.

“Accordingly, the Bloodhound and a squadron of boats was sent off to Lagos to reason with the usurper. He, however, did not understand what they wanted, and, as they approached, opened a heavy fire on them from a number of concealed batteries, both with great guns and small-arms. Several poor fellows were killed and wounded, and at length the expedition had to retire, there not being enough men to hold the town had it been captured. The commodore has now resolved to send one of ample strength to drive the slave-dealing sovereign, Kosoko, from his throne and his stronghold altogether. This is the business we are called on to perform. If we succeed, and there is no doubt about that I should hope, we shall preserve Abeokuta, and enable the Christian missionaries to labour on without interruption; we shall punish the usurper, and restore the right man to his government; we shall rout out a nest of slave-dealers, and put a stop to slave-dealing in Lagos; and we shall teach the King of Dahomey to be cautious, lest the same punishment we inflict on his friend there may overtake him. All these things are well worth fighting for, you’ll acknowledge.”

All hands agreed that it would be difficult to have a better object than that Murray had described for the proposed attack.

“Yes, indeed, it is a truly satisfactory feeling, to be sure, that the cause you fight for is a righteous one,” repeated Murray. “Still I do not hold for one moment that it is not our duty to fight, as long as we remain in the service, whenever we are ordered by our superiors. The difference is this, in one case we fight heartily, in the other we do only just what we are ordered; at all events we don’t do it in the same hearty way we would like.”

“We’ll fight heartily now, at all events,” exclaimed Adair, with even more than his usual enthusiasm. “If there is one cause more than another in which I would rather expend my life, it would be that of getting rid of this abominable slave-trade. No scoundrels are greater, in my opinion, than the fellows who engage in it. No country can prosper or be happy which allows it.”

The conversation was cut short by the announcement that several sail of men-of-war were in sight. The ships began working away with their bunting, and, when they had collected, the commanders assembled on board the Commodore to arrange the plan of attack.

The next day, by the evening, everything was ready. The squadron, composed of steamers as well as sailing ships, brought up off the mouth of the Ogun river. It has a bar across it. Inside it, on an island about two miles in circumference, near the right bank, stands the slave-dealing city of Lagos, whose houses could just be distinguished peeping out among the cocoa-nut trees. It was known that the place was strongly defended with stockades, some sixty guns, and from 1,500 to 2,000 men with firearms, and gunners trained by the Spaniards and other slave-dealers to serve the artillery. All hands watched eagerly for the signal to commence operations. The three midshipmen were delighted to find that they were to be in the first squadron of boats. Preceded by a steamer, they dashed across the bar, and then anchored inside, out of reach of shot from the town, to commence operations the next morning. Soon after sunrise men were seen assembling on the banks of the river, and, on pulling over to them, they found that Mr Beecroft, with the ex-king, Akitoye, had arrived, bringing with him 500 men from Abeokuta and Badagry. That they might be known, they had white neckcloths distributed among them, with which the black volunteers were highly delighted. A number of canoes were then discovered at a slave station on the left bank, and these having been brought off, the black auxiliary force, now considerably augmented, was passed over to the right bank. The steamer next dropped up the river with the tide to reconnoitre the fortifications, and it was found that, at all points where boats could land, stakes in double rows were driven in, while an embankment had been thrown up with a ditch in front of it, and that twenty-five guns were trained to guard all the narrower parts of the channel. On the north side of the island were the houses of Kosoko and the slave-dealers, and it was here accordingly, as it was right that they should be chiefly punished, that the commander of the expedition resolved to commence the attack. The following day being Christmas-day, he determined, in order that that holy day should be spent as quietly as possible, and be a day of rest, to wait till the 26th. This it was, except that the slave-dealers wasted a large amount of ammunition by firing at the squadron, which was far beyond their range. With infinite satisfaction, soon after daybreak on the 26th, the order was received to proceed to the attack. The scene may be easily pictured. Before them lay the island surrounded by stockades, with palm-trees, and the huts and houses of Lagos rising beyond them; the broad river in front full of shallows, narrow channels only between them.

Towards the island the steamers and the squadron of boats now advanced. At first all was calm and smiling. Jack and Paddy were in the same boat.

“I wonder whether the scoundrels will give in without fighting,” observed the latter; “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Jack. “They want first to be taught a lesson or two which they cannot forget.”

“But what can these miserable black fellows do against us? I should think that we should blow them and their town up into the sky in a dozen minutes or less,” exclaimed Paddy, with a laugh.

Scarcely had he spoken when, from the whole line of stockades, showers of round shot and bullets came rattling about the steamers and boats. On dashed the whole squadron, the steamers keeping up a hot fire from their great guns in return, though so well sheltered were the blacks that not one of them could be seen. This sort of work continued for some time, several officers and men being hit, when one of the steamers grounded. She then became, of course, a target for the enemy, and several people were wounded on board her. The boats meantime had opened their fire to protect her, but so well were the batteries of the negroes concealed that it was difficult to find out a point at which to aim. A division of the boats was now sent round to the north-east point of the island to ascertain the position and strength of the guns on that side. These boats, after a hot fight, during which they upset some of the enemy’s guns, returned, and then made a gallant attempt to force the stockades in order to land and spike the guns bearing heaviest on the steamer. Away they dashed; they could see the barrels of the negroes’ muskets gleaming through the stockades, and a terrific fire was opened on them. Still on they went, right up to the stockades. Axe in hand the works were attacked, but in vain they hacked and hewed at the tough posts. No sooner was one party of blacks driven from the defences than others took their places. Many of the seamen were hit; some poor fellows sank never to rise again. The British seamen cheered and loaded and fired as rapidly as they could; the blacks shrieked and shouted, and kept banging away in return. Jack heard a cry close to him. It came from the boat next to his. He saw an officer fall. His heart sank; he thought it was Murray. He sprang into the boat to lift him up—but no—it was another gallant young midshipman, whom he had seen an instant before bravely cheering on his men. Assistance was useless, he had ceased to breathe. He placed him in the stern-sheets of his boat and regained his own. Once more a desperate assault was made on the stockades, but without effect, and, with numbers wounded, the boats were compelled to haul off.

What to do with the steamer on shore was now the question. It was resolved, to avoid the necessity of blowing her up, to land with a strong force to destroy the guns annoying her. Till the tide rose there seemed no prospect of getting her off. Some little time was expended in arranging the expedition. Again the signal was given, and in line they pulled gallantly up towards the stockade. As they approached a fire from fully 1,500 muskets opened on them, to which they replied with spherical, grape, and canister shot. Hotter and hotter grew the fire of the blacks, but on the boats steadily advanced till their stems touched the beach, when the men, springing on shore, formed in an instant, and, led by their officers, rushed up to the stockades. Axes were plied vigorously—some seized the timbers and hauled them down, and a breach being made, in they rushed and drove the enemy before them. The fort was gained, the blacks fled out of it into the thick bush in the rear, and all the guns were spiked. While this work was being accomplished, a party of the blacks had come down and, attacking one of the boats, had carried her off along the beach, hoping probably to make their escape in her. A party pursued them on discovering this for a considerable distance, when the blacks who had fled into the woods, seeing what was taking place, rushed from their concealment in the woods by swarms, and poured a crushing fire into the boats at pistol range. One poor fellow, who had been left on board the boat, when he saw the enemy coming, made a desperate attempt to spike her guns, and was cut down while so engaged. After all the boat could not be recovered. The Krooman on board Mr Beecroft’s boat by mistake let go her anchor directly in front of the enemy’s lines, and had not an officer, in the most gallant way, cut her chain cable with a chisel, under a fearfully hot fire, during which he was several times hit, she also would have been destroyed. Everybody during the action behaved admirably, and no one deserved more praise than did the surgeons sent on the expedition, who, throughout the day, attended on the wounded, exposed to the hottest fire. Disastrous in one respect had indeed been the result of the expedition, for upwards of sixty men and officers had been wounded, and thirteen men and three midshipmen killed. When it was found that the boat could not be recovered, a mate of one of the ships and the gunner, in the most gallant way, pulled back to the cutter, and by throwing a rocket into her, so well-directed that it entered her magazine, blew her up, destroying at the same time not a few of her captors. Towards the evening the steamer was got off, and the order was then given for the boats to return out of gun-shot for the night. British seamen are not apt to indulge in low spirits or to give way to melancholy, but those engaged in the expedition might well have been excused had they done so. Had they been successful the case would have been different, but as yet nothing had been accomplished; still probably there was not a man who did not feel that before the end of another day something would be done, nor did any one dream of abandoning the enterprise. Jack and Adair looked out anxiously for Murray.

“Can he have been hit?” said Terence. “It surely was not his boat that was taken.”

“I trust not indeed,” answered Jack, anxiously. “I’ll hail the boats as they come up, to learn if anybody knows where he is.”

Boat after boat was hailed, but no information could be obtained of Murray. They became seriously anxious about him. Jack had several men wounded in his boat, and one poor fellow lay stark and cold in the bow. The other boats had also several wounded on board them, while the steamer had a still greater proportion. The groans and cries of the poor fellows, as they lay racked with pain in the confined space which could alone be afforded on board the small vessels and boats, sounded sadly in the calm midnight air. The surgeons all the time were stepping from boat to boat, or visiting the vessels in succession, and doing their utmost to alleviate the sufferings of the wounded. Happy were those who could sleep, but many, among whom were Jack and Terence, could not close an eye. How anxiously, as they leant back and looked up to the dark sky studded with its myriads of stars reflected in the calm glassy waters, did they wish for the morrow, though that morrow might bring death and wounds to themselves or their companions. Happy, indeed, is it for all of us that we do not know what the morrow may bring forth.

Chapter Twenty Two.

Prisoners.

Battles and wounds, death and destruction, and all the other concomitants of warfare, may be interesting matters to read about, but the reality is very far from pleasant or desirable. Even Jack Rogers and Paddy Adair could not help coming to this conclusion during the night they spent off Lagos, surrounded by their wounded, and dead, and dying companions. They were also not a little anxious about Murray, of whom they could obtain no information. The stars kept shining forth from the dark sky, the surface of the river was smooth as glass, on either side around them was the squadron of steamers and boats, while in the distance could be observed the lights of the black city, from which every now and then a flash might be seen as a negro took it into his head to fire off his musket, or perhaps, while handling it, let it explode unintentionally. At length daylight returned. Directly everybody was on the alert, but as yet no signal was made to recommence the attack. Whatever heroes of romance might have done, modern warriors require rest and refreshment, so the men set to work to cook and eat their breakfasts. While this was going on, a boat was seen approaching the squadron. She was the gig Murray commanded. He himself was on board. His shipmates warmly welcomed him.

“Where have you been? What have you been about? We feared you were lost,” exclaimed several voices.

“It is a somewhat long story,” he answered. “After the retreat was ordered yesterday I saw some negroes pulling off in a canoe to the northward of the island, and not thinking of consequences, I pursued them. Away we went at good speed, but they paddled faster. It did not occur to me at the time that they were making their escape from the town. When I looked astern I found that our own boats had gone to the southward, and that between me and them was a large body of native canoes. To attempt to pass them would have been madness, so I pulled on up the river. The blacks were so engaged in the fight, that I was not perceived. I therefore pulled up the stream till it was dark, and then lay hid for some time to rest and refresh my men. I bethought me that having got thus far, I would employ myself profitably. I therefore dropped an anchor, and let the men take a couple of hours’ sleep; then once more getting under weigh, I dropped down, sounding as I came, and passed right round to the west of the island. When abreast of it I saw dark objects moving across the channel, and found that they were canoes crossing and recrossing, and I have no doubt carrying off household goods and other property, and perhaps some of the inhabitants were making their escape. At all events, it looks as if the natives were not very sanguine of success. I had to wait till I had an opportunity of threading my way between them, and it was only just at daybreak that I was able to get clear. I must now go and make my report to the captain.”

Not long after this the signal was given to attack, and the whole squadron was quickly in movement. There was not a man engaged who was not resolved to redeem, if possible, the loss of the previous day. The boats, as before, pulled round to the northward, where the houses of the king and his prime ministers, as well as of the European slave-dealers, were situated, while the steamers took up positions on either side of the town. There was no mistake this time as to what was to be done. The sad loss of life which occurred on the previous day arose, it must be remembered, entirely in consequence of the grounding of the steamer. This made it necessary to land in the face of a hot fire and to storm the stockades, while it also brought about the subsequent disasters. The signal was given and the steamers and boats opened a steady and well-directed fire, which soon began to tell. House after house was seen to be in flames. The blacks returned it, but with very different spirits to the previous day. They had fancied after the apparent defeat the English had suffered on the previous day, they would not again venture to attack them. Steadily the boats fired away. “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” A loud cheer ran through the line. A shot had entered the house of Tappis, Kosoko’s prime minister, and set it on fire. He was one of the most determined supporters of the slave-trade, and the chief instigator of the first attack on the boats of the squadron. Soon after the gun in a battery below his house was capsized, while the men working it were driven out by a well-directed rocket sent among them. House after house now caught fire. Most of the non-combatants had before this fled, the rest were next seen hurriedly making their escape with cries of terror and dismay. Still the garrison, with a bravery worthy of a better cause, held out. The firing on both sides became more rapid, but the English redoubled their exertions. Showers of shot, and shell, and rockets were flying into the devoted town. Suddenly a fearful roar was heard. Earth and stones, and fragments of timber mixed with human forms, were seen to rise up into the air. One of the enemy’s chief magazines had exploded. From that moment the conflagration extended more rapidly and fiercely than before, till the whole city appeared to be in a blaze, the flames rising up in ruddy pyramids and supporting a dark canopy overhead—a fit funeral pall for those who had fallen in the strife. There could be no longer any doubt that the fate of Lagos was decided. A broad creek ran through part of the town. This stopped the flames. Kosoko’s house was still standing. A boat was directed especially to destroy it; but the commander of the expedition, influenced by truly Christian motives, resolved, before doing more injury to the town, to give Kosoko an opportunity of capitulating. The next day was Sunday. He resolved, should the blacks commit no act of hostility, to make it also a day of rest. Recalling all the boats, he sent in therefore a flag of truce, by a friendly chief, to Kosoko, allowing him till Monday morning to consider his proposals. Once more, therefore, on Saturday evening, the squadron retired from before the town; but very different were the feelings of those engaged from what they had been on Friday. Now success appeared certain, then a heavy loss and defeat had been the termination of their day’s labour. Still, as the three midshipmen met on board Jack’s boat, their conversation was far sadder than it was wont to be. So probably was that of the commanders of the expedition.

“To think that we should have spent all this time before a town fortified only by slaving rascals, and manned by blacks, and after all not yet to be masters of it!” exclaimed Jack, with some bitterness in his tone.

“It comes very much of the common English fault of despising our enemies,” observed Murray. “We are apt to forget that though fellows have black or tawny skins, they have got brains in their heads.”

“Still we don’t often find enemies who have the pluck of Britons,” said Adair.

“No, and that is the reason why we are ultimately so generally successful,” answered Murray. “But that does not prevent us from frequently, in the first place, meeting with defeat and disgrace, and losing numberless valuable lives. I do not mean to say that what happened on Friday could have been avoided, but it is very sad to think of the poor fellows who have lost their lives, as well as of the many now suffering from their wounds; so we won’t talk more about the matter.”

That night passed like the former ones, and Sunday was gliding tranquilly away, spent in most instances by the crews on board the vessels and boats, after the example of their commander, as a Sunday should be passed, when it was ascertained that the usurper and his prime minister, and the greater number of his troops, had abandoned the city. The English commander, therefore, sent to direct the negro auxiliaries who had accompanied King Akitoye from Abeokuta to escort him into the city, and to install him in his office. This was done, and they took possession of the houses which had escaped the conflagration, while a small portion only of the British forces entered that evening and spiked the guns in the chief batteries turned towards the river. The next morning fifty-two guns were destroyed or embarked. Murray was among those who went on shore. In his letter home he made the following remarks:—

“The greater part of the stronghold of slavery is now little more than a heap of ashes; but enough of the works remain to show the cunning methods devised by the blacks for entrapping us into ambushes had we assaulted it. In truth, the place is a great deal stronger than we had any notion of. One thing I must say, that, in spite of the reverses we at first experienced, every officer and man engaged in the affair did his utmost, and behaved as British seamen always should behave; and it must be the consolation of the relations and friends of the gallant fellows who lost their lives, that a very important work has been performed, and that the capture of this stronghold of the slave-trade will prove one of the severest blows that hateful traffic has ever experienced. It has done much also, I trust, to advance the cause of religion and civilisation in Africa, and will help, I hope, to wipe away the dark stain which is attached to many of the so-called Christian nations of the world. Akitoye is now installed King of Lagos. He professes great friendship for the English, as well as for the people of Abeokuta. If he proves the stern enemy of the slave-trade and the true friend of Christianity, we shall not have fought in vain.”

On searching for the Spanish and Portuguese slave-dealers, by whom the Lagos people had been trained to arms, none were to be found. They had fled, and as their property was completely destroyed, they have never since returned. The midshipmen heard that their old acquaintance Don Diogo was one of those who had establishments there, but they could not hear anything of him, nor what had become of the felucca, on board of which he was last seen. One thing was very certain, that his love for the English generally, or for them in particular, could not have been increased when he found that all his property in Lagos had been destroyed. The squadron at length once more put to sea, and Lagos has ever since virtually been under the jurisdiction of the British Government, who retain it for the purpose of keeping in check the traffic in slaves.

The frigate had been some weeks at sea before she at length fell in with the Archer, which Murray had then to rejoin. All three of the midshipmen were beginning to look forward to the time when they might hope once more to return to England. Still they were perfectly content, till the time arrived, steadily to go on in the performance of their duty.

When Murray left the frigate he took with him his two parrots, Polly and Nelly, but Queerface remained, and Adair declared that under his judicious system of education he had become one of the most learned and sagacious of monkeys. He said that it reminded him very much of Don Diogo, and so he and Jack amused themselves by rigging him out in a dress similar to that in which they had seen the old Don appear. The imitation was so good that the moment Queerface sprang up on deck the likeness was recognised by all who saw him. When Adair went away in boats he usually took Queerface with him to afford amusement to his men. The frigate had been for some time cruising on to the southward, without meeting with any success, when, there being every appearance of calm weather, Captain Lascelles ordered away two of the boats to cruise in search of slavers, one to the northward and the other to the southward. Jack, to his great satisfaction, got command of the pinnace, and Adair, who would otherwise have remained on board, volunteered to accompany him with Queerface, to make sport for the crew. Dick Needham was also of the party. Away they pulled to the northward, and before sunset they were out of sight of the ship.

“We must have a prize somehow or other,” cried Adair; “it will never do to return without one.”

“Just such a one as you and I took in the Mediterranean when we first went to sea,” said Jack, laughing. “However, we’ll do our best: what do you say to it, Master Queerface?” There sat the monkey in the stern-sheets, dressed in a broad-brimmed straw hat, nankeen trousers, a light blue jacket, and a red neckcloth, just as Don Diogo had appeared when Jack had last seen him. Queerface seemed in no way to disapprove of the hat and jacket, but his lower garments at times somewhat puzzled him; however, he altogether behaved himself very well. There was so little wind that Jack did not even step his masts. He thus hoped to get close to any slaver, should he see one, without being discovered. He had his trusty rifle ready, and from frequently practising he was even a better shot than before. Adair had picked up a very fair rifle at Sierra Leone, but he could not pretend to equal Jack as a shot. They both well knew that they could not hope to take a prize without exerting themselves, and they were, therefore, constantly standing up and looking about on all sides in search of a sail. They were off a part of the coast whence numerous cargoes of slaves were still embarked. A short time before sunset they made the land. Soon after this, as Jack was standing up on the stern-sheets, his eye fell on a white spark glistening brightly in the oblique rays of the departing luminary. He brought his glass to bear on the subject. Adair took a look at it, and so did Needham. They all agreed that the sail in sight was a square topsail schooner standing off the land.

“Then she must pass close to us,” cried Jack. “We’ll be on the watch for her.”

Another look they all took before the sun sank below the horizon confirmed them in this opinion. The last few hours of daylight were spent by the crew in examining their pistols, in seeing that their cutlasses were ready at hand, and everything prepared for boarding at a moment’s notice. All hands then turned to and had a good supper, after which, as they said, they were up to anything.

The boat floated quietly on the almost calm waters, for though the men lay on their oars, they did not pull a stroke. Not a word was spoken above the lowest whisper. There were sounds, for the ocean itself is never, even in a calm, altogether silent. Ever and anon there was a splash, sometimes caused by the boat as the smooth undulations rose up as it seemed from the depths below, and made her roll lazily for an instant from side to side, or some fish rose to the surface with wide-open mouths, or leaped up into the air, or one of the monsters of the unfathomed waters came to have a gaze at the strange thing which floated over their liquid home. A slight mist came over the land with the night air, damp and unwholesome enough, but Jack and Terence little regarded that point, as it contributed much to conceal the boat from the approaching stranger, though they had little doubt that her more lofty sails would easily be seen above it. Time passed on. They calculated that the schooner must be drawing near them.

Once more Jack stood up. “There she is,” he whispered, as he sank into his seat. “Away to the northward. Out oars, lads, as gently as possible. In ten minutes we shall be alongside of her.” The oars had been muffled, and with the long, steady strokes made by the men, scarcely a splash was heard. They might well hope to be up to the stranger without being discovered. On glided the boat. It was an exciting moment. The sails of a large topsail schooner rose up out of the mist before them.

Jack and Adair thought they saw a little beyond her the pointed tops of another craft slowly moving over the bank of fog. If they should both prove enemies there would be fearful odds against them. They numbered only eleven people in all—eight pulling, Needham, and themselves. Still they did not hesitate.

“We’ll take one, and then be ready for the other,” whispered Jack.

Adair nodded his assent. Still discretion might have been the best part of valour in this case.

“That further craft is a felucca,” again whispered Jack. “I can see the tops of her lateen sails above the mist. Perhaps she’s the old Don’s craft. Never mind, we’ll be ready for him.”

In two minutes more they were close up to the schooner. No notice had hitherto been taken of them by those on board. They flattered themselves that they were not perceived. They dashed alongside.

“Who are you? who are you?” said a fierce voice in Spanish. “Speak, speak, who are you?”

“A boat of her Britannic Majesty’s ship Ranger,” answered Jack, who understood what was said. “Heave-to, I want to come on board you.” He said this as the boat was hooking on, and he and Terence, followed by their men, were about to spring on deck, when again the same person who had before hailed, sang out, “Heave, heave, sink the boat and the scoundrel heretics. Have no mercy on them.”

At that instant down came half a dozen round shots into the bottom of the boat, rattling through the planks, while pistols were fired in their faces, and pikes were thrust at them, and swords flourished above their heads. They were prepared for opposition, so, in spite of this, cutlass in hand, they sprang up the side of the vessel without much difficulty, as her bulwarks were low, and attacked their assailants. Jack had time to seize his rifle, for he saw the water rushing into his boat, and he felt that she was sinking under their feet. Followed by Queerface, who, through fright, chattered away louder than ever, the English seamen gained the deck of the slaver. Such undoubtedly she was, if not worse. Jack saw that they had nearly taken her by surprise, for but few men were at that moment on deck; but others, some only half dressed, were rushing out of both the fore and after cabins. The first who had received them made so bold a stand that time was allowed for the whole of the Spanish crew to assemble. They far outnumbered the English. Still the gallant young midshipmen and their followers fought on undaunted. Suddenly Queerface, who had hitherto kept behind the rest, jumped up into the rigging and looked over them.

“Don Diogo! Don Diogo!” cried several of the slaver’s crew; “how comes he to be with these men? There must be some mistake.”

“Quacko—Quacko—Quacko,” cried Queerface, and scud up the rigging out of harm’s way.

The Spaniards could not make it out. The delay, however, was an advantage to the English, as it enabled them to cast their eyes around and see the state of affairs. The greater number of their enemies were forward, so Jack and most of his party sprang on in that direction, hoping to dispose of them first. The fellows stood their ground, firing their pistols and flourishing their swords, and two of the English were shot, and Jack got an ugly cut across his shoulder. Still he pressed on, and compelled at length the Spaniards to take refuge in their cabin under the topgallant forecastle. Meantime Terence was keeping the slaver’s captain and officers in check, but he had lost a man, who was struck to the deck, and Needham too was wounded. Matters were going very hard with Jack and his followers. Still ten British seamen might well have hoped to conquer the whole of a slaver’s crew. The fight had now become desperate. The Spanish captain had probably all his fortune embarked in the venture, Jack and his party had to struggle for life and liberty. Again and again they made desperate rushes at the afterpart of the vessel, and at length they pushed the Spaniards so hard that they almost drove them overboard, when two sails were seen emerging from out of the fog and gliding up alongside. In another instant, not Queerface, but the veritable Don Diogo himself was seen to spring on board, followed by a dozen or more villainous-looking ruffians.

“What’s all this? what’s all this?” his harsh croaking voice was heard shouting in Spanish. “Down with the English pirates, down with them!”

Hearing the cry, the Spaniards, who had taken refuge forward, rushed out again, and though Jack called to Terence to fight to the last, and that they would sell their lives dearly, they found themselves literally borne down by numbers, and their cutlasses whirled out of their hands.

“We have done our best, Paddy, we can do no more,” exclaimed Jack, as he and Terence found themselves standing side by side, with their hands secured and lashed to the mainmast. Needham and the rest of the people who were able to move were treated in the same way.

“Why, my friend, you were very nearly captured by these picaroons,” they heard Don Diogo remark to the other Spanish captain. “But where is a lantern?—let me see whom we have caught.”

The lantern was brought, and the Don came round and held it up to their faces.

“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed, with a most sardonic grin. “Your obedient humble servant, gentlemen. I told you we should meet again, and we have met. What do you expect after all the tricks you have played me?”

Neither Jack nor Terence deigned a reply.

“Ah, speak, pirates,” he exclaimed, stamping furiously on the deck; “the yard-arm, a sharp knife, or a walk on the plank? Whichever you like. I grant you your choice.”

Still neither of the midshipmen would reply. What was the use of so doing?

“We must kill every one of them,” exclaimed the Don, speaking in Spanish, turning to the other captain. “I have a long account to settle with these English generally, and these lads especially. They have been the cause of nearly all my losses. They cannot repay me, but I can take my revenge, and that is something.”

“Certainly, certainly, my friend,” answered the other: “you can hang, or drown, or shoot them, as you think fit. It is a matter of perfect indifference to me.”

These were the last words poor Jack heard as the two worthies entered the cabin.

“We are in a bad case, Jack, I am afraid,” said Adair, “though I could not exactly make out what the fellows said.”

“It was not pleasant,” answered Jack, briefly. “Terence, have you ever thought of dying?”

“Yes, I have; that is to say, I have known that I was running many a chance of being knocked on the head or finished in some way or other,” answered Adair, with some little hesitation.

“Then, Terence, my dear fellow, let us look at it as an awful reality, which is about speedily to overtake us,” said Jack solemnly. “These fellows threaten to at once take our lives; depend on it, they will put their threats into execution.”

“It is hard to bear, Jack dear,” replied Adair; “I am so sorry for you and for all your brothers and sisters at home. I don’t think mine care much for me; that’s one comfort. But I say, I wish that the blackguards would let us have our arms free, that we might still have a fight for our lives.”

“Don’t speak thus, Terence,” said Jack, who was almost overcome by Adair’s allusion to his family. “Don’t let us think of the past, but keep our thoughts fixed on the future world we are about to enter, and think how very unfit we are of ourselves for the glorious place we would wish to go to.”

Terence listened, and responded in the same tone to his messmate. Much more they said to the same effect, nor did they forget to offer up their prayers for preservation from the terrible danger which threatened them. Then, with the calmness of Christians and brave men, they awaited the doom they believed prepared for them. Such consolation as they could give also they offered to the survivors of their crew. Two poor fellows had been killed outright; another was bleeding to death on the deck, nor would the brutal Spaniards offer him the slightest assistance, while they prevented his shipmates from giving it him. Jack himself was suffering also much pain from his wound, while he felt so faint from loss of blood that he could scarcely support himself. He had told Needham that the Spaniards threatened to kill them all.

“Well, sir, they may do it if they dare, but they will be sure to be caught some day or other,” answered Needham. “I wouldn’t change places with them. We shall die having done our duty; they will be hung up like dogs. If I knew their lingo I would tell them so.”

The English were not long left in quiet. So many of the Spaniards had been wounded that some time was spent by them in bandaging up their hurts, and as soon as this was done they came on deck eager to wreak their vengeance on their captive foes. They now came about them with their long knives, flourishing them before their eyes, and pretending to stab at them. Some indeed, more brutal than the rest, actually stuck their knives into their flesh, but though blood was drawn, the seamen generally disdained even to utter a word, though one or two said, “I’ll tell you what, you villains, if I can get my fists at liberty, I’ll give it you.” At length Don Diogo and the captain of the schooner came out from the cabin. They had apparently made up their minds what to do. The latter gave orders to reeve ropes to each yard-arm, while planks were got up and placed over the sides, secured on board by lanyards. On these being cut, of course the end of the plank overboard would instantly sink down and let the person standing on it into the water. Don Diogo had, it seemed, taken upon himself the direction of the executions. Jack and Adair had supposed that the Spaniards would wait till the morning to kill them, but the little Don evidently had no wish to delay his vengeance.

“Cast the prisoners loose, and bring them aft,” he cried out. “Now, you scoundrel heretics, what have you got to say for yourselves? Nothing? I thought so. Well, I will be merciful. You shall choose the mode of your death. What shall it be—will you be hung or walk the plank? There are plenty of sharks alongside who will be happy to entomb you either way.”

No one replied to this address.

“Speak, you heretics,” he cried, stamping with rage.

The two midshipmen cast their eyes about them to assure themselves that what was taking place was a reality; the whole scene appeared so like some horrid dream that they could scarcely believe it true. As they looked up they discovered that a strong breeze had sprung up, and that the vessel was moving rapidly through the water. The deck was crowded with seamen, many of whom held lanterns, so that the whole ship was lighted.

“It is time to begin,” cried the Don. “Come, as you will not choose for yourselves, I must choose for you. Here, seize that lad and run him up to the mainyard-arm.”

He pointed at Adair. Several of the ruffian crew rushed forward and seized poor Terence, and dragged him up to the rope which hung from the yard-arm. They were about to take hold of it to adjust it round Adair’s neck, when down by it came gliding an apparition which, in the uncertain light cast by the lanterns aloft, looked so like old Don Diogo himself, that the superstitious Spaniards, believing that it was his wraith or ghost, let go the rope and sprang back to the other side of the vessel. The old Don was not less astonished than the rest, but not exactly recognising himself, it occurred to him that some spirit of evil had come on board to watch his proceedings. Queerface, meantime, for the apparition was no other than him, seeing the confusion he had created, shinned up the rope again, and on reaching the yard-arm, finding it slack, hauled it up after him, and there he sat chattering away and wondering what the strangers were going to do to his master. The wicked old Don, though astonished at first, was not altogether overcome, and soon recovering himself, began to get an idea of the true state of the case. Once more he ordered the crew to go on with their cruel work, but no one would venture aloft to overhaul the whip, and Queerface showed no disposition to help them. The Don began to swear and stamp with rage, calling them all by certain uncomplimentary epithets, in which the Spanish language is so rich. The crew swore and abused him in return. In the midst of the confusion a voice hailed them through a speaking-trumpet.

“What schooner is that? Heave-to, or I will fire into you.”

“We are in the hands of a set of bloody pirates. I’m Jack Rogers,” sang out Jack, at the top of his voice. Never had he sung out louder.

“Take that for speaking,” exclaimed the little Don, levelling a pistol at his head. He pulled the trigger. It missed fire, and before he could again cock the lock, Needham, who had been working his hands free, sprang aft, and with a blow of his fist levelled him with the deck. It was the signal for the Spaniards to set upon them, and they would all have been cut down, but the next instant a loud crash was heard, and the dark hull of a man-of-war brig, with her taunt masts and wide spread of canvas, was seen ranging up alongside. The next instant twenty or more stout English seamen, led by Alick Murray, came pouring down on the slaver’s deck. The brig which had thus providentially fallen in with them was the Archer. She was on her passage to the northward with despatches for Captain Lascelles, recalling him and his frigate homewards. The news was received by all hands with unmitigated joy. The tables on board the schooner were quickly turned. The Spaniards were all handcuffed, and a strict guard set over them. The midshipmen and their followers went on board the brig, where they were cordially welcomed, and their wounds looked to. The felucca escaped, but as she was never again heard of, it was supposed that she was lost in a fierce gale which occurred two days afterwards. The schooner was found to be full of slaves, and proved a rich prize. Don Diogo escaped hanging, but was reduced to abject beggary, for he had not even the means of leaving Sierra Leone, and very soon afterwards was found dead on the beach. This was the last adventure either of the three midshipmen met with on the coast of Africa. They were all three pretty well tired of it, and delighted indeed were they when they once more found themselves in sight of Old England. The frigate and brig were paid off about the same time, and Alick and Terence accompanied Jack to that often-talked-of and well-loved home of his in Northamptonshire. It must not be forgotten that they had in their train the most sensible of travelled apes. Master Queerface, who, by his amusing antics and performances, and extraordinary monkeyish sagacity, gained the admiration of the whole surrounding neighbourhood. There they remained for some weeks, when, after Alick and Terence had paid a short visit to their own friends, they were all once more summoned afloat.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Bound for China.

Her Majesty’s frigate Dugong was fitting with all despatch for sea at Portsmouth; so was her Majesty’s brig-of-war Blenny, just commissioned by Commander Hemming, well-known, as the papers stated, for his gallantry on the coast of Africa, and on every occasion when he had an opportunity of displaying it. The papers spoke truly, and well had our old friend won his present rank. Both the frigate and the brig were destined, it was supposed, for the China seas; but this was not known to a certainty. The Dugong had been commissioned by Captain Grant, Alick Murray’s old commander in the Archer, who had some short time before received his post rank. Captain Lascelles, with whom the three midshipmen first went to sea, commanded at this time a line-of-battle ship on the Indian station.

Who has not heard of the Blue Posts at Portsmouth, to be found not far from the landing-place known as the Point, now sadly encroached on by new batteries and a broad wooden pier?

One afternoon, at the time of which I am speaking, a cab stopped at the door of that well-known inn, with a portmanteau outside, and a cocked-hat case, a sword, a gun-case, and several other articles, including a young naval officer inside. He nodded smilingly to the waiter and boots, who came to get out his things, as to old acquaintances, and then, having paid the cabman, entered the inn. No sooner had he put his head into the coffee-room, than another young officer, in the uniform of a mate or passed midshipman, jumped up, and, seizing him by the hand, exclaimed—

“I am delighted to see you, my dear Jack. You’ve come to join the Dugong, I hope.”

“If you belong to her, Adair, I wish I was,” answered Jack Rogers, for he was the new-comer. “But I am not. The fact is, Hemming has got command of the Blenny, and I applied and got appointed to her. It can’t be helped now. Any news of Murray? He wrote me word, some little time ago, that he expected to get appointed to a ship. I wish that I could have had him with me; but we three have been on the same station, and mostly together all our lives, and we can scarcely expect the same good fortune to continue.”

“We tried to keep together, and we succeeded,” answered Adair. “There’s nothing like trying, in my opinion.”

“You are right there, old fellow; there isn’t a doubt of it,” exclaimed Jack Rogers, who had been a little out of spirits, and inclined to take a somewhat gloomy view of affairs in general.

No wonder, for he had just left as happy a home as any to be found in Old England. It was a cold March day too, and he was chilled with his journey. He took off his great coat, which, with his other things, Boots carried to his room, and then the two old messmates sat down before the fire. They had been talking on for some time while their dinner was getting ready, when Adair observed a young man sitting at a table a little way off, narrowly observing them. Terence looked at him in return.

“Do you know, Jack, I do verily believe that there sits no other than Bully Pigeon,” he whispered. “What can he be doing down here?”

The stranger, seeing them looking at him, got up, and approaching them with his hand extended, said—

“What, do I see some old friends? Rogers! Adair! Very glad to see you. How de do? How de do? You remember me, surely. I’m Pigeon.”

Thus addressed, it would not have been in the nature of either of the two midshipmen to have refused to shake hands with their old schoolfellow, bully though he had been. They invited him to join them; and when they had dined they all three sat over their wine together, talking merrily of former days.

“I’m going out to China in the diplomatic line,” observed Pigeon, in his old tone. “I have a notion that I shall be able to manage the Celestials. There are few people who can deceive me.”

These, and a few other similar remarks, showed that Pigeon in one respect was little changed from what he had been in his early days. When or how he was going out to China he did not say.

They had been chatting away for some time when another cab rattled up to the inn, and presently at the door of the coffee-room who should appear, to the delight of Rogers and Adair, but Murray himself. They dragged him into the room, each eager to know what ship he was come to join. Paddy gave a shout of delight when he heard that he was appointed to the Dugong. He told them besides that she was certainly under orders for China, to sail as soon as ready for sea, and that the Blenny was also to be sent there.

The old schoolfellows, as may be supposed, passed a very pleasant evening, their pleasure being heightened with the anticipation of being together in whatever work they might be engaged. Even Bully Pigeon was sufferable (as Paddy observed), if he was not altogether agreeable. He had a number of strange adventures to narrate, of which he was the hero. Although his accounts were not implicitly believed, it was agreed that, at all events, they were possible, which was somewhat in his favour.

Two weeks after this, her Majesty’s ships Dugong and Blenny were gliding under all sail across the Bay of Biscay.

“The frigate looks something like a dowager with her small daughter following in her wake, sir,” observed Jack, glancing his eye from the brig to her big consort, as he walked the deck with his captain.

“We must try and make the little daughter win a name for herself out among the Celestials,” said Captain Hemming in return.

“That we will, sir, if we get the chance,” answered Jack.

“Ay, Rogers, but we must make the chance,” remarked his captain with emphasis.

“So we will, sir,” said Jack warmly. “There is not a man on board who’ll not be glad of it.”

Captain Hemming had a sincere regard and respect for Jack, as Jack had for him. They had both seen each other well tried and never found wanting, and they could thus converse frankly and without reserve. Neither Hemming nor Jack were people to talk without fully intending to perform. Indeed, those who knew them felt sure that when dash or cool courage, or perseverance and intelligence, were especially required, they would show that they possessed them all. Jack liked his ship and most of his brother officers, as well as his captain, and was a general favourite with them. He had brought two companions, Adair’s old African follower, Queerface, which he had given to Jack; and a fine Newfoundland dog, Sancho by name. Jack had intended leaving Queerface at home, as Paddy remarked, to remind his brothers and sisters of him. The compliment was somewhat doubtful. But the monkey had played so many curious tricks, and had committed so much mischief, that no one would undertake the charge of him; and therefore, like a bad boy, he was sent off to sea again in disgrace. As was natural, Sancho and Queerface became very intimate, though not at the same time perfectly friendly. Each, it appeared, was striving for the mastery. Queerface, monkey though he was, gained the day; and one of his great amusements was to mount Sancho’s back, and to make him run round and round the deck with him, whipping him on and chattering away all the time most vociferously, to the great amusement of the seamen, if not always to that of the first lieutenant.

Jack had another charge to look after, a young midshipman, Harry Bevan by name, who had been especially committed to his charge. The little fellow had been a petted somewhat spoilt child, an only son, yet go to sea he would; and his parents never had refused him anything, so they let him have his will, though it almost broke their hearts. Jack promised to take the best care of him he could. Harry was not exactly a pickle, but he had very little notion of taking care of himself; so Jack had quite enough to do to look after him, in addition to Queerface and Sancho. Harry and Sancho were very great friends, but Queerface evidently looked upon him as a rival in his master’s affections, and bore him no good-will. This feeling of the monkey was increased by the tricks which the young midshipman played him whenever he had the opportunity. At last he was never able to approach Queerface without a rope in his hand, which he held behind his back, or doubled up in his pocket. The monkey, in the most sagacious way, would skip about till he had ascertained whether the weapon was there or not. If it was there, as soon as he caught sight of it, he would spring up into the rigging and sit on a ratline, as quiet and demure as a judge, without attempting to retaliate.

On board the frigate there was little to interrupt the usual routine. Murray had carried one of his parrots with him, and the sagacious bird afforded almost as much amusement as did Bully Pigeon, who soon showed that he was very little altered from what he had been in his youth. He could not bully, but he could give abundant evidence of being still an arrant donkey. Pigeon now called himself a philosopher, and used to be very fond of broaching his philosophical principles, as he denominated his nonsense. One day, when dining in the gun-room, he began as usual. As he drank his wine he grew bolder and bolder in his assertions. At last he declared that he did not believe that there was a place of punishment after death. He had taken it into his head that the surgeon would side with him.

“I’m sure, doctor, a sensible man like you will not assert that such is a fact?” he continued. “What use would there be in it?”

“I’ll tell you what, ma laddie, there’s one vary good use it will be put to, and that will be to stow away all such vicious, ignorant donkeys as you are,” answered the doctor with great emphasis and deliberation.

Pigeon was no way disconcerted at this somewhat powerful rebuke, but continued as before. Indeed, nothing is so difficult as to make a conceited fool cease from talking folly. At last the first lieutenant struck his fist on the table with a force which made all the glasses ring, as he exclaimed—

“I’ll tell you what, Mr Pigeon. This ship belongs to a Christian Queen, and while I’m the senior officer present I’ll not allow you to sneer against religion, or a word to be spoken which her gracious Majesty would not approve of. Now, sir, hold your tongue, or I’ll report your conduct, and have you put under arrest.”

The diplomatist, though looking very silly, began again, but another loud rap on the table silenced him. It did not, however, silence Murray’s parrot, who had found its way, as it often did, into the cabin, and the moment the voices ceased Polly set up such a roar of laughter, that Pigeon fancied that she was laughing at him. The silly fellow’s rage knew no bounds. There was, however, nothing else on which he dared to vent it, except on the loquacious bird. A bottle of port wine stood near. He seized it by the neck to throw it at Polly, who, unconscious of the coming storm, only chattered the louder. The stopper was out. As he lifted it above his head, a copious shower of the ruddy juice descended over his white shirt and waistcoat, and head and face, so blinding him that he missed his aim, but broke the bottle, while Polly gave way to louder laughter than ever, in which everybody most vociferously joined. The wretched Pigeon had to make his escape to his cabin to change his dress, nor did he venture out again for the rest of the day, some of the time being passed in listening to the not very complimentary remarks made upon him and his so-called philosophy. If anything would have cured him of his folly, that might have done so. He had some glimmering suspicion that he was wrong, but he had no hearty desire to be right, and when that is the case a man is certainly in a bad way.

Day after day the two ships sailed on in sight of each other. The brig was very fast, and, though so much smaller, could outsail the frigate, which was not remarkable for speed. Frequently, when they were together, Polly used to take a flight, to pay her old friend Queerface a visit, and he always seemed delighted to see her. He exhibited his pleasure by all sorts of antics, though he could not express what he felt so fluently with his tongue as she did. At length the Cape of Good Hope was doubled without the Flying Dutchman having been seen, though the philosopher Pigeon kept a bright lookout for him. One night he declared that he saw the phantom bark sailing right up in the wind’s eye, but it was found to be only the Blenny following the frigate under easy sail with a fair wind astern. Pont de Galle, in the island of Ceylon, celebrated for the rich spices it exported, and supposed to be one of the most ancient emporiums of commerce, was visited, and at last the most modern and yet the largest emporium in the Indian seas, Singapore, was reached. This wonderful city, which was founded as late as 1824 by Sir Stamford Raffles, on a spot where, though formerly the site of a Malay capital, at that time but a few huts stood, is now the most wealthy and flourishing on the shores of those eastern seas. Here vessels bring produce and manufactures from all parts of the world, again to be distributed among all the neighbouring countries. There are no duties levied of any sort or description, so that people of all nations are encouraged to come there with their goods. The Chinese especially flock to the port, and great numbers are settled in the city and throughout the island, largely contributing by their persevering industry to its prosperity. Who does not know the look of a Chinese, with his piggish eyes, thatched-like hat, yellow-brown skin, black tail, and wide short trousers? The streets swarmed with them, ever busy, ever toiling to collect dollars, the most industrious people under the sun—yet the least lovable or attractive. Their houses may be known by the red lintels of the door-posts covered with curious characters and designs; while at night the persevering people may be seen still working away by the light of huge paper lanterns covered with the strangest of devices. The whole island is not larger than the Isle of Wight, but already there are a hundred thousand people living on it, collected from all quarters of the globe. There are numerous very handsome houses in the town, mostly roofed with red-brick tiles, while the higher spots in the neighbourhood are chiefly occupied by the villas of the European merchants and other principal residents. Such was the place before which her Majesty’s ships Dugong and Blenny brought up, outside a fleet of strange-looking junks, with flags of all colours, devices, and shapes flying at their mast-heads, while in different part of the extensive roads were ships belonging to nearly all the countries in the world, English, American, and Dutch, however, predominating.

Although just then the British and Chinese empires were linked in the bonds of peace, the ships of war of the former had plenty to do in keeping in order the numerous hordes of pirates which infested those seas, and considerably impeded her commerce, plundering her merchantmen, and cutting the throats of the crews whenever opportunity offered.

The frigate and brig had been at Singapore but a few days when an open boat under sail was seen entering the harbour. She stood for the Blenny, which was the outer vessel. Jack Rogers, who was doing duty as officer of the watch, hailed her to know what she wanted. A glance at the condition of her crew told him more than any words could have done. Their faces were wan and bloodless, their dresses torn, and several had their heads and limbs bound up. One man sat at the helm, and another forward to manage the sail; the rest lay along the thwarts or at the bottom of the boat, apparently more dead than alive. The boat came alongside, but no one in her had strength left to climb on board. Even the man at the helm sank back exhausted as she was made fast. Jack ordered some slings to be got ready to hoist them up, and then, taking some brandy and water in a bottle, he leaped down into the boat to administer it to the poor people. His restorative was only just in time, for many of them were already almost dead. The surgeon and most of the officers of the brig were on shore. Jack, therefore, signalled to the frigate to send a doctor forthwith. Doctor McCan, who had been appointed to the frigate, accompanied by Murray, soon came on board, and every possible assistance was given to the famished strangers. After some time the man who had steered the boat recovered. He said that he was mate of a ship bound from China to the Australian colonies, and that when she was about three hundred miles distant from Singapore, she had been attacked by a fleet of piratical Illanoon prahus, and her captain and crew had resisted to the utmost, but she was reduced almost to a wreck, and at night by some accident caught fire. The first mate was the only surviving officer; the captain and the rest, with many of the crew, had been killed by the pirates. During the darkness the survivors made their escape unpursued, though they could see the prahus approaching the burning wreck soon after they had left her.

As soon as this information was conveyed on shore, the frigate and brig were ordered to proceed to sea in search of the pirate fleet. No one was sorry to have work to do, though small amount of glory was to be obtained in pirate hunting.

“It’s our duty, at all events, and that is one comfort,” observed Jack to Adair, who had been lent to the brig in consequence of the illness of her second lieutenant. Thus two of the old schoolfellows were together.

The squadron, sailing to the northward, cruised in every direction where they were likely to fall in with the piratical fleets; but though many traces of them were discovered in ruined villages and stranded vessels, the crews of which had been murdered or carried off into slavery, the pirates themselves were nowhere to be seen. At last it occurred to Captain Grant that in all probability the pirates were receiving constant information of their movements, and had thus managed to elude them. He therefore determined to fit out three boats, which would, by being able to steal along shore, and pull head to wind, be more likely to come on the pirates unawares.

No sooner was the thought conceived than it was put into execution. Each boat was fitted with a long gun on the bows, besides swivels at the sides for closer quarters, and manned with twelve hands armed to the teeth, besides officers; and in the larger boats two or three extra men. Rogers and Adair got charge of two of the boats. Murray would gladly have gone in the third with Mr Cherry, the second lieutenant of the frigate, who had command of the expedition, but two midshipmen had already been directed to get ready to go in her, and he did not like to deprive either of them of the pleasure they anticipated. The boats did not leave the ships till some two or three hours after dark, that none of the friends of the pirates might discover what had occurred.

No one expected anything but amusement from the expedition. Nat Cherry, their leader, was one of the most good-natured, jolly fellows in the navy, and seldom failed to make everybody under him happy. They could not bring themselves to believe that a whole fleet of pirate prahus would ever wait their attack for a moment, they felt almost sure that directly they appeared the enemy would attempt to escape. Just as Jack was shoving off from the brig, Queerface, who had been watching his opportunity, made a spring into the boat, and there was instantly a loud cry from all on board her, that he might be allowed to remain.

“Oh, he’s such a divertin’ rogue, he’ll keep every mother’s son of us as merry as crickets,” sang out an Irish topman, whose own humour generally proved a source of amusement to all with him.

The request was granted, and Queerface seemed to enjoy the prospect of the trip as much as his companions. Away pulled the squadron of boats. When daylight dawned they were coasting along the shore of an island fringed with cocoa-nut trees, and hills rising in the centre. There were numerous deep indentations, bays, and gulfs, with bluff cliffs here here there, and high rocks scattered about, capital spots in which whole fleets of prahus might lie hid without much chance of being discovered. The weather was very hot, as it is apt to be within a few miles of the equator; and when there was no wind, and the sea shone like a burnished mirror, the sun came down with very considerable force on the top of the heads of the party in the boats. Still their spirits did not flag. Jack and Adair, indeed, had been pretty well seasoned to the heat of the coast of Africa, where, if not greater, it was often far less supportable.

Mr Cherry led: Jack and Terence followed side by side. A constant fire of jokes was kept up between the two boats. Queerface evidently thought that there was something in the wind, and kept jumping about with unusual activity, keeping apparently as bright a lookout as anybody on board. Not an inlet was passed unexplored, still not a sign of the pirates could they discover. On going up one small but deepish river, they came, close to the banks, on a native village. The inhabitants must have taken to flight on their approach, for not a human being was to be seen.

“That looks suspicious,” exclaimed Adair. “We ought to burn this village to teach them better manners.”

Mr Cherry fortunately had no such intention. He had an idea that burning people’s houses was not the best way of making friends of them.

“Indeed, it would be a pity to have to destroy so picturesque a place,” observed Jack Rogers.

The houses were mostly separate, built on piles four or five feet above the ground. They were of one storey, with a deep verandah or gallery running round them, a ladder leading up to it. The roofs, which were high and pointed with deep eaves, were covered with a thick coating of palm-leaves, and so were the walls, while the floors were made of bamboo cut in strips and placed nearly an inch apart, being covered with a thick, beautifully woven mat. They appeared strong, but very springy, so much so, that when Adair began to dance a polka on one of them, he very nearly bounded up to the roof. The village was surrounded and interspersed with cocoa-nut and other palm-trees, and with bananas, whose dark-green foliage gave effect to lighter tints of the forest. The thick jungle pressed hard on every side, leaving space only here and there for some small fields and gardens. Mr Cherry would not allow the slightest injury to be done to the houses; for though it was suspected that they belonged to the pirates, no traces of booty were to be discovered.

After spending some time in examining the locality, they were about to embark, when a dark visage was seen peering out at them from among the trees. Instead of making chase to catch him, Mr Cherry stood still and beckoned to him. This gave the native courage, who, seeing also that no injury had been done to the village, after a little hesitation advanced. One of Jack’s crew was a Malay, who could speak not only his own language, but that of many of the surrounding tribes. He had no difficulty in entering into conversation with the native, who asserted that his people had taken the British for pirates, and had run away in consequence. To prove his sincerity, he offered to pilot the boats to the chief haunts of the pirates. As there was no reason to doubt him, his offer was accepted. He merely requested time to equip himself for the expedition. He entered one of the houses, and soon returned with a couple of creeses stuck in his sash, and a sword by his side, and the whole party, embarking once more, proceeded on their voyage. Their volunteer pilot was a merry, talkative fellow. What his real name was it was difficult to make out exactly, so Jack gave him that of Hoddidoddi, which it sounded very like, and he at once readily answered to it.

All that day they sailed on without seeing anything of the pirates. They began to last to fancy that Hoddidoddi was deceiving them; but he entreated them not to despair, and promised, by noon the next day at farthest, to bring them in sight of the marauders. They brought up at night in a sheltered bay, where the water was as smooth as a mill-pond. Jack and Adair grew very sentimental as they leaned back in the stern-sheets of Mr Cherry’s boat, where all the officers had collected to smoke their cigars, and looked up into the dark sky, sprinkled with stars innumerable. What they said need not be repeated.

“Come, lads, dismount from your Pegasus, and turn in and get a little sleep,” cried their commanding officer; “we’ve a hard day’s work before us to-morrow, I suspect.”

This warning brought their thoughts back to the business in which they were engaged, and, returning to their respective boats, those not on watch were very quickly wrapped in what, as Paddy said, “might have been ‘soft repose,’ if it wasn’t that the planks were so mighty hard.” They were awoke before dawn by a summons from Hoddidoddi, who declared that there was sufficient light for him to pilot them, if they wished to proceed. The anchors were at once got up, and they pulled away along shore.

By daylight they came to a broad channel some miles wide. Their pilot averred that they should find the pirate fleet across it. Away they dashed. A thin silvery mist hung over the ocean; sufficient, however, to conceal them from any one on the lookout on the opposite shore. Only here and there, as they approached, a few palm-trees, rearing their heads above the mist, showed where the shore itself was.

“If the pirates only happen to be there, we shall catch them to a certainty,” shouted Paddy to Jack, as they pulled rapidly on.

Soon all were ordered to keep silence, and Hoddidoddi was seen to be indulging in a variety of curious and somewhat violent gesticulations. Just then appeared the masts and yards of a whole fleet of Illanoon prahus. There could be no doubt that they were the pirates. Mr Cherry had no necessity to order his followers to give way. The seamen laid their backs to the oars, and made the boats fly hissing through the water. They thought that they should take the enemy by surprise; but the sound of tom-toms beating, pistols being fired, and loud shouts showed them that the pirates were not asleep, and that they themselves had been heard, if not seen. Just then a puff of wind blew aside the mist, and exhibited some twenty prahus or more drawn up in order of battle, and ready to receive them. A larger body than they were might have hesitated about attacking; still it did not enter the head of their gallant leader that it would be possible to retreat. He ordered Jack to attack on one wing and Adair on the other, while he pulled for the centre of the fleet, firing his long gun as he did so. The pirates were evidently astonished at this bold proceeding, and at the way the shots pitched into them. Probably they thought that the boats they saw were only the advanced guard, and that a much stronger force was following. First one and then another cut their cables, and, getting out their long sweeps, pulled away on either hand. Some four or five stood to the southward, and Jack in hot haste followed them. Adair pursued nearly the same number round the north end of the island, while the main body, with whom Mr Cherry was engaged, showed a disposition to run up a narrow inlet or channel, which appeared astern of them. Jack cheered on his men, and they, nothing loth, gave way with a will. Still the pirates showed that they possessed very fast heels, besides which they could kick, as the British found to their cost, and several shots from their stern guns struck the boat as she got nearer to them. A groan burst from the lips of one of the seamen. He pulled on; but Jack saw his hands suddenly let go his oar, and down he sank. Directly afterwards another poor fellow was hit. This loss considerably lessened the speed of the boat; some little time also was occupied in placing the wounded men in the stern-sheets, and in looking to their wounds.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Hot Fighting.

With Jack Rogers had come little Harry Bevan; Jack, not believing that there would be any fighting, had got leave to bring his young charge with him. As the shot were flying thickly about, how gladly would he have shielded the young lad with his own body. He wished that he could have ventured to stow him down at the bottom of the boat, out of harm’s way; but he knew well enough that Harry would not have remained there a minute had he done so. Not a thought that he himself might be hit crossed Jack’s mind. His whole anxiety was for the young boy. Harry, however, seemed unconscious of danger. He was leaning over one of the wounded men, assisting to bind up his arm, when Jack saw his hand drop powerless by his side, while he fell forward. Jack caught him in time. “What is the matter, Harry?” he exclaimed. “Are you hurt, lad?”

“A strange pain about my shoulder and arm and neck,” he answered faintly. “Oh, I am very sick, Rogers, very sick.” Jack saw that the boy’s jacket was torn. He cut away the cloth with his knife; the blood how gushed out freely; there was a desperate wound on the shoulder. No woman could have dressed it with more care and gentleness than did Jack. He poured some brandy and water down the lad’s throat, which much revived him, though his suppressed groans showed that he was still in great pain.

Many people would have given up the chase under these circumstances, but Jack Rogers was not a fellow to do that. He found, however, that he could do the enemy more damage by keeping out of the range of their guns, and yet keep them within range of his. Miles were thus passed over. As the sun rose the heat increased. There was a breeze, and the prahus profited by it by spreading all their sails, but it did not serve to cool the air. At length Jack found that he had got round the island, and greatly to his delight he saw the other portion of the pirate squadron followed closely by Adair. The two boats were soon alongside each other. A council of war was held. It was a question whether they should wait for their commander or pursue the enemy. It was quickly decided that they should continue the chase. There were groups of islands ahead, and the chances were that if they did not follow the enemy they would escape among them. So on they pulled. The pirates fired as before, though without doing any further damage. The only person who seemed to wish to be elsewhere was Queerface. He jumped about and chattered incessantly. Then he would try and hide himself; but could not remain quiet, but every time he heard a shot he popped up his head to see where it was going. Suddenly it grew perfectly calm again. A lurid look came over the sky. Evidently there was going to be a change in the weather. The pirates seemed to know what was about to occur. There was an inlet in an island close at hand: towards it they rapidly pulled. Jack and Adair were about to follow, when down upon them came a terrific squall, which very nearly blew both their boats right over. They happily got them before it, and away they flew towards the island they had left. To weather it was impossible. The best chance of saving the boats was to beach them. They prayed that there might be no rocks in the way, but the fierce breath of the tornado was sweeping up such vast masses of foam into the air, that they could see but a few fathoms before them. Side by side the two boats sprang on. Jack stood up. As his boat rose on the top of a sea, he saw the land: close under her bows it appeared.

“Be ready, lads, to spring out, and to carry our wounded shipmates up the beach,” he exclaimed. The next instant the boat struck with a force which shattered her almost to pieces. The seething, foaming waters rushed round her, and would have swept her off again, had not her crew, leaping out, seized her gunwale and dragged her up the beach, while the wounded men were carried to a spot where they were safe.

Jack having placed little Harry, whom he carried in his arms, in a place of safety, looked anxiously round for Terence. The boat of the latter had received even greater damage, but his people had escaped with their lives. Some of the provisions had, however, been washed out of her.

“I fear we are on a very dissolute island,” exclaimed Adair as he came up to Jack. It was certainly a most unpromising spot. There were a few palm-trees to be seen here and there at a distance, but of a stunted growth, as if there was but little soil to nourish their roots, while all around was sand and rock. On hauling up the boats they were both discovered to be unseaworthy; their stock of provisions was much reduced; and what was worst, most of their powder was spoilt, and the boats’ guns rendered useless, a very important loss in the neighbourhood of so numerous and vindictive an enemy. The men had their muskets and cutlasses, however, and there was no doubt but that should the pirates attack them, they would fight to the last. The great hope was that the tornado which had driven them on shore, might have treated their enemies in the same way.

“We ought not to wish our enemies ill,” observed Terence; “but I suppose that it would not be wrong to wish that they may be no better off than we are.”

Jack had nothing to say against this principle. Another source of anxiety was for Mr Cherry. They had left him attacking a very superior force; and even had he come off the victor, how would his boat have withstood the tornado?

Still no one despaired or even lost their spirits, neither were they for a moment idle. The men joked and laughed as much as ever, especially at Queerface, who, delighted to get on shore, leaped and frolicked about in the highest glee. Jack and Terence, after a short consultation, agreed that as they could not get away, it would be safer to fortify themselves, in case the pirates should discover and attack them.

They were not long in selecting a spot among some rocks, where, by throwing up banks of sand and digging holes in which to shelter themselves, they hoped that they might bid defiance to ten times their own number of enemies. The tornado kept blowing very fiercely for most of the time; at length, when their work was far advanced, it subsided considerably. Their labours were, however, not ended till nearly dark, by which time it was again calm. They made an awning with the boats’ sails, and were all glad to lie down and get some rest after the fatigues of the day, the necessary guards having been placed to give notice of the approach of an enemy. They prudently would not light a fire lest the light should be seen by the pirates, who might be on the lookout for them.

Jack’s chief concern was for Harry Bevan. The men bore their sufferings well, though they groaned in their sleep as wounded men generally do, even when not in much pain; but their pulses kept up, and their minds were collected. Jack and Adair had gone to the highest point of rock in the neighbourhood, to ascertain, if they could, if any enemy was near; but far as their gaze could extend across the starlit ocean, no vessel of any sort floated on its surface. Hoping that they might be left in peace till daylight, and thus give longer time for Mr Cherry to rejoin them, they returned to their encampment. They found poor little Harry talking away vehemently about people and circumstances of which they knew nothing, relating undoubtedly to his far-distant home. His mind was wandering. He thought Jack was his mother, and blessed him for all the care and kindness he was showing him. He fancied, however, that Adair was Queerface; and told him that he would rope’s-end him if he came near him, a compliment Paddy did not altogether approve of. The worst part of the business was, that they could do nothing for the poor boy. They had no medicine, and had no notion of what to administer if they had had any. Jack was afraid of giving more brandy, so he let him have as much water as he wanted to drink; and by soothing words tried to calm his mind, and lull him to sleep. At length Dick Needham, who belonged to Jack’s boat, woke up and entreated to be allowed to sit by the side of the poor little fellow. Who could wish for a more tender, gentle nurse than a true-hearted British sailor can make when he is aware that grog, however good in its way, is not, under all circumstances, the very best of medicines that can be administered? Leaving Harry therefore to Needham’s care, Jack and Terence sat up talking for some time longer, making arrangements, like wise commanders, what, under the various circumstances which might occur, they would do. At length they threw themselves on the ground, and endeavoured to obtain a little rest in preparation for the work before them.

Jack thought that he had been only a few minutes asleep, when he started to his feet on hearing Needham’s voice. “What is it?” he exclaimed, looking around. It was daylight, but a thick white mist hung over the sea.

“The enemy are not far off, I suspect, sir,” answered Needham, who at that instant was entering the encampment. “My mind misgave me somehow, and I went to the top of the rock.” Before he could finish the sentence Jack sprang on towards the place mentioned, followed by Terence, who roused up the moment he heard Jack’s voice. On reaching the top of the rock, they cast their eyes eagerly seaward. At first nothing but a mass of white mist could be seen. Jack thought that Needham had been mistaken. While, however, they were still in doubt, a current of air it seemed blew off the top of the mist just as froth is blown from a mug of ale, and the upper sails of a fleet of prahus appeared not a quarter of a mile from the shore.

“The pirates must be looking for us,” exclaimed Terence; “it will be fortunate if the mist continues, and they slip by without pitching on us.”

“Pitching into us, you mean,” said Jack, with a laugh. “Well, if they find us out, we must drive them off, and hold our own till the frigate sends to look for us. Still as they are ugly customers, we’ll do our best to keep out of their sight.” In this strain the two midshipmen talked on for some time, watching the movements of the prahus. Now the fog closed round them—now it lifted and exposed their sails to view. They seemed to be gliding by the island. Yet they were unpleasantly near.

“If the fog lifts, they can scarcely fail to see us,” remarked Terence.

“Then, Paddy, we must fight it out to the last, and I am sure that you are of my opinion too,” said Jack.

“That I am, Jack,” cried Adair, wringing his hand. “But I say, what is that? I heard the splash of oars.” They listened. There could be no doubt of it, and their practised ears told them that it was not the stroke of British seamen. The pirates, it was too probable, had sent on shore, and would land close to the very spot where the wreck of the boats lay. They would in all probability betray them. It could not be helped, so they hurried back to the camp to prepare for whatever might happen. As they passed along the beach, they could still hear the sound of oars, which was borne for a considerable distance over the calm water. The men stood with their muskets in their hands ready for the attack. Even the wounded men begged to be propped up against the bank that they might get a shot at the enemy.

Poor little Harry had dropped off into a deep slumber, and knew nothing of the preparations taking place. Needham volunteered to go down and watch behind a rock close down to the water, so as to give the earliest notice of the approach of the pirate-boats, should they come on shore at that point.

They had not long to wait. Louder and more distinct grew the splash of the oars.

Presently Needham came running up to the fort. “There are pretty nearly a dozen boats in,” he exclaimed; “you’ll see them in a moment coming out of the fog. They can’t very well miss finding us.”

“Very well,” said Jack, coolly. “They’ll be sorry that they did find us, that’s all.”

As Needham had said, in another minute the long black hulls of the pirate’s boats appeared through the fog, and being run up on the beach, the crew leaped out of them. The swarthy savages, with sharp creeses by their sides and long jingalls in their hands, looked about on every side, and seemed surprised at not finding an enemy. They examined the boats, and then looked about again. So well was the fort constructed among the rocks, that in the fog they did not discover it. They began to scatter about; they were evidently persuaded that the English had made their escape across the island. At length three or four Malays wandered close up to the fort. They stood for a moment as if transfixed, and then, as it beamed on their comprehension what it really was, they beat a retreat, shouting to their companions.

The seamen were for firing at the intruders, but Jack ordered them not to throw a shot away, or to fire till they were attacked. They had not long to wait. The whole band of Malays quickly collected, and, with glittering creeses in their hands, rushed on to the attack.

“Now, boys, give it them,” cried Jack, and Terence repeated the order almost in the same breath, for he knew that it was coming. Half the seamen only fired, and then began again to load. The other half waited till the first were ready, and the Malays had got close up to the bank. The latter, fancying probably that only a few had firearms, came on courageously.

“Fire, boys,” cried Jack, quietly. The seamen jumped up, and the pirates, not expecting so warm a reception, wavered and fell back, leaving several dead and wounded close to the fort.

Jack and Terence began to hope that they would retreat altogether, but, encouraged by their chiefs, once more they were seen to come on. At the same time several more boats reached the shore. Jack and Terence could not conceal from themselves that they were in a dangerous position.

With loud, horrible shrieks, the Malays rushed up to the fort. The noise of the firing woke up little Harry, and, just as the pirates had a second time reached the embankment, Jack found him standing close to him, his clothes bespattered with blood, and his face looking pale as a sheet of paper. For a moment Jack thought it was the ghost of his young charge; but he had no time to think about it, for the next instant the enemy were close to them. Again and again the English sailors fired and kept the enemy back, but the pirates so far outnumbered them that there seemed but little hope of their ultimate success. Again, by their unflinching bravery, they drove the enemy back. The Malays, however, kept up a hot fire at them when they got to a distance, and several of the English were hit and unable longer to fight. Two poor fellows were killed outright. The fog now cleared, and Jack saw that the prahus themselves were drawing in with the land. With their own scanty numbers diminishing, and those of the enemy increasing, Jack and Terence could not help acknowledging that their case was desperate. Still, when the enemy once more came on, they received them with as firm hearts and as hearty a cheer as before. For a short time there was a cessation of firing. Queerface, who had wisely got into a hole, looked out to see what had happened. At that moment a bird was seen flying towards the fort. To the surprise of all, it pitched close to Queerface, who seemed delighted to see it. Adair turned round. “Why,” he exclaimed, “there is Polly. Where can she have come from?” It was a question no one could answer. The boats had gone off to the prahus, and now returned with more men. With terrific shrieks and cries of vengeance, the Malays rushed towards the gallant little band of Englishmen, resolved to destroy them.

Chapter Twenty Five.

In desperate Condition.

The Malay pirates surrounded the fort, uttering the loudest shrieks and cries, in the hope of terrifying the defenders, but they did not know what British seamen were made of; and in spite of the fierce and terrific looks of the enemy, Jack and his little band stood fast, prepared to receive the onslaught. Poor Harry Bevan had sunk to the ground, not through fear, but weakness; and Jack had placed himself over his body, determined to defend him as long as he himself had life or strength. He felt and looked not a little like a lion prepared to do battle for her young. Jack had now grown into a very strong fine young man. He was not very tall, but he had broad shoulders and an expansive chest; and now, as he stood cutlass in hand, with a profusion of light hair streaming back from his honest sunburnt countenance, he was the picture of a true British sailor, and might well have been likened to the noblest type of the king of beasts. Adair was not a whit behind him in courage, though his physical powers were not so great. What hope was there though for them and their gallant men? At that moment there appeared but very little. Both of them knew that braver savages than the Malays were not to be found. Jack, as he stood there, with his muscular arm bared and his sharp weapon in his hand, did not put his trust in either. He knew and felt that the arm of One alone who is mighty to save could preserve him and his companions; and with deep earnestness and perfect faith he lifted up his heart to heaven, and prayed that assistance might be sent them. The British seamen returned the shrieks of the Malays with shouts of defiance, and kept up a rapid fire as they came on. Now their weapons cross. There is the loud sounding clash of steel, the sharp crack of muskets and pistols, the shouts and shrieks of the combatants. There is the thick smoke from the firearms mixed with the mist, rapid flashes of flame, and all the other sounds and appearances of a desperate struggle. Still, though the pirates hemmed them closely round, the seamen stood as before, boldly at bay, and no impression was made on their front.

“Jack,” cried Adair, in the middle of the fight, “I don’t think Polly came here for nothing. Hold on for a short time, and we shall be relieved, depend on it. She and the monkey have been talking away together, and Master Queerface looks as if he knew all was right.”

I rather suspect that Adair was allowing his imagination to run away with him, or that he spoke thus to keep up the spirits of his men. Still the appearance of Polly was very extraordinary, and could only be accounted for by supposing that the frigate was not far off; or that she had accompanied Mr Cherry, and that his boat was in the neighbourhood. The idea might have encouraged the seamen to still further resistance, but the Malays pressed them hard; and, overwhelmed with numbers, it appeared as if their fate was sealed. Even Jack began to fear that this was the case. He saw that the fire of his men began to slacken, and the dreadful report ran round among them that their ammunition was almost expended.

“What is to be done, Rogers?” said Adair in Jack’s ear.

“Trust to Heaven, Terence,” answered Jack, warding off a blow which a Malay who had leaped forward made at his head. The next moment the savage rolled over, a lifeless corpse, down the embankment. For another minute the desperate struggle continued with unabated fury. Then a sound was heard which made the hearts of the British seamen leap within their bosoms—it was the loud report of a heavy gun which echoed among the rocks. The seamen answered it with a hearty cheer, for no guns but those of their own ship could give forth that sound. Another and another followed. At the same time the breeze which the frigate had brought up blew away the mist; and just above the rocks her topsails could be seen as she stood after the Malay prahus. The pirates saw her too. If they would save their vessels and their lives, they knew that there was not a moment to be lost. At a sign from their chiefs, as if a blast of wind had suddenly struck them, before the English knew what they were about, they rushed away like a heap of chaff before the gale. Jack and Terence, knowing their cunning nature, and fancying that they might rally again, hesitated to follow, and kept back their men.

“They are off,” at length cried Terence. “Hurrah, my lads. Let’s after them!”

Jack did not spring forward at once. He had not forgotten for a moment his young charge. He knew that, driven to desperation, the Malays were very likely to run amuck, and, if they found him, to kill him. He felt sure that he would only be safe if he had him with him. Stooping down, therefore, he seized the little fellow in his arms, and, holding him as much as possible behind his back, he sprang on, and overtaking his companions, made chase after the retreating Malays. The other wounded men, in the excitement of the fight, had forgotten their hurts, and were pursuing with the rest. Queerface and Polly had, therefore, no fancy to be left behind, so off they set also, though they took care to keep in the rear of their friends.

The Malays had reached the beach, and some were swimming and others wading off to their boats, when the two midshipmen and their followers got up with them. All were too eager to escape to attempt to offer any resistance. Jack had to recollect that they really were most atrocious robbers, or he could scarcely have brought himself to allow his men to fire on them. Not many shots, however, were fired, for the last cartridge in their pouches was expended. Happily, the Malays were in too great a hurry to be off, to turn and let fly at them. The frigate, under all sail, was coming round the point on the left hand, while the prahus were endeavouring to get away out of the range of her shot to the right or south side of the island. They were catching it, however, pretty severely, and more than one appeared to be in a sinking condition. The midshipmen were now eager to try and get their own boats afloat, but they were in an utterly unfit state for launching, so all they could do was to make signals to the frigate that she might return and take them off, after she had destroyed the pirates. This there was very little doubt she would do. In the eagerness of the chase, however, Jack bethought him that those on board would very likely not observe their signals.

“Never mind,” cried Adair, as a bright thought struck him; “we’ll send Polly off; she’ll carry our message.” A note was accordingly written on the leaf of a pocket-book, and being secured under Polly’s wing, Adair lifted her up, and showing her the frigate, gave her a shove off towards it. She seemed to know exactly what was expected of her, for, giving one glance only round at her friends, away she darted towards the ship. They watched her anxiously till she was lost to sight. Still, they had little doubt about her reaching her destination, and in the course of a very few minutes their anxiety was relieved by their seeing a flag run up to the mast-head of the frigate, while a gun was fired to leeward. She, however, passed before them, and soon disappeared again on the other side of the island. A rapid and continuous fire told them what she was about. Jack and Adair would gladly have gone round to see what was occurring, but the distance was considerable, over hot burning sand and rocks, and they would not leave their wounded and tired men to gratify their curiosity. They very soon remembered, after the excitement of the work in which they had been engaged was over, that they had not breakfasted; so all hands who could move about set to work to collect sticks to light a fire. It soon blazed up, and speedily coffee and cocoa were boiling, and bits of meat were roasting away at the ends of ramrods and sticks. The poor wounded men, when the excitement was over, began to feel not hunger, but the pain of their hurts, and several sank to the ground unable to move. Their shipmates did their best for them, and rigged an awning with the boats’ sails, under which they were placed. Some of the men wandered away, and brought back a supply of cocoa-nuts, the milk of which afforded a deliciously cooling beverage to the poor fellows. Jack, meantime, was tending his young charge with as much care and tenderness as a mother would a child. At length he was rewarded by seeing Harry come to himself. The boy looked up in his face, and the first words he uttered were—

“We’ve beat them, Rogers, have we? Hurrah! hurrah!”

“Yes, Harry,” answered Jack, “it is all right. The enemy have taken to flight, and we shall soon, I hope, be on board the frigate. But here, you will be the better for some cocoa. Take this.”

Jack sat down under the shade of the sail, and Needham having brought him a mug of cocoa, he broke some biscuit into it, and stirring it up while the boy’s head rested on his knee, he fed him as he would have done a baby. Harry, who had soon again relapsed into apparent unconsciousness, opened his lips and ate a little with a dreamy expression of countenance, as if he himself fancied that he was still a baby being fed by his nurse. The food, however, Jack saw was doing him good, for the colour slowly returned to his cheeks, and his pulse began to beat more regularly.

“He will be all right soon,” exclaimed Jack to Adair. “It is wonderful what Nature will do if we don’t play tricks, and take liberties with her.”

Harry Bevan, though delicately nurtured, was of a sound constitution, which he had not injured by either drinking or smoking, or by any other means, as many poor silly lads do, thinking they are behaving in a manly way by so doing. Had he been inclined to do so, Jack Rogers would have taken very good care to prevent him. Thus it was, however, that he did not succumb to the fearful injury he had received. Still Jack was very anxious to get him safe on board, and under the doctor’s care. Time went on, and still the frigate did not appear. Adair proposed starting off to the other side of the island to ascertain what had become of her, when a boat was seen rounding the point. “She is Mr Cherry’s boat,” was the cry. “Hurrah! hurrah!” With hearty cheers, Mr Cherry was welcomed on shore. He had had a severe struggle, and had lost two of his men killed, and three wounded, but had succeeded in putting the pirates to flight. His boat was not large enough to carry all the party, but he had one of the carpenter’s crew with him, and some tools; and, after a little examination, Tom Gimlett declared that he could patch up one of the boats so as to make her in a fit condition to launch. All hands helping, and with the aid of some planks from the other boat, this was done, and at length the two boats were on the water, on their way to look for the frigate. When Mr Cherry heard how long it was since she had passed the island, he began to be somewhat anxious about her. The boats, however, were so heavily laden, that they could not make much speed to satisfy themselves as to what had happened. The men did their best, and it was wonderful how they kept up their spirits under the hot broiling sun, which, as Paddy observed, “was roaring away like a furnace, right over their heads.” No sooner had they rounded the island than the sound of a gun, booming over the smooth waters, reached their ears. At slow intervals another and another followed. “The ship is in distress,” observed Adair to Jack. “What can have happened?”

“Give way, lads,” cried Jack, seizing the stroke oar, and bending his back to it with a will. It was the only answer he made to Adair’s remark. Little Harry looked up at him with admiration and affection, and the men exerted themselves more than ever. On they pulled, hour after hour. No one proposed resting, even to take any refreshment, except a piece of biscuit, which the men chewed during the intervals that they were relieved at the oars.

“There she is at last,” cried Jack, standing up on the stern-sheets. He took a steady look at her through his glass. So did Mr Cherry through his. Her sails were set, but with heavy hearts, they both agreed that, from her appearance, she must be hard and fast on shore, and if on a coral reef there was too great a probability that she might not be got off again.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Another fierce Conflict.

A ship on shore is, at all times, a melancholy spectacle; but very sad it makes the hearts of those feel who see their own vessel lying among rocks in strange seas, far away from any friendly ports, and surrounded by enemies. Mr Cherry and his companions pulled away with all their might to ascertain the worst. The frigate, during this time, occasionally fired one of her bow guns. As they drew nearer, they perceived that she was doing so at a fleet of war-junks clustering in the distance, but who prudently were keeping out of range of her shot. Still, from their remaining where they were, it was evident that they were meditating an attack on her should another gale spring up, or any other occurrence give them a chance of success. The boats could not be of any great assistance, but still they would be of some use in the exertions to be made in getting her off. The brig would be of far more service; but where she was, it was difficult to say. When last seen, she was in a chase of another fleet of pirates to the northward. When they got alongside, every man of the frigate’s crew was busily engaged in efforts to get the ship off. Mr Cherry and his party were warmly welcomed, however, and in spite of the fatigue they had gone through, they all at once lent a hand to effect the desired object. Anchors were got out astern, the anchors and some of the heavy guns were lowered into the boats, and the capstan was manned. Round went the men with the capstan bars, but the cables were soon stretched to their utmost, and there they stood pressing with might and main, but not an inch did the frigate move.

“We shall have to start the water and heave some of the stores and guns overboard, I fear,” observed the first lieutenant to the captain.

“We will do anything rather than lose our guns,” said Captain Grant. “I have no fancy to have our teeth drawn. The crew may rest for a spell. See, there is a breeze coming ahead,” observed the captain, after some time. “Man the capstan again. Set the mainsail, mizen-topsail, and topgallant-sail. Let the people run from side to side as the capstan goes round.”

The orders were put into execution. The men strained every nerve as before. Suddenly the capstan went round an inch; then another and another. Was it the anchors coming home? No: the ship herself was moving. Everybody on board felt her move. “Hurrah! hurrah!” There was a general shout. Again the men sprang round with the capstan bars; the frigate was afloat. She was soon hauled off into deep water. The well was sounded, but she did not appear to have received any damage. Night was now coming on, and the master was unwilling to take the ship through the intricate channels, among which she was entangled, without daylight to guide him. She was therefore brought up with a spring on her cables, ready to make sail, should any emergency arise to make this necessary.

The three old messmates were now together again, for the first time since they left England. Jack and Adair had all their adventures to tell to Murray, who was keeping the first watch, and so, though tired as they were, they preferred walking the deck with him to turning in and going to sleep. The night was very dark, but the wind fell, and it became almost calm, so that the only sound was the splash of the water as the swell broke over the reef ahead. All on board had reason to be thankful that they were not on it. The young men had a good deal to talk about; but it did not prevent them keeping their eyes about them, or their ears open. Jack, also, did not forget his young charge, little Harry Bevan.

“It is high time we should be thinking of turning in,” he observed. “But I must see first how Harry gets on.”

He went below to the berth where the young midshipman had been placed, and found one of the assistant-surgeons with him. The poor boy was very feverish, and was continually crying out for lemonade, and other cooling beverages. Jack sat with him for some time till he became calmer and better, and then went on deck to have another look out before he turned in for the night, as, not belonging to the ship, he had no watch to keep. He found the officer of the watch, Murray, and others peering through the darkness, over the frigate’s quarter.

“Some suspicious sounds were heard coming from that direction,” remarked Murray. “There were voices, and creaking of blocks, and the splash of oars. It is just to windward, and sounds travel a long distance in a dark night. Our friends, the pirates, are about some mischief. Perhaps they expect to find us napping, and purpose paying a visit.”

Everybody on deck was on the alert, and there was not much chance of the crew of the frigate being taken by surprise at all events. Captain Grant was told of what had occurred; they waited and waited, but still nothing more was seen, or rather heard, of the pirate junks. Yet Murray and Mr Cherry, and all the officers who had been on deck, were so certain that they had not been deceived, that it was concluded that the pirates had been really close to them, but finding the frigate afloat, had thought better of the matter and hauled off.

Jack and Adair at last went below. Jack did not turn in, but lay down on one of the lockers in the midshipmen’s berth, with a writing-desk for a pillow, and a boat-cloak for a mattress. The instant he put his head on the desk he was fast asleep. It appeared to him but a moment afterwards that he heard the cry, “All hands on deck.” Immediately afterwards several shots were fired from the frigate. He was up in a moment. On looking out he saw the dark shadowy forms of numerous large war-junks gliding round the ship, and the next instant a shower of jingall balls and round shot came rattling on deck. The salute was returned by a broadside from the frigate, which, if it did not send several of the pirate’s junks to the bottom, must have severely crippled a number of them. They must have thought that the frigate was still ashore, or that she had hove her guns overboard to get off, or they would not have ventured so near.

Still the unseen enemy showed more courage than might have been expected, and from every direction, on each beam and ahead, and astern, a shower of missiles came crashing in which could not fail to do a considerable amount of damage. The cries of several poor fellows showed that they were badly wounded, while one seaman, standing close to Jack Rogers, fell heavily to the deck. Jack stooped to raise him, but the man did not speak, and from the inert weight of the body, he feared too truly that he was killed. The worst part of the business was that, from the excessive darkness of the night and the thick mist which hung over the water, it was only from the flashes of the enemy’s guns that the frigate’s crew were able to see how to point theirs. By the cries and shrieks which arose every now and then in the distance they had reason to believe that their shot had told with dire effect. Still the pirate’s shot was doing them a great deal of mischief, and, notwithstanding all their courage and power, all they could do in return was blindly to blaze away. Still there could be no doubt that the pirates would ultimately get the worst of it, and haul off long before morning. Of course, in daylight they would not venture to remain near her. After the frigate had fired several broadsides, it was discovered that the enemy on each side did not reply, but that all the shot came from ahead or astern. Again, the guns being loaded, Captain Grant hauled in on the spring so as to bring the broadsides in the direction the head and stern had before been. The word “fire!” was given. Instantly the terrific shrieks which rent the air showed that the enemy had there most thickly assembled. Some random shots were fire in return, and then all was silent.

“Really it is difficult to believe that so short a time ago the ship was surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies,” observed Murray to Jack, as they stood together looking out into the darkness. “Besides the poor fellows who have been hit, I dare say that our running rigging and sails will show that we have been engaged; yet now how calm and quiet everything is.”

“I, for one, would not trust them, though,” said Jack; “if they can play us a trick they will.”

The night, however, wore on. The pirates had evidently a sufficient taste of the frigate’s quality, and had no wish to try it further.

Once more Jack was going below to finish his nap on the locker, when he heard Adair sing out, “There are two big junks close aboard us.”

Captain Grant was on deck in an instant, and ordered the capstan to be manned to work the ship round as might be required.

“They are desperate fellows on board those crafts, or they would not attempt to get so near us,” observed Adair.

“They are indeed,” said Jack. “See, there’s another of them. I don’t like their looks. I wonder the captain has not ordered us to fire at them.”

Just then Captain Grant’s voice was heard ordering the boats to be lowered. Scarcely were the words out of his mouth than a bright light burst out of one of the junks, and instantly she was in flames, casting forth rockets and missiles of every description.

“They are fire-ships,” cried numerous voices—a very evident fact. Without a moment’s delay, Jack and Murray and Adair, with two of the lieutenants of the frigate, and the men nearest at hand, jumped into the boats, and, being lowered, pulled off to tow the fire-ships away from her; as, in consequence of the darkness, they had been brought thus close up before they were discovered, there was little time to spare. One in another minute would be alongside. Jack boldly sprang up her high bow, and making fast a tow-rope, ordered the men to give way. The spring on the frigate’s cable was manned, and her broadside was turned away from the approaching fire-ships. Scarcely had Jack got hold of his prize than the flames burst forth from her, and he and the crew were covered with sparks and burning fragments of wood, which several times nearly set their clothes on fire and singed them not a little. Fortunately the rockets and other fireworks on board took an upward flight, but they soon found themselves pulling under a complete cascade of fire. Jack cheered them on: “Never mind, my lads,” he shouted; “it’s better than having the old frigate burnt, at all events.”

He could scarcely bear the heat of the fire; still he persevered. At last he got his unpleasant captive just clear astern of the frigate, and a little way to leeward. Still a shift of wind might send her back, so he was towing her a little farther, when, with a loud roar, some magazine, which had been hitherto preserved at the bottom of the ship, exploded, sending every particle of her which remained high into the air, and as the wreck came down, the fragments very nearly swamped the boat and killed all in her. No one was hurt, however, and he and his brave crew instantly pulled back to grapple with another foe. All the other fire-ships had been seized hold of and were very nearly towed clear of the frigate.

Jack heard Murray’s voice calling to him. Alick was fast to one which seemed heavier than the rest, and he had great difficulty, apparently, in moving her. Had not Jack gone to his assistance, in a few seconds she would have been alongside the frigate. When just under her stern, she broke out into the fiercest flames, and Jack, whose clothes were by this time very nearly done brown, was glad enough to cast loose from her. In another moment she blew up with a violent explosion, and as before, fragments of the burning wreck came flaming down into and around the boats, while the other fire-ships were still burning away brightly to leeward. Once more the boats were hoisted up, and the frigate was made ready to get under weigh the instant daylight would allow her to be carried free of the reefs. Just as one of the quarter boats was being secured, a splash was heard, and instantly the cry was raised of “A man overboard!”

Jack Rogers, who was on the quarter-deck, without stopping to ask who it was, kicked off his shoes, and threw off his jacket, and gliding down a rope, struck out astern. There was a strong current running, he had before discovered, and he knew that the man who had fallen overboard would be carried rapidly away from the ship.

“Who are you?” he sang out in a loud voice. “Tell me, that I may know where to swim to you.”

There was no answer.

“It was Mr Murray, sir,” cried some one from the ship. “We are afraid that he must have hurt himself as he fell.”

This was sad news to Jack. Still he determined to persevere. The only light he had to guide him was from the burning fire-ships now drifting away. Should Murray come to the surface, he hoped he might see him and be near enough to support him, till a boat could arrive and pick them up. He heard the sounds of a boat being lowered from the frigate. He raised himself out of the water for an instant to look around, and he felt sure that he perceived a person’s head not far off. He made strenuous efforts to reach it. Just then also he saw, the glare of the burning vessel being cast on it, what he would rather not have seen—a large Chinese boat. He was certain that the head was Murray’s. His old friend was drifting rapidly down towards the pirates. He had every reason to fear that they would strike at Alick the moment he got near. He knew also that they would equally strike at him, but this did not make him hesitate a moment. He clove the water with all his might, dashing on till he was close up to the drowning man. He hoped that the pirates might not have seen him.

“A few more strokes, and I shall have him,” he exclaimed to himself. Just then he saw some of the savage-looking pirates standing up in the boat peering towards him. A gleam of light fell on the head of the person in the water. It was Murray. He seized his friend by the collar and turned him on his back, then struck out once more towards the frigate. Of course he had but one hand at liberty, and in spite of all his efforts he could not stem the current, but found himself and Murray still drifting down towards their relentless foes. Some accident had, apparently, happened to the boat, and he could not tell whether or not she was even yet in the water. He could do nothing but keep himself and his companion afloat. He dared not shout, as his so doing would draw the attention of the pirates towards them, and he felt sure that, at all events, a boat would be sent to look for him. Jack and Alick had now another danger to encounter. They were drifting down on one of the fire-ships, and ran a great chance of being burnt. To avoid the fire-ship, Jack was obliged to approach nearer the pirate-boat, which had been keeping so as to leave the burning vessel between her and the frigate. The miscreants now saw him, and dashing their paddles in the water, were rapidly up to him. He fully expected that the next moment would be his last; but he still held fast the senseless form of his friend. He looked up for an instant, and saw the hideous countenances of the Chinamen glaring down on him over the side of their boat.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Chasing the Pirate Fleet.

Adair had just come on deck when Jack jumped overboard to save Murray, and he was on the point of jumping in after him, when his arm was seized, and he found himself held back by Captain Grant.

“You would uselessly risk your life, Adair!” exclaimed the captain. “Lower that gig; be sharp about it: you may go in her.”

Several men with Adair had instantly flown to the boat nearest them, and, under the direction of the captain, were lowering her, when the after-fall gave way, and up she hung by the bows, most of her gear falling into the water, as did one of the two men in her. He was a good swimmer, and struck out boldly to keep up alongside the ship, but the current was too strong for him, and before a rope could be heaved to him, he gradually dropped astern. The fall had been injured by one of the enemy’s shot. Another boat was now lowered, but in consequence of the darkness, and the disarrangement incidental to the work in which the men had been engaged, more delay than usual occurred. At last the boat was lowered and manned, and Adair and Mr Cherry jumping into her, away they pulled to pick up, in the first place, the poor fellow who had just fallen into the water. They shouted out his name: a faint cry reached their ears. He had already got a long way from the ship; it took some time before they could find him. He must have sunk once, and they caught him just as he came up again; he was insensible when they hauled him into the boat. Adair wanted to go on, but Mr Cherry said that he feared the man would die if they did, and that it was his duty to carry him on board.

“I fear, too, that there is but little chance of our picking up the other two poor fellows,” he observed. “They must have drifted a long way by this time, and can scarcely have kept afloat.”

“You don’t know, sir, what a superb swimmer Jack Rogers is,” exclaimed Adair: “he will keep up for an hour or more; I have no fear on that score. Let us get this man on board, and we will soon find him.”

Terence had never in his life felt so deeply anxious as he now did. The boat rapidly returned to the ship, the nearly drowned man was hoisted on deck, and then once more they shoved off, and fast as the men could bend to their oars, they pulled in the direction it was supposed Murray and Jack must have drifted.

The fire-ships were still blazing away as the boat approached them. “I think that they cannot be far from here,” said Mr Cherry. “Steady now, lads; paddle gently; keep a look out on either side, all of you.”

Terence however thought that they might have drifted farther on.

“Rogers, ahoy!” he stood up and shouted; “Jack Rogers, where are you?”

Just then, one of the fire-ships which had been burning most furiously, and concealed everything on the other side of her, blew up with a loud explosion, scattering her burning fragments far and wide around her. Several pieces of blazing timber fell into the boat among the men. One or two were much hurt, and they had enough to do to heave the bits overboard to prevent the boat herself catching fire.

Terence was in an agony of fear for the sake of his friends. A single fragment of the burning ship falling on them would have sent them to the bottom. Still he would not give up all hope, but continued searching. Mr Cherry now agreed that, if they still were on the surface, they must have drifted farther on; so on they pulled slowly, looking out as before. They had gone a little way, when the man in the bows said he saw a boat in the distance.

Mr Cherry made her out also: “Perhaps they may have reached her,” he observed. This was very little consolation to Terence, because he did not think it probable, if, as there was little doubt, she was a pirate’s boat, her crew would let them live. Still he was eager to go in chase.

Mr Cherry, who was more calm, thought that it would be wiser to look about on every side, to ascertain if Jack was still floating near. Again and again they called to him, but there was no answer.

“Either they have been picked up or are drowned,” said the lieutenant.

Terence’s heart sank within him. Mr Cherry now agreed to go in chase of the Chinamen’s boat. Away they dashed; their shouts of course had given notice of their approach, and the boat was evidently pulling on rapidly before them. Bright sparkles of light fell from the blades of their oars, and in their wake appeared a long fiery line, as the boat glided over the dark smooth water.

Two of the fire-ships were still burning, and their position, with the distant signal-lights of the frigate, enabled them to keep in the direction they believed the two midshipmen had drifted. The Chinamen’s boat pulled fast, and they appeared to be very slightly gaining on her. Adair believed that the only chance of saving his old companions’ lives was to overtake her. Mr Cherry already gave them up as lost, still he was determined, if possible, to overhaul the boat. The crew bent manfully to their oars.

It did not occur to any one for some time that they had left the ship unarmed; except that two of the men had pistols in their belts, and one had still his cutlass, while Mr Cherry had jumped into the boat without unbuckling his sword.

“Never mind; the boat’s stretchers must serve those who haven’t better weapons. Very likely the Chinamen in the boats are no better off,” exclaimed Terence, in his eagerness. The lieutenant agreeing with him, on they went.

“We shall have her at last,” cried Adair; “we are gaining on her, I am certain of it. But hillo! what are those lights there, ahead of us?” he added after some time. The question was soon answered, for looming through the darkness appeared a long line of large war-junks, behind which the boat of which they were in pursuit rapidly glided. They must have been seen from the junks, for directly afterwards they were saluted by a thick shower of jingall bullets, while several round shot came whizzing past them. Terence, in the impulse of the moment, was for dashing on and attacking the nearest junks, but, as Mr Cherry had discretion as well as valour, he ordered the men to pull round their starboard oars, and to get out of the range of the shot as fast as they could. It was rather too much for even six British seamen and two officers to do, to attack a whole fleet of war-junks. Terence was of the same opinion. With heavy hearts they pulled back against the current to the frigate, fully believing that Rogers and Murray were lost to them for ever. As soon as they made their report, Captain Grant expressed his wish to make an attempt, at all events, to ascertain the fate of the two midshipmen. If the frigate was got under weigh with the strong current which was then making, she would most certainly be drifted on to the reefs. A boat expedition was the only means left for doing anything. Immediately all the boats of the ship were manned, with guns in their bows, and this time the crews went well-armed. Away they pulled, resolving, if they did not find the two young officers, to make the pirates pay dearly for their loss. The rest of the fire-ships had burnt out, so it was now quite dark. The men were in their usual spirits when fighting was to be done, and were highly pleased at the thoughts of getting alongside the villains with whom they had hitherto been playing at long bowls—a game to which Jack had a great dislike. Terence had Needham in his boat. They had pulled for a considerable distance, and Adair thought that they ought to be up with the enemy.

“Can you manage to make out the junks, Dick?” he sang out.

“No, sir, I can see nothing ahead whatever,” was the unsatisfactory answer.

So they pulled on yet farther. Still no junks were to be seen. On proceeded the flotilla, till they had considerably passed the spot where Mr Cherry and Adair had fallen in with the enemy. Mr Cherry considered that it was not prudent to separate, so kept the boats together. After again pulling some way to the east, they first took a northerly course, and then swept round again towards the south, but not a trace of a boat or vessel of any sort could they discover. Just before dawn, very considerably disappointed, the expedition returned to the frigate. As the sun rose, a breeze sprang up, and once more the anchor was weighed, the sails were let fall, and the frigate stood out of her perilous position. A steady hand in each of the main chains kept the lead going, while the master, with anxious countenance, stood on the bowsprit issuing his orders as to how the ship was to be steered.

“Starboard!” he cried.

“Starboard!” was the answer, with a long cadence.

“Port!”

“Port it is!” sounded from aft.

“Steady!”

“Steady!” the seeming echo answered.

Now the ship was tacked; now she cut into the wind’s eye; now she was kept away; now coral rocks rose up close to her; now the channel was so narrow that it seemed as if there was not room for her to pass through it. Everybody breathed more freely when she was at last in clear water again. What had become of the junks it was impossible to say. Not a sail was to be seen from the mast-head. Altogether the affair in which they had been engaged had been disastrous, and an unusual gloom was cast over the ship’s company. The frigate stood round the group of islands; a complete archipelago, with numerous intricate passages between them. Sometimes she brought up, and the boats were sent away, and strict search was made for the piratical fleet; indeed no trouble or exertion was spared, but all was without result. No tidings could be gained either of the brig or the fleet of piratical junks. At length the frigate entered the Chinese waters, and anchored off Canton.

One Chinese city is very much like another. They are surrounded by castellated walls, some thirty feet in height, and coated with blue brick, which gives them a very toyshop appearance. The wall is about twenty feet at the base, diminishing by the inclination of the inner surface to about twelve feet. The thin parapet is deeply embattled with intermediate loopholes, but there are no regular embrasures for artillery. The Chinese till lately have seldom used cannon, but have usually stuck to the bow and arrow. At each gate there is a semicircular enclosure, forming a double wall. Over the two gateways are towers of several stories, in which the soldiers who guard them are lodged. Also, at about sixty yards apart along the whole length of the wall, are flanking towers projecting about thirty feet from the curtain. Some of the cities have ditches before the walls. The interiors of most Chinese cities are also very similar. The houses are very low, and the streets, which are narrow, are paved with flag-stones, suited however only for the passage of people on foot, or for sedan-chairs. The road is often crossed by ornamental gateways, with square openings in the centre, one on each side, not an arch. These have been erected to the memory of distinguished individuals. Another feature in the streets are the slabs of stone covered with inscriptions, about eight feet high, and placed on the back of a tortoise carved out of the same slab. The plan of the houses is very similar in all respects to that of those discovered in Pompeii, with open courts and rooms opening out of them. They have more lattice-work and paint, and the ornaments and designs are of course very different. The shops are generally open to the street, those of one description being placed together, as is very much the custom in Russia, Portugal, and other European countries. Suspended high above, like a banner over each shop, is a huge varnished and gilded signboard, with a description of the style of merchandise to be sold within. As these boards hang at right angles from the walls, they contribute much to the gay appearance of the street.

The Chinese delight in placing quaint inscriptions over their shops. Many of the streets are dirty in the extreme, while the shops are dark and dismal, and the shopkeepers far from urbane and accommodating: people these narrow streets, with their signboards and gateways, with an ever-moving crowd of yellow-faced, turn-up nosed, pig-eyed beings in blue and brown and yellow cotton dresses, wide trousers, loose jackets, and thatch-shaped hats, carrying long bamboos with boxes or baskets hanging at each end, or hung over with paper lanterns or birdcages, and all sorts of other articles, and here and there a sedan-chair with some mandarin or lady of rank inside, borne by two stout porters; and we have a fair idea of a Chinese city. Then, of course, there are public buildings of larger dimensions, and temples and towers of porcelain, pictures of which everybody has seen; and then outside the walls are canals and lakes, and curious high-arched bridges, and summer-houses and pagodas.

In the suburbs of Canton, where the foreign factories are situated, the shops are open, and the streets are not so much ornamented as in the city itself, but the plan of the houses and the general arrangements are similar.

No other ship of war was at Canton when the Dugong arrived. Captain Grant had fully expected to find the Blenny there, and was much disappointed at her non-appearance. He waited anxiously for several days, but she did not appear. At length he determined to sail in search of her.

“To lose our consort, and those two fine young fellows, Rogers and Murray, is very trying,” he observed to Lieutenant Cherry, as they walked the deck together, while the ship was standing away from Canton.

“As to the Blenny, sir, she’ll turn up before long, depend upon it, unless she is hard and fast somewhere on a rock,” answered the lieutenant. “Hemming has been routing out some of those piratical scoundrels, and they probably have given him a longer chase than he expected.”

Still Captain Grant was not satisfied. As the frigate cruised along she brought to all the vessels of every sort she fell in with, and made inquiries at every island and place where anything like a truthful answer could possibly be procured. They had an interpreter, a Chinese, who spoke English, though rather of a funny sort, and as it required a good deal of cleverness to comprehend it, it may be supposed what he professed to wish to communicate was not always very clear. The man who might most have assisted them, Hoddidoddi, had been missing ever since Rogers’ and Adair’s battle on the island, and it was supposed that he must have concealed himself for the purpose of returning home. The Dugong had been three days at sea, when a clipper schooner, with dark hull, square yards, and a most rakish look, hove in sight early in the morning, and approached the frigate.

“On the coast of Africa, I should say that the fellow was not honest,” observed Mr Cherry, who had the morning watch, to Adair; “I wonder what he wants.”

“A very pirate or slaver,” replied Adair, “but she is only, I suspect, an honest opium-smuggler.”

“Honest, do you call her?” exclaimed the lieutenant. “If because a vile system is carried on openly it is to be considered honest, then slaving is honest, and piracy, and highway robbery, for that matter. See, however, her gallant skipper is not afraid of us. Look, with what a self-satisfied air he walks the deck with his gold-lace cap, and glass under his arm. They are preparing to lower a boat, and he’ll come to pay his respects as one captain does to another.”

In a short time the master of the schooner made his appearance on the deck of the frigate. Captain Grant got up to receive him. He was an intelligent, dashing-looking young man.

“I am glad that I have fallen in with you, sir,” he began. “Last night, just before sunset, I heard some firing, and standing in the direction from which the sound came, I observed a brig-of-war apparently almost surrounded by junks not far from the land, to the southward of this—out there. I made sail, hoping to render her assistance; but so large a force of sailing and row junks sallied out from behind a point of land and made towards me, that, as I have lost half my crew with sickness and a former battle with a squadron of the villains, I was compelled to up stick and run for it. I shall be glad, however, to return with you, and assist in piloting you to the spot.”

“Thank you, captain—thank you,” answered Captain Grant, extending his hand. He wisely never denied nominal rank to masters of vessels, however employed. “I most gladly accept your offer.”

“Hudson is my name—my craft is the Flying Fish; and when you see her in a good breeze, you’ll acknowledge that she does fly along,” answered the master, looking with pride at his trim and beautiful craft.

She and the frigate instantly made sail to the southward. In a few hours the sound of an occasional shot saluted their ears and gave them hopes that the Blenny was still afloat and able to defend herself. As they got nearer, they could make her out from the mast-head, amid a wide circle of junks which were keeping up a distant fire at her. It at this critical juncture fell perfectly calm. Captain Hudson, who had come on board the frigate and gone aloft, now returned on deck.

“I know the trick of those fellows, sir. They hope to make her exhaust her ammunition and then to board her. They seem pretty well to have done that already. You must go to her relief in the boats, or the villains may have cut the throats of all on board before you can get up to them.”

This seemed too probable. All the frigate’s boats were now lowered, armed with guns in the bows, manned, and sent away under the command of Mr Cherry, without a moment’s delay.

“Poor Jack!” exclaimed Adair to young Harry Bevan. “It was only the other day that he and I were pulling along just as we are now doing. And now—who can say where he is? Still, do you know, Harry, I have an idea that he’ll turn up somehow or other. He always has done so, and I can’t help hoping that he and Murray may yet be found.”

“I hope and pray so, I’m sure I do,” said Harry, almost crying, “but I’m afraid there’s very little chance of it. Even if the Chinese picked them up, they would be sure to murder them.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The Midshipmen in Prison.

Who would have ventured to believe that the fate of the brave, true-hearted Jack Rogers, and the gallant, high-minded Alick Murray, was to be cruelly murdered by a set of ill-conditioned, barbarous Chinese pirates? Yet such has been unhappily the lot of many of the finest fellows in the British navy and army. When Jack, supporting Murray with one arm, looked up and saw half a dozen hideous Chinese faces, with flat noses, grinning mouths, and queer twisted eyes lighted up by the flames of the burning fire-ships, gazing maliciously down on him, he gave up all for lost. Had Murray not been still insensible, he would have swum away, defying the sharks till he could have got hold of something to support him, or he would have attempted to climb into the boat and had a desperate battle for his life. As it was, without sacrificing Murray, he could do neither. A savage was standing up, lifting a large battle-axe, the bright steel of which glittered in the glare of the burning ships, and was on the point of letting it fall with a crushing blow on his head, and already Jack felt the horrible sensation of having his skull crushed in and cleft asunder, when another man sprang forward and seized the wretch’s uplifted arm. He could only turn the blow aside, for the axe came down, and the blade dug deeply into the side of the boat. Jack seized it, for it formed a convenient handle on which to rest, and afforded him a support he much required. He fully expected to have another hack made at him, and was considering how best he might avoid it, when the pirates seized him and Murray, and dragged them into the boat. Still he did not feel much more secure than he had been in the water, as he expected that, as they might treat a useless fish, they would throw him overboard again when they had glutted their revenge by knocking the life out of him.

“If poor Murray does not revive, he will be spared much of the unpleasantness,” he thought to himself. It is extraordinary how coolly he took matters. He was rather surprised himself at his own indifference to his approaching fate. The Chinese were all chattering and vociferating together over him and Murray, as their bodies lay along the thwarts, for he was so exhausted that he could scarcely move, when he heard a voice say, “Don’t fear, English officer. I take care you no hurt.”

“Very much obliged to you, whoever you are,” answered Jack. “But I say, friend, I wish that you could get me put into a more comfortable position, and lend a helping hand to my poor companion here, who will be suffocated, I fear, if something is not done to him.”

“All right, by and by,” answered the voice. “Let dese men hab dere palaver out; dey no talk of kill ’ou now.”

“That information is satisfactory, at all events,” thought Jack. “Well, I must have patience; that never hurt any one, and has saved many a life. Only I do wish these fellows would bring their palaver to an end, and let me find out who my friend is.”

The pirates at last brought their conference to an end. They probably came to the conclusion that, as a live donkey is of more value than a dead one, and as profit more than revenge was their object, it would probably better answer their purpose to keep the young officer? alive, and endeavour to obtain a ransom for them, than to kill them, and in consequence be hunted down with even more pertinacity than before. As to being influenced by any feelings of humanity, such an idea never for a moment crossed their brains.

Jack and Murray were now carried to a platform in the afterpart of the boat, when the former was allowed to sit up with his friend’s head in his lap, and to apply such means of restoring him to animation as he could devise. He turned him round on one side, so that the water might run out of his mouth, and was rubbing away as briskly as he could, when he heard the same person who had before addressed him say, “All right, I told you; I come and help you now.” On looking up, who should he see, but one of the crew of the frigate, the Malay who spoke English, who went by the name of Jos Grummet, and his friend Hoddidoddi, who, it now appeared, had deserted with him on the island. It was Jos who had saved his life from the man with the battle-axe, and Hoddidoddi who had advised the pirates not to kill them at all, but to keep them for the more satisfactory object of obtaining a ransom.

After a little time, by their united exertions, Murray recovered, and was able to sit up and understand what had occurred. Jack was now much happier as to the future. “Well, thank you heartily, Jos, for what you have done for us,” said he. “And I can assure you, that if you go back to the frigate, you will not be flogged, or even have your grog stopped.”

“Tankee, sare,” answered Jos. “But spose me no go back, no hab fear of floggie at all.”

“Please yourself,” said Jack. “Remain a wandering Malay, or become a civilised British seaman, with Greenwich in prospect. However, you have done me a great service, and I wish to recompense you to the best of my power.”

“Really, Alick, I think that there ought to be a fund for pensioning those who assist in preserving midshipmen’s lives; we do run so many risks of losing them,” he observed to Murray, who fully agreed with him.

“I say, Jos,” he exclaimed, after a little silence, “do just hint to these polite gentlemen, that we shall make the amount of our ransom depend on the condition in which we are returned to our friends, and that if we are starved, they will not give much for us. I am getting very peckish; are you, Alick? I thought it was just as well to make those remarks in time; besides, it is always wise for people in our circumstances to put a good face on matters; it shows the villains that we are not cast down or afraid of them.”

Jos told Hoddidoddi, who interpreted their request in his own fashion, and the reply was, that they should have some food when they got on board the junk. At that moment the sound of oars was heard, and an English boat hove in sight. Some of the pirates were for fighting, but Jos represented that the British sailors were such desperate fellows, that they would not hesitate to attack a big junk, and would take her and make mincemeat of every one on board; and that such a boat as theirs would be treated with still more scant ceremony. So, much to the midshipmen’s disappointment, they wisely pulled away as hard as they could go, till they go under shelter of the fleet of junks.

The boat belonged, it appeared, to one of the smaller junks, on board which Jack and Alick were at once carried.

The piratical squadron now instantly made sail, and a favourable breeze having sprung up, they steered for the northward. Their notable scheme for destroying the English frigate having failed, the fleet separated, some taking shelter among the neighbouring islands, others standing out to sea in quest of prey; but the greater number returning to their accustomed haunts in the neighbourhood of Canton, localities most frequented by traders in the China seas.

The vessel on board which Jack and Alick found themselves formed one of the latter fleet. Their captors were, Jos explained to them, great diplomatists. They argued that if they gave them up at once, a small sum only would be offered for them; but if they kept them for some time, and made their friends suppose they were lost, they would be ready to pay any amount demanded for their ransom. They were not treated with much ceremony or civility, but Jack’s hint about their condition when reckoning for ransom had one good effect; and somewhat for a similar reason that an ogre or a slave-dealer would sufficiently feed his captives, they were amply supplied with rice and other provisions. Sometimes the dishes had a very suspicious look.

“They don’t eat babies, do they?” said Jack, dipping his chop-stick into the tureen placed before them, and producing a limb of some creature which certainly had a very odd appearance.

“No, I fancy not,” answered Murray, “but we had better not ask questions.”

They agreed that it was in all probability only a monkey which had been seen on board, but was no longer visible; and as the captain and his officers partook of the same dish, they had no cause to complain. They soon learned to relish lizards and snakes well stewed with curry powder and rice; and they came to the conclusion that a dish of snails was not in any way to be despised. As they could take no exercise except a walk up and down the curious little narrow cabin in which they were confined, they both declared they were growing so fat that perhaps the pirates would, after all, demand a higher ransom than Captain Grant would be able or willing to pay.

“I am really afraid that we are caught in our own trap,” said Jack. “I thought that pig-tailed, pig-eyed skipper of ours, when he looked in on us just now, smiled very complacently at our sleek skins. We must get Jos to tell him that if we grow too fat we shall be worth very little. There is nothing like moderation in all things.”

“There is nothing like honesty and telling the truth,” said Murray.

“We should have starved if we had strictly stuck to it in this case,” answered Jack.

“No matter, we should probably have been much sooner liberated,” answered Alick. “Depend on it, whenever a person tells an untruth he sets a trap to catch his own feet.”

“You are always right, Alick,” said Jack, with honest warmth. “And suppose all this time they have been giving us stewed babies and young alligators to eat, how doubly punished we should be.”

The junk on board which the midshipmen were prisoners was a curious piece of marine architecture. She was flat-bottomed, flat-sided, flat-bowed, and flat-sterned. She was of course narrower at the bow than at the stern, where indeed she was very broad. The rudder was wide and fixed in a hollow in the stern, to which it was hung by ropes or hawsers, so that it could with perfect ease be lifted out of its place and slung alongside. There was no stem, but a huge green griffin or dragon, or monster of some sort, projected over the bows, on each side of which were two large eyes—Chinaman’s eyes in shape: and as Jos remarked about them, “Ship no eyes, how see way?”

The sides, though flat, extended gradually outward as they rose, so that on deck there was considerable beam. The deck was composed of loose planks easily removed. At the poop and forecastle were a succession of little sloping decks, gradually narrowing as they rose in height, and enclosed to form cabins. The bulwarks were high and surrounded with large round shields of wood, and leather, and brass knobs, and curious devices painted on them. The anchors were curious contrivances, made of some hard wood, very large and cumbrous, the flukes only being tipped with iron. Outside at the bows was a wonderfully awkward-looking winch for getting up the anchor; and as Jack observed, when he came to be made Lord High Admiral of the Chinese fleet, there were a good many things he saw that he should have to alter. The sails were made of matting, with laths placed across them. When it was necessary to reef or lower the sails the seamen climbed up these laths, and standing on the upper yards pressed them down, no down hauls being necessary. Bowlines, however, were used to stretch them out. Had Jack and Murray not been prisoners, with the possibility of the pirates changing their minds and cutting their throats, they would have been excessively amused at watching the proceedings of the crew, and rather enjoyed their cruise on board the pirate. On deck there was an erection like a diminutive caboose, but which was a temple or joss-house. The sailors were constantly making offerings before it, apparently as the caprice seized them, by burning gilt paper, or thin sticks, or incense.

One day the junk was caught in a calm, and as a sail appeared in sight in the distance which the Chinamen thought might be an enemy, they were very anxious for a breeze to make their escape. The midshipmen saw that they were very busy about something, and soon every man appeared with a model junk, which he had constructed of gilt paper. A boat was lowered and these frail barques were carefully placed on the surface of the deep, the men endeavouring to blow them away, so that they might be clear of the ship.

Jack was much amused, and asked Jos the meaning of the ceremony. Jos answered—

“For why you don’t know? Dere is one great lady, queen, they call her, lives up in de sky, and she like to see dese paper junks; and so when she see dem, den she send breeze to blow junk along.”

Jack was highly amused at this account.

“Well, I never thought much of a Chinaman’s wit,” he observed; “but I did not think he was such a goose as to fancy that a breeze would be sent merely because he put some twisted-up bits of paper on the water.”

Jos, who understood some of these remarks, looked at him, and remarked—

“When I ’board English ship I hear sailors whistle, whistle, whistle when dere is calm. I ask why dey do dat? Dey say, ‘Whistle for a wind.’ Now, I tink Chinaman just as wise as English sailor. Anybody whistle, cost nothing. Chinaman spend money, buy gold paper, make junk, much trouble. Dat please Chinaman’s lady-god more dan empty whistle can Englishman’s fetish, or whatever he whistle to.”

“Excellent,” exclaimed Murray. “The Malay has hit us very hard. That whistling for a breeze is, in most cases, merely a foolish trick, but it is too indicative of unsound principles to be witnessed without pain. If we really considered the matter rightly, we should feel that every time we whistle for a breeze, we are offering a senseless insult to the Great Ruler of the universe. It is a remnant, I suppose, of some superstition of our Scandinavian ancestors, who thought by whistling they were addressing some demon or spirit of the elements.”

“That is taking the matter seriously, Alick; but I suppose you are right,” said Jack.

“Nothing that leads to error, or that encourages superstition, or that leads a person to rely on any other power or influence than that of God’s merciful providence, can be treated too seriously, my dear Jack,” answered Murray. “Here have we, worthless fellows, had our lives providentially preserved; and we ought to do our utmost in every way to employ them in His service, and to do His will and to make known His truth. Depend on it that it is a very useless sort of religion, or seriousness, which a man adopts only when he is on the point of death or feels himself too ill to enjoy life.”

“Well, well, Alick, I will do my best to log that down in my memory and stick to it,” answered Jack, who always felt the force of Murray’s remarks, which had already had a very considerable influence on him for good; more, probably, than Murray himself was aware of. However, he went on in faith, speaking faithfully to his friend, assured that he was doing his duty.

Jack and Murray did their best to make out in what direction they were going, and from the very rough calculation they were able to form, they conjectured that they had arrived at a group of islands within some hundred and fifty miles of the latitude of Canton. They were not allowed to go on shore, but were permitted occasionally to quit their little cabin in the stern and to walk about the deck; but the crew had communication with the land and brought off all sorts of provisions, by which they benefited.

Once more the fleet, consisting of about a dozen junks, put to sea. The next morning it was almost a calm; and as daylight came on a brig was seen, apparently a merchantman, with her foremast gone and otherwise much disabled. There could be little doubt that she had got into her present condition from having encountered one of those partial squalls which occasionally occur in those seas. A long consultation was held among the captains of the pirate fleet, in which the crews as well as the officers took considerable part. There was an immense amount of talking and gesticulation, and flourishing of creeses, and daggers, and swords, and various other weapons; and at last the sweeps were got out, and the junks began to move in a body towards the devoted brig. Jack asked Jos, the Malay, what the Chinamen were about to do.

“Cut de troat of ebery moder’s son of dem, take de cargo, and burn de brig, den no one get away to tell news,” was the answer.

“Kind and pleasant intentions, but what do they think we shall do?” observed Jack. “I don’t like the look of affairs. They will be for cutting our throats, to prevent our giving an account of their doings.”

“Perhaps the Malay is mistaken,” answered Murray. “They may not intend to murder the people; or if they do, they will keep us shut up in the cabin while the operation is going forward, or they will make us swear before they set us at liberty not to give information. I have no fears about our safety.”

“Nor have I in reality,” said Jack; “but I wish that we could render some assistance to the poor people on board the brig. We might warn them of the fate intended for them; but even if we got Jos and Hoddidoddi to stand by us, I am afraid we could not do much in the way of fighting.”

“I am afraid not, indeed,” said Murray; “we must be prepared for any emergency. It is impossible to say what will occur.”

“I like the feeling,” said Jack. “I wish that we were on board the brig though, we would have a fight for it. But we are drawing near. Had the pirates intended much mischief they would have sent us into our cabin, I suspect.”

The pirate junks had now completely hemmed in the helpless brig. She was American, for just then the stars and stripes of the United States flew out from her peak. Two men, apparently the captain and his mate, were seen to come on deck with revolvers in their hands. They turned round, and shouted in English and Spanish, and Malay down the hatchway, to the crew to come up on deck, and defend themselves and the ship and passengers like men. No one appeared.

“Cowards, wretches, brutes, will you have your throats cut like sheep without an attempt to defend yourselves? Take that, then!” cried the captain, and in his rage he hove his pistol at their heads and stood prepared for his fate. The mate threw his overboard, which was a wiser proceeding, and then, folding his arms, stood ready to bear whatever might occur.

“Those are brave fellows,” cried Jack; “we must try and save their lives at all events.”

The pirate crews now burst forth into the most terrific and unearthly shouts, and, urging on their junks, dashed up to the brig, and simultaneously threw their grappling irons on board her. At the same time those nearest to her hove fire-balls, and stink-pots, and stones, and bits of iron, and missiles of all sorts on board, and then reiterating their shrieks, sprang on to her deck. The captain and his mate, who had hitherto undauntedly stood at their post, were borne down; and the pirates, throwing themselves on them, seized their arms and bound them to the mainmast. There seemed to be a hundred or more pirates from the different junks: their persons garnished with pistols and daggers of all sorts stuck in leathern belts, and their heads surmounted with red turbans, which increased the natural hideousness of their countenances. Some of the savage crew joined hands and leaped and danced round and round the deck, with the most violent contortions of the body, shrieking all the time at the top of their voices, while others, flourishing their daggers and shrieking louder than ever, rushed below. At that instant a cry very different from that of the pirates ascended from the cabin. Jack and Alick heard it.

“It is the voice of a lady, or a female at all events,” cried Jack. “Alick, we must go and assist her. Jos, my boy, come along. Tell Hoddidoddi he is wanted. The Chinamen won’t stop us, they are all too busy.”

“I am with you,” answered Murray, as they picked up two Chinese swords, several of which lay about, and, followed by the Malay, leaped unopposed on the deck of the brig.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

The Night Battle.

The Chinese pirates were so busily employed in the agreeable occupation of plundering the American brig, that they did not observe the two midshipmen leaping in among them. Jack and Alick had on, it must be remembered, turbans and Chinese jackets and trousers like the rest, so in the confusion they easily passed unnoticed.

“I really think that we might drive the scoundrels out of the brig and retake her,” observed Jack as he sprang on.

“No, no, sare, one ting at a time, if oo please,” answered Jos the Malay, who heard his remark.

Jos was right, as Jack afterwards confessed, for though they might have swept off the heads of a good many pirates engaged in collecting booty, the rest would soon have come to their senses and cut off theirs.

Again the female cry was heard. Jack and Murray sprang into the main cabin. It was full of Chinese rifling the lockers and searching in bed-places or wherever anything could be stowed away. No females were there, but there was a hatchway and a ladder leading to the deck below. The cries proceeded from thence, so they jumped down, leaving Jos and Hoddidoddi, who had joined them, to guard the entrance. There, in dim uncertain light, they distinguished two ladies, apparently one old and stout, the other young, struggling in the hands of half a dozen or more pirates, who were endeavouring to draw the rings from their fingers, and their earrings from their ears. One lady was somewhat stout and oldish, the other was young and slight, and Jack thought very pretty. Whether ugly or pretty would not have mattered just then. She and the old lady were in distress, and that was enough to make the midshipmen eager to fight for them, whoever they were. They were very much terrified, but not so much so as to prevent them from endeavouring to repel the indignities offered them.

Not a moment was to be lost. There was no room to use their swords without running a great risk of wounding the ladies, so Jack knocked one fellow down with his fist, and another with the butt end of his pistol. Murray did the same. They then both planted such thorough honest English blows under the ribs of the other two miscreants, that they sent them reeling backwards among the casks and packages which filled the after-hold, and there they lay sprawling, unable to get up again.

“It won’t do to stop here, Alick,” cried Jack. “Haul along the old lady, I’ll carry the young one; and we’ll stow them away in our berth till we see what’s best to be done. Come along, miss. Beg pardon—hadn’t time to ask your leave; it’s all right, though.” Jack said this after he had lifted the young lady in his arms, and was carrying her up the ladder. As he remarked, there was no time for ceremony. Everything depended on the rapidity with which they could accomplish their enterprise.

“Thank you, thank you, sir; I trust you,” said the young lady in a foreign accent.

Murray, who always admired Jack’s plans when anything dashing was to be done, followed as fast as he could, helping the old lady along. He would have had great difficulty in making progress, had not Jos the Malay comprehended what was required. So he seized her under one arm, while Alick lifted her under the other, and thus, without molestation, they followed Jack on board the junk.

Jack rushed into their cabin, and placed his fair burden on a chair, when Alick and Jos bundled the old lady in after her, with a very scant ceremony; indeed there was no time for any; and then they closed the door and walked a little way off, and tried to look as unconcerned as if they had done nothing to merit the anger of the pirates.

“I begged the young lady not to be alarmed, and entreated her to try and keep the old one quiet, promising to defend them with our lives,” observed Jack.

“Of course we will do so, and Jos will stick by us, won’t you, Jos?” said Murray.

“Yes, sare,” answered the Malay; “but if Chinese come aboard, dey cut all our throats. Stay do—Jos know what he do.”

There was a peculiar, fierce, vindictive look on the countenance of the Malay as he spoke, which boded mischief. Without uttering another word he sprang on board the brig, and disappeared among the crowd who were hurrying to and fro below, removing the cargo.

Just then Murray pointed out to Jack the brave captain and mate of the brig sitting on deck, lashed with their hands behind them to the mainmast.

“When those wretches have glutted themselves with booty, they will indulge their evil tempers by tormenting those poor fellows. Could we not manage to release them while no one is watching us, and let them hide themselves on board their junk? We may, perhaps, by and by be able to form some plan to escape together.”

“With all my heart,” answered Jack. “No time like the present. Here goes.”

Saying this, he and Murray seized their swords, which they had stuck into the bulwarks, and a few springs brought them up to where the captain and mate were sitting. In an instant the knives were at work, and the ropes were cut.

“Leap on board the junk, my men, we’ll cover your retreat.”

The captain and mate did as they were directed, and had just reached the junk when several of the pirates saw what had happened and sprang after them.

Had not the midshipmen undertaken to defend them, their heads would have been off that moment. Jack and Alick had fortunately gained the side of the vessel, and there stood at bay. They had cut down three of their assailants, but others were coming on, when the Malay rushed past them, crying out, “Leap, leap on board; cast off, or we shall all blow up.” A back-handed blow which he gave with his short sword cut down the nearest of their assailants, and enabled them to accomplish his advice. He and they, without questions asked, instantly cast off the grapnels, and shoved the junk away from the brig before the Chinese saw what they were about.

Scarcely were they free, when a rush of flame burst out of the hold of the merchantman, and up went her decks with a terrific explosion, carrying masts, and spars, and sails, and cargo, and the many hundred human beings, who, like ants in a granary, were swarming in every direction, rifling her of the treasures she contained. The numerous junks surrounding her did not escape; some were blown up, others had their sides blown in, and several caught fire or were more or less injured. For a moment there was perfect silence; every one stood aghast, and then down came clattering on their heads, limbs, and trunks, and heads of human beings, and fragments of spars, and burning bales, and canvas, and packages burst open like shells, scattering their contents on every side. Next arose shrieks, and groans, and shouts, a hubbub most terrific, the cries of the wounded, and the imprecations of those who had escaped and been baulked of their prey.

“Dat is just what I tort it would be,” said Jos, quite coolly, watching the effects of the catastrophe, as he assisted to shove the junk out from among the crowd of burning vessels. The pirate captain and crew, most of whom had got on board, thought that they were very much indebted to him and the white men for having been the means of saving their vessel. As they also had been the most busily at work, and had collected a good deal of booty, they did not at all take to heart the accident which had happened to their pirate companions. They shrugged their shoulders, and blinked their little pig-eyes, and seemed to think that it was just as well as it was, seeing that they themselves had come off better than anybody else. A few more junks having blown up, and others burnt to the water’s edge or sunk, those that had escaped sent their boats, not so much for the chance of saving any fellow-creatures who might be struggling for existence, as to pick up any articles of value which might be still floating. The fleet then made sail away from the spot, lest the explosion might be the means of bringing down an enemy upon them to interfere with their proceedings.

The midshipmen were now placed in a somewhat difficult position with regard to the ladies in their cabin. How to account for their being there was one puzzle, and how to save them from annoyance or insult was another. The pirates seemed inclined to treat the American captain and mate as well as they had done the midshipmen. They had seen them very active in saving the junk, but it was probably not gratitude so much as the hope of obtaining a ransom which made them civil. Jos having intimated that they were hungry, in a short time a mess of food was brought for the whole party to the upper raised deck in the afterpart of the vessel. While discussing this meal, they also discussed the means likely to be most serviceable to the ladies. The American captain told them that his brig was the Wide Awake, that his name was William Willock, that of his mate, Joe Hudson; that they were bound to Sydney in Australia, where the two ladies, who were French, and mother and daughter, were proceeding.

“I know what!” cried Jack, as if a bright thought had struck him. “The pirates seem to treat men civilly enough; could we not manage to rig up the ladies in men’s clothes? There is a chest of Chinamen’s coats and trousers in our cabin, and the old lady would make a very tolerable mandarin.”

“I should think it would very speedily be discovered what they are,” answered Murray. “It will be better if we get Jos to talk over the old pirate skipper, and having excited his cupidity in suggesting a good ransom, produce our captives, and charge him to treat them well. What do you say. Captain Willock?”

“A very good plan, I guess,” was the answer; “there is nothing like making it the interest of a man to do what you want him. Just let the ladies show themselves. I suppose Chinamen have hearts like other people, and will have some compassion on them, when they see their distress.”

“But how are we to account for their being on board, and in our cabin?” asked Jack.

“Let your Malay friend, then, settle that; he’ll know what will be most likely to go down with the Chinamen,” answered Captain Willock.

“I think, rather, that we should boldly say that we brought them, and claim them as our share of the loot as the Indians call it—the booty,” said Murray. “Now all the miserable wretches from whom we rescued them have, in all probability, been destroyed, there will be no one, unless any of our own crew saw our proceedings, to witness against us. When the pirates find that they are to get a ransom for the ladies, they will be very much obliged to us for having saved them, and, depend on it, will treat them properly.”

Murray’s plan, which was certainly the wisest, as it was the most straightforward, was agreed to. They, however, said nothing till late in the evening, when the fleet of junks dropped their ponderous wooden anchors close to the shore in a beautiful little bay, surrounded by green hills covered to the water’s edge with trees.

“The pirates are fellows of some taste to choose this beautiful spot for their harbour,” observed Jack, looking round.

“Not they,” answered Captain Willock with a laugh. “I guess now they choose it because it hides them pretty securely, and they can sweep out and pounce down on any unfortunate craft which they may catch unprepared for them in the neighbourhood. But here’s our skipper; Fi Tan you call him, don’t you? Well, he’s a mild, decent, quiet old gentleman; don’t look as if his trade was cutting throats. You’d better tell him about the ladies, or he will be finding it out himself.”

Jack and Alick agreed to this, and calling Jos, begged him to open the subject to the pirate captain, which he did with no little circumlocution; and very considerable departure from the real facts of the case, notwithstanding Jack’s charge to him to adhere to them. The Malay had two reasons for this. In the first place, he had got so completely into the way of telling falsehoods, that he could scarcely speak the truth had he tried; and in the second place, he knew that, speak the truth or not, he should not be believed. Old Fi Tan having heard Jos to an end, and watched the dumb-show of the midshipmen and Americans, desired to have the cabin-door opened. The old lady, who had thrown herself into a bed, started up, and was going to shriek out, when Captain Willock’s voice reassured her. Her daughter, who had been watching while she slept, stood trembling by her side, but tried to look as composed as she could. Captain Willock and the midshipmen soon made them understand what had occurred, and begging them to be no longer alarmed, promised that they would do their best, either to effect their escape, or to obtain their ransom.

“Oh! but our friends are all in Australia; we have no one at Canton to care for us,” cried the young lady, wringing her hands.

“Never fear, miss,” said Jack. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t know your name; but I don’t doubt the merchants there will come down with all that is required; and if not, the midshipmen on the station would be delighted to pay your ransom, and take it out of the pirates afterwards, when we catch them.”

The young lady, who did not exactly understand who midshipmen were, or what taking it out of the pirates meant, nevertheless thought Jack a very polite young gentleman, and thanking him warmly, told him that her name was Cecile Dubois, and that her mother was Madame Dubois, but that she only spoke French, and as she was now too old to learn English, she hoped he would learn French to talk to her. Jack, with a flourish of his turban, which head-covering he and Murray wore instead of their caps, which they had lost, assured her that he should have unbounded pleasure in so doing, if she would undertake to teach him. “But, Miss Cecile,” added Jack, “now I know your name, it is pleasant to call you by it; before we begin, wouldn’t you like a little food? You and your mamma must be peckish, I suspect, and she doesn’t look as if she was accustomed to starve.” This want being made known to Jos, he in a short time procured an inexplicable sort of mess not altogether unattractive, to which, at all events, the old lady seemed perfectly ready to do justice, though the younger one, with a taste which Jack admired, only ate some of the rice, and the less oleaginous morsels.

Altogether the midshipmen were pretty well satisfied with the turn affairs had taken; but poor Captain Willock had to mourn over the loss of his ship and cargo, as also, probably, most of his crew. Some he had seen taken prisoners, and dragged off on board the junks. Whether their throats had been cut, or whether they were to be found among the pirate fleet, he could not tell; others he had too great reason to fear had been blown up. “They were cowards some of them to be sure, or they would have stuck by us, and we should have beaten off the pirates; but still I cannot bear to think of them all being cruelly murdered,” observed the captain to his mate.

“I guess you’re not far wrong, captain,” answered Joe Hudson. “If it hadn’t been for these British officers, we should have been where they are, pleasant or unpleasant.”

“We only did for you what I am sure you would have done for us,” answered Murray. “We liked to see the brave way you met the pirates, and we are very glad to have assisted any Americans, whom we look upon as cousins, the next thing to our own countrymen.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said Captain Willock warmly, taking Alick’s hand. “If the Britishers and Yankees were always together, we might flog all the world, I guess, who might try to oppose us.” Thus harmony prevailed among the captives.

For the next two days the fleet lay at anchor, those junks which had suffered by the explosion of the brig being engaged in repairing damages.

Jack got on very rapidly with his French, for, having nothing else to do, he studied very hard, and Mademoiselle Cecile happened to have a copy of Paul and Virginia in her pocket when the vessel was attacked. It served as a capital lesson-book.

As Murray already knew French, he did not require Miss Cecile’s lessons, and so he was able to look philosophically on, and, like a wise monitor, he told Jack to take care what he was about, neither to take possession of the young lady’s heart nor to lose his own. Whether he would have taken this advice, which was sage and sound, it is impossible to say; but other stirring events happened which put a stop to the French lessons.

One evening the midshipmen observed the pirates in a great state of commotion. Those who were on shore came off and armed themselves after their fashion, by sticking pistols and daggers in their belts, and hanging swords over their necks, and then all hands set busily to work to get their ships into fighting order. Jos, who had been on shore, came off among the others, and informed them that another pirate fleet had hove in sight, and that it was expected that it would come into the bay to attack them for the sake of making them disgorge the booty they had collected.

“Pretty scoundrels,” said Jack; “there is not even honour among these thieves themselves.”

“No, sare,” answered Jos quietly. “Big man in dis country always cut little man’s throat, if little man got any ting worth having.”

“Pleasant,” remarked Jack; “I would rather be an English ploughman than a Chinese mandarin.”

While the midshipmen were talking to Jos, Captain Fi Tan came up, and intimated to the latter that he should expect his prisoners to take an active part in the battle, and to assist in defending the junk.

“A cool request,” remarked Jack; “however, as fight we must probably to defend our own lives and those of the two ladies, we may as well make a virtue of necessity. You agree with me, Murray, and so do you. Captain and Mr Hudson? Well, then, Jos, tell Captain Fi Tan that we will fight for him, but that he must give us any recompense we may demand.”

Jos spoke to the pirate captain, and immediately said that he would agree to their terms.

“That’s to say, he’ll take the fighting out of us first, and then, if he finds it convenient, change his mind,” remarked Captain Willock. “I know the way of the Chinese. You cannot trust them.”

“Perhaps when we have taught them to trust us they may learn to be trustworthy themselves,” observed Murray; “besides, these fellows are professed pirates. What can you expect of them?”

“They are all alike, all alike; all rogues and vagabonds together,” answered the skipper.

After this somewhat sweeping condemnation of a whole people, their conversation was interrupted by the pirates bringing them a heap of pistols, daggers, knives, and swords, with which to cover their persons in Chinese fashion to be ready for battle. Darkness now came on, and in a short time lights were seen in a pretty dense line, reaching across the entrance of the harbour. The dark outlines of a fleet of junks soon after this appeared through the gloom, and forthwith gongs and cymbals began to clash, and shrieks and shouts ascended, and guns, and jingalls, and pistols went off, while fire-balls, and rockets, and stink-pots, and other Chinese devices for warfare, filled the air, and truly made “night hideous.”

Chapter Thirty.

An Attempt at Escape.

Rogers and Murray, and their companions, watched with considerable anxiety the approach of the fresh horde of pirates. From the number of lights they showed, and the noise they made, it was very evident that their fleet was much more powerful than the one which had captured the brig.

“If we were on shore now, I should little care if the result of the fight was like that of the two Kilkenny cats Adair tells a story about, who fought so desperately that at the end of the battle only their tails were to be found,” said Jack; “they having, in a way none but Irish cats could have succeeded in doing, eaten each other up. Paddy sticks to his story, and declares it is a truth, but does not exactly explain how it happened.”

Rogers’ remarks were cut short by one or two shots striking their junk, on which the crew set up the most terrific shouting, and began blazing away from all their guns, jingalls, and other firearms. Jack and Alick, and Captain Willock and his mate, loaded their muskets and began to fire away, and to make as much noise as the Chinese, but they none of them at first took much pains to aim at the other pirates, their object being to make their companions suppose that they were fighting desperately. However, before long a jingall ball grazed Jack’s shoulder, and that put up his blood.

“I say, it won’t do, we must drive these villains off,” he exclaimed; “if we don’t, we shall be getting the ladies’ throats cut, and our own too.”

“I am afraid so,” answered Alick; “it isn’t pleasant fighting either way.” So they now loaded faster than ever, and took the best aim they could. All the firing and shouting did not stop the advance of the enemy, and jingall balls and other missiles came flying thicker and thicker round their heads.

“Those poor ladies! What will become of them? They must be very much frightened,” cried Jack. A considerable number of the crew were by this time hit; many were killed outright, and as far as the midshipmen could judge, their side was getting the worst of it. Still the shrieks and cries in no way diminished, but rather grew louder and more unearthly. One large junk appeared to have singled them out, and was steadily approaching to board. Their crew evidently did not like this state of things. The old captain had just come up to them, with Jos the Malay as interpreter, to make some proposal or other to them, when, as the words were coming out of his mouth, a round shot took his head off, and his body was sent flying half across the deck. What he was saying Jos could not tell, and gravely remarked that no one was now likely to discover. The crew, on discovering that their chief was killed, and that they had lost so many of their companions, showed signs of unwillingness to fight. At last one ran to the side, and overboard he jumped, and began to swim towards the shore. One after the other followed like a flock of sheep, all taking the water exactly in the same way, till not a pirate remained on board. The midshipmen entreated Jos to remain, and Hoddidoddi engaged to stick by them.

“The ladies, probably, can’t swim,” observed Jack; “but if we could manage to launch a boat, we might get away before the big junk can scull alongside.” There was a boat, but on examining her, they found that she had several holes in her side, which was the reason the pirates had not taken her.

“That’s pleasant,” cried Jack. “Now if those fellows board us in a hurry, before Jos has time to explain who we are, we shall get knocked on the head to a certainty.”

“We must stow ourselves away, I fear, till the first rush is over,” said Alick. “We must keep outside the ladies’ cabin, so as to protect them.”

“I am afraid so,” said Jack, and he ran and told Madame Dubois and her daughter what had occurred, and entreated them not to be alarmed—advice which was more easily given than taken. Jack then ran back to Murray, who was trying to induce Jos and Hoddidoddi to remain with them, they very naturally wishing to swim on shore, under the belief that they should be knocked on the head if they remained. On came the huge junk, and in another instant would have been alongside, when, as the midshipmen began to feel that too probably their last moments had arrived, a loud roar was heard, up went her decks and masts and sails, and fierce flames burst out from every part of her—the same event which had happened to the brig had occurred to her; she had blown up. The bodies of the poor wretches belonging to her, and the burning fragments of the vessel, fell close alongside them, and nearly set their junk on fire. Had they possessed a boat, they would have done their best to render assistance to the drowning wretches; as it was, they ran to the side of the vessel, and got such ropes as they could lay hands on to heave-to the people who were swimming about. The pirates, however, believing that if they came near the vessel they were about to attack they would simply be thrust back again into the water, or be knocked on the head, or have their throats cut, or be disposed of in some similarly unpleasant way, kept at a distance, and the midshipmen saw them one by one disappear beneath the surface. All this time the battle was raging on every side round them, and the attacking fleet drew closer and closer to the junks at anchor, and appeared to be gaining the victory. As soon as they could, the midshipmen ran to the ladies’ cabin to tell them what had occurred, and to give them such consolation as they had to offer.

“But could not we manage to make the vessel sail and run away?” exclaimed Cecile, with considerable animation, as if a bright thought had struck her.

“I wish we could, Miss Dubois,” said Jack; “but there is no wind, and we have not strength to hoist these heavy mat sails of the junk.”

“Ah! but I will help you, and so will mamma, I am sure,” answered the young lady.

“Mamma would be of great assistance in hoisting, I doubt not,” said Jack, looking with an expression of humour, which he could not repress, towards the weighty dame. “We’ll try what can be done.” They could not venture to remain long in the cabin, so they hurried back on deck. They were as much puzzled as ever to know what next to do. Their great fear was that the pirates would return from the shore and prevent any attempt they might make to escape. When they told the American captain what Miss Cecile had proposed, he said that she was a brave young lady for thinking of such a thing; that perhaps a breeze might come off the land, and that if it did, they would try and sway up the foresail. Scarcely had they come to this resolution, when, by the flashes of the guns, they saw a boat pulling a short distance ahead of them. The American captain hailed. A voice answered immediately in English. “Why, that’s one of my men, as I’m a freeborn American!” exclaimed the captain. “Come here; be smart now.” In less than a minute one of the boats of the brig came alongside with three seamen in her. They had been captured by a junk, and, finding the boat floating astern, they had taken the opportunity, during the confusion of the battle, of jumping into her and pulling off. The boat was too large for the three men to manage, and they would probably have been lost had they got outside. Not a moment was wasted in bringing the two ladies from the cabin, and in lowering them into her. Captain Willock and his mate, and Jos and Hoddidoddi followed, and they were hurriedly shoving off, eager to get away from the junk, when Murray asked the rest if they were going to live on air, and reminded them that they would all be starved if they had not a supply of provisions.

“Very right, sare,” observed Jos; “me go find food.”

Accordingly he and the two midshipmen and Mr Hudson jumped on board again and hunted about for food. It was rather difficult to find in the dark, but they got some jars of water, and a bag of rice, and a collection of nameless things which they supposed were to be eaten. They got also a small stove, with fuel, and a saucepan. Altogether, considering that they seized whatever they could lay hands on, they had reason to be satisfied with the result of their search. Fortunately, just that particular spot was in comparative darkness, though on either side the pirates were firing away at each other as furiously as ever.

Captain Willock took the helm, and the two midshipmen, with Joe Hudson and the Malay, each seizing an oar, away they pulled at a pretty good speed from the scene of action. The shot, however, every now and then came whizzing over them, and made Madame Dubois shriek out rather too lustily. Her daughter, on the contrary, kept perfectly silent, or if she spoke, it was to entreat the old lady not to be alarmed.

“But, ma chère fille, if those horrid balls should hit us, how dreadful!” was the answer.

“Yes, ma mère, but crying out will not stop them,” remarked Miss Cecile; an observation which Jack highly admired.

He and Alick and the rest pulled with all their might, as they had good reason for doing, with the prospect of liberty before them, and imprisonment or death if they were recaptured. As they drew out from the light thrown on them by the flashes of the guns, and away from the shot, they all breathed more freely, and Madame Dubois began to leave off screaming, giving way only at intervals to a short hysterical cry as the sound of a more than usual crashing broadside reached her ears. At last they were completely shrouded by the gloom of night, and they could only now and then hear a faint rattle in the distance.

Captain Willock steered north-west, the direction in which he supposed Canton to lie. On they pulled for several hours, till at last they grew very tired and hungry, so they stopped rowing and cried out for food. Joe Hudson had charge of the provisions. From the first bag he opened he produced some tough, dry lumps, on the nature of which no one could pronounce till they had reached the Malay. He bit away at one, and then remarked—

“Want boiling; crawl, crawl; berry good do.”

“Slugs,” cried Jack. “Hand something else out.”

The next bag was full of some long, dried things, which might have been eels, but were very probably snakes. Frogs and snails in a dried or pickled state were not more tempting; but at last they came on a basket of shell-fish, which, with some unboiled rice, stopped the gnawings of hunger, but did not make a very satisfying meal. They were afraid then of lighting a fire, but they agreed that they would do so in the morning.

Once more they took to their oars. They now, however, could not make much progress, nor could they have done so had a breeze sprung up, as they possessed no sails. They hoped, therefore, that it would continue calm. In this, however, they were destined to be disappointed. Not long past midnight a gentle zephyr began to play over the surface of the water, and soon it turned into a light breeze, and that increased into a stiff one, and by degrees it grew stronger and stronger, and the sea got up and tossed the boat about, and that made Madame Dubois scream as loud as before, and now and then the spray washed over them, and then she screamed louder still; and next it was discovered that the boat leaked, and it was necessary to employ two men constantly in baling to keep her afloat. The more she tumbled about the more she leaked, and the louder poor Madame Dubois screamed. Her daughter proved herself a regular heroine, and made no noise, and only grasped the side of the boat tighter as it rose and fell on the seas. The morning approached, but matters did not improve; the wind blew stronger; the waves grew higher and seriously threatened to swamp the boat.

“I say, Alick, this is no fun,” observed Jack. “What’s to be done?”

“We must get under the lee of the land till the gale moderates,” answered Murray.

The wind, it must be observed, was favourable; but the sea had now got up so much, that it was dangerous to run before it. Captain Willock agreed to Murray’s proposal, and, watching their opportunity, they got the boat round head to the seas, and pulled in for the shore. This was very trying after all their labours; but they were not the only people in the world who have to toil in vain, or have to undo all the work they have done and begin again. They now shipped less water, but they made very little way in consequence of the heavy sea. Daylight at last came, but did not exhibit a pleasant prospect. The green seas tumbled and foamed about them; the dark clouds hurried along overhead, while about three miles off appeared the land with the harbour they had left a few miles along the shore on the port bow. The idea that they might get into some bay or inlet, and remain, there till the weather moderated, was a considerable consolation. Still, pull as hard as they could, they could not make their heavy boat go ahead, but rather found themselves drifting farther off the shore. The great thing, however, was to keep the boat afloat. Hour after hour thus passed away, till at last the wind began to fall and the sea quickly went down; and, instead of making for the shore, it was proposed putting the boat about and continuing their course. The captain was looking out for a lull to do this, when an exclamation from his lips made everybody turn their eyes in the direction towards which he pointed, the port they had left, where several large junks were seen rounding the headland which formed its side on the west. They all anxiously watched the junks; they were steering to the north-west.

“They are in pursuit of us,” observed Jack.

“Little doubt about it, I guess,” said Captain Willock.

“Can we not escape them?” said Murray.

“By lying quietly down at the bottom of the boat we might,” said the captain. “We’ll wait, though, till they come near.”

The junks advanced, and from their appearance it seemed too probable that they were the very fleet of pirates which had entered the harbour the previous evening, and that, having been victorious, they were again sailing in search of fresh plunder.

“We had a narrow escape, then,” observed Jack. “If we had remained, we should, long before this, have been food for the sharks in the bay.”

“I guess that we shall be lucky if we are not down the throats of some of them before night,” pleasantly observed Captain Willock.

Madame Dubois did not understand him, or it would have set her off screaming again. She willingly enough lay down in the bottom of the boat, and Jack in his choicest French begged she would keep quiet; her daughter followed her example; and as the sea had gone down, the oars were laid in, and the rest of the party placed themselves under the thwarts out of sight. As, however, the junks were steering almost directly for them, they had little expectation of escaping notice. Jack had great difficulty, he confessed, in refraining from jumping up every instant to watch the progress of the junks.

“What do you say, Alick?” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Suppose we arm ourselves with the boat’s stretchers, and the moment a junk runs up to us jump on board and capture her? It’s the best thing I can think of to do.”

“We should probably be knocked on the head, and be sent overboard again,” answered Alick. “We must stay quiet, and wait the course of events.”

“I suppose it is the wisest thing, but I should like to have a fight for life,” said Jack, with a sigh.

The boat kept slowly turning round and round, and just then, by lifting his head up a little, he saw the mast-heads and sails of two junks, which were bearing close down upon them. There seemed now an impossibility of their escaping detection.

“We are in for it,” whispered Jack. “Let’s have a fight.”

“I guess it would be a short one,” answered Captain Willock; “stay quiet, Mr Rogers, if you don’t want all our throats cut.”

Two minutes more elapsed, and the high sides of two large junks, crowned by big round shields and numberless hideous grinning faces looking down on them, appeared, one on either hand. A couple of grapnels were hove into the boat, which was nearly crushed between the two vessels, and a dozen or more pirates, armed to the teeth, looking more like demons than men, sprang into her. Before Jack, or Murray, or Captain Willock, or indeed any of the party, could offer any resistance, they had passed running nooses over their shoulders, by which those on deck hauled them up without power of resistance. Jack, Alick, the American skipper, and Jos were fished up on board one junk, and they saw, to their great regret, the Frenchwoman and her daughter hoisted up on the other, poor madame half dead with terror, shrieking out vain petitions to be set on her feet.

“Jos, Jos,” cried Jack, when he saw this, “tell the pirates they must let the poor ladies remain with us. They will frighten them to death.”

Jos shook his head. “No good, now,” he answered, mournfully; “dey cut all our troats.”

Just then, the junk which had caught the midshipmen separated from the boat, and they, with the captain and Jos, being dragged by the pirates into a cabin, were unable to discover what became of the rest of the party.

Chapter Thirty One.

On Board the Junk.

While the French lady and her daughter, with Mr Hudson, the American mate, one seaman, and Hoddidoddi were carried off by one junk, the two midshipmen, Captain Willock, and Jos, with the remaining seamen, found themselves stowed away on board another.

“I say, Alick, we must try and help those poor ladies somehow or other,” observed Jack; “I hope the pirates will not hurt them.”

“I hope not, though I am afraid they will frighten the poor mamma out of her wits,” said Murray. “But without being selfish, we must first consider how we are to get free ourselves.”

“Something may turn up in the wheel of Fortune,” returned Jack. “We very nearly effected our escape; perhaps the next time we shall be more fortunate; at present I cannot say that I see any opening by which we may bring about that desirable event.”

As he spoke he looked round the little cabin in which they were shut up with a disconsolate yet half-ludicrous air. The prisoners were sitting with their backs to the bulkheads, and their feet towards the centre of the chamber. The door was locked, and there was no lookout except through the chinks between the bamboos which formed the sides. They discovered by the motion of the vessel, that there was a stiff breeze, and that they were sailing along very rapidly. In vain they tried to ascertain in what direction they were sailing. They looked through the chinks, but all they could see were the figures of the crew as they moved about the deck, and the inner part of the bulwarks and the back of the shields which hung up above them. Hunger is a strong motive to exertion. It had the effect, when after a time the party began to feel its pangs, of making them somewhat less quiet than at first. Some of the men were for trying to break out of their prison, but Captain Willock assured them that the attempt would be useless, and suggested that Jos should try the power of his eloquence in softening the hearts of their captors. Jos expressed his approval of the proposed plan, and forthwith began a loud chaunt, which he informed his fellow-prisoners was descriptive of their present forlorn and famished condition, of the prowess of the warriors of Queen Victoria, and of the certainty that they would revenge any injury inflicted on any of their fellow-subjects, as also of their custom of rewarding those who treated them well.

“I say,” observed Jos, “Queen Victoria knock on de head any one hurt us—give plenty money any one give us plenty food—make us fat.”

“That’s it,” cried Jack, “sing away in that strain; they understand that sort of reasoning better than any other argument.”

On went Jos again with his chaunt, the commencement of which sounded very like—

Hi fum diddle eye, ho fol lol,

Tittle-bats cats-call, tol de rol lol.

It is not necessary to give the whole of the song. Jos assured his companions that it was very pathetic, and that if it did not move the hearts of the pirates he would not believe that they had any hearts at all. Whether the pathos, or the threats of vengeance, or the hopes of reward held out had most effect is uncertain, but in a short time the door of the cabin was opened, and a Chinamen appeared with a big copper bowl or pot in his hands, full of a hot savoury mess. He looked at Jos and nodded, as much as to say, “We heard you,” and then placed the bowl in the middle of the cabin. There were some chop-sticks in the bowl, but no spoons, or knives, or forks. Captain Willock looked at them with a puzzled air.

“If those are toothpicks they are whoppers, and I must say I would rather they were not there,” he observed, as he tucked back the cuff of his coat. “However, I suppose we mustn’t be particular, and as I guess we’re all equal just now, here goes.”

Saying this he plunged his fingers into the bowl, and drew forth a suspicious-looking mass. He gazed at it for a time, then shut his eyes, and plunged it into his mouth.

“A wise proceeding,” observed Jack, as he and Alick, following his example, did the same.

The rest of the party were not so particular, and only opened their eyes rather wider than usual as odd-looking particles of food were fished out of the bowl. It was very soon emptied, for as everybody was hungry, they were all eager to get their due portions. Most of them at first fancied that they could have eaten twice as much; however, when Jack and Alick leaned back again against the bulkheads, they were soon convinced that they had had enough. In a little time, the door again opened, and another man, who looked from his richer clothes and manner like an officer, popped in his head and beckoned to Captain Willock and the two midshipmen to come out of the cabin. They, happy to have the opportunity of stretching their legs, jumped up with alacrity, and followed him on deck.

Jack’s first impulse was to look out for the junk which had Miss Cecile and her mother on board, but she was nowhere to be seen. Their junk was, however, standing down towards a fleet of considerable size. As there was a stiffish breeze, they were soon among them, and from the hailing, and talking, and chattering, and the way in which they themselves were pointed at, the junks had pretty evidently not met for some time. Jos, who was shortly after this allowed to come out of the cabin, told them that they were right in their conclusions. The whole fleet now made sail together, and stood to the eastward. The night, when they were all shut up again in the same cabin, was not over pleasant. When daylight broke, the door was opened, and they were allowed to go out. It was a perfect calm, and the pirates were propelling their huge junks, so unwieldy in appearance, with long oars, or rather sculls, through the water at no inconsiderable rate. There was evidently an object in this speed, for the Chinamen are not given to exert themselves without a cause.

“Perhaps they are pursued by an enemy, and if so, we have a a chance of being rescued,” observed Jack, as he first went on deck.

“No, I think not. See, the whole fleet are steering for the same point,” answered Murray. “Ah! look ahead; what do you see there?”

“A brig, and I do believe a brig-of-war,” exclaimed Rogers. “I shouldn’t be surprised if she proves to be the Blenny. If she is, the pirates will find that they have caught a Tartar.”

“She is not unlike your little brig, certainly, but at this distance it is impossible to say,” remarked Murray. “But even a brig-of-war in a calm, surrounded by this host of junks, will have great odds against her; still, our fellows will do their best—of that I am very certain.”

“That they will, there’s no doubt about it,” observed Captain Willock. “You Britishers fight well, I guess, and no wonder, when you’ve had us to practise with.”

“I wonder, captain, that you do not declare that the Yankees taught us to fight,” said Jack, laughing.

“And so we did, I guess,” quickly answered the skipper. “We taught you a trick or two, at all events.”

“What was that?” asked Jack.

“To keep awake,” answered Captain Willock. “It is the first thing for a soldier or a sailor to do, you’ll allow, and before that time you were apt to go to sleep now and then I calculate.”

“Perhaps you are right, captain,” said Murray; “but what was the other trick you taught us?”

“Not to despise your enemies, I guess,” answered the skipper. “You despised us, and we beat you; you did not despise the French, who were ten times better soldiers than the Americans were, and had fifty times better generals than we had, and you beat them. There was the difference. Never think meanly of the people with whom you are fighting. Believe that you will drub them in the end—that’s all right; but only fancy you can do so with a great deal of trouble and hard fighting, and always believe that they are about to play you some trick or other. That’s my philosophy about fighting. I’d advise you to take up the same and stick to it. And this brings me to that brig of yours out there. You make sure that she’ll drub the junks. Just take care that the junks don’t drub her; not but that I know what your people are made of, and next to our people there ain’t any people who fight better in the world when they’re put to it, that I’ll allow, but—”

“All right,” exclaimed Jack, who did not wish to discuss the subject. “But see what these cunning rogues are about.”

While the above discussion was going on, the fleet of junks had separated into four divisions. One led, keeping away so as to give a respectful berth to the brig, two others branched off on either side, and one, which was the junk which bore the midshipmen and their fortunes, gave up sculling and remained stationary. It was very evident that the intention of the pirates was completely to surround the brig. After a time, the last-named division began once more to creep slowly on, and, the circle being formed, the whole advanced, decreasing it by degrees, till they got within range of the brig’s guns. So eager were the pirates that they paid little attention to their prisoners, who all, therefore, assembled on the deck to watch proceedings.

“She is the Blenny, there is no doubt about it,” cried Jack. “Our fellows will not knock under as long as a man remains alive on the deck to fight her guns.”

The Chinese knew that their shot would not fly across the brig so as to hit their friends on the other side of her, so as they closed in their circle became complete, with short distances only between each junk. The prisoners also watched proceedings with such intense interest, that they totally forgot the danger to which they themselves were exposed.

“I wish that the brig would open her fire, and give it these scoundrels well,” cried Jack; “I wonder that they don’t begin.” He had scarcely spoken when there was a flash and a report from one of the brig’s guns, and a shot struck the junk just astern of them. Several of the Chinese fired in return, but their shot scarcely reached the brig. The pirate admiral or commodore, on seeing this, threw out signals to close in still more, and as the junks began to move the Blenny let fly both her broadsides at the same moment, several of the shot striking the junks, and ripping open their sides.

This in no way daunted them. They seemed resolved on the destruction of the brig. The sculls were still more vigorously plied, and they advanced rapidly, till they had got her well within range of their guns. And now from every side they opened on her, while, she replied in the most spirited way, firing her guns as rapidly as they could be hauled in, loaded, and run out again. The shot from the pirate’s junks told, however, with very considerable effect on her, and the midshipmen had too much reason to fear that many of their friends must have lost the number of their mess. The pirates all seemed to aim at the hull of the brig. They expected, apparently, that the calm would continue, and all they wanted was to kill as many of the Englishmen as they could before they attempted to board her.

“I say, I guess your friends aboard there will be getting the worst of it if this sort of fun lasts much longer,” observed the Yankee captain to Murray.

“I am afraid so, indeed,” answered Alick, with a deep sigh and a sinking of the heart; “I wish we were aboard to help them.”

“I guess, now, we should have a better chance of helping them by being aboard here,” answered the captain. Alick thought so likewise. He and Jack were glad that they were not compelled to fight against their countrymen.

The larger number of the junks had placed themselves ahead and astern of the brig, and kept pouring in a raking fire on her. To avoid this as much as she could, she got out her sweeps; but they continued to change their positions as often as she got her head round, so that the English had not a moment’s respite. The pirates shouted with delight as they saw the success of their plan. They, of course, thought it would be a great thing to cut off an outer Barbarian man-of-war, and anticipated no small amount of valuable plunder as their reward. They, however, were all this time not escaping scot-free, for the brig’s shot went through and through the hulls of their junks, and several of them were reduced to a sinking condition; while the musketry of the marines told with no little effect on their decks. Still they had the advantage of an immense superiority in numbers, and although they might lose twice as many men as the crew of the brig numbered, they might still come off victorious. Nearer and nearer crept the junks. For some time no people were killed on board the one which had captured the midshipmen. This made her captain and crew grow bold, and approach still nearer to the Blenny.

“They would be wiser if they kept at a distance,” observed Rogers; “they’ll catch it to a certainty.”

“Perhaps they hope to bring the combat to a conclusion,” remarked Murray.

“They’ll not do that, let me tell them, in a hurry,” exclaimed Jack; “they little think what sort of a fellow they have to deal with in Hemming. He’ll give them more than they expect.”

While Jack was speaking, several shots came crashing on board the junk, killing five men, wounding others, and knocking away part of the bulwarks. The wounded men set up the most terrific cries, and their shipmates, anxious to avoid a second edition of the same dose, put about, and sculled off to a more respectful distance. Another junk, the next in the line, was not so fortunate. The greater part of a broadside struck her. The midshipmen saw her reel with the shock, and immediately she began to sink lower and lower, till down she went, and the water washed over the spot where she had just before floated. Numbers of her crew went down with her or followed her to the bottom. Very few of the neighbouring junks took the trouble of lowering their boats to pick up the remainder, and numbers were drowned in sight of their countrymen, by whom, with a little exertion, they might have been saved.

The engagement had now lasted several hours, and neither side had gained any material advantage. Some junks had been sunk, and a good many Chinamen killed; but as a set-off against this, there could be no doubt that the brig had lost several men. Jack, too, observed that she now only fired when the junks pressed very close round her, and he could not but suspect that she was running short of ammunition. The evening was drawing on. It was a question whether darkness would favour the crew of the brig, or make her enemies bolder. She at length ceased firing, and manning all her sweeps, she began to move forward, very clearly with the intention of fighting her way out from among the pirates.

“She is coming towards us. Hurrah!” cried Jack. “Now if we could but knock the fellows aboard here on the head, we might render her some help.”

“Don’t be trying that on,” said Captain Willock. “We shall only lose our lives if we make the attempt.”

“But I must get on board her somehow or other,” answered Jack, as he spoke, kicking off his shoes and throwing off his jacket. It had now grown very dark, though the constant flashes of the guns kept the scene well lighted up. The Blenny could be seen, though she had ceased firing, gliding on towards them. The pirates had been taking no notice of their prisoners for some time. The brig had got within a cable’s length of them.

“Now or never,” cried Jack. “Alick, in case I am drowned, you’ll do all I have asked you.” And without waiting for a reply, he sprang over the side of the junk, and catching hold of a rope, let himself down into the water without a splash, and struck off towards the brig. The pirates did not understand what he was doing till he had reached the water; at first they thought he was in despair going to drown himself, but when they saw him swimming away they began to fire at him with the jingalls. Favoured by the darkness, he was soon out of their sight. To avoid the sweeps, he had to make a wide circuit, and he was pretty well tired when he got under the stern of the brig.

“Brig ahoy. Heave a rope here, and help me aboard,” he sang out.

“A man overboard!” exclaimed some one from the afterpart of the deck.

“Pass a rope here; be smart now. Heave!”

“Who is it? who is it?” cried several voices.

“It’s I, Jack Rogers. Be quick, now, for I’ve had a long swim,” cried Jack. He soon got hold of the rope which was heaved to him, and was hauled on board over the stern.

“What! Rogers, my dear fellow, is it you?” exclaimed Captain Hemming, as he grasped his hand. “Where have you come from?”

Jack told him, and urged that they should immediately board the junk he had left, and rescue the rest of the prisoners.

“My only doubt is, whether we can get alongside her,” answered Captain Hemming. “However, we will try. I am glad to engage in any work with cold steel; but, Rogers, I am sorry to say that our ammunition is almost expended, and though we will not yield as long as a man remains alive to fight, I look with apprehension to what may occur.” The brig was now approaching the junk, which fired away furiously at her, but this did not stop her progress, and before the pirates knew what was going to happen, she dashed alongside.

“Lash her to the junk. Boarders, follow me.” Jack had seized a cutlass, and, dripping with wet, he sprang on board by the side of his commander. “Alick, Captain Willock, friends, all get on board the brig as fast as you can,” he sang out.

Murray and the rest of the prisoners were ready enough to follow his advice. Seizing what weapons they could lay hands on, they cut down or knocked over all the pirates who opposed them, and soon gained the deck of the brig. The boarders in the meantime cleared the junk, the greater number of her crew who escaped their cutlasses jumping overboard and perishing in the sea. The seamen then hove overboard all the guns of the junk, and returned to the brig. They would have set her on fire, but had they done so, they would very likely have got burnt themselves.

“That’s one enemy less, my lads,” cried Captain Hemming in a cheerful tone, though he felt anything but cheerful. “We must treat the rest in the same way.”

The pirates on board the other junks, discovering what had occurred, took very good care to keep out of the way of the brig.

Captain Hemming, therefore, spent the whole night in trying in vain to get alongside some more junks, and when morning dawned they appeared formed in a close circle round her as on the previous day. Those on board the Blenny had passed an anxious and harassing night; the prospect for the following day was gloomy indeed. The second lieutenant, a midshipman, and eight men had been killed, and twenty were wounded, many of them put out of fighting trim. Jack and his companions afforded, therefore, a very welcome addition to their strength. With daylight the pirates began to fire away as on the previous day.

Rogers and Murray, however, now felt very differently to what they had done on the previous day. Then all the shots they saw fired were against their friends; now the few Captain Hemming ventured to let fly were against their enemies. At length only three rounds remained on board. The brig ceased firing. The pirates thought that the time for boarding her simultaneously had arrived, and gliding up closed their circle round her.

In vain all on board looked out for the sign of a breeze. Not a cloud was in the sky—the sea was like glass. The sweeps were therefore again manned, and she advanced as fast as they could urge her towards the approaching line. The pirates came on, thinking that she would fall an easy prey into their hands.

“Reserve your fire, my lads, till we are close to them,” cried the captain. “Now give it them.” The broadsides of the brig were poured into the junks, which had ranged up on either beam, with terrible effect. One junk went down, and another was left without a scull to impel her, and with a third of her crew killed or wounded.

Still the pirates were undaunted. On they came, again to receive another broadside. But one now remained. The junks moved away to a short distance, to hold a consultation, it seemed. The result was to renew the attack on the brig.

“We’ll give our last dose, lads, to that big fellow, who is, I suppose, their admiral,” cried Jack, who had taken command of the guns on one side, in place of the lieutenant who was lolled.

With a cheer, the men obeyed, and the big junk reeled from the effect of their fire. The opposite broadside was discharged at the same time. And now the brig was unarmed; but she had still stout hearts and sharp cutlasses on board, and, grasping the latter, the crew prepared to defend her to the last.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Fight to the Last!

The Chinese pirates now made sure that the brig was their own, though so severe was the lesson she had given them that they showed a considerable disposition to approach her with caution. Still, as they drew closer and closer round her, and she no longer continued to fire, they grew bolder in their proceedings. Hitherto the crew of the Blenny were not aware that their powder was exhausted. Captain Hemming thought it better to tell them. “My lads,” he exclaimed, in as cheerful a tone as he could assume, “we have run short of powder, but as I take it, no one would dream of striking to these cut-throats; we’ll show them that British seamen know how to use their cutlasses.” The men gave a hearty cheer, to show that they responded to their commander’s appeal. Still there were fearful odds against them. The pirate junks pressed on, and though the gallant tars would have despised the crews who manned them, still, from their very numbers, they might prove overwhelming.

“My dear Jack,” said Alick, in a low voice, “I never thought it would come to this; but it seems that the enemy will get the better of us, after all. We’ll render a good account of them, however, before that.”

“We will,” said Jack, drawing in his sword-belt a hole tighter, and clutching his cutlass with a firmer grasp. “That big fellow will be alongside us in half a minute. But, I say, what are those?” He pointed, as he spoke, through an opening between two of the junks. All eyes were turned in the same direction. Several dark objects were seen on the water. They were boats. The foam thrown up by their bows glittered brightly as the rays of the sun fell on it, showing the rate at which they were coming on. The British crew gave an involuntary cheer as they caught sight of them. They had no doubt they were friends. So intent had been the pirates on capturing their prey that they had not yet discovered the approach of the boats. The sight gave fresh energy to the British seamen. The big junk at length got alongside the brig, and from her lofty bulwarks down poured the pirates on the deck of the latter; but though they got there, they had reason to wish themselves back again, for the British cutlasses made very speedy work of them, and not one in ten escaped with their lives. Still, even the bravest of the English tars wished that the boats would arrive, for two more huge junks ranged up, one on the Blenny quarter and another on her bows, and they had to divide to repel the pirates who swarmed on their sides. Another and another junk came up, and soon joined outside of the others, so that the pirates had the power of throwing a continual stream of boarders on to the deck of the brig. Had they not known of the approaching boats, hope would certainly have forsaken the crew of the Blenny. A few musket cartridges remained, with which the marines kept up a fire on the denser masses of pirates. The smoke they produced, added to that of the guns from the pirates, threw so thick a veil over the scene that the expected boats were no longer visible. More than once Captain Hemming pulled out his watch to ascertain how time sped, and then again had to lead on his men to repel a fresh attack. Several times the British were almost overpowered, and the most resolute bravery alone could have saved them. Suddenly some sharp reports were heard close to them. The masts of several of the junks were observed to be receding, and then arose above the din of battle three hearty British cheers. The hard-pressed crew of the Blenny responded to it, but they had to exert every nerve and muscle to keep the enemy at bay. There were more shouts and shots, and then came shrieks and cries and the clashing of steel, and Terence Adair, with little Harry Bevan, was seen, followed by a party of seamen, cutting their way along the deck of the nearest junk, driving numbers of pirates before them, till they reached the point in contact with the brig, when, with a cry of joy, Terence and Harry leaped down on her deck. The meeting of the friends was brief indeed, but cordial, and then once more they separated, each with their followers, to attack in return the junks which pressed round them. At this juncture the brig’s royals were seen to bulge out for an instant; there was an evident movement among the junks; the shouts and hurrahs of the British seamen were redoubled; the shrieks and cries of the Chinese increased. The mass of junks surrounding the brig began to break away. Those inside now seemed to be in the greatest hurry to escape. Mr Cherry’s countenance, even in the heat of battle, looking jovial and rosy, was now seen, as he fought his way with his boat’s crew from deck to deck of the junks, driving their crews into the sea. No quarter was asked by the desperadoes, and the British seamen were not much inclined to give any.

The roar of guns was heard. It was the frigate which was now coming up with a rattling breeze, firing at the flying junks. The pirates made the most desperate efforts to escape. They cut and slashed away with their axes in the most frantic manner at the grapnels which they themselves had thrown on board the brig, and at the ropes which secured them to each other, and, at length, those who could not free their junks began cutting their throats, blowing out their brains, jumping overboard, or disembowelling themselves, while others, in the madness of their desperation, fired into their magazines, or threw torches into the holds of their vessels, in the hopes of burning their foes with themselves. In this last amiable intention they did not succeed as well as they expected, for as the junks were by this time pretty well separated, though some blew up and some burned, a great number were captured by the boats. The frigate now got up to the scene of action, and her shot as she passed them sank several more of the junks which might have escaped, and crippled others, which the boats succeeded in capturing.

Jack and Alick had, meantime, with half a dozen followers, boarded a big junk, the crew of which made a most desperate resistance. While engaged in driving the enemy overboard, or otherwise disposing of them, the midshipmen perceived that the junk, which had all her sails set, had got free from the brig, and was driving rapidly away from her. They had very severe work, for when the pirates saw themselves free from the brig they made a stand, which nothing but the most determined courage could have overcome. Again and again the midshipmen and their followers charged them. At last the chief, with most of his officers, was killed, and the rest began to give way. The remainder finding this, and knowing that there was no chance of escape, began getting rid of their lives in the way which has been already described, the process being considerably aided by their conquerors, till the last gang of them, with terrific shrieks, went overboard together. As to the English seamen attempting to save the lives of any of them, that was impossible, for they themselves even would not allow it.

“Hillo!” cried Jack, as the last party of them disappeared, and left the deck clear of all but the dead or dying, “where are we?” Well might he ask the question, for the junk had been driving away before the wind, and had by this time got nearly a couple of miles away from the brig. “At all events, we have got an independent command,” he continued, when he had ascertained the state of affairs; “and, Alick, I vote we take a cruise by ourselves, and capture some more of the enemy. You and I look like Chinamen already, and we can easily rig out our men in some of the clothes of these fellows, and so I have no doubt we shall be able to get alongside without their suspecting us.”

Murray thought the notion not a bad one, and the men were delighted with it, very soon transforming themselves into fierce-looking pirates, pigtails and all, for they very rapidly cut off the latter appendages from their conquered foes.

Their next business was to throw the dead men overboard, and to bind up the wounds of those who still lived; but those who had strength tore off the bandages as fast as they were put on, and were evidently intent on quitting the world. The midshipmen did all they could to prevent them by keeping all weapons out of their reach; but one fellow got hold of a knife and stabbed himself to the heart, another blew out his brains with the pistol which he drew out of his comrade’s pocket, and a third, after his wounds had been bound up, and he had a little recovered his strength, took the opportunity of scrambling overboard. If Jack and Alick would have allowed it, the seamen, on observing this, would have thrown the rest of the prisoners after them.

“What’s the use of coopering up these chaps, if that’s the way they goes for to behave to themselves?” exclaimed Dick Snatchblock, the boatswain’s mate, as he caught another fellow by the leg who was attempting to do the same. “Keep quiet you, I say,” and he dealt him a box on the ears which knocked him flat on the deck. They now made sail after three junks nearest to them. The whole fleet were scattered far and wide to every part of the compass.

“I wish that Hemming and the other fellows on board the brig knew where we were,” observed Jack; “we shall be reported dead or missing.”

“They will value us so much the more when we make our appearance,” answered Murray. “But, Jack, look at that junk! Her crew seem to have more spirit than the rest of the scoundrels. They do not seem to be in such a hurry to run away.”

“They take us for friends,” observed Jack. “Perhaps we have got hold of the admiral’s ship, and they probably are bound to wait for him. We shall undeceive them, I guess, pretty soon. See all the guns ready therefore and aft. We’ll astonish them when they get near us.”

The two junks drew closer and closer. They were well within range of each other’s guns. Jack was on the point of giving the order to fire, when who should jump up on the bulwarks of the stranger but Paddy Adair. Jack jumped up also and waved his hat. He forgot that he looked like a Chinaman, and that all his crew were similarly disguised. A broadside from Paddy’s junk, and a rattling fire of musketry reminded him of the fact. Happily the shot flew high, but he got the upper tip of his ear taken off. He jumped down again on the deck. “What shall we do? We’ve no ensign with us. How shall we let Paddy know who we are?” he exclaimed. “If he were an enemy, I shouldn’t care, but to be shot by one’s friends is too bad.”

“Perhaps we may find a tablecloth, or some sheets, or something of that sort,” suggested Murray.

Nothing of the sort was to be found; and they were expecting every moment that Adair would send another broadside into them, when Jack bethought him that perhaps a pair of white trousers would answer the purpose of a flag of truce. A pair which had been exchanged for a Chinaman’s nether garments was run up at the peak, and every other flag was hauled down. This had the desired effect, for Adair did not again fire. As soon as the two junks got within hail, Jack shouted out, “Paddy, ahoy! Paddy, my boy! don’t be after blowing up your friends, if you love them.”

Terence jumped up again on the bulwarks, and peered eagerly at the big junk.

Jack and Alick then showed themselves, and the two vessels were soon alongside of each other. Very little time was lost in greetings, and it was quickly arranged that they would again start off to secure two or three more junks before they returned. As, however, during the time they had been approaching each other the enemy had got considerably in advance, and as the frigate at the same moment began to fire guns to recall her boats, they agreed that they ought to return. Another reason which had still more weight with them was, that they had several of their men wounded, for whom they wished to get assistance.

They at once, therefore, hauled their wind, but they had considerable difficulty in beating up toward the frigate, till they bethought them of lowering the junks’ leeboard, when they found them sail wonderfully well to windward. Before dark the captured junks were assembled under the guns of the frigate and brig. The reception the midshipmen met with on board the frigate was cordial in the extreme. All rejoiced, fore and aft, that Rogers and Murray had once more turned up.

“Well, it’s a mighty satisfaction to be lost, for the sake of the pleasure it affords one’s friends to see one back again,” observed Terence; “and, old fellows, I knew you would come back, somehow or other; I always said so; astride of a dolphin if in no other way, though Harry here and some of our friends would not believe me.”

“I am very glad you were right, Paddy,” said Jack. “But we haven’t done with the pirate yet. The villains have carried off two ladies, and some seamen, and we must be after them.”

“We shouldn’t lose time either,” observed Murray. “We should tell the captain, and get him to send off an expedition at once to search for them.”

All agreed to this; so Jack and Alick instantly went to the captain’s cabin and made their report. On hearing it, Captain Grant, without loss of time, organised an expedition, which was placed, as had been the former one, under the command of the indefatigable Lieutenant Cherry. Captain Willock volunteered his services, as did his men, and Terence got leave to accompany it with Jack and Alick.

The wounded men were in the meantime removed from the brig; she was furnished with a supply of powder, and fresh hands were sent to her from the frigate. Captain Hemming was then ordered to cruise in whatever direction the boats might go, to render assistance if necessary. He and his officers were glad of the opportunity, that they might inflict a further punishment on the pirates, should they fall in with them. The question now arose as to the direction in which they should proceed. Captain Willock suggested that they were not likely to be very far off, and, as he knew the haunts of the pirates, he undertook to act as pilot.

In spite of the attempts of the pirates to destroy themselves, several had been secured alive and unwounded. Two of the most intelligent, and who seemed most willing to be communicative, were selected to accompany the expedition, and they were made to understand by signs that if they assisted in discovering the prisoners, they should be handsomely rewarded. Their little pig-eyes glittered when they saw the gold held out to them, and there appeared to be little doubt that they would try to earn it. One fellow, however, made a clutch at it at once, and intimated that he should like to receive the reward first and do the work afterwards.

“Catch a weasel asleep, old fellow,” said Paddy, who stood by, making a significant gesture, which the Chinaman seemed to understand fully, for his eyes twinkled more than ever, and he laughed heartily, as if he thought his proposal a very good joke.

Jack and Alick, having washed off the stains of gunpowder and blood with which they were pretty well covered, and reassumed their proper uniforms, declared themselves ready to proceed. They laughed at the notion of wanting rest.

“Let us get back the old lady, and the young lady, and the other prisoners, and then we will turn in and take a spell of twenty-four hours at least,” exclaimed Jack as he jumped into his boat.

The American master went with Mr Cherry, as did also the interpreter belonging to the frigate, as without him they could not hope to do much. The three midshipmen had each the command of a boat. They all kept close together, steering to the south-east, for which point the wind was favourable. Light hazy blue hillocks, indicating islands, lay away to the south-east. The brig, having caught up the boats, took them in tow and stood towards the islands, till she got close enough in to be visible from the shore. She then cast them off, and they stood in alone. It was quite dark before the boats reached the land. They pulled noiselessly along till they reached a sheltered bay, into which they ran, and brought up under a high, rocky point, where they might lay concealed till the return of daylight should enable them to proceed on their expedition. They had passed several such nights, since they had come into the China seas, and many more on the coast of Africa, so that there was nothing very particular to interest them. One officer at a time and two men in each boat were directed to keep watch while the rest went to sleep. It was Jack’s middle watch. It is not surprising, considering all the fatigues he had gone through, that he should be very drowsy. Still, he did his utmost to keep awake. He kept pinching himself and rubbing his nose, and then he lit a cigar and tried to smoke; but, in spite of it, he was conscious that more than once he indulged in a loud snore. His head nodded, too, just like that of a person who unfortunately falls asleep in church. He had kept the prisoner who had been committed to his side. The man appeared to be fast asleep. Jack, in spite of his drowsiness, became conscious that something was moving close to them. There was a splash. He started up. The prisoner was not in his place. At a little distance off a round object popped out of the water. In an instant Jack, giving a loud shout, was overboard and darting away in chase of the man. The shout he gave and the noise of his plunge woke up the people in the other boats, only in time, though, to see the other Chinaman swimming away in the direction taken by his countryman. On this all the boats slipped their cables and made chase, though there appeared a great probability that in the darkness the pirates would effect their escape.

Chapter Thirty Three.

An old Acquaintance.

A swim in the dark through waters where sharks abound, and in chase of an enemy who may very likely be armed with a sharp creese, is far from an agreeable amusement.

Away swam the pirate, and after him swam Jack. “If he has a knife, it won’t be pleasant,” he said to himself. “However, I must be cautious as I get up to him. Ah! there he is. Now, old fellow, what have you got to say for yourself?”

Jack was within about a couple of yards of the Chinese. The man turned his head to look over his shoulder. Jack darted on. At that moment Jack saw an object in the pirate’s hand, gleaming from the bright light of a star hitherto obscured. It was a creese. The man turned round to meet him and plunge it into his body; but at the moment he did so Jack dived down, and coming up on the other side of him, caught him by the legs with one hand, while with the other he grasped the arm which held the weapon. His great difficulty was to prevent the pirate from changing the creese from his right-hand to his left. While thus desperately struggling, Jack observed two dark heads close to him, with the most fierce and malignant countenances. The men were probably armed with creeses. Jack expected every moment to feel the sharp blades running into him, when the shouts of his friends alarmed his foes, and they darted away in the hopes of securing their own safety.

Terence and Alick, meantime, naturally felt very anxious for Jack’s safety. They shouted loudly his name.

“All right,” he sang out; “I have got a fellow, but he is as slippery as an eel, and very hard to hold. Lend a hand here, do.”

The tone of his voice showed that he was struggling hard with his prisoner. His friends dashed after him with their boats, but his own boat, of which Needham was coxswain, had already got up to him, and were hauling him and the Chinese on board.

“Look after the other two fellows. They are away there,” he shouted, never for a moment losing his presence of mind.

Alick’s boat darted after one, Terence’s after the other. It was not likely that the men could have got very far; but a black head at midnight on the world of waters is not very discernible. Murray, as his boat pulled on, kept his eyes about him on either side. He caught sight of a head. “There he is,” he cried, leaning forward and making a clutch at the pirate. A creese flashed up as he did so, and he got a cut in his arm which was intended for a more vital part. The next instant the man had disappeared; but as his object was to escape, and not to get drowned, he had to come up again to breathe. As he did so, he got his creese ready to give another plunge with it; but the seamen were not quite so green as he supposed, and this time they were ready with the boat’s stretchers, and, as he lifted up his arm, he got a blow which sent his formidable weapon to the bottom, and wellnigh broke his arm. This prevented him from diving, and the next instant he was, in spite of his struggles, hauled into the boat, and he found himself lashed with his hands behind him to the after-thwart. There was another prisoner to be accounted for. Terence told his crew not to make a noise as they went in chase. The man was the strongest of the three prisoners. He had taken a circuit, hoping thus to escape unobserved to the shore. It occurred to Terence that this was what very likely one of them would do, and thus before long he caught sight of the man’s head, as he swam rapidly through the water. “The fellow swims beautifully,” thought Terence, “I’ll let him enjoy himself a little longer.” The noise made on board the other boats deceived the Chinaman. He fancied that he was not pursued. “We must catch him now,” thought Terence, after an interval, and he made a sign to his men to give way, when a loud shriek was heard, the pirate’s arms were seen to rise up above his head, and then down he went, like a shot, beneath the waves. Terence shuddered. “Jack shark has caught him,” observed one of the crew, and as they pulled over the spot they could see the water still bubbling and agitated, as if some violent struggle was going on beneath its surface. Then all was quiet. The monster had dragged off his prey to be devoured at his leisure.

“I’m heartily glad it was not Jack Rogers,” said Terence, as on pulling back he recounted what had occurred.

“Thank you,” answered Jack. “It was certainly a terrific risk I ran; but as the fellow had escaped through my negligence, I was determined to catch him at all costs.”

How the pirates had managed to conceal their creeses was a wonder which no one could solve, though the seamen declared that they believed they had kept them hid away inside their throats, for they could not have had them anywhere else. After all the noise that had been made there was little hope of concealment, so Mr Cherry ordered the squadron of boats to pull out of the bay and to proceed farther along the shore to the eastward.

Scarcely had they got round the rocky point which had concealed them than they saw right before them a dozen or more dark objects, which, after watching for some time, they made out to be as many large row-boats. They hoped that they were not perceived; so Mr Cherry ordered them to pull back under the shadow of the cliff. On came the boats. It was pretty certain that they were pirates, and that by some means having discovered they were there, their purpose was to surprise them. The guns in the bows of the boats were loaded, as were the muskets which each man had by his side, and the oars were kept out, so that at a moment’s notice they might give way after the enemy. As Paddy remarked, “They looked like four huge centipedes ready to dart out on their prey.”

The row-boats must have been too far off at the time of the chase of the three prisoners to have heard the shouting, so they probably hoped to catch the British asleep. Mr Cherry was in doubt whether he should attack them unless they were aggressors. They might, after all, be only harmless traders. They glided on pretty rapidly. Soon they had rounded the point, and were making for the spot where the boats had been, when those on board them discovered the Englishmen. They stopped, and then came dashing on towards the point.

“They are enemies,” cried Mr Cherry; “give it to them, my lads.” A sharp fire of grape, accompanied by musketry from the four boats, right into the bows of the junks, had the effect of arresting their progress. They could not tell how many more boats there might be behind those they saw.

“Reload your pieces, my lads, as fast as you can—quick!” shouted Mr Cherry. It was done before the pirates had recovered from their confusion, and when they once more advanced, a second dose was ready for them. This was given with such good effect that they pulled round to escape. The commanding officer, observing this, ordered his boats to advance. On they dashed, the men loading and firing as they could, till they reached the junks. Then, each boat selecting an antagonist, the seamen leaped on board, and with their cutlasses very soon drove the crew overboard. None of the pirates would yield, and not a prisoner was taken. As some time was expended in this engagement, the remainder of the junks escaped. Where they had gone it was difficult to say in the darkness; but Jack Rogers told Mr Cherry that he thought he had seen them steering for the bay.

Into the bay, therefore, the boats proceeded, and pulled round and round it. In vain they searched, however, and at last Mr Cherry ordered them to bring up and wait till daylight. As soon as it was dawn it was “Up anchor and out oars,” and away they pulled again. They had not gone far before they discovered the boats run up on the beach deserted by the crews. Paddy Adair and Jack were for dashing in at once; but the more prudent lieutenant called them back. He first ordered that all the guns should be loaded and pointed towards some suspicious-looking bushes on a height above the beach, and then directed Terence to pull rapidly in towards the boats, and to set them on fire. The other boats advanced more slowly, two at a short distance to the right and two to the left of him.

Paddy was very much inclined to think all this precaution superfluous. “What’s the use of it, when we have only a set of ignorant niggers to deal with?” he observed to Jack, as he pulled on. “Give way, lads.” He reached the beach—a light was struck. There was an abundance of dry driftwood thrown up by gales on the shore. Some of it was speedily collected, and they had succeeded in setting one boat in a blaze when, from the suspicious bushes, there came a rattling shower of bullets, and directly afterwards some fifty savages, with creeses in their hands, dashed out towards them.

Two of the Englishmen had fallen, and Terence and the rest rushed to their arms to defend themselves as best they could, though they could not help looking round to see if the other boats were coming to their assistance, when from either side so hot a fire was opened, with grape and bullets, on the pirates, that before they reached the boats they wished to defend, numbers were tumbled over, and the rest turned and fled back into the cover. Before he could allow the boats to advance, Mr Cherry had all the firearms again loaded. Meantime Terence continued to set the boats on fire, and performed the work without molestation.

The lieutenant then led the flotilla to a spot where there were no trees or rocks to shelter an enemy, and leaving three men in each boat, he landed with the rest and advanced to the top of a neighbouring hill. There were no habitations in sight, and as it was agreed that it would be worse than useless to follow the pirates, the party again embarked.

The wounds of the poor fellows who had been hit were bound up, and all possible attention was paid to them. Notwithstanding this, soon after the boats again shoved off, one of them died. It was impossible to keep the body on board, and as landing was dangerous, a shot was fastened to the feet, and with scant ceremony it was launched into the sea.

“Has Bill gone?” asked the other wounded man, with a faint voice, “I wish as how he’d waited a bit before he slipped his cable, so that we could have borne each other company; maybe, if I clap on more canvas, I shall get up with him. Howsomdever, I shan’t be long after him, and that’s a comfort.”

For several hours the boats proceeded on, looking into every bay and creek for signs of inhabitants, from whom they might obtain information. At last some huts were seen, and the expedition pulled on for the shore. Mr Cherry and about five-and-twenty men landed, and, the ground being open, marched up towards the huts, carrying the two prisoners with them. One of them was then made to understand that he must go and make inquiries as to whether they knew what had become of the two ladies and the other people the pirates had carried off. The man nodded his head and showed that he fully comprehended what he was to do. While they were speaking, some thirty or forty natives appeared at a short distance off. “Understand,” added the interpreter, “you may go as far as that tree, so that you may talk to those people, but if you go a foot farther, you will be shot. Remember that we are not joking.” The pirate went on, first very slowly, then rather quicker, then faster and faster. The natives shouted, and he cried out something in return. He evidently had friends among them. He reached the tree, he stopped a moment, then he looked back; the marines, looking very grim with their muskets presented, stood ready to fire. He talked on, then he looked again; the desire to escape overcame all his fears. He sprang forward, but, as he did so, half a dozen bullets were lodged in his body. No sooner did he fall, than numbers of natives rushed out from all directions, and began to fire on the English. Giving the marines time to reload, Mr Cherry called his men to charge, and dashing forward with bayonets and cutlasses, they speedily put the enemy to flight. A considerable quantity of European goods of various descriptions was found in the houses; as this proved without doubt that the inhabitants were either pirates or in league with them, the habitations, and such goods as could not be carried off, were committed to the flames. The fields, gardens, and plantations of every description were likewise ruthlessly destroyed.

“It is a cruel necessity,” observed Mr Cherry to his subordinates, “but it must be done. The only way that I can see of putting a stop to piracy is to teach the pirates that their trade will not longer answer.” Murray was the only one of the party who was not entirely of the lieutenant’s opinion. That evening, when they had returned to the boats, he addressed Jack Rogers. “I wonder now, whether it might not answer to catch some of these wild fellows, to show them the beauties and advantages of Christianity and civilisation, and then send them back among their countrymen as a sort of missionaries. Offer to trade with them, and prove to them that honest commerce will be more profitable to them than dishonest piracy. I think this plan would answer our purpose better than burning down their houses and cornfields.” Jack was not quite certain which plan he thought the best.

“Ours is the shortest and most simple, at all events,” he observed.

“I think not, because our present work can never end,” answered Alick. “As soon as we disappear, piracy will again appear; whereas if we teach the people the advantages of commerce, they will not only no longer rob themselves, but it will be their interest to aid in putting down piracy everywhere else.”

“Well, Alick, I do believe you are right, as you always are,” said Jack. “But, I say, I hope we shall find poor Madame Dubois and Mademoiselle Cecile before long. What a state of fright the poor old lady will be in all this time!” While they were talking, their boats being close alongside each other, Terence was attending to the wounded man in his boat. The poor man grew weaker and weaker.

“I shall not see another sunrise,” he remarked. “Bill won’t have a day’s start of me; so, maybe, after all, he and I will steer the same course alongside each other.” He continued talking in the same style to the last, showing clearly that he had his senses perfectly, but that he was painfully ignorant of the truths of religion. Adair thought that he ought to set him right, but did not know how to begin, and, if he had begun, he felt that he should not know how to go on. The seaman’s voice grew fainter and fainter, the pale light of of dawn began to appear. Suddenly he lifted himself up, exclaiming with a strong voice, “Yes, Bill, all right; I’m casting off the turns. Good-bye, shipmates. I’m after you, Bill.” Then he fell back, and was dead. Scarcely was the body cold before it, too, was lowered into the water, and as the sun rose Mr Cherry gave the order to weigh and continue the voyage. A pleasant breeze sprang up off the land, which carried them along at a good speed. At noon they turned to dine, still continuing under weigh. A lofty headland was before them. No sooner did they round it, than a deep and beautiful bay opened on them, with rocks and high but not precipitous banks. In the very head of it there appeared a large junk anchored close in with the shore.

“That’s her!” exclaimed Jack, and Alick, and Captain Willock in the same voice. “It’s the very junk which carried off the ladies.”

“If it’s not her, it’s as like as one pea is to another,” observed the American skipper. She appeared to be full of men, and numbers came scrambling up from below. It was evident that the boats were unexpected visitors. A few shots were fired at the boats. On this Mr Cherry ordered the sails to be lowered, and the oars being got out, away they dashed towards the junk, getting ready to fire as they approached. Scarcely had one discharge been given, than the pirates were seen to be making their escape from the junk. Some were lowering themselves into the boats which hung alongside, and others were leaping into the water to swim on shore. The nearer the British drew, the more violent were the attempts the pirates made to escape. By the time the boats had got within fifty yards or so of the junk, the greater number had made their escape, and most of them were seen climbing up the hill, or hiding themselves among the rocks. At that moment half a dozen people were seen on the deck, and it appeared to Mr Cherry that they were about to discharge some of their guns before they made their escape. He was just giving the order to fire, when Jack shouted out, “Stop in, stop! They are not pirates. They are Madame Dubois and Miss Cecile, though they are dressed up like Chinamen; and Hudson and Hoddidoddi, and the rest.”

The crews of Adair’s and Murray’s boats were, however, in so great a hurry that they fired before Mr Cherry could countermand his order, and then on they dashed. Jack was dreadfully afraid that the ladies might be hurt, and this made him also eager to get alongside to ascertain. This anxiety was, however, speedily relieved, by the appearance of Miss Cecile on the upper deck of the junk, waving a petticoat, which she had made do duty as a flag of truce. The whole party were soon alongside. Jack was the first on deck. He very nearly burst out laughing when he caught sight of poor Madame Dubois rigged out in a Chinaman’s costume, with her hair twisted into a pigtail, and a little round Chinese hat on her head. Miss Cecile had on the same sort of dress, which Jack did not think particularly became her; indeed, she appeared to him to be very different to what she had before seemed when she was instructing him in French. All this time the pirates were scrambling away up the rocks as fast as they could go. So great had been the panic that they had not even taken their arms with them, so that they could not interfere with the proceedings of the conquerors. Mr Cherry did not think it worth while to follow them; indeed, as they appeared to have treated the prisoners well he did not think that he should do right to inflict on them any further punishment than the loss of their vessel and booty. The junk’s huge wooden anchor was therefore hove up to her bows, and the boats, taking her in tow, carried her off in triumph out of the bay. Before leaving, however, Mr Cherry told the interpreter to impress on the minds of the two pirate prisoners that, if they returned to their old habits, they would be caught, and if caught they would be hung, but that if they took to any honest calling they would be protected and favoured by the British.

“Go and tell your countrymen this, and don’t forget it yourselves,” added the interpreter. The men were then landed, and off they scampered to join their friends; but whether or not they benefited by the advice given them, it is impossible to say. Jack, with Mr Cherry and a few of the men, went on board the junk, when Jack inquired of Miss Cecile how it was she and her mamma had come to assume the attire in which he found them clothed.

“Oh, it was all Mr Hudson,” answered the young lady. “He say we must, to run away. But poor mamma, she does look very funny, ha! ha! ha!”

“Your respectable relation has certainly a very curious appearance,” answered Jack, not particularly well pleased with Miss Cecile’s tone. “It strikes me indeed, young lady, that the sooner she changes her dress, the less ridiculous she will appear.”

Miss Cecile, however, did not seem to care much about this point, and continued laughing as heartily as before. Hudson afterwards explained that, having found a chest of Chinese clothes in the cabin in which they were shut up, they had dressed themselves in them, in the hopes that thus disguised they should be the better able to make their escape.

Before night the Blenny hove in sight, and taking the boats on board and the junk in tow, the expedition returned to Hong Kong, where they found the frigate at anchor. Jack and Alick here bade the companions of their late adventure good-bye. Jack was a little sentimental when parting with Miss Cecile, but he very speedily recovered his usual state of feeling when he heard that she was about to be married to Mr Joe Hudson, the mate of the American brig.

While the Dugong and Blenny lay at Hong Kong, Captain Hemming was asked to take a poor young gentleman on board, who had suffered from the climate, and was very ill. A trip to sea might give him some chance of recovery. Hemming, in the kindness of his heart, at once consented, without asking who he was, and promised him a berth in his cabin. Scarcely had the stranger been lifted up on deck, than Jack recognised in his features, though pale and sunken, those of his old schoolfellow, Bully Pigeon. He was placed in the shade under an awning on deck. He had not been there long before he sent a boy to call Jack.

“Ah! Rogers,” he said, in a faint voice, “I dare say you scarcely like to speak to me; but I am not as bad as I was. I have been thinking a good deal lately, and a friend has talked to me and read to me, and I have seen my folly. I believe in the religion I once laughed at, and I see that, had I before believed in it, I should have been a thousandfold more happy than I was. I have thrown life away, for I shall soon die; but I am not miserable as I was lately, for I know that I shall be forgiven.”

The next day the frigate and brig sailed for the north. They had cruised for about a fortnight, when a steamer overtook them, and gave them notice that war had broken out once more between England and China, and that there would be plenty of work cut out for them before long.

Chapter Thirty Four.

Promoted.

The frigate and the brig which had the honour of conveying the three midshipmen between them, with the south-west monsoon blowing gently aft, proceeded northward among the numberless islands which stud the China seas, looking for the admiral and the rest of the fleet. They were surprised, as they sailed along the mainland, to observe the great number of towns and villages on the shores and vast tracts of country under cultivation. Several times they fell in with small squadrons of large government war-junks, with heavy guns, gaudy flags, flaunting vainly like peacocks’ tails, and stout mandarins sitting on their decks. Some tried to escape, and succeeded, but others were caught, and the stout mandarins either were or pretended to be very much astonished that their vessels were lawful prizes to the squadron of Her Britannic Majesty. They received very little commiseration, for it was well-known that they were in league with the pirates who infested those seas, and that when any grand piratical expedition was about to take place, they invariably kept out of the way. Sometimes they passed among whole fleets of tiny fishing-boats, to be counted by thousands, like shoals of fishes, themselves engaged in procuring food for the teeming multitudes on shore, and giving an idea of the vast numbers of the finny tribes which inhabit those seas. Frequently, too, there glided by one of those roguish, rakish, wicked-looking craft—an opium clipper, fleet as the sporting dolphin, and armed to the teeth, for she has foes on every side; the pirates long to make her their prey, and the mandarin junks ought to do so, but dare not.

For several hours the frigate and the brig lay becalmed close together. Alick and Terence went to pay Jack a visit. While they were on board the surgeon sent to tell Jack that Pigeon was very much worse, and desired to see him. Jack hurried into the cabin where he lay; when he heard that his other two old schoolfellows were on board, he begged to see them also. They saw that the stamp of death was already on his countenance.

“I am glad you are come,” he said in a very faint voice, trying to lift himself up. “I wish to tell you that I have at last discovered that I have lived a life of folly. I thought myself very clever and very wise, but I now know that I was an arrant fool. I have often said things which might have done you a great deal of harm, but my earnest prayer is that you did not listen to them. What I wish you to do is to point to me, and to guide all your friends or acquaintances against the horrible doctrines which I took up. They only brought me pain and suffering from the first, and wellnigh destroyed my soul at the last; indeed, I feel that it is only through God’s grace and mercy that I have been preserved.”

The three friends endeavoured to assure the poor dying man that his pernicious doctrines had in no way made any permanent impression on them, though Terence owned that he had often thought over what he had said, and that it had for some time raised all sorts of painful doubts in his mind which he could not get rid of. Their assurance seemed alone to bring him any satisfaction. The interview was short, for he was very weak, and that evening he died. His schoolfellows felt somewhat graver than usual for a short time; but as he had never gained their love they could not pretend to regret him.

Shortly after this they fell in with the admiral, and the whole fleet sailed to the southward. Once more they were off Hong Kong. It was ascertained that large numbers of Chinese war-junks were collected, keeping out of the way, as they fancied, of the outer barbarians, in the various creeks and channels which run into the Canton river. These channels were narrow and shallow in some places, and guarded with forts and booms, and natural as well as artificial bars. Nevertheless the admiral determined to proceed up them with such part of his force most fitted for the work.

The ships of war had congregated in the Blenheim passage of the Canton river. The steamers, which had gone up to explore, had reported that there was a high hill with a strong fort on the top of it on the left of the channel, and other forts on the opposite side, and that above these forts there were no less than seventy large war-junks. The Chinese evidently believed that their hill fort could not be taken. Had they read the history of the battles of the English, they might have had some unpleasant misgivings on the subject.

It was pitch dark as the various boats of the flotilla collected round the steamer on board which the admiral had hoisted his flag. The screw steamers towed up the boats. The three midshipmen managed to keep close to each other. In silence they glided over the smooth water, some small lights on buoys showing the passage up. It was hoped that they might surprise the enemy, but first a rocket on one side and then one on the other, answered by the fleet behind, showed that they were wide awake.

“The dawn is breaking, we shall soon be in the thick of it,” observed Jack. Soon after this, just through the grey twilight, a bright flash burst forth high up the hill, followed by a report, and a shot pitched into the water right ahead of the steamer, and sent its spray flying over her. With unabated speed on she went, and now flash after flash burst forth from the hill, and the shot came hissing and bounding on every side round the steamer: still no one was hit. The steamer was making directly for the fort; suddenly she came to a full stop; she had run on a bar formed by the Chinese for the defence of the positions. The boats ran in one upon another; but the oars were got out, and they were soon clear. The order was then given to land, and storm the fort. A steep side of the hill was left unprotected. The simple Chinese were under the impression that no human being could clamber up it. On went the marines and bluejackets in beautiful style, about to show the Chinamen a thing or two. They reached the foot of the hill. Up they climbed, as if it was no impediment whatever; but the Chinamen did their best to stop them. It was no child’s work; jingall balls and round shot came crashing down on the assailants, and stink-pots and three-pronged spears; and heads and arms and legs were shot off, and many a tall fellow bit the dust. Post-captains and commanders and lieutenants went ahead of their men, and the midshipmen followed quickly after.

“This puts me in mind of old days on the coast of Syria,” observed Murray to Rogers as he thought; but getting no answer, he looked round, and to his dismay discovered that Jack was not by his side.

“He is hit,” thought Alick, and it went to his heart that he could not go back to help him; but duty pointed the way to the top of the hill, while the glance over his shoulder had shown him his old schoolfellow rolling down it. Terence, who was a little to the right, also saw what had occurred.

“Oh, we must go and help him,” he cried out; but at that instant up jumped Jack again, and began to scramble up the hill with such energy that he was very soon abreast of his friends.

“I am all to rights,” he shouted out. “I put my foot on a rolling stone, and over I went.”

Terrific was the noise, the shouting and shrieking, loud above all which arose the British hurrahs, as they clashed up the steep ascent. The Chinese happily could not sufficiently depress their guns, or a shower of grape would have made sad havoc in the ranks of the assailants. Now the marines and bluejackets were near the top. A huge Chinaman stood there, pointing his matchlock at Jack. Murray fired his pistol at him, but missed him. The matchlock hung fire, so he dashed it at Alick’s head, and then hurled at them a couple of heavy shot. Terence was springing on, when the Chinaman seized a long spear, and was hurling it at him with an accuracy which might have been fatal, when Jack leaped to his friend’s aid, and with his pistol shot their enemy dead. The rest of the defenders of the fort, seeing the death of their brave, grinned horribly, and, whisking round their tails, walked leisurely down the opposite side of the hill. More than one volley from the marines was required to make them run. They were braves selected for this post of honour and of danger. Perhaps they had suspicions that their heads might be cut off when they got back to their friends. The English flag was hoisted on the fort, and some of the guns turned down on the fleet of junks below, with whom not very injurious shots were exchanged. The marines occupied it, while the greater part of the bluejackets descended to their boats, the three midshipmen being among the number.

On screwed the steamers, and on dashed the boats. They were soon up with the seventy junks, which began firing away, most furiously, round shot and grape and langrage; the latter, scraps of old iron, they were fond of using, and terrible are the wounds caused by it. The steamers and the boats returned the compliment. Faster and more furious grew the fire from the twelve guns on board each of those seventy big junks; but one, larger than the rest, lay across the channel: the midshipmen dashed at her; a terrific fire of grape saluted them, but they were already close under the guns when they went off, and the shower of missiles passed over their heads. As the Chinamen were looking out, expecting to see their mangled limbs and the fragments of their boats scattered far and wide, the jolly tars, unharmed, were climbing up the side of the junk, and a few pokes with their cutlasses soon sent every mandarin and seaman leaping overboard. Scarcely had the victors time to look about them, than the prize was found to be on fire, fore and aft. “To the boats! to the boats!” was the cry. The seamen had barely time to obey the order and to shove off than up went the junk into the air with a loud roar, and very soon afterwards down came her fragments rattling around the boats, very nearly swamping them, and wounding several poor fellows among their crews. As the boats emerged from the smoke, the rest of the junks were seen in full flight in different directions, but a great number were overtaken, and as the British got alongside the crews deserted them. In many of them the flames immediately burst forth, and one after the other as they drifted on the shore, they blew up. Some were deserted by their crews before they had time to set them on fire. Several, however, escaped, and vanished up some of the unknown creeks to the left. Meantime, the steamers grounded, and at length the boats alone, with the gallant commodore leading, dashed away up the river in hot chase of the fugitives.

Numbers of junks were passed, deserted or stranded. For four miles they pulled on till they reached a fort on an island in the middle of the stream. There was a passage on each side, but so narrow that two boats could not pass abreast. Above it appeared a fleet of junks. Again the shot came rattling furiously among them. Several boats were struck. Many fine fellows, officers and men, were killed. The commodore’s boat sank under him, and barely had he time with his crew to leap out of her, than away she drifted with the body of his coxswain, who had been killed, and a favourite dog who would come with him towards the enemy. Several times was the passage attempted, till at length the boats retreated. Their gongs began to sound, and trumpets to bray forth notes of victory; but the Chinese braves were rather premature in their rejoicings. The boats’ crews went to dinner, and while thus pleasantly engaged, notice was given that the enemy’s junks were getting afloat. The crews sprang to their oars. “On, lads, on!” shouted their gallant leader. Fierce was the fire they had to pass through, more men were killed, and another boat sank. Still enough remained with which to follow the enemy. The narrow passage was passed, and away in hot pursuit after the still flying junks, manned by a hundred rowers, they go. The junks move swiftly, but the shot and shell go faster. One after the other the junks were deserted, but five were still seen ahead. “We must have them all, lads,” shouted the commodore. On they went. Suddenly they found themselves with the junks ahead in the centre of a large town with a vast population. “We must get the junks,” again shouted the commodore. The crews cheered in response to his appeal. Their shot find out the junks, and they follow. The wise Chinamen leap overboard and swim on to shore. There were plenty of spectators, many thousands looking out of windows, and doors, and balconies, and thinking that those outer barbarians had become rather bold and impudent. But there was a general in the city, and for his military credit he turned out his army to annihilate the invaders. Seeing this, the commodore landed his marines, whose steady fire on the braves sent them to the right about, and made them march back again in double-quick time. The five junks were then taken in tow, and, very much to the enlightenment of the minds of the citizens, were carried away in triumph down the river. Altogether, upwards of eighty war-junks were destroyed or captured, though for each junk thus disposed of the British lost a man killed or wounded.

The three friends met again in the evening. Greatly to their mutual satisfaction none of them had been hit.

“We have had a pretty sharp day’s work,” exclaimed Jack; “but there’s one thing I hope we shall get for it—our promotions.”

“And good luck to the wish,” cried Adair, who had just filled a glass with wine. “It’s little else I have got to look to to keep me in food and clothing. The last letter I got from my dear friends at home gave me the pleasant information that all the family estates have been knocked down, and that it would be rather worse than useless for me to draw any bills in future on my agents. What the knocking down means, I don’t quite know; but the matter of the not drawing bills sufficiently elucidates the subject to my mind.”

“Oh, that is a trifle,” answered Rogers and Murray in a breath. “We are over well supplied, and so you can’t want, you know; and then the chances are that, before long, we pick up a good store of prize-money.”

“I know, I know, my dear fellows; I never should doubt you,” said Adair, warmly; “but— Well, I’ll come on you when I am hard up. But perhaps I shall be settled for some other way.”

“If it is a pleasant and satisfactory way, I hope so,” observed Murray, pretending not to understand him.

The conversation very soon came to an end by Paddy himself falling asleep, an example which the rest of the party, looking out for a soft plank, were not slow in following. After this the three midshipmen and their men returned to their ships, which sailed away on a cruise to the northward.

The Dugong one day had sent two of her boats, under charge of Murray and Adair, up a river to obtain fresh provisions. Their comprador, or Chinese purchaser, who acted also as interpreter, having landed to make arrangements, the boats proceeded higher up the river on an exploring expedition. At length they reached a pretty, peaceful-looking village, and were induced by its tempting appearance to go on shore. They strolled about for some time, looking into the houses, the natives treating them with perfect civility. At last Murray suggested that it was time to return.

“A few minutes more. See, there is a curious pagoda, let us go and visit it.”

The pagoda was explored; and the priests of Buddha were seen burning paper matches before the altar.

“We have had a pleasant trip. These Chinamen are really good sort of fellows,” observed Terence; but scarcely had he spoken, than they discovered a strong body of soldiers drawn up between them and their boats. Not a word was said; but as they advanced the troops opened fire with their jingalls and darted their pronged spears at them.

“We must cut our way through the villains,” cried Murray. “If we let them press on us we are done for.”

“I’m with you,” exclaimed Adair. “Charge, lads.”

With loud shouts the British seamen dashed on; but the Chinese outnumbered them as twenty to one, besides being all armed with jingalls, matchlocks, or spears. Even Murray more than once thought that it was all up with them. He was slightly wounded, a ball had gone through both of Adair’s legs, and he was bleeding much, while four of their men were killed, and two others so desperately hurt that they were unable to walk without the aid of their companions. Every moment they were growing weaker and weaker. Adair, too, was suffering dreadfully from his wounds. “I can stand it no longer,” he exclaimed, at last sinking on the ground. “Go on, Alick. Leave me to my fate. If you attempt to stop you will be cut to pieces. See, there are more of the fellows gathering round us.”

“Leave you, Terence? I hope not,” cried Murray. “Come on, lads; we’ll soon put the villains to flight.”

Lifting up their wounded companions, the seamen made another dash at the enemy. The treatment which the dead bodies of their comrades met with showed them that they had death alone to expect, unless they gained the victory. The moment the bodies were left the Chinese rushed forward, and cutting off their heads, stuck them on the ends of their spears, shouting in triumph.

There is something particularly dreadful in seeing the head of a comrade, who but a few short moments before was full of life, thus exposed. Poor Adair looked up. “Will my head be soon thus placed?” he said to himself. There seemed too much probability of it. Another man was so desperately wounded that he could not walk. The party, thus reduced in strength, could no longer push on towards the boats. When they halted, the Chinamen became more daring. Back to back they stood, forming a hollow square, like brave men, with their wounded comrades in the centre, resolved to sell their lives dearly if they could not drive back their assailants. Murray was again wounded. He felt himself fainting through the loss of blood. Another man sank to the ground, and several more were hit. Still, loading and firing as fast as they could, they kept the enemy at bay. Yet even Murray believed that it was only a matter of time, and that every one of them would soon be numbered among the dead. Still, by voice and example, he endeavoured to keep up the courage of the men with him. At last he had to tell one of them to hold him up, for he could scarcely see the enemy crowding round them. It was a bad sign, the courage of some of the seamen began to waver, and they looked wistfully towards the boats, as if they would make a rush at them. Great was their dismay to see a body of Chinese hurry down to the bank and begin to fire at the men in them. Their only chance of escape appeared destroyed. At that moment a shout was heard, followed by a rapid fire of musketry; and then came the sound of a big gun, and the peculiar rattle and crash of grape. The Chinese attacking the boats wavered and fled, followed by those between the English and the river; and a party of bluejackets and marines, headed by Jack Rogers, was seen hurrying up from the water. There was no time to be lost. The Chinese might recover from their panic; so lifting Adair and Murray on their shoulders, with the other wounded people, his men carried them to the boats. The Chinamen looked with astonishment at What had occurred, and then, recovering their senses, rushed down again towards the boats; but, though they were too late to get back their prey, they got more than they expected; for Jack Rogers, ordering the boats once more to pull round so as to present their bows to the enemy, a rattling fire of grape was thrown among them, which once more very rapidly sent them to the rightabout.

Considering the number of wounded, Jack very wisely pulled down the river as fast as he could go. He meantime had the hurts of the wounded men bound up. Murray soon recovered, but Adair continued so weak that his friends became very anxious for his safety. Jack told Murray that the Blenny had come in directly after the expedition had started—that he had been sent up to obtain provisions at the village where they had landed the comprador, and that from that personage he had received so alarming an account of the disposition of the natives higher up, that he had hurried on in case they might be attacked. Jack was heartily glad when he got his wounded friends on board the frigate. The doctor looked grave when he saw Adair. Murray, he said, was in no danger. No one could have been better nursed than was poor Terence, and he at length gave signs that he was recovering his strength, and the doctor looked brighter when he spoke of him.

Some weeks had passed, when the frigate and brigs were standing in for the land, a steamer hove in sight, and a signal was made that she had the mail-bags on board. It was the first day Terence had been able to sit up in the midshipmen’s berth. Jack had come on board to see him. A long, official-looking letter was handed to each of them, “On Her Majesty’s Service.” One was addressed to Lieutenant Jack Rogers, another to Lieutenant Alick Murray, and a third to Lieutenant Terence Adair. There was a general shout, and warm congratulations were showered on them. I ought to have said that, when last in England, they had all passed their examination for navigation, having before that passed for seamanship. They were in reality, what were then called master’s mates, a rank to which the more satisfactory title of sub-lieutenants has been given. They were appointed to different ships on the station; when in their new rank they performed a number of very gallant acts, which may some day be chronicled for the benefit of my friends. However, as they now belong to a higher rank, I must bring to a termination the adventures of my old schoolfellows, the Three Midshipmen.

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Trapper's Son"

Chapter One.

The trapper’s camp—Beavers caught—The horses killed by wolves—Traps to catch the wolves.

In the far western wilds of North America, over which the untutored red-skinned savage roams at liberty, engaged throughout life in war or the chase, by the side of a broad stream which made its way towards a distant lake, an old man and a boy reclined at length beneath a wigwam, roughly formed of sheets of birch-bark placed against several poles stuck in the ground in a circular form, and fastened together at the top. The sun was just rising above a wood, composed of maple, birch, poplar, and willow, fringing the opposite bank of the river; while rocky hills of no great elevation formed the sides of the valley, through which the stream made its way. Snow rested on the surrounding heights, and the ground was crisp with frost. The foliage which still clung to the deciduous trees exhibited the most gorgeous colours, the brightest red, pink, yellow, and purple tints contrasting with the sombre hues of the pines covering the lower slopes of the hills.

“It’s time to look to the traps, Laurence,” said the old man, arousing his young companion, who was still asleep by the side of the smouldering embers of their fire.

The boy sat up, and passed his hand across his eyes. There was a weary expression in his intelligent and not unpleasing countenance.

“Yes, father, I am ready,” he answered. “But I did not think the night was over; it seems but just now I lay down to sleep.”

“You have had some hard work lately, and are tired; but the season will soon be over, and we will bend our steps to Fort Elton, where you can remain till the winter cold has passed away. If I myself were to spend but a few days shut up within the narrow limits of such a place, I should soon tire of idleness, and wish to be off again among the forests and streams, where I have passed so many years.”

“Oh, do not leave me among strangers, father,” exclaimed the boy, starting to his feet. “I am rested now, and am ready.”

They set out, proceeding along the side of the stream, stopping every now and then to search beneath the overhanging bushes, or in the hollows of the bank, where their traps had been concealed. From the first the old trapper drew forth an animal about three feet in length, of a deep chestnut colour, with fine smooth glossy hair, and a broad flat tail nearly a foot long, covered with scales. Its hind feet were webbed, its small fore-paws armed with claws, and it had large, hard, sharp teeth in its somewhat blunted head. Hanging up the beaver, for such it was, to a tree, they continued the examination of their snares.

“Who would have thought creatures so easily caught could make such a work as this?” observed the old man, as they were passing over a narrow causeway which formed a dam across a smaller stream falling into the main river, and had created a back water or shallow lake of some size. The dam was composed of innumerable small branches and trunks of trees, laid horizontally across the stream, mixed with mud and stones. Several willows and small poplars were sprouting up out of it.

“What! have the beavers made this?” asked Laurence.

“Ay, every bit of it, boy; each stem and branch has been cut down by the creatures, with their paws and teeth. No human builders could have formed the work more skilfully. And observe how they thus have made a pond, ever full of water, above the level of the doorways to their houses, when the main stream is lowered by the heats of summer. See, too, how cleverly they build their houses, with dome roofs so hard and strong that even the cunning wolverine cannot manage to break through them, while they place the doorway so deep down that the ice in winter can never block it up inside. How warm and cozy, too, they are without the aid of fires or blankets.”

“How comes it, then, that they have not the sense to keep out of our traps, father?” inquired Laurence.

“If you had ever been to the big cities, away to the east, you would not ask that question, boy,” answered the old trapper. “You would there have seen thousands of men who seem wonderfully clever, and yet who get caught over and over again by cunning rogues who know their weak points; just as we bait our traps with bark-stone, (see Note) for which the foolish beaver has such a fancy, so the knaves bait their snares with promises of boundless wealth, to be gained without labour or trouble. To my mind, nothing is to be gained without working for it, and pretty hard work too, if the thing is worth having.”

This conversation passed between the old man and his son as they proceeded along the bank of the pond where some of their traps had been set. Some had failed to catch their prey, but after the search was ended, they returned to their camp with a dozen skins as the result of their labour. One of the animals which had been skinned having been preserved for their morning meal, it was soon roasting, supported on two forked sticks, before the freshly made-up fire. This, with some maize flour, and a draught of water from the stream, formed their repast.

“Now, Laurence, go and bring in the horses, while I prepare the skins and do up our bales, and we will away towards the fort,” said the old man.

Laurence set off in search of their horses, which had been left feeding during the night in a meadow at some distance from the camp. The well-trained steeds, long accustomed to carry them and their traps and furs, were not likely to have strayed away from the ground. Laurence went on, expecting every moment to find them, but after proceeding some way, they were nowhere visible. Near at hand was a rocky height which overlooked the meadow. He climbed to the top; still he could not see the horses. Becoming somewhat anxious at their disappearance, he made his way across the meadow, hoping to find that they had discovered a richer pasturage farther on. As he looked round, he saw, to his dismay, two horses lying motionless on the ground. He hurried towards them. They were dead, and fearfully torn and mangled.

“The wolves have done this, the savage brutes. We will be revenged on them,” he exclaimed as he surveyed the dead steeds. “Father and I must have slept very soundly during the night not to have been awoke by their howling. It will be a sore grief to the old man, and I would that he had found it out himself, rather than I should have to tell him. However, it must be done.” Saying this, he set off on his return to the camp.

“The brutes shall pay dearly for it,” exclaimed the old trapper, when Laurence brought him the intelligence of what had happened. “Whether Injuns or wolves wrong him, Michael Moggs is not the man to let them go unpunished;” and his eyes lighted up with a fierce expression which made the young boy instinctively shrink back from him. “We have three strong traps which will catch the biggest wolf on the prairies; and if they fail, I’ll lie in wait till I can shoot the savage brutes down with my rifle. We shall have to tramp it on foot, boy, with the furs on our backs. That’s bad for you, but we can leave the traps hidden away en cache; and as the snow will soon cover the ground, the cunning Injuns are not likely to find them. It’s not the first adventure of the sort I have met with; and though I am sorry for your sake, and for the loss of our poor horses, I am not going to be cast down.”

Some time was spent in scraping the skins, and in repacking the most valuable of those already obtained in a compass which would enable the old man and his son to carry them. Not wishing to leave such valuable property in the hut, which might be visited during their absence by some wandering Indian, they then strapped the bales on to their backs, the old man carrying his rifle and the steel traps, and set out towards the meadow where their horses had been killed.

Having planted the traps round the carcases of the slaughtered animals, and concealed them carefully, so that they could not be seen by the savage wolves, they returned to their hut.

“The brutes will pay another visit to the poor horses, unless they fall in with other prey in the meantime, and that they are not likely to find about here,” observed Moggs, as he sat down and struck a light to rekindle the fire. Laurence had collected a supply of dried branches, of which there was an abundance in the surrounding woods.

“We must keep the fire burning during the night, or the savage creatures may chance to pay us a visit; and if they find us napping, they may treat us as they have our horses,” continued the old man. “To-morrow morning, we shall have our revenge, and I shall be vexed indeed if we do not find two or three of the brutes in the traps.”

The day was spent, as many before had been passed when they were not travelling or setting their snares, in scraping furs, greasing their traps, and cleaning the old man’s highly-prized rifle.

Their conversation related wholly to the occupation in which they were engaged; of other matters young Laurence knew nothing. He was a true child of the desert. His early days had been spent in the wigwam of an Indian squaw, who had taught him the legends and faith of her people. Beyond that period his recollections were very faint. He had remained with her until Michael Moggs, who called himself his father, came for him and took him away. He had almost forgotten his native tongue; but from that time, by constantly associating with the old trapper, he soon again learned to speak it. Of the Christian faith he knew nothing, for Moggs and himself were utterly ignorant of its truths; while they had imbibed many of the superstitions of the savage Indians, the only human beings with whom they had for long years associated. Laurence believed firmly in the Great Spirit who governs the destinies of the Red men of the desert—in the happy hunting-grounds, the future abode of brave warriors who die fighting on the battle-field—in the existence of demons, who wander through the forests in search of victims—and in the occult powers of wizards and medicine men. He had been taught that the only objects in life worthy of the occupation of men were war and the chase—that he should look with contempt on those who, he had heard, spent their time in the peaceful business of agriculture and commerce; that revenge and hatred of foes were the noblest sentiments to be cultivated in the human breast; and that no act was more worthy than to kill a foe, or a feeling more delightful than to witness his suffering under torture. Yet the heart of young Laurence was not hardened, nor altogether debased. Occasionally yearnings for a different life to that he led rose in his bosom. Whence they came he could not tell. Still he could not help thinking that there might be a brighter and better state of existence in those far-off lands away beyond where he saw the glorious sun rise each morning, to run its course through the sky, and to sink again behind the snow-capped range of the Rocky Mountains, to the base of which he and his father had occasionally wandered. Whenever he had ventured even to hint the tenor of his thoughts to the old trapper, the scornful rebuke he had received kept him for many a day afterwards silent.

As evening approached, the old man made a wide circuit round the camp to ascertain that no lurking foes lay hid in the neighbourhood. Having satisfied himself on that score, a large supply of fuel was piled up on the fire, when, after a frugal supper, he and the boy lay down to rest. Although Laurence slept soundly, Michael awoke constantly to put more wood on the fire, and not unfrequently to take a survey around the wigwam, knowing well that their lives might depend on his vigilance.

No sooner did the first faint streaks of dawn appear in the sky than he aroused the boy. A hurried meal was eaten, and then they strapped on their packs and several bundles of furs, which, with their traps, Moggs intended to conceal till he could return for them. The remaining articles, and a few of the least valuable of their furs, were then thrown on the fire, and the wigwam being pulled down on the top of it, the whole mass of combustible material soon burst up into a flame, leaving in a short time no other trace of their abode on the spot than a pile of blackened cinders.

They then made their way by a wide circuit into a neighbouring wood, beyond which a rocky hill afforded, in the old trapper’s opinion, a secure place for concealing their goods. The old man stepped cautiously along, avoiding even brushing against any of the branches on either side, Laurence following in his footsteps.

A small cave or hollow, which he had before observed, was soon found. In this the articles were deposited, and the mouth was closed up with stones brought from the hill-side, they again being concealed by a pile of broken branches and leaves, which, to the eye of a passer-by, might appear to have been blown there by the wind.

“It is the best place we can find,” exclaimed Moggs. “But if a strange Injun was to come this way before the snow covers the ground, our traps would soon be carried off. Most of the Crees, however, know that they are mine, and would think it wiser to leave them alone. We will hope for the best; and now, Laurence, let us go and see what the wolves have been about.” Saying this, he and the boy commenced their retreat from the wood in the same cautious way by which they had approached it.

Note. The bark-stone of which the old trapper spoke is the Castoreum, a substance secreted in two glandular sacs near the root of the beaver’s tail, which gives out an extremely powerful odour, and so strangely attracts beavers that the animals, when they scent it at a distance, will sniff about and squeal with eagerness as they make their way towards it. The trapper, therefore, carries a supply in a bottle, and when he arrives at a spot frequented by the animals, he sets his traps, baiting them with some of the substance. This is done with a small twig of wood, the end of which he chews, and, dipping it in the Castoreum, places it just above water, close to the trap, which is beneath the surface, and in such a position that the beaver must pass over it to get at the bait.

Chapter Two.

Pursuit and capture of a white wolf—Laurence’s dream—Journey to the fort over the snow—Friendly reception at the fort—Laurence falls sick.

The old trapper and his son crept cautiously among the rocks and shrubs towards the spot where the traps had been set around their slaughtered steeds. Moggs cocked his rifle as his keen eye fell on a large white wolf, which, caught by the leg in one of the traps, was making desperate efforts to free itself, and appeared every instant on the point of succeeding. As they drew near, the ferocious animal, with its mouth wide open, its teeth broken in its attempts to gnaw the iron trap, and its head covered with blood, sprang forward to reach them, but the trap held it fast.

“Keep behind me, Laurence,” said Michael. “If the creature gets loose, it will need a steady aim to bring it to the ground.” Not for a moment did the wolf turn round to fly, but again and again it sprang forward as far as the chain would allow it.

Although old Michael knew nothing of the humanity which would avoid allowing any of God’s creatures to suffer unnecessary pain, he was preparing to put an end to its agonies, when the creature, by a frantic effort, freeing itself, sprang towards him. Laurence uttered a cry of terror; for he expected the next moment to see its savage jaws fixed in his father’s throat; but the old man, standing calm and unmoved, fired, and the animal fell dead at his feet.

“Did ye think, Laurence, that I could not manage a single wolf,” he said, half turning round with a reproachful look towards the boy, who had not yet recovered from his alarm. “This is a prize worth having, though. It has not often been my luck to kill a white wolf, and we may barter this skin with the Crees for six of the best mustangs they have got. While I skin the varmint, see what the other traps have been about.” Laurence went forward to examine them.

“Here is a foot in one of them,” he exclaimed. “The creature must have gnawed it off, and got away. The other trap has been pulled up. I can see the tracks it has left, as the animal dragged it away.”

“We will be after it, then,” cried Moggs. “If it is another white wolf we shall be well repaid indeed for the loss of our steeds, though we have to carry our packs till we can reach the fort. Come, Laurence, help me to finish off this work.”

The skin was added to the already heavy load which old Moggs carried, and the traps hid in a spot which, with his experienced eye, he could without difficulty find.

“Now Laurence,” he exclaimed, “we will be after the runaway.”

The keen sight of the old man easily distinguished the marks left on the ground by the heavy trap as the animal trailed it behind him. The creature, after going some way along the valley, had taken to the higher ground, where its traces were still more easily distinguished upon the crust of the snow which lay there. The white wolf had got some distance ahead, when at length, to the delight of old Moggs, he discovered it with the trap at its heels. It seemed to know that its pursuers were close behind. Off it scampered at a rapid trot, now over the rugged and broken surface of rocks, now descending into ravines, now going north, now south, making numerous zigzag courses in its efforts to escape and deceive the hunters. Still old Moggs pursued, regardless of fatigue, though Laurence had great difficulty in keeping up with him, and often felt as if he must drop. His father encouraged him to continue the chase, promising soon to overtake the creature. At length, however, Laurence could go no further, and sank down on a hill, over which they had just climbed, and were about to descend to a valley below them.

“Rest there till I come back, then, boy,” exclaimed the hardy old trapper, a slight tone of contempt mixed with his expression of pity. “The wolf I must have, even though he leads me a score of miles further. Here, take the tinder-box and axe, and make a fire; by the time I come back we shall need some food, after our chase.”

Having given Laurence the articles he mentioned, with a handful of pemmican from his wallet, he hastened down the hill, in the direction the wolf had taken along the valley.

Young Laurence was too much accustomed to those wilds to feel any alarm at being left alone; and as soon as he had somewhat rested, he set to work to cut a supply of dried branches from the surrounding shrubs, with which he quickly formed a blazing fire. The pemmican, or pounded buffalo meat, further restored his strength, and he began to think that he would follow in the direction his father had taken, to save him from having to ascend the hill. When he began to move, however, he felt so weary that he again sank down by the side of the fire, where in a short time he fell asleep. Wild dreams troubled his slumbers, and long-forgotten scenes came back to his mind. He was playing in a garden among flowers in front of a neat and pretty dwelling, with the waters of a tranquil lake shining far below. He heard the gentle voice of one he trusted, whose fair sweet face ever smiled on him as he gambolled near her. The voice was hastily calling him, when suddenly he was lifted up and carried away far from her shrieks and cries. The rattle of musketry echoed in his ears, then he was borne down a rapid stream, the waters hissing and foaming around. Now numberless Indians, in war-paint and feathers, danced frantically before his eyes, and huge fires blazed up, and again shrieks echoed in his ears. Then a monstrous animal, with glaring eyeballs, burst into their midst, putting the Indians to flight, and scattering their fires far and wide, yelling and roaring savagely. He started up, when what was his horror to see the fierce white wolf his father had been pursuing rushing towards him with the chain and trap still trailing at his heels. Spell-bound, he felt unable to rise. In another moment the enraged wolf would be upon him, when a rifle shot rang through the air, and the wolf dropped dead close to where he lay.

“Art safe, Laurence, art unhurt, boy?” exclaimed the old trapper, who came, breathless, hurrying up the side of the hill. “The brute doubled cunningly on me, and thinking, from the way he was leading, that he would pass near where I left you, I took a short cut, in hopes of being before him. I was nearly too late, and twice before I had fired, shouting to you to be on your guard. It’s not often my rifle has failed to kill even at that distance.”

Laurence relieved his father’s anxiety by showing him that he was unhurt; and greatly to the old trapper’s satisfaction, on examining the wolf, three bullet holes were found in the skin, showing that his favourite rifle had not missed, although the first shots had failed to kill.

The prized skin having been secured, as it was too heavy to carry, in addition to their previous loads, it was hidden, as the traps had been, in a hollow in the rocks.

“Little chance of its escaping from Indians or wolverines, though I am loath to abandon it,” observed the old man, as he placed the last of a large pile of stones in front of the cave. “But the snow will be down, may be this very night, and then it will be safe.”

They now proceeded down the valley, and continued on till they reached the edge of a small wood, where they encamped for the night. For several days they journeyed on towards the south and east, not meeting, as they passed over those desert wilds, a single human being.

“Once, when I first knew this region, many thousand warriors, with their squaws and children, were masters here,” observed old Moggs. “But they are all gone; the white man’s gunpowder, and his still more deadly fire-water, have carried off the greater number. Famine visited them when they themselves had slaughtered most of the creatures which gave them food, without having learned other means for obtaining support. Before that time, neither white nor red trappers had to go more than a few days’ journey from the forts to obtain as many skins as they needed.”

“I wish those times would come back again,” said the boy. “For my legs feel as if they would soon refuse to carry me further.”

“Cheer up, lad, we will camp soon, and in a few days more we shall be at the fort, when you shall have the rest I promised you.”

“But you will not quit me then, father, will you?” asked Laurence.

“Well, well, I must buy fresh horses to bring in the skins and traps, and to prepare for the next season,” answered Michael. “I have no wish to leave you, lad; so don’t let that trouble you just now.”

The first fall of snow for that winter had now come down, and thickly covered the ground. For several days it compelled the trapper and his son to keep within the shelter of their wigwam. Once more they set out. After travelling severe days, young Laurence, though he had partially recovered, again felt ready to give way. Still he trudged with his load by his father’s side. The cold had greatly increased; but though he had hitherto been indifferent to it, he felt that he would rather lie down and die than proceed further. The old man took his arm, and did his utmost to encourage him.

They at length reached a wood of birch and firs. “Oh, father, let us camp here, for I can move on no longer,” cried Laurence, in a piteous tone.

“Cheer up, cheer up, boy,” said the old trapper, repeating the expression he had frequently of late uttered. “A few steps farther, and we shall see the fort.”

The poor lad struggled on. The sun was sinking low in the sky, when, just as they doubled the wood, its beams fell on the stockaded sides of a fort, situated on slightly elevated ground out of the prairie.

“There’s our resting place at last,” exclaimed the old man, pointing with his hand towards the fort. “Keep up your courage, and we shall reach it before dark. The peltries we bring will ensure us a welcome; and though I trust not to the white men who live in cities, the chief factor there calls me his friend, and has a heart which I doubt not will feel compassion for your youth. He will treat you kindly for my sake, though most of the traders such as he care little for the old trapper who has spent his whole life in toiling for them.”

Michael continuing to support the tottering steps of his son, they at last reached the gates of the fort, which were opened to give them admittance, their approach having been observed from the look-out towers on the walls. The stockade surrounded an area of considerable size, within which were the residences of the factor and clerks, several large storehouses, and huts for the accommodation of the garrison and hunters, and casual visitors. Altogether, to Michael’s eyes, it appeared a place of great importance. A number of voyageurs and half-breeds, in their picturesque costumes, were strolling about; multitudes of children were playing at the doors of the huts; and women were seen going to and from the stores, or occupied in their daily avocations. Laurence felt somewhat awe-struck on finding himself among so many strangers, and kept close to his father. At their entrance they had been saluted by a pack of savage-looking sleigh-dogs, which came out barking at the new-comers, but were quickly driven back to their quarters by their masters.

“Don’t mind them, Laurence,” said Michael. “As soon as they find that we are treated as friends, they will cease their yelping, and come humbly to our feet to seek our favour.”

Michael inquired for Mr Ramsay, the chief factor.

“There he comes from his house,” answered the man to whom he had addressed himself.

“What! old friend! I am right glad to see you again,” exclaimed Mr Ramsay, advancing, and with frank cordiality shaking the old trapper by the hand. “I was afraid, from your long absence, that you would never find your way back to the fort. And who is this lad? He seems very young for the life of a trapper.”

Michael then introduced Laurence, and narrated how they had lost their horses and been compelled to tramp the whole distance on foot, not having met any Indians from whom they could purchase fresh steeds, or obtain assistance in carrying their bales.

“He looks worn out and ill,” said the kind-hearted factor. “Come in to my house, and we will have him seen to. A comfortable bed and a quiet night’s rest will, I hope, restore him; and you, friend, will, I suspect, be glad to get that heavy pack off your shoulders.”

“The boy has not been much accustomed to beds or houses, and the change may, as you say, do him good,” observed Michael. “But my old sinews are too tough to feel the weight of this pack, heavy as it is, I’ll allow. However, for the boy’s sake, I’ll accept your hospitality; and, if you’ll look after him till he is recovered, the best peltries I have shall be at your service without any other payment.”

“Nay, nay, friend; I come frae the Hielands, and have not so far forgotten the customs of the old country as to receive payment for entertaining a guest, and as such your son is welcome. However, come in, and get rid of your packs; and to-morrow, when you have rested, we will examine their contents and calculate their value.”

Poor Laurence tottered on, but scarcely had he reached the entrance of the house than he sank to the ground. His pack was quickly taken off, and kindly hands lifted him to a room, where he was undressed and put to bed—a luxury he had not, as his father had said, for many years enjoyed. Restoratives were applied; but kind Mrs Ramsay and those of her household who watched him, as they observed his pale cheeks and slowly-drawn breath, feared that nature was too far exhausted by the fatigue he had undergone to recover. The old man’s alarm and grief, when he heard of the dangerous state of his son, was excessive. Kind Mrs Ramsay did her best to console him, and her young daughter, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl, Jeanie, climbed up on his knee, and stroked his rough hair, as he hung down his head, utterly overcome.

“We will pray to our merciful Father in heaven to take care of the young boy, and to make him strong and well again,” she whispered. “You know that God hears our prayers; and oh, how good and kind He is, to let us speak to Him, and to do what we ask Him in the name of His dear Son Jesus Christ.”

The old man gazed earnestly at the child for a few seconds, and, a look of anguish passing over his countenance, he shook his head; and then turning away from her, he put her gently down, as if he was afraid of being thus again addressed, and answered, “Thank you, thank you, little damsel; I hope my boy will get well. It will go pretty nigh to finish me if he does not,” he murmured to himself. “I ought to have known that his strength was not equal to the task I put upon it. If he dies, men will say, and justly, that I am his murderer.”

The old man partook but sparingly of the abundant repast spread before him, and declining the luxury of a bed, rolled himself up in a blanket, and took his post in the hall, near the door of the room where Laurence had been placed, that he might hear from those who were attending on his boy how it went with him. At every footstep which passed he started up and made the same inquiry, and then with a groan lay down again, his desire to keep on the watch in vain struggling with his fatigue.

Chapter Three.

Anxiety of the trapper about his son—Jeanie tells Laurence about the Bible and God’s love to man—Laurence out of danger—The trapper leaves Laurence with his friends—Jeanie tries to teach Laurence to read—History of Mrs Ramsay.

The following morning, the old trapper was sitting on the floor, where he had passed the night, with his head bent down on his knees, when Mrs Ramsay came out of his son’s room.

“Is he better? Will he live?” he asked in a low, husky voice, gazing up anxiously at her countenance.

“The issues of life and death are in God’s hands,” she answered. “Your young son is very ill; but our merciful Father in heaven can restore him if He thinks fit; we can but watch over him, and minister to his wants as may seem best to us. Lift up your heart in prayer to that Great Being through Him who died for us, sinning children as we are that we might be reconciled to our loving Parent, and He will assuredly hear your petition, and grant it if He thinks fit.”

The old man groaned as she ceased speaking, and again dropping his head on his breast made no reply to her, though he muttered to himself, “She tells me to pray. The Great Spirit would strike me dead in his anger were I to dare to speak to Him.” The kind lady, seeing he did not speak, passed on.

Old Michael could with difficulty be persuaded to eat anything, or to quit his post during the day. Little Jeanie was at length sent to him with some food, to try if he would receive it at her hands.

“Here,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “You must take some of this, or you will become weak and ill. God, you know, gives us food to support our bodies, just as He sends His holy spirit to strengthen our souls. It is very wrong not to eat when we require food, and so it is when we refuse to receive the aid of the Holy Spirit, which we so much need every moment of our lives.”

“Who told you that, little damsel?” asked the old man, looking up in the child’s sweet face.

“Mamma, of course,” she answered. “And Mr Martin, the missionary, who came here some time ago, says she is right, and told me never to forget what she says to me. I try not to do so; but when I am playing about, and sometimes when I feel inclined to be naughty, I am apt not to remember as I ought; and then I ask God to help me and to forgive me, through Jesus Christ, and all those things come back again to my memory.”

“You naughty!” said the old man, gazing still more intently at the young fair countenance. “I don’t think you ever could be naughty.”

“Oh yes, yes, I am, though,” answered the child. “I feel sometimes vexed and put out, and so do all sorts of naughty things; besides, you know that God says, ‘there is none that doeth good, no, not one;’ and even if I did not think I was naughty, I know that I must be in His sight, for He is so pure and holy that even to Him the heavens, so bright to us, are not pure.”

The old man apparently did not understand what the child was saying to him, but the sound of her soft voice soothed his troubled heart. She little knew how dark and hard that heart had become.

“What is it you want, little damsel?” he asked, in a tone as if he had been lost in thought while she was speaking.

“I came to bring you this food,” she said. “I shall be so glad to see you eat some.”

The old man, without further remonstrance, almost mechanically, it seemed, consumed the food she offered him.

For several days Laurence hung between life and death, but the constant and watchful care of his new friends was blessed with success; and once more he opened his eyes, and was able to understand and reply to what was said to him. As soon as he was considered out of danger, old Michael regained his usual manner. Though he expressed his gratitude to his hosts in his rough, blunt way, he uttered no expression which showed that he believed that aught of thanks were due to the Giver of all good for his son’s recovery. With his ordinary firm tread he stalked into the room where Laurence lay.

“I am glad to see thee coming round, boy,” he said. “Food and quiet is all that is now required to fit thee for work again. Dost not long to be once more wandering through the forest, or trapping by the side of the broad stream? I am already weary, as I knew I should, of this dull life, and must away to look after our traps and such of our peltries as may have escaped the claws of the cunning wolverines.”

“Stay for me but a few days, and I shall be ready to go with you, father,” said the boy, trying to raise himself up.

“Nay, nay, boy; but you’re not yet strong enough for travelling. The snow lies thickly on the ground, and the winter’s wind whistles keenly through the forest and across the plain. Stay a while with your good friends here, and I’ll come back for thee, and then we will hie away to lead the free life we have enjoyed so long.” Old Michael spoke in a more subdued tone than usual.

“You speak truth, father, when you say our friends are kind; if it were not for you I should not wish to leave them. Sometimes, when Mrs Ramsay and her little daughter have been tending me, my thoughts have been carried back to the days when I was a young child, or else to some pleasant dreams which have visited me in my sleep.”

“Speak not again of those times, Laurence,” exclaimed the old trapper in an angry tone. “They are mere foolish fancies of the brain. You are still weak and ill, but you will soon recover,” he added in a more gentle voice. “And when I come for you, promise me that you will be ready to go forth once more to be my companion in the free wilds.”

“Yes, father, yes; I promise, whenever you come and summon me away, I will go with you.”

“Farewell, then, boy,” said the old trapper, taking his son’s hand. “We will look forward to the time when we may enjoy our free roving life together again.”

On the entrance of Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie, who came with some nourishing food for Laurence, the old trapper silently left the room. When, a short time afterwards, Mrs Ramsay inquired for him, she found that he had quitted the fort, leaving behind him his bales of peltries, with the exception of the white wolf-skin.

“He has taken it to trade with the Indians,” observed the factor. “He knows that they value it more than we do.”

“I am so sorry that your father has gone away, Laurence,” said Jeanie, as she sat by the bedside of the young invalid, trying to console him for the grief he showed when he heard of the old trapper’s departure. “But remember you are among friends, and we will do all we can to make you happy. Still, it is a great thing to know that your father loves you. I should be miserable if I could suppose that my father and mother did not love me. But do you know, Laurence, I have often thought how much more wretched I should feel if I did not know that our Heavenly Father loves me also even more than they do. Mamma has often told me that His love is so great that we cannot understand it. It always makes me feel so happy when I think of it, and that He is always watching over us, and that His eye is ever upon us.”

“Do you speak of the Great Spirit, little girl?” said Laurence, raising himself on his elbow, and gazing inquiringly at her. “I have heard that He is the Friend of brave warriors and those who obey Him, and that He is more powerful than any human being; but still I cannot fancy that He cares for young boys and girls, and women and slaves, or cowards who are afraid to fight.”

“Oh, yes, yes; He cares for everybody,” exclaimed Jeanie. “He loves all the creatures He has made, to whom He has given souls which will live for ever and ever. He wants them all to live with Him in the glorious heaven He has prepared for all who accept the gracious offer of mercy which He makes to us. You know that we are by nature rebels and disobedient children; and consequently Satan, the great rebel chief, has power to do evil, and to tempt us to sin, and to rebel against God, as he tempted our first parents; but God sent His Son Jesus Christ into the world, to suffer the punishment which, for our disobedience and sin, we ought to suffer, and to tell us that, if we trust Him and believe that He has so suffered for our sins, and thus taken them away, and will love and obey Him, and follow the laws which He established, we shall be received back again into favour, and when our souls quit this world, that they will go and dwell with Him in that glorious and happy land where He will reign for ever and ever.”

Laurence continued his fixed gaze at the young girl as she spoke.

“These are very wonderful words you speak. They are so wonderful that I cannot understand them,” said Laurence very slowly.

“What I speak of is indeed very wonderful, for even the angels in heaven wonder at it; but if you seek the aid of the Holy Spirit, He will make it clear to your mind, for He it is who alone can teach us what Christ is, and what He has done for us. My mamma often told me about these things, and I did not understand them; but when I prayed that the Holy Spirit would help me to know the love of Jesus, and all He has done for me, then what appeared so dark and mysterious became as clear as the noonday; and, oh, I am sure that there is no joy so great as that of knowing that Jesus Christ loves us.”

“I don’t think I shall ever understand that,” said the boy, sinking back on his couch. “My father has never told me anything about those things and I am sure He is very, very wise, for the Indians say so; and every one owns that he is the best white trapper between the Rocky Mountains and the Red River. When he comes back, I’ll talk to him, and learn what he thinks of the matter.”

“Oh, but God tells us that He has ‘hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes,’” observed Jeanie. “Your father is all you say, I am sure; but does he read the Bible, the book which God has given to us, to tell us about Jesus, and to let us know His will?”

“I never heard of such a book,” answered the boy. “But then I know nothing about books; I could not understand its meaning if I had one.”

“What! cannot you read?” asked the little girl, in a tone of astonishment.

“No, of course not,” answered Laurence. “The only books I have seen are those in the hands of the white traders, when they have been taking notes of the peltries they have bought from us or our Indian friends. Then I have observed that they make marks with the end of a stick in their books, and that is all I know about the matter.”

“Oh, then, I must show you some books, and you must learn to read. It is a sad thing not to be able to read the Bible.”

“I have no wish to learn, though you are very kind to offer to teach me,” answered the boy, in a somewhat weary tone. “When I am well enough, I should like to be following my father, or chasing the buffalo with the brave hunters of the prairie. Still, I should be sorry to go away from you and those who have been so kind to me.”

“But it will be a long time before you are able to sit on horseback, or to endure the wild camp-life of a hunter, and until that time comes you must let me teach you.”

“My head would ache if I were to try to learn anything so strange as reading,” said Laurence, closing his eyes. “Even now I cannot bear to think. But you are very kind, very kind,” he added, as if he felt the little girl would consider him ungrateful for refusing her offer.

Mrs Ramsay, who had just then come in unperceived, had heard the last part of the conversation, and understanding better than her daughter did the boy’s still weak state, saw that it was not the time to press the point, and that it would be better just then to allow Laurence to fall asleep, as she judged from his heavy eyes he was inclined to do. She, therefore, smoothing his pillow, and bestowing a smile on him, led Jeanie from the room.

Mrs Ramsay had gone through many trials. She had been brought up among all the refinements of civilised society in Scotland, and had been early brought by her pious parents to know and love the Lord Jesus. She had married Mr Ramsay, then employed in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, dining a short visit he paid to his native land; but she had been little aware of the dangers and hardships she would be called on to endure in the wild region to which he was to take her. He had been so accustomed to them from his earliest days that, when describing the life he had led, he unconsciously made light of what might otherwise naturally have appalled her. For his sake she forbore from complaining of the perils and privations to which she had been exposed; and she had ever, by trusting to the aid and protection of God, borne up under them all. Two of her children had been taken from her, and Jeanie alone had been left. Famine, and the small-pox and measles, which has proved so fatal to the inhabitants of those northern wilds, had on several occasions visited the fort, which had also been exposed to the attacks of treacherous and hostile natives; while for years together she had not enjoyed the society of any of her own sex of like cultivated mind and taste. Yet she did not repine; she devoted herself to her husband and child, and to imparting instruction to the native women and children who inhabited the fort. She went further, and endeavoured to spread the blessings of religion and civilisation among the surrounding Indian population. By her influence her husband had been induced to take an interest in the welfare of the Indians, and no longer merely to value them according to the supply of peltries they could bring to trade with at the fort. He endeavoured also to instruct them in the art of agriculture, and already a number of cultivated fields were to be seen in the neighbourhood. He had introduced herds of cattle, which the Indians had been taught to tend and value, and numerous horses fed on the surrounding pastures. His great object now was to obtain a resident missionary, who might instruct the still heathen natives in the truths of Christianity; for when he had learned to value the importance of his own soul, he of necessity felt deeply interested in the salvation of the souls of his surrounding fellow-creatures. He had been warned that, should the natives become Christians and civilised, they would no longer prove useful as hunters and trappers, and that he was acting in opposition to trade.

“When that occurs it will be time enough, if you think fit, to complain, my friends,” he answered. “At present I see innumerable immortal souls perishing in their darkness; and am I to be debarred, for fear of future consequences, in offering to them the blessings of the gospel?”

Most of those to whom he spoke were unable to comprehend him, but he persevered; and as the native trappers, certain of being fairly dealt with, resorted in greater numbers than before to the fort, and the amount of peltries he collected not falling off, no objection was taken at headquarters to his proceedings.

Chapter Four.

Dangers in the fort—The winter sets in—Scarcity of food—Mr Ramsay’s account of his first meeting with the old trapper—His journey across the prairies—Attacked by Dacotahs—Death of his companions—Rescued by the old trapper—Prairie on fire—Ride for life.

The remote forts, as the trading posts of that region are called, were exposed at that period to numerous vicissitudes. When the buffalo, in large herds, came northward from the wide prairies in the south, and fish could be caught in the neighbouring lakes and rivers, provisions were abundant. But at other times, as all articles of food had to be brought many hundred miles in canoes, along the streams which intersect the country, or overland by carts or sleighs, notwithstanding all the forethought and precaution of the officers in charge, they were occasionally hard pressed for means of supporting life.

At the period we are describing, the frost had set in earlier than usual, and the neighbouring streams and lakes had been frozen over before a supply of fish could be caught for the winter store. Grasshoppers, or locusts, as they should be more properly called, coming in vast hordes from the south, had settled on the fields, and destroyed the crops of maize and barley; while the buffalo had not migrated so far to the northward as in other years. The hunters who had gone forth in chase of the moose, elk, bears, and other animals, had been less successful than usual.

Mr Ramsay, as the winter drew on, dreaded that famine would visit the fort. He had sent for supplies to headquarters, which he was daily expecting to arrive by a train of dog-sleighs, and had again despatched his hunters in all directions, in the hopes that they might bring in a sufficient number of wild animals of the chase to provision the garrison till their arrival.

Laurence slowly recovered his strength. Mrs Ramsay took care that he, at all events, should be well supplied with nourishing food.

“For his father’s sake, I wish you to do all you can for the poor lad,” said Mr Ramsay to his wife. “I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay, though he appears unwilling to be my creditor, by speaking of the matter as an every-day occurrence. I was travelling some years back, with a small party of half-breed hunters and Crees from the Red River to Chesterfield House, when, a fearful storm coming on, we were compelled to encamp in the open prairie. A short time before we had passed a small stream, on the banks of which grew a few birch and willows. The country was in a disturbed state, and we had heard that several war parties of Dacotahs were out, with the intention of attacking the Crees, their hereditary enemies. Thinking it possible we might be attacked, should our trail have been discovered, we arranged our carts in a circle, to enable us to resist a sudden onslaught of the foe. We were, however, without water or fuel. To obtain a supply of both these necessaries, we sent back several of our men to the stream I mentioned, hoping that they would return to the camp before dark.

“The shades of evening were already coming on when we caught sight, in the far distance, of a large party of horsemen scouring over the prairie. We had little doubt that they were Dacotahs, but we hoped that our small encampment, at the distance we were from them, might escape detection. The keen eyes of the red-skin warriors, however, ere long found us out, and we saw them galloping towards us, flourishing their spears and uttering their savage war-cries. Except the plumes in their hair and girdles round their waists, they were destitute of clothing, though their bodies and faces were covered thickly with paint, making them look more like demons than human beings. Had our whole party been together, we might have been able, with our rifles, to drive them back; but divided as we were, had we fired, although we might have shot some of those in advance, the remainder would have dashed forward and speared us before we could have had time to reload.

“The warriors, on getting near the camp, and discovering the preparations we had made for their reception, those in advance waited till the remainder of their party came up. Just then they caught sight of our friends returning across the open plain bringing the wood and water. With wild and fearful shouts the savages dashed forward to cut them off. They had no means of defending themselves, and terror seizing them, they took to flight, hoping to escape to the river and lie concealed under its banks. The horsemen, however, overtook them before they could reach it, and in a short time we saw the Dacotahs returning with the scalps of their victims at the end of their spears. Like savage beasts who have once tasted blood, their rage and fury increased, and they seemed resolved, at all risks, to destroy us, as they had our companions, and to obtain the rich booty they expected to find in our camp. On they came, shrieking and howling more fearfully than before. I called on my few remaining men to fight bravely in defence of our lives, reminding them that should they yield they would be cruelly tortured, and ultimately put to death.

“Although at first driven back by our fire, again and again they rushed forward, surrounding our camp, and breaking through our imperfect fences. Most of my little garrison were speared, and I had received two wounds; but I scarcely felt them, and still retained my strength and energy. The rest of the survivors, although much more hurt, and bleeding at every pore, fought bravely; for all of us knew that we could expect no mercy from our savage foes.

“Night was coming on, and we had little hopes of ever seeing another sun rise.

“Among the stores we were conveying were several casks of gunpowder. As a last resource, I seized one of them which I managed to reach, and placing it before me, shouted out to our enemies that if they approached nearer, I would fire my rifle into it, and blow them and the whole camp into the air. They were well acquainted with its power, and held it, as I knew, in great dread. My example was followed by the rest of my party who had yet strength to move. The Dacotahs retired to a short distance, and held a consultation, after which they galloped round and round us, shrieking and shouting, when one of them advanced somewhat nearer, and, in a derisive tone, told us that we were welcome to remain where we were, for escape was impossible, as they intended to keep near us, and that in a short time we should be starved to death, when they would have our scalps, and take possession of our goods. We knew too well that they spoke the truth; but we replied that we were determined not to yield, and that if they approached, we would carry our threat into execution.

“Darkness had now come on, but we distinguished them still hovering around us in the distance. That was the most dreadful night I ever passed. The groans and cries of the wounded, as they lay on the ground around me, continued without intermission. I could do but little to relieve them; for we had no water to quench our burning thirst, and had I placed them in the carts they might have been speared, should the enemy have made a sudden attack, as they were very likely to do, hoping to catch us unprepared.

“When morning dawned, the Dacotahs again dashed forward, yelling as before, and approached sufficiently near to survey our condition. All day long they continued the same system, hoping apparently to wear us out, which, indeed, there appeared every probability of their doing.

“Several of my unfortunate companions had sunk from loss of blood and thirst, and my sufferings had become so great that I envied them their fate, when, as I cast my eyes around to watch the movements of our foes, I saw them gathering together in a body, while in the far distance appeared a single horseman, who, galloping at full speed, was coming towards the camp. He stopped short as he approached the Dacotahs, as if to ascertain who they were; he then rode boldly forward towards them. I saw that he was a white man, and knew by his gestures that he was haranguing the savages. Several of their chiefs appeared to be replying to him. He then waved his hand, and galloped up to the camp.

“‘I know all about it,’ he exclaimed in English, and his words sounded pleasantly in my ears. ‘I made them promise to give me one of my countrymen instead of a debt they owe me, and I wish that I could save more of your lives. What!’ he exclaimed, on seeing me rise to move towards him, ‘are you the only one left alive?’

“I had no need to reply, but pointed to the bodies of my companions on the ground; for by that time nearly all were dead, while those who still remained alive were too weak to move, and it was evident that in a short time they also would be numbered with the dead. It grieved me much to leave them in their sad condition; but yet by remaining I could do them no good. The stranger lifted me up on his horse with as much ease as if I had been a child, and bore me off in the direction from whence he had come.

“‘We have no time to lose, for I don’t trust the red-skins, friends though they are of mine,’ he said. ‘They may in a few minutes change their minds.’

“We had gone but a short distance when I saw my preserver turn his head to look behind him. There was an expression of anxiety in his countenance.

“‘What is the matter?’ I asked.

“‘The red-skins have set the prairie on fire,’ he answered. ‘I don’t think they did it on purpose, for they will chance to suffer more than we do; but we must push onwards, or the flames will anon be close at our heels.’

“I raised my head as he spoke, and saw dense wreaths of smoke rising up to the southward, below which I could distinguish a broad red line, extending for a mile or more from east to west.

“The hunter, holding me in his firm grasp, put spurs to his horse, and, slackening his rein, galloped at full speed over the ground. The motion caused my wounds to bleed afresh, but it was no time to stop to bind them up. I felt very weak, and the dreadful thought came across me that, should I faint, my new friend would suppose me dead, and naturally leave me to my fate. Might he not even do so, at all events, should the fire come rapidly after us, for the sake of preserving his own life? He seemed to divine my thoughts.

“‘I will not desert you, lad,’ he said. ‘Cheer up; we have but a few leagues to go to reach a river, on the further side of which we shall be safe. My good steed has been well accustomed to carry a heavy weight, and he makes nothing of what he has now on his back.’

“While he was speaking, a loud dull roar like thunder was heard, and a dense column of smoke rose upward from the spot where we had been encamped.

“‘Ah! ah! the red-skins have lost the booty they were so eager to secure,’ he exclaimed with a peculiar laugh.

“The fire had reached the camp, and the casks of powder had ignited and blown the carts and the rest of their contents into the air.

“‘We shall be safe from them, at all events,’ observed the stranger; ‘for they will not pull rein for many a long league from this, if they should escape the effects of their own carelessness.’

“The raging fire had now extended from east to west as far as the eye could reach, and came on even faster than we could move. Still the dauntless hunter showed no signs of fear or intention of abandoning me, that he might insure his own safety. The love of life was strong within me, but I felt that it was almost unjust to allow him to risk his for the sake of saving mine. Away we went, scouring the prairie, the hunter urging on his steed with slackened rein and spur, and by word of mouth. Already I could hear the ominous crackling and hissing of the flames as they made their way over the long dry grass, and caught the bushes which here and there were scattered over the plain. Every now and then the hunter looked behind him. Nearer and nearer came the long line of fire and smoke; the sky overhead was darkened; the air was hot and stifling. Still he cheered on his steed. Fast as we went, the fire came faster.

“On and on we galloped, the dense smoke surrounding us. I gasped for breath; already it seemed that the flames were close at the horse’s heels. The animal appeared to know his danger as well as his rider, and sprang frantically forward. I saw no more. I only felt that the horse had made a desperate plunge, and soon afterwards there was the sound of water in my ears, and instead of the violent movements of the galloping horse I felt myself borne smoothly forward. Then I was lifted in the strong arms of the hunter and placed on the ground. I opened my eyes, and found myself seated on a narrow strand, on the opposite side of a river, with a high bank rising above my head. Across the stream the fire raged furiously, devouring the trees which fringed its shores; while close above our heads hung a black canopy of smoke, though a cool current of air, which blew up the stream, enabled me to breathe freely. The hunter, holding the bridle of his horse, was seated by my side.

“‘We have done it, friend,’ he said. ‘I knew we should. It’s not the first time I have had to ride for my life; but I never had a harder gallop, that I’ll allow. The Dacotahs will have had a narrow escape if they managed to get clear. Let me look to your hurts. You are hungry, it may be.’

“‘Water, water,’ were the only words I could utter. He produced a leathern cup from his ample pouch, and, filling it with water, poured the contents down my throat. I felt as if I could have drunk the stream dry, but he would give me no more.

“‘Wait a bit; you shall soon have another draught,’ he said. ‘And now let me see to your hurts.’ He brought more water, and having bathed my wounds, bound them skilfully up with a handkerchief which I fortunately had in my pocket. After I had taken another draught of water, I quickly began to revive under his careful treatment. When he thought that I had sufficiently recovered to be removed, he bore me up a bank, and then led his horse round another way up to where I lay. He carried me on till we reached a wood near a stream. Here, finding from my weak state that I was unable to travel further, he built a hut and tended me with the greatest care till I had recovered sufficiently to sit on horseback. He often, I found, deprived himself of food that I might be amply supplied. As soon as I was able to bear the journey he placed me on the horse, and walking by my side, we set out for the fort. We had many weary leagues to go, and frequently we fell in with traces of the savage and treacherous Sioux or Dacotahs, evidently out on expeditions against the Crees. Occasionally, to avoid our foes, we had to remain in concealment for several days together, and at other times it was necessary to halt while my companion went in search of game, and to obtain provisions. Ultimately, after many adventures, when he often exposed his own life to preserve mine, we reached the fort in safety.

“Such was the commencement of my acquaintance with Michael Moggs, the old trapper. We have met occasionally since, but he has always refused to receive any recompense for the service he rendered me, declaring that he was deserving of none, as he would have done the same for any other white man who might have needed his assistance. I have vainly endeavoured to induce him to remain in the fort, or to take service with the company; but he invariably replies that he prefers the life of a free trapper, and that he will not bind himself to serve any master.”

“I wish we could induce him to stop with us, both for his own sake, and for that of his young son,” observed Mrs Ramsay. “He is an intelligent youth, with a mind capable of cultivation. It is sad to see him so utterly ignorant of religious truth; and I fear that his strength will give way if he continues the hard life he has shared with his eccentric father. I cannot but think that the old man is greatly to blame for bringing him up as he has done.”

“We must hope for the best,” said Mr Ramsay.

“We have no right to hope unless we pray and strive, dear husband,” said Mrs Ramsay. “God will hear our prayers, both for father and son. After the account you have just given me, I feel that we are doubly bound to pray for them. How greatly ought we to value that glorious privilege of prayer, which allows us sinful creatures, trusting to the all-cleansing blood of Jesus, to go boldly to the throne of grace, knowing that our petitions will be heard and granted by the all-pure, all-seeing, and all-just God, who does not look upon us as we are in ourselves, but as clothed with the righteousness of Christ. Let us pray this night that the dark mind of our poor friend may be enlightened, and that the Holy Spirit may bring home the truths of the gospel to that of his young son.”

“You are right; you are right, wife,” said Mr Ramsay, taking her hand. “I have hitherto thought only how I could benefit his temporal condition. It did not occur to me how much more important it was to seek the good of his soul.”

Little did the old hunter think, as he was wandering across the snowy waste, that the hearts of friends were lifted up for him in prayer to that God from whom he had so long obstinately turned away; yet though we must be assured that God overhears the prayers of those who come to Him in His Son’s name, He takes His own good time and way to answer the petitions he receives; and we must be prepared to wait patiently for the result, and not expect always to see it brought about in the manner we in our ignorance may have desired.

Chapter Five.

Stock of provisions at the fort still further decreased—Reports of Sioux being in the neighbourhood—Preparations for defence—Children’s amusement of “coasting”—Sioux seen in the distance—The hunters caught by them—Camp-fires of Indians seen in the distance—Fresh bands join them.

The trials to which the inhabitants of the fort were exposed were becoming greater every day. The store of potatoes and other vegetables in the root-house, where they were secured from the frost, deep down below the surface, was rapidly lessening.

Mr Ramsay had lately inspected the meat pit, in which the carcases of the buffaloes and other animals shot during the previous fall were preserved, and found it nearly empty. Meat is preserved in that region in a peculiar manner. A deep pit is dug, and while the frost is still in the air, and the snow covers the ground, all the animals killed are placed in it. The bottom is lined with a coating of snow beaten hard, and then a layer of meat is placed on it. On the top of this more snow is beaten, when an additional layer of meat is placed in the pit, and so on till the whole is full. It is then covered over with snow, and a thickly-thatched roof is erected over it. The meat-cellar, indeed, resembles an English ice-house. The meat thus remains in a fit condition to be eaten throughout the year. Fish is preserved in the same way. During the winter, however, the fish, when caught, become frozen, and can be kept in an open shed.

This year, as we have said, in consequence of the early frost, but a small supply of fish had been caught.

Mr Ramsay was looking out anxiously for the arrival of the expected supplies, but no news of their coming had yet readied him. The hunters had returned unsuccessful from the chase, and had again gone out with the intention of proceeding to a greater distance than before. News came also which caused the small remaining garrison some anxiety. It was reported that, contrary to their usual custom, for they seldom travel during winter, a large body of Sioux had been seen moving northward on a warlike expedition. Although their destination was unknown, it was feared, as they had long threatened to attack the fort, should they discover how small was its present garrison, and how greatly pressed for food, they might put their evil intentions into execution. Mr Ramsay accordingly made every preparation for defence in his power, and few as were the numbers with him, he hoped to repulse the foe. His fears were rather on account of the hunters scattered at a distance from each other, and who, should they fall into the hands of the Sioux, might be cut off in detail. To call them back was now impossible, as, should he send out to search for them, he would have had still further to lessen the number of defenders. Constant watch was kept day and night, and he determined, at all events, not to be taken by surprise.

Meantime Laurence had greatly recovered his strength, and, clad in a warm fur dress, was able to move about, both inside and for a short distance outside the fort.

The chief amusement of the younger portion of the inhabitants was “coasting,” or sliding down the steep side of the hill on which the fort stood seated on small boards placed on runners, called “toboggins.” Descending from the height, the impetus they gained carried them for a considerable distance over the level plain, till they were finally brought up by a heap of snow at the end of a long path they had thus formed. The toboggin was then drawn up to the top of the hill, when the young coaster again went sliding down, followed in succession by his companions, shouting and cheering with delight, especially when any of the toboggins went off the line, and their companions were half-buried in the heap of snow below.

This amusement Laurence infinitely preferred to learning to read the books which Jeanie brought him, although she offered to be his instructress. He would sit, however, very patiently during the long winter evenings while she read to him. He told her frankly that the only books which interested him were those of adventures and hairbreadth escapes in various parts of the world. He listened attentively, however, when she read the Bible, but seemed far more interested in the narratives it contained than in any other portion. Its Divine truths had as yet, it seemed, made no impression on his mind.

“Now, Jeanie, I have been a good boy, and listened with my ears open to all you have been reading about, and I think it is but fair that you in return should come and coast with me to-morrow,” he said one day, after she had read to him for some time. “I have had a beautiful new toboggin made for you, and I am sure it will run faster and straighter than any in the fort.”

“I shall be very glad to come, if mamma will let me, though you are so very bad a scholar that you do not deserve to have your way,” she answered.

“If I promise to learn better in future, will you ask leave to come?” urged Laurence. “I should like to be able to read about the wonderful things you tell me of in your books.”

“If you promise, I’ll ask mamma to let me do as you wish,” answered Jeanie. “But, remember, God hears every word you say, and knows everything you think, and the promise made to me is really made to God, and it will grieve Him if you break it.”

“Oh, but I mean to keep my promise, though I cannot fancy that the Great Spirit cares for what a young boy like me may think or say,” answered Lawrence.

“Oh, yes, yes, He cares for young and old alike,” exclaimed Jeanie. “He tells us that the very hairs of our head are numbered, and He knows every sparrow that falls to the ground. That is to make us understand that He is interested in all we think about, and in even the very smallest thing we do. It always makes me very happy when I reflect that God cares for me, and loves me even more than my father and mother can do, though they love me a great deal, because He is so much more powerful than they are, and He can help me and keep me out of temptation when I am inclined to be naughty, which they, with all their love and interest in me, cannot do.”

“I wish that I could think as you do, Jeanie,” said Laurence. “I must try to do so, though; then you will ask your mamma’s leave to come and coast on the new sleigh?”

“Yes, I will ask her,” said Jeanie. “And you must show that you are in earnest, by trying to say your alphabet this evening. You missed out a great many of the letters yesterday, and I felt ashamed of you.”

Laurence had hitherto made but very slow progress in his studies. His head and eyes ached, he said, whenever he looked at a book, though he really was anxious to learn for the sake of pleasing Jeanie.

Mrs Ramsay did not object to allow Jeanie to try the new sleigh, and the next morning, accompanied by several other girls, she set out in high glee with Mrs Ramsay, who went to look on at the sport. Laurence carried the sleigh on his shoulders, a number of other boys being similarly provided.

Proceeding round outside the fort, they soon reached the steep part of the hill. In another minute, a merry laughing party were gliding down the side, one after the other, with headlong speed, the impetus sending them several hundred yards over the smooth hard surface of the snow beyond. Laurence, who sat in front, guiding Jeanie’s sleigh, was delighted to find that it went further than any of the others. Up the hill again they soon came, the boys carrying the sleighs, and the girls scrambling up by their sides.

Laurence and Jeanie had coasted down the side of the hill, followed by their companions, and had been carried some distance from the fort, when they heard a shout from the watch-tower nearest them. It was repeated again and again in more urgent tones, calling them back to the fort.

“What can it mean?” asked Jeanie. “We must go, at all events; and, see, there’s mamma on the top of the hill beckoning to us.”

Laurence proposed to make another trip, saying he was sure there was no necessity to be in a hurry.

“If we are called, we ought to go, we must go,” said Jeanie. “It would be very wrong to delay a minute.”

Thus urged, Laurence took up the sleigh, and the whole party reached the top of the hill, where they found Mrs Ramsay, who told them to hurry back with her to the fort. On reaching the gate, they were informed that a large party of Indians had been seen in the far distance, and were still hovering just within sight of the fort. At first it was hoped that they were the hunters returning; but from their numbers and the way they were moving it was suspected that they must be a band of Sioux said to be out on a war-path, and that it was very probable they would attack the fort. The gates were accordingly shut, a drawbridge over a deep cutting in front of them was drawn up, arms and ammunition were placed on the platform inside the stockade, ready for use, and every other preparation made for the reception of the foe. Mr Ramsay urged his little garrison to fight bravely in defence of their wives and children, and the property committed to their charge. For some time the Indians had not approached nearer than when they were first seen, and hopes were entertained that they would not venture on an attack. Mr Ramsay had always endeavoured to avoid hostilities with the natives, and had on several occasions succeeded in gaining over and securing the friendship of those who came with the intention of attacking the fort. Under ordinary circumstances he would have felt confident, even should he be unable by diplomacy to pacify the Indians, of easily keeping them at bay, as the fort was sufficiently strong to resist any ordinary attack. Having, however, now but a very small garrison, and being hard pressed for provisions, he felt more anxious than usual as to the result should the fort be attacked; for of the savage character of the Sioux he had already had too much experience not to know the fearful cruelties they would practise should they gain the victory. He examined every part of the fort, and showed his men those points most likely to be assailed, and which it was necessary to guard with the greatest vigilance. It might, however, have damped their spirits had he told them of the scanty supply of provisions which remained. Still he hoped to hold out till the enemy were driven away, when the expected relief might arrive, or the hunters return with a supply of game.

Mrs Ramsay was fully aware of the state of things. She had before been exposed to similar dangers. “We must not faint, dear husband,” she said, “but continue to put our trust in God. He will relieve us if he thinks fit. At all events, let us have faith in His protecting love, and know that He does all for the best.”

Several hours passed by, and still the strange Indians did not approach.

“There’s a man coming towards the fort,” shouted the look-out from the tower. “He drags himself but slowly over the snow, and appears to be wounded. He is one of our own people,” added the sentinel, in a short time, “and seems to be signing to us to send him assistance.”

Mr Ramsay, on hearing this, despatched two of the garrison to bring in the wounded hunter. They lifted him along, looking every now and then behind, as if they expected to be followed. At length they arrived at the gate, but the poor fellow Jaques Venot, was so exhausted from loss of blood that he could not at first speak. On reviving, after his wounds had been bound up, and a cordial given him, he had a sad tale to tell. He and three other hunters were returning to the fort with the flesh of a moose and bear which they had shot, when they were set upon by a band of Sioux. His three companions were shot down, he himself being wounded and taken prisoner by them. Instead of killing him, they led him to their camp, as he supposed, that they might employ him to negotiate with the garrison, and gain their object without the danger of attacking the fort. They knew from experience that in such an exploit many of them would lose their lives.

“I found that I was right in my conjectures,” continued Jaques. “I was at once carried before the Sioux leader, who was holding a council of war with several other chiefs, and being placed in their midst, I was asked whether I preferred torture and death to life and liberty. I replied that if they chose to torture me they should see that I could surfer like a man, and that the hunters of the prairies always carried their lives in their hands; but as I had no wish to die, I should be glad to hear on what terms they offered me freedom.”

“‘You choose wisely,’ said the chief. ‘Tell us, then, what number of men defend the fort. Are they well armed? Have they a good supply of ammunition? Are there many women and children? And have they an abundance of provisions?’”

“I smiled as the chief spoke. ‘You ask many questions,’ I said, ‘but they are not difficult to answer. The fort is strong, and there are men enough within to defend it against twice the number of warriors I see around me, whose bones will whiten the prairie if they make the attempt. There are great guns which can send their shot nearly as far as this camp, and each man has as many rifles as he can fire, while the women and boys load them. As to provisions, the whites are not like the improvident red-skins, who gorge themselves with food one day and starve for many afterwards. I have spoken. What is it you would have me do?’”

“The chiefs, on hearing my reply, consulted together. ‘Listen,’ said their leader at length. ‘You will go back to the fort and persuade the white-skins within that we are their friends. We want shelter and food while the snow covers the ground; and if they give us that, we will go forth and fish and hunt for them, and bring them more peltries than they have ever before received in one season.’

“‘But if I fail to persuade them, I asked, wishing to learn the designs of the Sioux, what am I then to do?’

“‘You will try to win some of the people with such promises as you well know how to make. Tell them they will be received among us as friends, and that we will give them all that their hearts desire. Then wait till our warriors collect around the fort, and seek an opportunity at night to open the gates and admit us. You and those who will thus assist us will gain our friendship, and all you ask shall be given you.’

“‘The great Sioux chief speaks wise words,’ I answered. ‘Let me go free, and I’ll do your bidding. I have long served the white-skins, and it is time that I should seek new friends.’ On hearing my reply the chief seemed satisfied.

“‘You shall go, then,’ he said; ‘but remember, should you fail to carry out our wishes, you will learn that the Sioux know how to punish those who play them false.’ On this the chief, bidding me hasten to the fort, ordered some of his braves to conduct me through the camp and let me go free.

“The Sioux are very numerous,” continued the hunter, “and there are not only warriors, but women and children among them. They have lately received a severe defeat from the Americans, and have been driven from their hunting-grounds, and have vowed vengeance against all white-skins and their friends. They are expecting the arrival of another large band, and I fear that they will fall in with the trails of the other hunters and cut them off. Even should our friends escape them, they will find it difficult to return to the fort.”

Laurence, who was present, listened eagerly to what Jaques said, and made several inquiries about the appearance of the Sioux chief and others of his followers. He said nothing, however, but for some time afterwards appeared lost in thought.

Night came on. The garrison was kept constantly on the alert. In the far distance the camp-fires of the Indians could be seen blazing up near a wood, under shelter of which they had pitched their skin tents, and where, the snow being of less depth than on the open plain, their horses could more easily get at the grass below it. They on that account had probably chosen the spot, instead of camping nearer the fort.

No one during the night was seen to approach, although any object might easily have been distinguished moving across the surrounding white field of snow. It was remarked, however, that the fires had increased in number since they had at first been lighted in the evening, and it was consequently surmised that a fresh body of Sioux had arrived.

Frequently during the day Mr Ramsay anxiously looked out from the watch-tower towards the east, in the hopes of seeing the expected train with provisions. He feared, however, that it might be perceived by the Sioux before it could reach the fort. To prevent this, he sent out a couple of scouts to intercept the train, and lead it by a circuitous route to the north, where it could not be seen from the camp of the Sioux.

The day went slowly by, and another night came on. Again the distant camp-fires were seen blazing up, showing that the savages had not abandoned their designs. What prevented them from at once attacking the fort it was difficult to say, unless they were better informed with regard to its scanty supply of provisions than Jaques had supposed.

Note. In the markets in Canada, not only fish, but animals of all sorts, frozen hard, are brought for sale, and it is curious to see deer and hares and pigs standing in rows, like stuffed animals in a museum, on the market people’s stalls; while fish are placed upright on their tails in the baskets, and look as if they were endeavouring to leap out of them.

Chapter Six.

The Indians blockade the fort—Laurence recognises the Sioux as old friends—Obtains leave to go out and meet them—Induces the Sioux chief to retire—Obtains presents for the Indians—Accompanies them—Laurence finds his old nurse—Laurence bids farewell to his friends at the fort.

Several days had passed by; the provision sleighs had not arrived; none of the hunters had returned to the fort; and already the garrison were feeling the pangs of hunger. Mr Ramsay had placed the people on the smallest possible allowance of food, and yet, on examining the remaining store, he found to his grief that it could not last many days longer. There were horses and cattle feeding in a sheltered valley some miles away, and had it not been for the besieging bands of Sioux, they might easily have been brought in; and unwilling as he would have been to kill them, they would have afforded an ample supply of food. The fort, however, was narrowly watched, and had any people been sent out to bring in the cattle, they would have been pursued and cut off, or had they succeeded, in getting away, they and the cattle would have been to a still greater certainty captured on their return. Mr Ramsay, therefore, unwilling to risk the lives of any of his people, resolved not to make the attempt till they were reduced to the last extremity. He feared, from the conduct of the Sioux, that they must have become acquainted with the condition of the fort, probably from one of the hunters, who, under torture, might have confessed the state of the case.

The early part of the morning had passed quietly away, when a movement was observed in the camp of the Sioux. The white sheet of snow which intervened was soon clotted over with their dark forms as they advanced towards the fort in a long line, extending from east to west, the extreme ends moving at a more rapid rate than the rest, as if they purposed to surround it. On they came, increasing their speed as they drew near, shrieking, and shouting, and frantically brandishing their weapons. Their cries and gestures were terrific in the extreme. They seemed to be working themselves up into a fury, as if preparing to attack the fort, and to destroy the hapless defenders. Mr Ramsay again urged those under his command to die at their posts rather than yield, or to trust to any terms the savages might offer. Mrs Ramsay and her daughter, though pale from hunger, showed no signs of alarm. Their usual morning avocations having been performed, they sat together with the Bible before them, and then kneeling down, with calm confidence offered up their prayers for protection to that merciful God whom they well knew heard all their petitions.

Laurence, now perfectly recovered, was on the platform, where most of the garrison were stationed. He there stood, with several guns by his side, prepared to fire on the advancing savages. Mr Ramsay had given orders that not a shot should be discharged till the last moment. Although the men had hitherto shown no lack of courage, when they saw the overwhelming numbers of the expected assailants some of them cried out that it would be impossible to defend the fort against their assaults. Mr Ramsay rebuked them severely, and charged them not again to express such an idea. Their courage, was, however, put to a great test; for the savages, rushing on, fired their rifles, sending showers of bullets rattling against the stockades. Happily, none of the defenders were struck. Still, not a shot was discharged in return, and the savages, surprised at this, instead of continuing to rush on, halted.

They had now got so near that even their faces as well as their head-dress, by which the different tribes are distinguished, could clearly be discerned. Mr Ramsay, though unwilling to shed blood, was about to give the order to fire should they again advance, when Laurence exclaimed, “I know them. They are my friends. I am a child of their tribe. They love me; and if I go forth to them, they will listen to what I say.” His whole manner seemed changed. As he spoke, his eye brightened. He looked a different being to the careless boy he had hitherto seemed.

“How can you influence them, Laurence?” asked Mr Ramsay. “They are not likely to abandon their designs for anything you can say.”

“Oh, yes, yes, I am sure they will,” answered Laurence. “Let me go forth at once. I’ll tell them that you are my father’s friend, that you preserved my life, and that, if they love me as they say, they must not hurt you or any of your people.”

“But I am afraid that they will shoot you before they know who you are,” said Mr Ramsay.

“Oh, I’ll run the risk,” exclaimed Laurence. “Let me go forth at once, before it is too late. I will tell them how unwilling you were to injure any of them, and that you are good and kind, and wish to be the red man’s friend.”

Mr Ramsay, thinking that Laurence might be the means of preserving the fort, no longer opposed his proposal. Laurence, however, agreed to take a white flag in his hand, with the meaning of which most of the tribes accustomed to trade at the forts were well acquainted.

Slipping out at a small postern gate, he let himself down into the trench unseen by the Sioux, and climbing up the opposite bank, the next instant was bounding down the slope of the hill, waving his flag. In a few minutes he had reached the chief who had led the assailants. He uttered a few words, and the next moment the savage warrior stood grasping his hands and gazing in his countenance.

“My second father, though your child has long been away from you, he has not forgotten you,” he exclaimed; “but he would ere this have been in the world of spirits had not the good white chief, commander of yonder fort, saved his life; and you cannot, knowing this, desire to injure his kind friends. No, my father; you and my brothers promised to be the friend of your son’s friends. I knew you even afar off, and my heart yearned towards you, and I felt sure that you would listen to my prayers. You know not the power and generosity of my white friends. Even at this moment their far-reaching guns are pointed towards you, and had they desired to take your life, they would have fired and laid you and many of my brothers low.”

Laurence continued for some minutes in the same strain. The chief seemed troubled. He was unwilling to lose the booty he expected to find in the fort, at the same time that he remembered his promise to his adopted son, and was struck also by what he had said about his white friends.

Laurence thus went on eloquently to plead his cause; at the same time, he took care not to acknowledge how unable the garrison were to hold out much longer.

“You have conquered, my son,” exclaimed the chief. “I will speak to your brothers; your friends should be our friends. Had blood been shed, our people would have been unwilling to listen to my counsels; but now all will be well. Show the flag you carry, that no one may fire at us as we retire. We will return to our camp, and you will there see many who will welcome you joyfully again among them.”

Laurence, rejoiced at the success of his mission, stood waving his flag, while the Sioux retired from around the fort. He then quickly followed, and overtook the chief. Inquiries were made for his father, who had been received into the tribe and long resided among them. Laurence replied that he hoped he would soon return, and that he was sure he would be well pleased to hear that they had refrained from injuring his white friends.

On reaching the camp, Laurence was received with warm greetings from his red-skinned brothers and sisters, for he was looked on as a brother by all the tribe. He soon found his way to a lodge in which was seated an old woman with shrivelled features, her long white locks hanging down over her skeleton-like shoulders. No sooner did she see him than, uttering a wild shriek of delight, she seized him in her withered arms, and pressed him to her heart.

“My child!” she exclaimed; “and you at length have come back to visit the mother who has been yearning for long years to see you; and you have not forgotten her?”

“No, indeed,” answered Laurence; “from the day my white father took me away I have ever thought of you, and recollected the happy times I passed under your care.”

“You have come, then, once more to be a brother of our people!” exclaimed his old nurse. “You will not go away again; but you will stay and live in our lodges, and grow up and become a brave hunter of the buffalo and moose, and gladden the eyes of one who loves you better than any white mother.”

“I have white friends who love me, and have treated me kindly; I should be loath not to see them again. And there is my white father, who may come for me, and I am bound to follow him,” answered Laurence.

“Your white friends and your white father cannot care for you as we do. Your heart cannot be so hardened towards those who brought you up as to wish again to quit them.”

Much more his old nurse said in the same strain. Laurence thought of all the kindness he had received from Mrs Ramsay. He was very unwilling also to part from little Jeanie; but old feelings revived within him, the new principles which he had of late heard in the fort had taken no strong hold of him, and he became once more the wild Indian boy of former years.

The chief sent for him, and used further powerful arguments to induce him to remain. Laurence at length promised to continue with his old friends, unless his father should claim him; but he begged first to be allowed to go back to the fort to bid farewell to his white friends.

The wily Sioux had had no intention of losing altogether the share of the prized articles which he supposed the fort to contain. He consented, therefore, to allow Laurence to return, on condition that he would obtain from the white chief, as he called Mr Ramsay, a certain number of guns, ammunition, blankets, knives, and numerous other things which he named.

“If he sends them, we will be his friends; but if not, we shall know that he looks upon us as enemies, and we will take by force what we now only ask as a gift.”

Laurence, accompanied by a small band of Sioux, set out as the bearer of this message to the fort. The Indians remained outside while he made his way to the gates. He was welcomed warmly by Mr Ramsay. He was thankful to find that the train with the provisions had arrived, and that several of the hunters had also made their way round by the north into the fort, with two bears and several deer and other animals.

Mr Ramsay, notwithstanding this, wishing to establish, if possible, friendly relations with the Sioux, agreed to send the articles the chief demanded as a gift, though he still thought it prudent not to put himself or any of his people in their power.

“You and your red-skinned friends who have come with you shall, therefore, convey them to the chief, and you will then return and remain with us. I wish to show you how much I value the service you have rendered us; for had the Sioux assailed the fort—as not only had the provisions, but our ammunition run short—they very probably would have entered and put every one within to death.”

Laurence hung down his head. “I should like to remain, sir,” he said, “but I have promised to return, and live with the Sioux, unless my father comes for me. I am at home with them, and know all their ways, and shall become some day, so they say, a great chief among them.”

“Their ways, I fear, are bad ways,” said Mr Ramsay. “And though I cannot tell you to break your promise, you will, I am sure, some day grieve bitterly that you made it. However, go in and see Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie. You would not wish to go without bidding them farewell.”

“I dare not face them; they might make my heart melt,” answered Laurence, doubting his own resolution; but Mr Ramsay led him to the house.

Jeanie burst into tears when she heard of his intentions. “Oh, Laurence, and can you, after you have heard about Jesus, have been told of His love, and how He wishes you to be ready to go and live with Him for ever and ever, in glory and happiness, again go back to dwell among heathen savages, who do all sorts of things contrary to His will, merely for the sake of enjoying what you call liberty for a few short years, and thus risk the loss of your soul?” said Mrs Ramsay, taking him kindly by the hand.

“The Sioux, in their dark ignorance, may wish you well, so far as this world is concerned, though the life they would induce you to lead is full of danger and hardships; but here you have friends, who desire not only to benefit your mind and body, but to show you how you may obtain blessings which no earthly power can take away, and which will endure throughout eternity. Think of that, Laurence. Would you barter your soul for the sake of a few years of wild excitement, and what you suppose to be enjoyment, and die as a poor ignorant savage, forgetting God and His mercy and loving-kindness, as shown to us in giving His Son to die for our sins, that we may be received again as favoured children, to live with Him in unspeakable happiness for ever and ever?”

“But if I become a warrior, and die bravely fighting, I shall go to the happy hunting-grounds with my Indian friends,” answered Laurence.

It was too evident that all which had been said to the poor lad had fallen upon barren ground. Laurence was still a heathen.

Chapter Seven.

The life of Laurence among the Indians—Shooting the buffalo—The hunters’ camp and feast—Laurence in the wood—The Sioux hunters shot by Crees—Laurence lies concealed—His first prayer—Passes a fearful night—His encampment attacked by wolves—Journey over the snow—Falls into a snow-drift.

Laurence was once more with his Indian friends. They were delighted with the presents they had received, and he found himself treated with respect and attention by all the tribe. A horse and arms were provided for him; he was clothed in a dress of skins, ornamented with feathers and beads, and was looked upon as the son of their chief. Still he could not forget the kindness he had received at the fort, and he very often regretted that he had been persuaded by the Sioux to abandon his white friends. Mr Ramsay would, he knew, inform his father where he had gone, should he return to the fort. He sometimes hoped that the old trapper would come and claim him, although the life he was compelled to lead with him was even harder and more full of danger than his present existence with the Sioux.

The tribe had moved to a considerable distance from the fort, where they again took up their winter quarters. Hence they sent out parties of hunters to capture buffalo, which, in small herds, pasture, even while the snow lies on the ground, by digging beneath it to reach the dry grass. Laurence, whose mind was ill at ease, endeavoured to banish thought by joining on every opportunity these expeditions. They were, he knew, full of danger. Sometimes the powerful buffalo would turn on their assailants, and broken limbs and wounds, and not unfrequently death, was the consequence. Snow storms might come on, and before the shelter of a wood could be gained horses and men might be overwhelmed. They were also on the borders of the country of the Crees, the deadly enemies of the Sioux, who would without fail put to death any who might fall into their hands. In the summer, when large herds of buffaloes appear, the hunters, on swift horses, and armed with rifle, or bows and sharp arrows, gallop fearlessly in among them, shooting them down, again managing dexterously to extricate themselves from amid the concourse of animals. Sometimes also a large enclosure is formed with a narrow entrance, and having a road lined with trees leading to it, broad at the outer end, and gradually decreasing in width towards the mouth of the pound. The hunters, forming a wide semicircle in the distance, drive the animals towards it, while people with flags stationed on either side of the road prevent the buffalo breaking through, which are thus induced to rush on till they become entrapped in the pound, where they are shot down with bullets or arrows. In the winter, however, buffaloes can only be approached by stalking, the hunter creeping cautiously on till he gets within range of his victim. Sometimes also a cruel stratagem is employed.

Laurence had gone out with three hunters on horseback. They had proceeded a considerable distance without meeting any animals; still, eager to obtain some meat, of which the camp was greatly in want, they pushed onwards. At length they descried, in the far distance to the north, several buffalo feeding near the banks of a broad stream. As they approached, they discovered that they were cows, and had two young buffaloes among them. The wary animals had espied them, and were making slowly off. Each of the hunters carried on his saddle the skin of an animal with the hair on. Laurence had that of a young buffalo calf, as also had one of the others, while the remaining two were provided with skins of wolves. Securing their horses to some trees near the banks of the river, the hunters covered their backs with the skins. Trailing their rifles along the ground, Laurence and his companion with the calf skin cautiously crept towards the buffalo, while the men in wolves’ clothing followed at a distance. As they advanced, the animals stopped to watch them, uncertain what they were. Thus they were enabled to make their way towards the generally cautious monsters of the prairie. The seeming wolves now crept on at faster speed, when the buffaloes, believing that some of their young were in danger of destruction from the savage foes they were accustomed to dread, dashed forward to rescue them. The wolves now hastened on, and made as if they were about to spring on the calves. As the buffaloes rushed up, the hunters sprang to their feet, and firing at the heads of the confiding and faithful animals, brought three of them to the ground. The rest, astonished at finding themselves face to face with human foes, turning round, bellowing with rage, galloped away. The unfortunate animals were quickly despatched with the hunters’ knives. The bodies were then dragged by the horses to the wood which bordered the stream. As much of the meat as the horses could carry was then packed, ready to be transported to the camp the following morning, while the remainder was hung up on the higher branches of the neighbouring trees. The hunters next lighted a fire, putting up a screen of birch bark to keep off the wind, while they sat down to regale themselves on the humps and other prize portions of the animals. Here, while their horses were left to pick up their food from beneath the snow, the hardy hunters purposed, without seek any other shelter, to pass the night.

The sky had been for some time overcast, and snow began to fall heavily; but their fire blazed up brightly, and as they sat close round it, enjoying its warmth, they cared little for the thick flakes which passed by them. Steak after steak of the buffalo meat disappeared, as they sat eating and boasting of their deeds of war and the chase, and fully giving themselves up to savage enjoyment.

Laurence listened to their tales, wondering whether he should ever perform similar brave deeds. Unaccustomed for so long to the ways of his wild companions, he had soon satisfied his hunger, and in spite of the fire, feeling the cold severely, he had gone a short distance into the wood to bring some large pieces of birch-bark with which he could form an additional shelter for himself, by putting up a small wigwam. Having found the pieces of bark, he was on the point of returning when the sharp report of several rifles rang through the air, and looking towards the fire, he saw two of his companions stretched on the ground, while the other was in vain struggling to rise. A fierce yell followed, and directly afterwards the light of the fire fell on a party of Cree warriors, who came springing out of the darkness towards the spot. He stopped to see no more, but, urged by the instinct of self-preservation, he made his way through the wood till he reached a thick mass of bushes, into the midst of which he threw himself, in the hopes that he might escape the search of the savages. He lay there, expecting every instant to be discovered, and put to death. He could hear the shouts of the victors as they hastily partook of the feast prepared by those they had slaughtered, and having caught their horses, loaded them with the buffalo meat. He judged by the sounds of their voices that his enemies were moving from the spot; and as they got further and further away, he began to entertain the hope of escape. Still fearing that they might come back, he dared not move. He felt very cold and wretched, yet the horror of the scene he had witnessed kept him from going to sleep. Poor Laurence, as he lay there almost frozen to death, not for the first time perhaps repented of his folly in having quitted the protection of his kind friends in the fort. The recollection, too, of the many things Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie had said to him came back to his mind.

“I wonder if I was to pray to the great God they told me of, He would take care of me, and lead me back to them,” he thought. “They told me He hears prayers, and would listen to those which so careless and foolish a boy as I have been may make to Him; but then they said I must pray through Jesus Christ; that He is good and merciful, and loves me, and died for me too. I am sure they spoke the truth, for they would not deceive me; and so I’ll pray through Jesus Christ, and ask God to protect me; for I am sure I shall never get back to the camp of the Sioux by myself without my horse, and that, of course, the Crees have carried off.”

Poor Laurence did pray with all his heart, ignorant half-heathen that he was in many respects.

He soon fell asleep, and the snow came down and nearly covered up the bushes among which he lay. He awoke at length, finding a thick canopy over him, which, had he not been well clothed in furs, would probably have formed his shroud. He easily made his way out.

The spot where the fire had been was covered with snow. He could distinguish the bodies of his companions beneath it, but he dared not disturb them. Some of the buffalo meat which the Crees had not discovered still hung on the trees; he loaded himself with as much as he could carry, and then hastened away from the fatal spot. At first he thought of attempting to reach the camp of the Sioux, but it was a long distance off, and all the tracks had disappeared. So had those of the Crees. Should they be on the watch for their enemies, he would very probably fall into their hands. Then, again, the desire to be once more with his friends at the fort came strong upon him; but how could he hope to reach it across miles and miles of snow? It was somewhere away to the north-east, that was all he knew; and although the son was gaining power when the sky was bright, the wind often blew bitterly cold at night. Yet to stay where he was would be certain death, and so the hardy boy, making up his mind to try and reach the fort, and trusting to his strength and courage, began his hazardous journey.

He had lived among the Indians long enough to learn something of their cunning; and as he went along he stripped off from his dress all the ornaments and other signs which might show that they had been manufactured by the Sioux, and hid them away in a hole beneath the snow. He had a tinder-box and powder-horn in his pouch, so that he was able to light a fire. As night approached, he made his way towards a wood, near the bank of a stream, where he could procure fuel. Here he built himself a hut with birch-bark, banking it up thickly with snow. He had not forgotten the fate of his companions on the previous night; but he hoped that the Crees were by this time far away, and he knew that, without a fire, he should run the risk of being destroyed by wolves prowling about. He therefore made it inside the hut, where it was also well sheltered from the wind, and he hoped that the light would not be seen at a distance; his chief fear was that, should he sleep too long it might go out. Closing the entrance of his hut with a sheet of bark, he made up his fire, and sat down to sup on a piece of meat which he cooked before it. There was but little space in his hut to allow him to go to sleep without the risk of burning his clothes, though he had drawn himself as far away from it as he could, and leaned back against the wall of the hut. Fatigue at length, however, overcame his desire to keep on the alert.

He was awoke by hearing a wild howling around him: he knew the sound full well; it was that of a pack of wolves. His fire had almost gone out; he hurriedly scraped the embers together, and drew in from the front of the hut some fuel which he had kept in store. The voices of the wolves came nearer and nearer. He had just time to light a bundle of sticks when he heard the savage animals close to his hut. He boldly went out and waved his torch around, shouting and shrieking with all his might. The wolves, alarmed at the sudden glare of the light and the sound of a human voice, took to flight. He once more closed the entrance of his hut and sat down. It did not occur to him that it was his duty to return thanks to God for his deliverance. He fancied that it was his cleverness and boldness that had saved him. He had been ready to ask that unknown Great Spirit to preserve him. How many daily receive blessings from the Giver of all good, and yet ungratefully forget to acknowledge them and refuse to do His will!

Fear of the wolves prevented Laurence from sleeping soundly, and he started up constantly, expecting to hear their savage howlings.

Daylight came at last, and he once more pushed forward over the snow. He had cooked a piece of buffalo meat, which he ate beneath the shelter of a bank, when he saw the sun high in the sky. It restored his strength for a time; but as night again approached he felt far more weary than on the previous day. He built a hut as before, and lighted a fire, and scarcely had he eaten his supper before he dropped off to sleep. He awoke, feeling very cold, though somewhat refreshed; and great was his surprise to find the sun already high in the sky. He had been preserved from danger during the hours of darkness; but, alas! he did not kneel down to pray, but thought only that it was very fortunate the wolves had not come near him, and he hoped to have the same good luck, so he called it, the next night.

“I daresay I shall be able to reach the fort, notwithstanding my fears, in a few days,” he said to himself. “I must try to avoid the Crees, though; but I fancy that I am clever enough to do that.”

He trudged bravely on, hour after hour. The sky was clear, and the sun enabled him to direct his course with tolerable accuracy. Still his feet, inured though he was to fatigue, felt very weary, and he longed to arrive at the end of his journey. Sometimes he regretted that he had not tried to make his way to the Sioux camp; he might have reached it sooner. No wood was in sight, where he might build his hut and light a fire as usual for the night. He gnawed, as he walked on, a piece of the hard frozen meat, a small portion of which now only remained. Still he was afraid to stop.

A level plain, covered with snow, lay before him; he looked around in vain for some sheltering hill or wood. The sun was sinking low on his left. He must try, before darkness set in, to make his way across that wide plain. He did his utmost to exert his remaining strength. Darkness at last came on. He fancied he could distinguish a wood and a range of hills in the distance. He would make a desperate effort to reach it. Suddenly he found himself sinking in the snow. He struggled to get out, but sank lower and lower. He had fallen into a gully or water-course, now filled up by drift-snow. At length, finding his efforts vain, he gave himself up for lost, every moment expecting that the snow wreath would overwhelm him. As he lay there, he could see the stars come out and shine brightly over his head, and thus he knew that there was an opening above him; but he was afraid to move lest he might bring the snow down upon his head. Sheltered from the wind, he felt tolerably warm, and at last, in spite of his perilous position, he fell fast asleep.

Chapter Eight.

Laurence in the snow—Discovered by Crees—Rescued—Conveyed to the chief’s tent—Kindness of the old chief—Escorted to the fort—Fears as to his reception—Kindly welcomed by Mr Ramsay—Laurence again falls sick—Mrs Ramsay explains the gospel to him—Laurence begins to understand it.

Daylight came again. Laurence, on opening his eyes, found himself surrounded by a high wall of snow. He was hungry, but he had consumed every particle of food. His strength was almost gone. He somewhat assuaged his thirst by eating a little snow, though that gave him but momentary relief. Again he made an attempt to get out, hoping by beating down the snow to form steps in the side of the wall up which he might climb, but the snow came sliding down in vast masses upon him, and by the time he had struggled out of it he felt so weak that he was unable to make any further effort. With a cry of despair he fell back on the heap which had been formed by the snow slipping down, and out of which he had just made his way. For some minutes he was unconscious. Then the barking of dogs once more aroused him. The sound of human voices struck his ear. He listened with breathless anxiety to hear the language they spoke. They drew near. “I am lost if they find me,” he said to himself. “They are Crees.” Directly afterwards, several dogs poked their noses over the edge of the pit and barked to attract the attention of their masters. He waited, expecting in a few minutes to be put to death. Then, casting his eyes upwards, he saw the faces of two savages looking down upon him. He knew them at once to be Crees. He tried to speak—not to ask their pity, for that he believed would be useless, but, after the Indian fashion, to dare them to do their worst. His tongue, however, refused its office. Presently he saw them beginning to scrape away the snow; and as they commenced at the top, they were soon able to form some rough steps in the side of the pit, down which one of them descended. Laurence closed his eyes, expecting to have the scalp cut from his head. Instead of that the Cree lifted him in his arms, and, with the assistance of his companion, soon brought him to the surface. Making a wide circuit, to avoid the gully, together they bore him across the plain. They were directing their course towards some lodges which were erected close to a wood, and under the shelter of a high hill. On reviving, Laurence found himself in a large roomy hut, by the side of a fire, near which sat a tall Indian somewhat advanced in years. A squaw was chafing his feet, while another, bending over the fire, was cooking a mess of broth. She soon came round to him, and poured some of the warm mixture down his throat, which greatly revived him. He tried to sit up, but again fell back on the pile of skins on which his head had been resting.

“Do not try to move, young pale face,” said the chief. “Your strength has gone for a while, but the Great Spirit will soon restore it. You shall then tell me whence you come, and how you happened to be where my sons found you. We are friends of the pale faces, and would gladly aid you to the best of our power.”

These words greatly revived Laurence’s spirits. The chief, however, insisted on not letting him speak until he had taken some rest. The kind squaw had put on his feet some warm dry socks, and then began chafing his hands, and in a short time he again fell asleep.

When Laurence awoke there was no one in the tent. This gave him time to consider what he should say. He would speak truly, and tell the Cree chief that he wished to make his way to the fort, and would be grateful to him if he would assist him in reaching it. He soon found, however, when he attempted to rise, that he was utterly unable to do so. The chief smiled when he heard his account.

“You speak but partly the truth,” he said. “Still, you are a pale face, and I regard the pale faces with affection. When you are restored to strength I’ll conduct you thither; for it is some way off, and unaided, without horses, or weapons to defend yourself or obtain food, you would not have been able to find your way there. I know with whom you have been, though you have pulled off the ornaments. That dress was manufactured by the Sioux. However, though you were foolish to consort with such people, you are wisely making your escape from them. So speak no more about it.”

Laurence felt ashamed of himself at having been so easily detected. He at once acknowledged that the chief was right in his conjectures.

For several days he was kept in the tent of the friendly chief, and treated by his squaws as if he had been a son. When he had sufficiently recovered to sit on horseback, the chief, covering him with a thick cloak of furs, set out with a party of his people towards the fort. Even although they formed a strong party, as it was possible that bands of Sioux might attack them, scouts were sent out in all directions to feel their way as they advanced.

In what a wretched state is man who knows not God, and loves not the Saviour! Instead of peace, goodwill, and friendly intercourse existing in that savage land, every man’s hand is against his neighbour, and in each stranger he expects to find a foe.

The party, however, reached the neighbourhood of the fort without meeting any enemies. Laurence had left his friends, proud of his recovered strength, and fancying that he was about to enjoy the liberty of a savage life. He was now returning sick and weak, and a feeling of shame and doubt of the reception he might meet with stole over him. He kept behind the chief and his party, and hung down his head as they drew near the gates. They were recognised from the fort, and several of the garrison came out to give them a friendly greeting.

The old chief related how his sons had found and rescued the white-skin boy, and Laurence was brought forward just as Mr Ramsay, followed by his wife and daughter, appeared from their house. Jeanie recognised him in a moment, and running forward, took his hand, exclaiming, “Oh, Laurence, is it you? I am so glad you have come back. We all thought harm would befall you among those savage Sioux. You look pale and ill. Oh papa! mamma! it is Laurence,” she added, looking towards her parents, who were advancing.

Laurence was silent. It was so long since he had spoken English that he could not for some seconds find words to express himself. Mr Ramsay warmly shook him by the hand, and his wife welcomed him with the same cordiality, while not a syllable of reproach did they utter.

“He does indeed look ill,” said Mrs Ramsay. “Come to the house, my poor boy,” she said. “Your old room shall be prepared for you, and you can tell us all that has happened by-and-by.”

Laurence burst into tears. The reception he met with was so different from what he had expected that it overcame him. He had borne up during the journey, but his strength now gave way; and he required almost the same attention and care that he had before received.

“I was indeed wicked and foolish in choosing to go and live with my old savage friends, instead of remaining with you, good Christian people, who are so kind to me,” he said at length to Mrs Ramsay, as she sat by his bedside. “Can you forgive me?”

“Yes, indeed we can; and we are very thankful that you have been brought back to us,” she answered. “God himself shows that we ought to receive those who have done wrong when they repent and desire to return to the right way. He himself in His mercy is always thus ready to receive repentant sinners who desire to be reconciled to Him. I’ll read to you the parable of the prodigal son, and you will then understand how God the Father, as He in His goodness allows us to call Him, receives all His children who come back to Him, acknowledging their sins and transgressions. He not only does this, but He has pointed out a way by which the sinner can be reconciled to Him, and have all his sins completely blotted out, or put out of remembrance and done away with. That way is by simple faith in the atoning blood of Jesus; in other words, God desires us to believe that Jesus, His own well-beloved Son, pure and holy and sinless, became man, and was punished by death on the cross instead of us; and thus His justice, which can by no means overlook or forgive sin, is perfectly satisfied with that punishment, and He considers the debt we owe Him fully paid. Can you understand this, Laurence?”

“I will try to do so,” answered the boy. “But I do not understand it yet.”

“Then you must pray for the aid of God’s Holy Spirit to enable you to understand it; for He alone has the power of doing that. All that one person can do for others is simply to explain the truth to them, and to read God’s Word to them, or urge them to read it if they can. You, Laurence, must learn to read it without delay.”

“Oh, yes, I will try now,” he said, “if you and Jeanie will teach me. I was very idle before.”

“That we will gladly,” answered Mrs Ramsay. “But, recollect, you must not only try to read, but you must ask God’s Holy Spirit to enable you to understand it also. It is not sufficient to know that Christ died on the cross to reconcile sinners to God; but you must believe that He died for you, and to reconcile you to God; for without that, whatever you may do or profess, you are still in your sins, an outcast from God, and deserving, as you will assuredly receive, punishment for your sins.”

“Tell me, Mrs Ramsay, how am I to believe that Christ died for me? I feel that I am wicked, and very unlike what you, and Mr Ramsay, and Jeanie are, who are Christians; but I cannot think that the Son of God should have suffered death for a poor miserable boy like me.”

“It’s very simple. God does not give us a very difficult task,” answered Mrs Ramsay. “All He requires of us is to take Him at His word: ‘God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ You understand, Laurence, that God does not say, only people who have have been generally well behaved, and are supposed to be good, but whosoever, which includes every human being, however bad and abandoned they may have been. The prodigal son had been very ungrateful and very wicked, but his father received him as soon as he came back. That parable was told by Christ himself, to show that His Father in heaven gladly receives all sinners returning to Him. When God says, ‘He so loved the world,’ He means the people in the world, and we know that the world lies in wickedness. Oh, trust God, for He is loving and merciful, and without doubt or fear accept His offers of reconciliation.”

Chapter Nine.

Arrival of Mr Martin, the missionary—He preaches the gospel to the Indians—Laurence listens with attention—Learns more of the truth, and expresses his wish to make it known to others—The spring returns.

A keen, strong wind was blowing, driving the heavy snow which fell in small sharp flakes over the ground, when, one evening shortly after the arrival of Laurence, a dog sleigh was seen approaching the fort. The sleigh, which was simply a narrow board turned up in front, a slight iron frame forming the sides and back, and lined with buffalo skins, was drawn by six dogs, harnessed two and two, while the driver ran behind, with a long whip guiding the animals. On it came, in spite of the snow storm, at rapid speed, for the sagacious dogs knew that they had nearly reached the end of their journey. The traveller, who had faced the dangers of a long journey over the trackless wintry waste, was welcomed by Mr Ramsay, who conducted him to the house. Some time elapsed, however, before he could venture near a fire, after the bitter cold to which he had been exposed.

“We have been long looking for you, Mr Martin,” said Mrs Ramsay, as she came out to greet him; “and thank Heaven that you have arrived in safety.”

“We should thank the God of heaven and earth for all the blessings we receive,” answered Mr Martin, who was the missionary Mrs Ramsay had been so anxious should come to form a station near the fort. “I shall be amply repaid if I am permitted to win souls to Christ in this neighbourhood.”

“It will be a hard task, for they are deeply sunk in heathen ignorance,” observed Mr Ramsay.

“An impossible task, if man alone were to engage in it,” said Mr Martin. “Man, however, is but the humble instrument; God the Holy Spirit is the active agent, and with Him nothing is impossible. Let us labour on, confident in that glorious fact; and whatever may appear in the way, we may be sure that the victory will be won, not by us, but by Him, who is all-powerful.”

Such was the faith in which the new missionary commenced his labours among the savage Crees of the woods and plains who frequented the neighbourhood of the fort. The glad tidings of salvation by faith in the blood of the Lamb, shed for sinful man, sounded strange in their ears. Strange, too, it seemed to them, when they were told of His great love, which made Him willingly yield himself up as an all-atoning sacrifice of His abounding goodwill; and stranger still seemed His law, that man should not only love his neighbours himself, but should love his enemies; should do good to those who despitefully use and abuse him, and should willingly forgive all who offend him, as he hopes to be forgiven by God for his offences.

Among his most earnest hearers on the first day he preached the gospel to the Indians assembled in the fort was young Laurence. He had sufficiently recovered to leave the house, though he was now always unwilling to be absent from it longer than he could help. All the time he was within doors he was endeavouring to learn to read that wonderful Book, which God in His mercy has given to man, that he may know His will and understand His dealings with mankind.

Laurence, however, as yet had made little progress in reading, but he could listen to Jeanie and her mother read to him without ever growing weary.

Still as yet his mind did not comprehend many of the more glorious truths, and he held to the idea that he himself had some great work to do, to merit the love of God and the glory of Heaven.

He asked Mr Martin how he was to set about the work. “I want to be very good,” he said, “and to do something with which God will be highly pleased, and then I am sure I shall go to heaven when I die.”

“My dear young friend,” answered Mr Martin, “had you read the Bible, you would have found that ‘there are none that do good, no, not one;’ and that ‘God came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ God will certainly be well pleased with you, not from any good works which you can do, but simply if you banish all thoughts of your own merits, and put faith in His well-beloved Son; then He will assuredly fulfil His promise to make you heir with Him of eternal life, and receive you into that glorious heaven he has prepared for all those who love Him.”

“But I am afraid, sir, that I can never have faith enough or love enough to satisfy God.”

“You certainly, my young friend, can never have too much faith or too much love,” said Mr Martin. “But God does not say that He will measure our faith or our love, or our sorrow for sin, but He simply tells us to take him at His word, to show our love by our obedience; and then Jesus Christ tells us what He would have all those who love Him to do, namely, to follow His example—to make known His Gospel among those who do not know it. Have you read the account of the thief on the cross?”

“I have heard it,” said Laurence. “Jeanie read it to me yesterday.”

“Did it not occur to you that, when Christ told that dying thief that he should be with Him in paradise, it was not on account of his burning faith, still less because he had performed any works, or because of obedience, but simply because he believed that He who hung like himself on the cross was the Messiah who should come into the world to die for sinful men. But though He saves all who come to Him, simply if they will but trust Him, He desires these to remain in the world, as He desired His disciples, to make His Gospel known among their companions, to tell them what great things the Lord has done for their souls; while to some He gives the command to go forth with the glad tidings throughout all lands; and thus He has put it into my heart, and enabled me to come here to win souls for Him.”

Day after day Laurence listened to these and other glorious truths which Mr Martin unfolded to him from God’s Word, and when the missionary was otherwise engaged, Jeanie or Mrs Ramsay read to him, or assisted him in learning to read. He felt himself becoming, as he was indeed, a new creature; his old habits of thought were passing away. He wondered sometimes how he could have thought as he had done.

“Ah, then I was in darkness,” he said to himself. “I knew nothing of the love of God I knew not how sinful I was, and how He hates sin, though He loves the sinner. I knew not that God is so pure and holy that even the heavens are not clean in His sight; and I had no idea how sinful sin is, how contrary in every way to God. I had little thought that God, my loving Father, would hear the prayers of so wicked, wayward a child as I was, and as I am indeed still, if left to myself in my own nakedness; but I know now that He does not look at me as I am in myself, but as I am clothed with Christ’s righteousness. Trusting in Him, I am no longer naked, but dressed in His pure and spotless robe, at which God will alone look when I offer up my prayers; and that, for the sake of His son, He listens to all who are thus clothed. Oh how thankful I ought to be that God has made known these joyous things to me!”

When, some days afterwards, Laurence expressed the same thoughts to Mr Martin, the missionary replied, “Now these things are yours, can you be so selfish as not to desire to make them known to others?”

“Oh, indeed, I do wish to make them known,” exclaimed Laurence. “I should like to tell every one I meet of them, and to go forth and find people to whom to tell them.”

“Before you do that, you must prepare yourself, you must be armed for the battle you will have to fight; for a severe battle it is, and you will find Satan, the great enemy to the truth, ever ready to oppose you. The thought of this, however, will stimulate you to make the necessary preparations, by study and prayer; and I trust, Laurence, that some day God will employ you as His missionary among the savage Indians of this long-benighted land.”

Chapter Ten.

Laurence learns what it is to be a Christian—Gets leave to set out in search of his father—Starts on an expedition with Peter, a Christian Cree—Discovers two of Michael’s traps—A party of Blackfeet—Blackfeet wound old Michael—Blackfeet captured—Laurence goes to his father’s assistance—Peter preaches to the Blackfeet, and invites them to the fort—The Blackfeet set at liberty—Hearing Laurence explain the gospel to him—Laurence conveys the old trapper to the fort—Narrates to Mr Martin his former life—Mr Martin tells him that the Queen has pardoned him—The old trapper at length believes the truth—Returns with Laurence to Canada—Laurence restored to his parents—Revisits the fort as a missionary.

Spring was now advancing. Laurence was anxiously looking out for the return of his father. He would, at all events, have longed to see him; but his desire to do so was greatly increased by his wish to impart to him a knowledge of the glorious truths he himself possessed. Having learned the priceless value of his own soul, he could now appreciate that of others.

Laurence’s faith was simple, and he enjoyed a clear view of the gospel truth.

From every Indian who came to the fort he made inquiries for the old trapper, who was known to many of them. At length several brought tidings of his death. Laurence refused to believe them; and when Mr Ramsay came to cross-question his visitors, he found that they had only heard the report from others. Laurence, therefore, begged that he might be allowed to go out and search for the old man.

“I know all his haunts so well,” he said, “that I am sure I shall find him better than any one else; he may be sick in some distant place, and unable to come as he promised.”

So earnestly did he plead that Mr Ramsay, hoping that his old friend might still be alive, could no longer refuse to let him go.

A Cree who had become a Christian, and was named Peter, offered to accompany him; and Laurence thankfully accepted his assistance.

The only provision they took with them was a good supply of pemmican; but they had an abundance of ammunition, knowing that they might depend for their support on the animals they might shoot.

“You will come back, Laurence, when you have found your father?” said Jeanie, as, with tears in her eyes, she wished him good-bye.

“If God spares me, and I have the means to do so, I will come back, whether I find him or not; I promise you that,” answered Laurence. “That object alone would have induced me to quit the fort. I have no longer any wish to roam or lead the wild life of a trapper; and when I return, my great desire will be to go on with the study of that blessed Book which you first taught me to read and love.”

“I taught you to read it, but God’s Holy Spirit could alone have taught you to love it,” answered Jeanie.

Laurence and Peter, followed by the prayers of many in the fort, set out on their expedition. The appearance of the country was now completely changed from the stern aspect it had worn but a few weeks before. Trees and shrubs were clothed with a livery of green of varied hues, the grass was springing up in rich luxuriance, and flowers exhibited their gem-like tints in the valleys and woods; full streams flowed with rapid currents, sparkling along; numberless birds flew through the air, swarmed on the lakes, or perched on the boughs of the forest-trees.

Laurence led the way towards the spot where he and his father had concealed their traps before they set out to visit the fort, believing that old Michael would to a certainty have visited them, and hoping to find some traces beyond showing the direction he had afterwards taken. Peter agreed with him that this was the best course to pursue. The journey would take them many days. Although so long a time had elapsed, from habit Laurence recollected the various landmarks, and was able to direct his course with great accuracy.

They arrived at length at the spot where the white wolf-skin had been concealed. It was gone; and from the tracks near it, which an Indian alone would have observed, Peter was of opinion that Michael must have removed it. On they went, therefore, over hill and dale, camping at night by the side of a fire, the warm weather enabling them to dispense with any shelter, towards the next spot where the wolf traps had been concealed. These also had been taken, and Peter found the tree to which the old man had tied his horse while he fastened them on their backs. They soon reached the wood within which Laurence had assisted to hide the beaver traps. They also had been removed.

“Now I know that my father intended to begin trapping as soon as the spring commenced,” observed Laurence. “See, he took his way onward through the wood towards the north, instead of returning by the road he came.”

Laurence and Peter’s keen eyes easily distinguished the twigs which the horses had broken as the old trapper led them through the wood. Probably he intended to spend the remainder of the winter in a wigwam by himself, as he often had done, or else in the lodges of some friendly Crees.

Laurence and Peter now went confidently on, expecting before long to meet with further traces of the old trapper. The borders of all the neighbouring lakes and streams were visited, but no signs of his having trapped there were discovered. Many leagues were passed over, till at last an Indian village was reached. It consisted not of neat cottages, but of birch-bark wigwams of a sugar-loaf form, on the banks of a stream, a few patches of Indian corn and some small tobacco plantations being the only signs of cultivation around; fish sported in the river; and the wild animals of the forest afforded the inhabitants the chief means of subsistence. They welcomed the travellers. Peter was of their tribe. They gave them tidings of old Michael. He had been seen to pass just before the snow had begun to melt in the warmer valleys.

Peter did not fail to tell his red-skinned brothers of the wonderful tidings the white-face missionary at the fort had brought.

“The great God of the white-faces loves us as much as He does them,” he exclaimed. “He wishes us to go and dwell with Him in a far better land than the happy hunting-grounds we have hitherto heard of. He says that we are wicked, and deserve punishment; but He has allowed another, His own well-beloved Son, to be punished instead of us; and all He wants us to do is to believe that His dutiful and well-beloved Son was so punished, and to follow the example which He set while He was on earth.”

“These are wise things you tell us,” cried several of the Crees; “but how do you know that it is so?”

“Because it is all written in a book which He has given to us. He sends His Holy Spirit to all who seek for His aid to understand that book.”

Laurence assured the Crees that he had thought us they then did a short time ago, but that now he knew that all Peter said was true. So earnestly did Peter plead the cause of the gospel, that many of the Crees promised to visit the fort, to hear from the missionary himself further on the subject.

Several of the inhabitants offered to accompany Laurence and his friends to assist them in their search, and to spread the strange tidings they had heard among others of their tribe whom they might fall in with.

For several days they journeyed on, lakes and streams being visited as before. At last they found a broken trap. Laurence, on examining it, decided that it belonged to his father. Still he must have gone further to the west. Laurence began to fear that he might have wandered into a part of the country frequented by Blackfeet and Peigans, among the most savage tribes of the Sioux.

“He is friendly with many of the Sioux, among whom, indeed, I was brought up,” observed Laurence, “and fears none of them. Still, I know how treacherous many of them are; and he may, I fear, have fallen into their power. This will account for his not returning to the fort.”

“He may, however, have escaped them, and be still trapping about here, as it is a rich country for the beaver,” observed Peter. “We may then hope ere long to find him.”

The party now advanced more cautiously than before. They had certain proof that old Michael was in the neighbourhood; for Laurence discovered, by the side of a beaver pond, another of his father’s traps. Why it was deserted he could not tell. Peter was of opinion that he had hurried away from the spot, probably on account of the appearance of enemies, and had been unable to return. This increased Laurence’s anxiety. They now advanced according to Indian custom, concealing themselves behind every bush and rock, and climbing each height or tall tree whence they could obtain a view of the surrounding country.

It was towards evening, and they were looking out for a sheltered place for their camp. Peter had gone to the summit of a hill and gazed around for the purpose mentioned, when he came hurrying down.

“There are Blackfeet at the further end of the valley,” he said, “and by their movements they are evidently watching for some one. If it is your father, we have no time to lose. We outnumber them, and may hope easily to come off victorious.”

“Oh, let us not delay a moment, or we may be too late to save him,” exclaimed Laurence; and they and their allies pushed on as before in the direction where Peter had seen the Blackfeet. By carefully keeping among the thick underwood and trees they hoped to take their enemies by surprise.

“Remember, my friends,” said Laurence, “that though we conquer them, we are to endeavour to spare their lives, and by no means to injure them.”

With stealthy steps Laurence and his friends advanced towards the Blackfeet, of whom they now discovered there were but five, while his party numbered eight. They were so eager in tracking whatever they were in pursuit of that, notwithstanding their usual wariness, they did not discover the approach of Laurence and the Crees. Presently the Blackfeet were seen to draw their bows, and several arrows winged their flight through the air. At the same time Laurence caught sight of the figure of a man, who sprang up from where he had been seated near a fire to seek shelter behind a rock, firing his rifle as he did so. Laurence recognised his father, and to his horror saw that two arrows had pierced his body. The moment he fired, one of the Blackfeet fell to the ground. The old man stood as if uninjured, calmly reloading his weapon; while the Indians, with their bows ready drawn to shoot should he reappear, sprang towards the thick trunks of some neighbouring trees to escape his fire. They were thus separated from each other, and brought nearer to where Laurence and his party lay concealed. Peter now made a sign to his companions, and in a few bounds they were up to the Blackfeet, who, thus taken unawares, were pinioned and brought to the ground before they could turn round and shoot their arrows or draw their hatchets from their belts.

Laurence, leaving his companions to guard their prisoners, who, expecting instant death, had assumed that stoic indifference of which Indians boast, hastened to the assistance of his father. He shouted as he ran, “Father, father, I am coming to you.”

The old man, who had sunk on one knee, with rifle ready prepared to fight to the last, fortunately recognised his voice. “What have become of the Blackfeet, boy?” were his first words. “I saw the Crees spring from under cover to attack them. Have they killed the treacherous vermin?”

“No, father,” answered Laurence. “Our friends made them prisoners. We will spare their lives, and pray God to soften their hearts.”

“What is that you say?” asked Michael. “The Crees will surely kill them, and take their scalps, unless they wish to carry them to their lodges, that their wives and children may torture them as they deserve. But I feel faint, Laurence; their arrows have made some ugly wounds in my flesh; help me to get them out.”

Laurence saw with grief that his father was indeed badly hurt; and as he supported him, he shouted to Peter to come to his assistance. Peter, having helped to secure their prisoners, soon appeared. The old trapper, notwithstanding his hardihood, had fainted from pain and loss of blood. Peter’s first care was to extricate the arrows, which, though they had inflicted severe injuries, had mercifully not reached any vital part. He and Laurence then, having bound up his wounds, carried him to his little wigwam, which stood close by. Within it were a large supply of skins, several traps, and articles for camp use, to obtain which probably the treacherous Blackfeet had attacked old Michael. In the meadow hard by his horses were also found. Laurence sat by his side, supporting his head, and moistening his parched lips. He soon sufficiently recovered to speak.

“I was about to return, Laurence,” he said, “but I wished to bring a good amount of skins to pay for your charges, should you wish to remain longer at the fort, and learn the ways of the white man; or if not, to fit you out, that you might come back and trap with me. We might have had some pleasant days again together, boy; but had you and our friends not appeared the moment you did, the Blackfeet would have put an end to all my plans.”

“Father,” said Laurence, “I never wished to desert you; but it would have been a sore trial to me to leave the fort; and if God in His mercy spares your life, I pray that you may return there with me, and that we may employ our time in a better way than in trapping beaver.”

“No, no! God cannot have mercy on such a one as I am,” groaned Michael; “and it’s hard to say whether I shall ever get back to the fort.”

“Oh, but God is a God of love and mercy,” cried Laurence. “He delights in showing mercy and forgiveness. You must hear what Mr Martin, the missionary, will tell you about Him; then I am sure you will wish to stop and hear more, and to serve and love Him.”

Peter now came back with the old trapper’s horses to the camp, near to which his friends had dragged their prisoners. He had had much difficulty in persuading the Crees not to put to death the Blackfeet. He had still a harder task to perform.

“Friends,” he said, “according to Indian custom you might kill them; but I have learned a new law, which is just and true—given me by an all-powerful, kind, and merciful Master, who commands His servants to forgive their enemies, and to do good to those who injure them. Our prisoners were doing a wicked thing, and have been severely punished, for one of their number lies dead. I would that he were alive again, that he might hear what I have to say. I must pray you, therefore, to let these men go. We will take their arms, that they may do us no further injury; but we will give them food, that they may return to their friends, to tell them about the love of our great Father; that He desires all His children to serve Him, and to be at peace with each other.”

Peter then, in a simple way, suited to the comprehension of his hearers, unfolded to them the gospel plan of salvation. The Blackfeet listened with astonished ears, and could scarcely believe the fact that they were allowed to go free and uninjured. Peter then invited them to the fort, and promised to receive them as friends, and to tell them more of the wonderful things of which he had spoken. The coals of fire which he heaped on their heads appeared really to have softened their hearts. Having, with the assistance of the Crees, buried their companion, by Peter’s desire their arms were unbound, and they were set at liberty. Uttering expressions of gratitude such as rarely fall from an Indian’s lips, they took their departure, promising ere long to pay him a visit at the fort.

A night’s rest sufficiently restored old Michael to enable him to commence his journey on one of the horses to the fort, while the other carried his peltries and traps. Laurence walked all the way at the head of his steed, endeavouring by his conversation to keep up the spirits of his father, and never failing, at every opportunity, to introduce the subject nearest his heart. The old man listened to what he said; but he seldom made any answer. He offered, however, no opposition to his remarks. Frequently Laurence feared that he would sink from the effects of his wounds; but his life was mercifully preserved, and at length the fort was reached.

There was sincere rejoicing as Laurence was seen leading his father’s horse up to the gate. The old trapper was carried into Mr Ramsay’s house, and there received that watchful care he so greatly needed. He gradually recovered his strength. One of his first visitors was Mr Martin. His object, as may be supposed, was not to talk of temporal affairs, but to unfold to him, as he perceived that his mind was capable of comprehending it, God’s merciful plan of salvation.

The old man’s heart, unlike that of his young son, appeared so hardened and seared, from having long rejected Divine truth, that some people might have given up the attempt in despair; but Mr Martin had too much knowledge of the human heart, and too firm a faith of the all-powerful influence of God the Holy Spirit, to relax his efforts. From no idle curiosity, he endeavoured to draw from Michael some account of his early life. He was, he found, an Englishman, and that he had been for some time married and settled in Canada, when he had joined the rebellion which broke out many years ago against the authority of the British Government. Having acted as a leader in some of the more desperate enterprises in which a few of the misguided inhabitants engaged at that time, a price was set on his head. He escaped, however, to the wilds of the Far West, where, both from inclination and necessity, he had taken to the pursuit of a trapper. He quickly learned the language both of the Crees and Sioux, and other tribes among whom he wandered. He gained their confidence and friendship;—he believed, indeed, that he could lead them to any purpose he might entertain, and all sorts of wild plans passed through his mind. One enterprise he was, unfortunately, able to carry out. One of his daughters had married a gentleman of some property who had been a firm adherent of the Government, and Moggs had, in consequence, conceived a bitter hatred against him, which time in no way had lessened. Several years passed by, when he heard that his daughter had a son, then about four years of age; and he formed the barbarous idea of carrying off the child. He had little difficulty in obtaining the assistance of a band of Indians; and, disguising himself as one of them, he led an attack on the place, and succeeded too well in his nefarious project. As the country was in a disturbed state at the time, the attack was supposed to have been instigated by American sympathisers, and the real culprit was not suspected. Making good his retreat, he did not stop till he had got many hundred miles away from the borders of Canada; and believing that he might still be traced, he placed the child under charge of an old squaw belonging to a tribe of Sioux, with whom he had formed a friendship. Strangely inconsistent as it would seem, an affection for the boy grew up in his hard heart; and in time, oppressed with the solitary life he had doomed himself to lead, he determined to make him his companion in his trapping expeditions.

“Has no remorse ever visited you?” asked Mr Martin, when the old man had finished his narrative.

“Yes, sometimes my thoughts have been terrible,” groaned Michael.

“Then pray God that it may be a repentance to salvation not to be repented of. With regard, however, to your temporal affairs, my friend, I can assure you that, through the clemency of the Queen of England, all the rebels in Canada at the time you speak of have been forgiven.”

“Ah, sir,” exclaimed Michael Moggs, “the Queen may have forgiven some, but she cannot have forgiven me. You must, I am sure, be mistaken.”

“But, my friend, if I can show you her proclamation, in which she declares that she overlooks and pardons all those rebellious subjects who rose against her authority, and allows those who have fled the country to return under her rule, would you then believe me?”

“I suppose I could not help it,” said Michael. “Let me see the paper.”

Mr Martin went to his room, and returned with the document he spoke of.

“I have preserved it,” he said, “for I am pleased with the gracious terras in which it is couched.”

Old Michael read the paper with intense interest.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “I can no longer doubt the fact. Had I not kept away from those who knew of this, I might long ago have been enjoying the comforts and pleasures of the home I abandoned, and have again become a member of civilised society.”

“Then, my friend, if an earthly sovereign can be so merciful and gracious, do you suppose that the King of Heaven, who has so wonderfully manifested his love to man, is less merciful and gracious in forgiving those who sin against Him?” said Mr Martin, feeling the importance of not allowing so practical an illustration of the great truth to pass unemployed. “Here is God’s proclamation to sinful, rebellious man,” he added, lifting his Bible before the eyes of the old trapper. “He declares in this—not once, but over and over again—that He forgives, freely and fully all who come to Him; that their sins and iniquities are blotted out and remembered no more; that ‘though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool;’ that His pardon is a free gift, without money and without price! You have seen the Queen’s proclamation, and you believe it, and you know that you may return to your home with perfect safety, provided you take back your grandson, and restore him to his long-bereaved parents. That they will forgive and welcome you I know; for they belong to Christ’s flock, and I am well acquainted with them. Now, my friend, let me entreat you to believe God’s proclamation, to trust to the gracious plan He has designed, whereby you can obtain free pardon, perfect reconciliation, and life eternal.”

“But can He ever pardon such a wretch as I am? Oh! tell me, sir, what shall I do to be saved?”

“I’ll answer, as Paul answered the jailor at Philippi, who was, we have reason to believe, a cruel and bad man, or he was very unlike others in his occupation in those days: ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ Paul, who certainly knew what God requires, did not tell him to go and do anything, he was simply to believe with a living faith. That, my friend, is all you have to do; and, be assured, the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, will be yours; and however you may bewail the effects of your sins, still you will know that they are all put out of God’s remembrance; for He sees you not as you are, but clothed with the righteousness of Christ, with the white spotless robes of the Lamb.”

Many days passed by, and at length the old trapper could say with confidence, as he clasped the hand of the missionary, “I rejoice in the blood of my risen Saviour.”

Young Laurence had long before been able to say the same.

They together soon afterwards set out for Canada. Mr Martin had not wrongly estimated the character of his Christian friends. While they rejoiced at the return of their long-lost son, they truly heaped coals of fire on the head of the old man by their kindness and attention. A few years afterwards he died, in perfect peace, in their midst. Laurence’s thoughts had ever been fixed on the far-off fort and its beloved inmates. He made rapid progress in his studies, and with the entire concurrence of his parents, at an early age he returned to act as a Catechist under Mr Martin. He was soon placed in a more important position, when Jeanie Ramsay became the devoted sharer of his labours in making known the unspeakable goodness of Christ to the red men of the woods and prairies.

W.H.G. Kingston

"True Blue"

Chapter One.

True Blue—A British Seaman of the Old School.

The old Terrible, 74, was ploughing her way across the waters of the Atlantic, now rolling and leaping, dark and angry, with white-crested seas which dashed against her bows and flew in masses of foam over her decks. She was under her three topsails, closely reefed; but even thus her tall masts bent, and twisted, and writhed, as if striving to leap out of her, while every timber and bulkhead fore and aft creaked and groaned, and the blocks rattled, and the wind roared and whistled through the rigging in chorus; and the wild waves rolled and tumbled the big ship about, making her their sport, as if she was a mere cock-boat.

Stronger and stronger blew the gale; darkness came on and covered the world of waters, and through that darkness the ship had to force her way amid the foaming, hissing seas. Darker and darker it grew, till the lookout men declared that they might as well have shut their eyes, for they could scarcely make out their own hands when held at arm’s length before their noses.

Suddenly, however, the darkness was dispelled by the vivid flashes of lightning, which, darting from the low hanging clouds, circled about their heads, throwing a lurid glare on the countenances of all on deck. Once more all was dark; then again the forked lightning burst forth hissing and crackling through the air, leaping along the waves and playing round the quivering masts. Now the big ship plunged into the trough of the sea with a force which made it seem as if she was never going to rise again; but up the next watery height she climbed, and when she got to the top, she stopped as if to look about her, while the lightning flashed brighter than ever; and then, rolling and pitching, and cutting numerous other antics, she lifted up her stern as if she was going to give a vicious fling out with her heels, and downwards she plunged into the dark obscurity, amid the high foam-topped seas, which hissed and roared high above her bulwarks. Her crew walked her deck with but little anxiety, although they saw that the gale was likely to increase into a hurricane; for they had long served together, they knew what each other was made of, and they had confidence in their officers and in the stout ship they manned.

The watch below had hitherto remained in their hammocks, and most of them, in spite of the gale, slept as soundly as ever. What cared they that the ship was roiling and tumbling about? They knew that she was watertight and strong, that she had plenty of sea-room, and that they would be roused up quickly enough if they were wanted. There was one person, however, who did not sleep soundly—that was her Captain, Josiah Penrose. He could not forget that he had the lives of some eight hundred beings committed to his charge, and he knew well that, even on board a stout ship with plenty of sea-room, an accident might occur which would require his immediate presence on deck. He was therefore sitting up in his cabin, holding on as best he could, and attempting to read—a task under all circumstances, considering that he had lost an eye, and was not a very bright scholar, more difficult of accomplishment than may be supposed. He had lost an arm, too, which made it difficult for him to hold a book; besides, his book was large, and the printing was not over clear, a fault common in those days; and the paper was a good deal stained and injured from the effects of damp and hot climates. He was aroused from his studies by a signal at the door, and the entrance of one of the quartermasters.

“What is it, Pringle?” asked the Captain, looking up.

“Why, sir, Molly Freeborn is taken very bad, and the doctor says that he thought you would like to know,” was the answer. “He doesn’t think as how she’ll get over it. Maybe, sir, you’d wish to see the poor woman?”

“Certainly, yes; I’ll go below and see her,” answered the Captain in a kind tone. “Poor Molly! But where is her husband—where is Freeborn? It will be a great blow to him.”

“It is his watch on deck, sir. No one liked to go and tell him. He could do no good, and the best chance, the doctor said, was to keep Molly quiet. But I suppose that they’ll let him know now,” answered the quartermaster.

“Yes; do you go and find him, and take him below to his wife, and just break her state gently to him, Pringle,” said the Captain.

Captain Penrose stopped a moment to slip on his greatcoat, and to jam a sou’wester tightly down over his head, before he left the cabin on his errand of kindness, when a terrific clap was heard, louder than one of thunder, and the ship seemed to quiver in every timber fore and aft. The Captain sprang on deck, for the moment, in his anxiety for the safety of his ship, forgetting his intention with regard to Molly Freeborn.

Poor Molly! There she lay in the sick-bay, which had been appropriated to her use, gasping out her life amid the tumult and disturbance of that terrific storm. She was one of three women allowed, in those days, under certain circumstances, to be on board ship for the purpose of acting as nurses to the sick, and of washing for the officers and men. Her husband was captain of the maintop, and as gallant and fine a seaman as ever stepped. Everybody liked and respected him.

But Molly was even a greater favourite. There was not a kinder-hearted, more gentle, sensible, and judicious person in existence. No one had a greater variety of receipts for all sorts of ailments, and no one could more artistically cook dishes better suited to the taste of the sick. Most of the officers, who had from time to time been ill and wounded, acknowledged and prized her talents and excellencies; and the Captain declared that he considered he owed his life, under Providence, entirely to the care with which she nursed him through an attack of fever when the doctor despaired of his life.

“All hands on deck!” was the order given as soon as the Captain saw what had occurred. The main-topsail had been blown from the boltropes, and the tattered remnants were now lashing and slashing about in the gale, twisting into inextricable knots, and winding and wriggling round the main-topsail yard, rendering it a work of great danger to go out on it. The boatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly through the storm a well-known note. “All hands shorten sail!” was echoed along the decks. “Rouse out there—rouse out—idlers and all on deck!” Everybody knew that there was work to be done; indeed, the clap made by the parting of the sail had awakened even the soundest sleepers. Among the first aloft, who endeavoured to clear the yard of the fragments of the sail, was William Freeborn, the captain of the maintop. With knives and hands they worked away in spite of the lashing they got, now being almost strangled, and now dragged off the yard.

The Captain resolved to heave the ship to. The wind had shifted, and if they ran on even under bare poles, they would be carried on too much out of their course. It was a delicate and difficult operation. A new main-topsail had first to be bent. It took the united strength of the crew to hoist it to the yard. At length the sail was got up and closely reefed, hauled out, strengthened in every possible way to resist the fury of the gale. It was an operation which occupied some time. The fore-topsail had to be taken in. The helm was put down, and, as she came slowly up to the wind, the after-sail being taken off also, she lay to, gallantly riding over the still rising seas. Though she did not tumble about, perhaps, quite as much as she had been doing, her movements were far from easy. She did not roll as before, as she was kept pressed down on one side; still every now and then she gave a pitch as she glided down into the trough of the sea, which made every timber and mast creak and quiver, and few on board would have been inclined to sing:

“Here’s a sou’wester coming, Billy,

Don’t you hear it roar now!

Oh help them! How I pities those

Unhappy folks on shore now!”

At length William Freeborn was relieved from his post aloft, and came down on deck. Paul Pringle, his old friend and messmate, who had been hunting for him through the darkness, found him at last. Paul grieved sincerely for the news he had to communicate, and, not liking the task imposed on him, scarcely knew how to begin.

“Bill,” said he with a sigh, “you and I, boy and man, have sailed together a good score of years, and never had a fall-out about nothing all that time, and it goes to my heart, Bill, to say any thing that you won’t like; but it must be done—that I sees—so it’s no use to have no circumbendibus. Your missus was took very bad—very bad indeed—just in the middle of the gale, and there was no one to send for you—and so, do you see—”

“My wife—Molly!—oh, what has happened, Paul?” exclaimed Freeborn, not waiting for an answer; but springing below, he rushed to the sick-bay, as the hospital is called. The faint cry of an infant reached his ears as he opened the door. Betty Snell, one of the other nurses, was so busily employed with something on her knees, that she did not see him enter. The dim light of a lantern, hanging from a beam overhead, fell on it. He saw that it was a newborn infant. He guessed what had happened, but he did not stop to caress it, for beyond was the cot occupied by his wife. There she lay, all still and silent. His heart sank within him; he gazed at her with a feeling of terror and anguish which he had never before experienced. He took her hand. It fell heavily by her side. He gasped for breath. “Molly!” he exclaimed at length, “speak to me, girl—what has happened?”

There was no answer. Then he knew that his honest, true-hearted wife was snatched from him in this world for ever. The big drops of salt spray, which still clung to his hair and bushy beard, dropped on the kind face of her he had loved so well, but not a tear escaped his eyes. He gladly would have wept, but he had not for so many a long year done such a thing, and he felt too stunned and bewildered to do so now. He had stood as a sailor alone could stand on so unstable a foothold, gazing on those now placid and pale unchanging features for a long time,—how long he could not tell,—when Paul Pringle, who had followed him to the door of the sick-bay, came up, and, gently taking him by the shoulders, said:

“Come along, Bill; there’s no use mourning: we all loved her, and we all feel for you, from the Captain downwards. That’s a fact. But just do you come and have a look at the younker. Betty Snell vows that he’s the very image of you, all except the beard and pigtail.”

The latter appendage in those days was worn by most sailors, and Bill Freeborn had reason to pride himself on his. The mention of it just then, however, sent a pang through his heart, for Molly had the morning before the gale dressed it for him.

Freeborn at first shook his head and would not move; but at last his shipmate got him to turn round, and then Betty Snell held up the poor little helpless infant to him, and the father’s heart felt a touch of tenderness of a nature it had never before experienced, and he stooped down and bestowed a kiss on the brow of his newborn motherless child. He did not, however, venture to take it in his arms.

“You’ll look after it, Betty, and be kind to it?” said he in a husky voice. “I’m sure you will, for her sake who lies there?”

“Yes, yes, Bill; no fear,” answered Betty, who was a good-natured creature in her way, though it was a rough way, by the bye.

She was the wife of one of the boatswain’s mates. Her companion, Nancy Bolton, who was the wife of the sergeant of marines, was much the same sort of person; indeed, it would not have done for the style of life they had to lead, to have had too refined characters on board.

“Bless you, Freeborn—take care of the baby, of course we will!” added Nancy, looking up from some occupation about which she had been engaged. “We’ll both be mothers to him, and all the ship’s company will act the part of a father to him. Never you fear that. As long as the old ship holds together, he’ll not want friends; nor after it, if there’s one of us alive. Set your mind at rest now.”

“Yes, that we will, old ship,” exclaimed Paul Pringle, taking Freeborn’s hand and wringing it warmly. “That’s to say, if the little chap wants more looking after than you can manage. But come along now. There’s no use staying here. Bet and Nancy will look after the child better than we can, and you must turn in. Your hammock is the best place for you now.”

The gale at length ceased; the ship was put on her proper course for the West Indies, whither she was bound; the sea went down, the clouds cleared away, and the glorious sun came out and shone brightly over the blue ocean. All the officers and men assembled on the upper deck, and then near one of the middle ports was placed a coffin, covered with the Union-Jack. There ought to have been a chaplain, but there was none; and so the Captain came forward with a Prayer-book, and in an impressive, feeling way, though not without difficulty, read the beautiful burial service to be used at sea for a departed sister; and the two women stood near the coffin, one holding a small infant; and there stood William Freeborn, supported by Paul Pringle, for by himself he could scarcely stand; and then slowly and carefully the coffin was lowered into the waves, and as they closed over it, in the impulse of the moment, the bereaved widower would have thrown himself after it, not knowing what he was about, had not Paul Pringle held him back. Down sank the coffin rapidly, and was hid to sight by the blue ocean—the grave of many a brave sailor, and of thousands of the young, and fair, and brave, and joyous, and of the proud and rich also, but never of a more kind-hearted honest woman than was Molly Freeborn. So all on board the Terrible declared, and assuredly they spoke the truth.

Chapter Two.

Onward across the Atlantic, as fast as her broad spread of white canvas filled by the wind could force her, glided the staunch old “seventy-four,” which bore our hero and his fortunes, though at that time they did not look very prosperous; nor was he himself, it must be acknowledged, held in much consideration except by his own father and his two worthy nurses. His fare, too, was not of the most luxurious, nor suited to his delicate appetite. Milk there was none; and the purser, not expecting so juvenile an addition to the ship’s company, had not provided any in a preserved state,—indeed, in those days, it may be doubted whether such an invention had been thought of,—while a round-shot had carried off the head of the cow in the last action in which the Terrible had been engaged. As she furnished fresh beef to the ship’s company, they would not have objected to a similar accident happening again.

Poor Molly’s child had, therefore, to be fed on flour and water, and such slops as the doctor and the nurses could think of. They could not have been unsuitable, for it throve wonderfully, and was pronounced by all the ship’s company as fine a child as ever was seen.

“Have you been and had a look at Molly Freeborn’s baby?” asked Dick Tarbrush of his messmate, Tom Buntline. “Do now, then. Such a pretty young squeaker. Bless you, it’ll do your heart good. He’s quite a hangel.”

Similar remarks were made, one to the other, by the men; and one by one, or sometimes a dozen of them together, would come into the women’s cabin to have a look at the baby, and then they would stand in a circle round him, with their hands on their hips or behind them, afraid to touch it, their pigtails stuck out as they bent down, their huge beards, and whiskers, and pendent lovelocks forming a strong contrast to the diminutive, delicate features of the infant, who might, notwithstanding, one day be expected to grow up similar in all respects to one of them.

After the gale, the Terrible encountered head winds, and light winds, and calms, and baffling winds of every description, so that her passage to the station was long delayed. It gave time, however, for the baby to grow, and for the discussion of several knotty points connected with him. The most knotty of them was the matter of his christening. Now, the crew held very much the same opinion with regard to their Captain that a certain captain held of himself, when one day he took it into his head to make his chaplain a bishop, that of his own sovereign will he could do all things. They knew that when there was no chaplain on board, he could bury a grownup person, and so they thought that he surely could christen a little infant. They accordingly, after due deliberation, resolved to send a deputation to him, requesting him to perform the ceremony.

After some discussion, it was agreed that it would be advisable to carry the baby itself with them, to strengthen the force of their appeal. It was thought better that the women should not appear; and Paul Pringle was selected unanimously to be the bearer of the child. Now honest Paul was a bachelor, and had literally never handled a baby in his life. He, therefore, felt an uncommon awe and trepidation, as half unwillingly and half proudly he undertook the office. However, at last, when coyly led forward, with his head all on one side and a beaming smile on his honest countenance, he found that his big paws, stretched out, made a first-rate cradle; though, not being aware of the excessive lightness of the little creature, he very nearly chucked it over his shoulders. Betty and Nancy, after arranging the child’s clothes, bestowing sundry kisses, and giving several important cautions, let the party of honest Jacks proceed on their errand.

“Well, my lads, what is it you want?” asked the Captain in a good-natured voice, as the seamen, being announced by the sentry, made their appearance at the door of the cabin.

Paul Pringle cleared his voice before speaking, and then he said, very nearly choking the baby in his mechanical attempt to pull a lock of his hair as he spoke:

“We be come for to ax your honour to make a Christian of this here squeaker.”

The good Captain looked up with his one eye, and now perceived the small creature that Paul held in his hands.

“Ah, you mean that you want him christened, I suppose,” answered the Captain, smiling. “Well, I must see about that. Let me have a look at the poor little fellow. He thrives well. See, he smiles already. He’ll be a credit to the ship, I hope. I’ll do what I can, my lads. I don’t think that there’s anything about it in the articles of war. Still, what can be done I’ll do, most assuredly.”

While Captain Penrose was speaking, he was looking kindly at the infant and playing his finger round its mouth. He had had children of his own, and he felt as a father, though little indeed had he seen of them, and they had all long since been taken from him.

“Now you may go, my lads, and I’ll let you know what I can do for you,” he said after some time.

On this the deputation withdrew, well pleased with their interview.

As soon as the men were gone, Captain Penrose turned to the articles of war, and all the rules and regulations of the service with which he had been furnished, and hunted them through, and turned them over and over again, but could find nothing whatever about the baptism of infants. Most assiduously he looked through his Prayer-Book: not a word could he discover authorising captains in the navy to perform the rite. He pulled down all the books on his shelves and hunted them over; there were not many, certainly, but they made up by their quality and toughness for their want of number: not a word on the subject in question could he find. For many an hour and for many a day did he search, for he was not a man to be baffled by a knotty point or by an enemy for want of exertion on his part, though at last he had to confess that in this matter he was beaten. He therefore sent for Paul Pringle, and told him that though he could bury all the ship’s company, and could hang a mutineer at the yardarm, or could shoot him on the quarterdeck, he had no authority, that he could find, for christening a baby. Much disappointed, Paul returned to his shipmates. In full conclave, therefore, it was settled, with poor Will Freeborn’s consent, that as soon as the ship reached Port Royal harbour, in Jamaica, the little fellow should be taken on shore to be christened all shipshape and properly. When the Captain heard of this, he gave his full consent to the arrangement, and promised to assist in its execution.

The flag of the gallant Sir Peter Parker was flying in the harbour of Port Royal when, after a long passage, the Terrible fired the usual salute on entering, and dropped her anchor there. Two or three days elapsed before the duty of the ship would allow any of the crew to go on shore. On the first Sunday morning, however, it was notified that a hundred of them might have six hours’ leave, and that if the infant was presented, after morning service, before the minister of one of the parish churches, he would perform the wished-for ceremony. Great were the preparations which had been made. Betty Snell and Nancy Bolton were dressed out with shawls, and furbelows, and ribbons of the gayest colours and patterns, and looked and thought themselves very fine. Nothing could surpass the magnificence of the child’s robe. All the knowledge of embroidery possessed by the whole ship’s company had been expended on it, and every chest and bag had been ransacked to find coloured beads and bits of silk and worsted and cotton of different hues to work on it. The devices were curious. There were anchors and cables twisting about all over it, and stars and guns, and there was a full-rigged ship in front; while a little straw hat, which had been plaited and well lined, was stuck on the child’s head in the most knowing of ways, with the name of the Terrible worked in gold letters on a ribbon round it. Certainly, however, nothing could be more inappropriate than the name to the little smiling infant thus adorned. Never had such a dress been worn before by any baby ashore or afloat.

Then his shipmates took care that Will Freeborn himself should be in unusually good trim, and they got him to let Nancy Bolton dress his pigtail, while Sergeant Bolton stood by, and got him into conversation; and as for Paul Pringle, he turned out in first-rate style, and so did two of Freeborn’s messmates and especial chums, Peter Ogle and Abel Bush, both first-rate seamen. All the men who had leave, indeed, rigged out in their best, and adorned themselves to the utmost of their power. The boatswain, also, got them a dozen flags, which they hoisted on boathooks and other small spars; and they had on board, besides, a one-legged black fiddler, and a sort of amateur band, all of whom were allowed to accompany them.

On shore early on Sunday morning they went, and marshalled as they landed from the boats which conveyed them on the quays of Kingston. The one-legged black fiddler, Sam, being the only professional, and the rated musician on board, claimed the honour of leading the way, followed by the rest of the band with their musical instruments. Then came the father of the baby, Will Freeborn, supported on either side by Paul Pringle and Peter Ogle, who each bore a flag on a staff; and next, Betty Snell, to whom had been awarded the honour of carrying the important personage of the day; and on one side of her walked Nancy Bolton, and on the other Abel Bush, one of the three proposed godfathers, with another flag. In consequence of the numberless chances of war, it had been agreed that the child should have three godfathers and two godmothers; besides which, each of the godfathers was to have a mate who was to take his place in case of his death, and to assist Freeborn in looking after his son, so that there was every probability of poor Molly’s son being well taken care of. These, then, came next, bearing aloft an ensign and a Union-Jack, while the rest of the crew, with more flags, rolling along, made up the remainder of the procession.

But the person who created the greatest sensation among the spectators, especially of his own colour, was Sam Smatch, the one-legged fiddler; nor did he deem himself to be the least in importance. No one was in higher feather. He felt himself at home in the country—the hot climate suited him; he saw numbers of his own race and hue, inclined, like himself, to be merry and idle. How he grinned and rolled his eyes about on every side—how he scraped away with his bow—how he kicked up his wooden leg and cut capers which few people, even with two, could have performed as well! As to the rest of the band, he beat them hollow. In vain they tried to play. If they played fast, he played faster; when they played loud, he played louder; for, as he used to boast, his instrument was a very wonderful one, and there were not many which could come up to it. The crowd of negroes who collected from every side to stare at the procession, admired him amazingly, and cheered, and shrieked, and laughed, and clapped their hands in gleeful approbation of his performance.

Thus the procession advanced through the streets of Kingston till it reached the church door, it wanted still some time to the commencement of service, so the men were enabled to take their seats at one end of the building without creating any disturbance. There was plenty of room for them, for unhappily the proprietors, merchants and attorneys, the managers of estates and other residents, were very irregular attendants at places of worship. The few people who did collect for worship stared with surprise at seeing so unusual a number of sailors collected together; and more so when the service was over, to see Paul Pringle, acting as best man, lead his friend Freeborn, and the two nurses, and the rest of his shipmates, up to the font.

The clergyman had been warned by the clerk what to expect, or he would have been equally astonished.

“What is it you want, my good people?” he asked.

“Why, bless your honour, we wants this here young chap, as belongs, I may say, to the old Terrible, seeing as how he was born aboard of her, made into a regular shipshape Christian.”

“Oh, I see,” said the minister, smiling; “I will gladly do as you wish. You have got godfathers and a godmother, I suppose?”

“Oh, Lord bless your honour, there are plenty on us!” answered Paul, feeling his bashfulness wear off in consequence of the minister’s kind manner. “There’s myself, Paul Pringle, quartermaster, at your honour’s service; and there’s Peter Ogle, captain of the foretop, and Abel Bush, he’s captain of the fo’castle; and then, d’ye see, we’ve each of us our mates to take command if any of us loses the number of our mess; and then as there’s the two godmothers Nancy and Betty, right honest good women, the little chap won’t fare badly, d’ye see, your honour.”

“Indeed, you come rather over-well provided in that respect,” observed the minister, having no little difficulty in refraining from laughing. “However, I should think that you would find two godfathers and one godmother, the usual number, sufficient to watch over the religious education of the child.”

“No, your honour,” answered Paul quietly; “I’ll just ax you what you thinks the life of any one of us is worth, when you reflexes on the round-shot and bullets of the enemy, the fever,—‘Yellow Jack,’ as we calls him,—and the hurricanes of these here seas? Who can say that one-half of us standing here may be alive this time next year? We sailors hold our lives riding at single anchor. We know at any moment we may have to slip our cable and be off.”

The clergyman looked grave and bowed his head.

“You speak too sad a truth,” he answered. “Now tell me, what name do you propose giving to the child?”

“Billy, your honour,” answered Paul at once.

“William?—oh, I understand,” observed the clergyman.

“No, Billy, your honour,” persisted Paul. “Billy True Blue, that’s the name we’ve concluded to give him. It’s the properest, and rightest, and most convenient, and it’s the name he must have,” he added firmly.

“But what is the father’s name? What is your name, my man?” asked the clergyman, turning to Freeborn.

Will told him.

“Oh, then I understand Billy True Blue is to be his Christian name?” said the clergyman.

“Yes, your honour,” answered Paul. “D’ye see, he’d always be called Billy. That would be but natural-like. Then where’s the use of calling him William? And True Blue he is, for he was born at sea aboard a man-o’-war, and he’ll be brought up at sea among men-o’-war’s men; and he’ll be a right true blue seaman himself one of these days, if he lives, so there’s an end on the matter.”

The last remark was intended as a clincher to settle the affair. The clergyman had no further objections to offer to the arguments brought forward, and accordingly the child was then and there christened “Billy True Blue,” to the infinite satisfaction of all his friends.

On leaving the church, the party adjourned to various houses of entertainment to drink their young shipmate’s health. Much to their credit, at the time appointed they reappeared on board, returning to the quay in the style they had come, none of them the worse for liquor. Captain Penrose had reason to be satisfied with his system of managing his ship’s company.

Chapter Three.

The Terrible was not allowed to remain long idle, for those were stirring times, as there were Frenchmen and Spaniards, and the Dutch and Americans to fight; indeed, all the great maritime countries of the world were leagued against Old England to deprive her, as they hoped, of the supremacy of the sea. Again the Terrible was under weigh, standing for the Leeward Islands to join the squadron of Sir George Brydges Rodney. A day or two after she sailed, the surgeon came to the Captain with an unusually long face.

“What is the matter, Doctor Macbride?” asked Captain Penrose.

“I’m sorry to say, sir, that we have two cases of yellow fever on board,” was the answer.

“What, Yellow Jack—my old enemy?” exclaimed the Captain, trying to look less concerned than he felt. “Turn him out then—kick him away—get rid of him as fast as possible, that’s all I can say.”

“More easily said than done, I fear, sir,” answered the surgeon, who was well aware that his Captain was more anxious than he would allow; for, from sad experience, he well knew that when once that scourge of the West Indies attacks the crew of a ship, it is impossible to say how many may be the victims, and when it may disappear.

“You are right, doctor. We must do our best, though, and put our trust in Providence,” answered the Captain gravely. “Let the men be on deck as much as possible. We will have their provisions carefully looked to, and we must have their minds amused. Let Sam Smatch keep his fiddle going. Fear of the foe kills many, I believe. Now if we could meet an enemy, and have a good warm engagement, we should soon put Yellow Jack and him to flight together. And I say, doctor, don’t let the men see that you are concerned any more than I am.”

After a little further conversation, the doctor took his departure.

The ship continued her course across the Caribbean Sea, with light winds and under the hottest of suns; and the fever, instead of disappearing, stealthily crept on, attacking one man after another, till fifty or sixty of the crew were down with it. Death came, too, and carried off one fine fellow, and then another and another, sometimes five or six in one day. At last there was a cessation, and the spirits of the sick as well as of the healthy revived; and Sam Smatch set to work and fiddled away most lustily, and the crew danced and sang, and tried to forget that there was such a thing as Yellow Jack on board. Several of the sick got better, and even the doctor’s and the Captain’s spirits revived. Once more it fell calm, and, as the Captain was walking the quarterdeck, Dr Macbride came up to him with a grave face.

“What is the matter now, doctor?” he asked in as cheerful a voice as he could command; for whatever he felt in private, he would not allow himself to appear out of spirits before his officers or crew. “What! not driven the yellow demon overboard yet? Kick him—trounce him—get rid of him somehow!”

“I am sorry to say, sir, that he has attacked the women,” answered the doctor. “Betty Snell is very ill, and Mrs Bolton is evidently sickening. What the motherless baby will do, I cannot say. Probably that will die too, and so be provided for.”

“Heaven forbid!” said the Captain, “for the honest father’s sake. The child will have plenty of nurses. We must not forget poor Molly—how nobly she braved Yellow Jack himself when the sick wanted her aid! We all are bound to look after the baby. The sooner it is taken away from the poor woman the better. Let me see. Tell Paul Pringle to go and get the baby and bring it up to my cabin. That is the most airy and healthy place for the little chap. We must rig out a cot for it there. Freeborn himself would feel bashful at taking his child there. Either he or Pringle must act as nurse, though. I have no fancy for having one of the ship’s boys making the attempt. They would be feeding him with salt beef and duff, or smothering him; and as for waking when he cries at night, there would be little chance of their hearing him. But I will go below with you, doctor, and visit the poor people. Come along.”

Saying this, the good Captain descended to the lower-deck with the surgeon. The weather side of the ship forward had been screened off and appropriated to the sick. As he appeared, those who were conscious lifted up their heads and welcomed him with a look of pleasure; but many were raving and shrieking in the delirium of fever, and others, worn out by its attacks, were sunk in stupor from which they were not to awake. Then the Captain visited the berth of the two women. Mrs Bolton was still struggling in a vain attempt to ward off the disease, and endeavouring to nurse poor little Billy; but she could scarcely lift her hand to feed him, and evidently a sickness and faintness was stealing over her.

The Captain said nothing, but going out, sent a boy to call Paul Pringle. He soon returned with Paul, who, stooping down, said quietly, “Here, Mrs Bolton, you feels sick and tired, I know you does. You’ve had hard times looking after Betty Snell, and I’ll just dandle the youngster for you a bit. You know you can have him again when you feels better and rested like.”

Thus appealed to, poor Nancy gave up the baby to Paul, who dandled it about before her for a minute; then as she was casting an affectionate glance at it, he disappeared along the deck with his charge. It was the last look she ever took of the infant she had nursed with almost a mother’s care. Her husband was sent for. In a short time she was raving, and before that hour the next day both she and Betty were no longer among the living. Their loss was severely felt, not only by their husbands, but by all the crew. They and forty of the men were committed to the deep before the termination of the passage.

At last the Terrible reached Gros Islet Bay, in the Island of Saint Lucia, that island having been captured by the English from the French. In a short time a considerable fleet collected there, under Admiral Sir George Rodney and Rear-Admiral Hyde Parker. Still the fever continued on board the Terrible and several other ships.

“Nothing but the fire of the enemy will cure us, Sir George, I fear,” observed Captain Penrose when paying a visit one day on board the flagship.

“Then, my dear Penrose, I hope that we shall not have long to wait, for they are collecting in force, I hear, round the Island of Martinique; and the moment the fleet is ready for sea, we’ll go out and have a brush with them,” was the Admiral’s answer.

This news was received with joy by every man in the fleet, and all exerted themselves more than ever to hasten its equipment. The Captain had some idea of leaving little Billy on shore, but both Freeborn and Pringle begged so hard that he might be allowed to remain that the Captain gave up the point.

“I don’t know how long I may be with the little chap,” observed poor Will. “It would break my heart to be separated from him; and if we go into action, we’ll stow him away safe in the hold, and he’ll be better off there than among foreign strangers on shore who don’t care a bit for him.”

There was much truth in this remark, and so little True Blue still continued under charge of his rough-looking protectors. It is extraordinary how well and tenderly they managed to nurse him and feed him, and how carefully they washed him and put on his tiny garments. Paul Pringle was even a greater adept than his own father; and more than once the Captain could scarcely refrain from laughing as he saw the big, huge-whiskered quartermaster in a side cabin, seated on one bucket, with another full of salt water before him, an apron, made out of a piece of canvas, round his waist, and a large sponge, with a piece of soap in his hand, washing away at the little fellow. The baby seemed to enjoy the cold water amazingly, and kicked and splashed about, and spluttered and cooed with abundant glee, greatly to Paul’s delight.

“Ah, I knowed it. He’ll be a regular salt from truck to kelson!” he exclaimed, looking at the little fellow affectionately, and holding him up so as to let his head just float above water. “He’ll astonish them some of these days. Depend on’t, Will,” he added, turning to Freeborn, who had come in to have a look at his child.

The Captain had directed the hammocks of the two men to be slung in this cabin, and little True Blue had a cot slung along close to the deck; so that if by chance he had tumbled out, he would not have been much the worse for it. As the father and his friend were in different watches, they were able, under ordinary circumstances, to relieve each other in nursing the baby; but when any heavy work was to be done, and the services of both of them were required on deck, Sam Smatch, who was not fit even for ordinary idlers’ work, was called in to act nurse.

This was an employment in which Sam especially delighted, and he would have bargained for a gale of wind any day in the week for the sake of having to take care of little True Blue. Billy, from the first, never objected to his black face, but cooed and smiled, and was greatly delighted whenever he appeared. Sam altogether took wonderfully to the baby, and used to declare that he loved it as much as he did his own fiddle, if not more. He would not say positively—both were his delight—both squeaked; but his fiddle was his older friend. Billy, indeed, never wanted nurses, and there was not a man on board who was not happy to get him to look after. The greatest risk he ran was from over-kindness, or from having a tumble among the numerous candidates for the pleasure of dandling him when once they got him among them on the maindeck; and no set of schoolgirls could make a more eager rush to snatch up the little child left among them, than did the big-bearded, whiskered, and pig-tailed tars to catch hold of Billy True Blue.

Among the other candidates for the pleasure of nursing little Billy was a young midshipman, known generally as Natty Garland. He had been seized with the fever, and been carried, for better nursing, into the Captain’s cabin. This was his first voyage away from home, where he had left many brothers and sisters. It was nearly proving his last. Although he looked so slight and delicate, however, he did recover; but it was some time before he was fit for duty.

Devoted to his profession, Natty Garland, in spite of his delicate appearance, became a first-rate, bold, and intelligent seaman, liked by his Captain, respected by his superior officers and his messmates, and an especial favourite with the men.

Just before Sir George Rodney had entered Gros Islet Bay, the French fleet, consisting of twenty-five sail of line-of-battle ships and eight frigates, under Admiral Count de Guichen, had been haughtily parading before the island, trying to draw out the then small and unprepared squadron of Rear-Admiral Hyde Parker. The British officers and men fumed and growled at the insult, longing for an opportunity of paying off the vapouring Frenchmen. Never, therefore, were anchors weighed with greater alacrity than when the signal was seen from Admiral Rodney’s ship for the fleet to make sail and stand out to sea. A course was steered for Fort Royal Bay, in the Island of Martinique, where the French fleet was then supposed to be. The English fleet consisted in all only of twenty line-of-battle ships and two frigates, but their inferiority in point of numbers in no way made the British seamen less eager to encounter the enemy.

Now the former order of things was reversed; the smaller fleet was blockading the larger, which was equally prepared for battle. It was a beautiful sight to see the stout ships, with their white canvas set alow and aloft, as they glided over the blue sea in front of the harbour containing their vaunting enemy. In vain they tacked and wore, and stood backwards and forwards, never losing sight of the harbour’s mouth. Every opportunity of fighting was offered, but the Frenchmen dared not come out.

At length Admiral Rodney, disgusted with the pusillanimity of the enemy, returned to his anchorage in Gros Islet Bay with most of the line-of-battle ships, leaving only a squadron of the faster sailing copper-bottomed ships and frigates to watch the enemy’s motions, and to give him notice should they attempt to escape. The seamen little doubted that they would soon have a brush with the enemy. Among all, none seemed to anticipate a battle with greater satisfaction than Will Freeborn. His spirits rose higher by far than they had done since the death of his wife; and that evening, when Sam Smatch struck up a hornpipe on the forecastle, no one footed it more merrily than did he.

“All right,” observed Paul, “I’m glad Will’s himself again. Poor Molly, she’d be pleased to see him happy—that I know she would, good soul.”

Whether Will’s heart was as light as his feet might be doubted. Several days passed, and the Frenchmen kept snug at their anchors. “They’ll move some day or other, and then we’ll be at them,” was the general remark. Still there they lay. None of the English crews was allowed to go on shore; but the ships were kept ready to weigh at a moment’s notice. Daylight had just broken on the 16th of April 1780, when a frigate under a press of sail was seen approaching the bay. A signal was flying from her masthead. It was one which made the British tars shout with satisfaction; it was, “The French have put to sea!”

Round went the capstans, up came the anchors, the broad folds of white canvas were let fall from the yards and sheeted home, and in the course of a few minutes the whole fleet was under weigh and standing out to sea. No one fiddled more lustily than did Sam Smatch, and a right merry tune he played, while the crew of the Terrible with sturdy tramp pressed round the bars of the capstan; and never was a topsail more speedily set than that under charge of Will Freeborn.

No sooner was the fleet clear of the harbour than the enemy was discovered in the north-west. Instantly the signal was made from the flagship, the Sandwich, for a general chase. How shrilly the boatswains sounded their pipes, how rapidly the men flew aloft or tramped along the decks, while sail after sail was set, till every ship was carrying as much canvas as could by any art or contrivance be spread on her yards! Beautiful and inspiriting was the sight. The enemy saw them coming, but did not heave-to in order to meet them, endeavouring rather to escape.

All day long the chase continued, and it was not until towards the evening that, from the British ships, it could be discovered that the Frenchmen’s force consisted of no less than twenty-three sail of the line, a fifty-gun ship, three frigates, a lugger, and a cutter. Darkness came on, however, before the British could get up with them; but sharp eyes all night long were eagerly watching their movements, and few on board any of the ships could bring themselves to turn in to their hammocks.

During the night the wind came round to the southward and east, greatly to the satisfaction of all on board the English fleet, and when morning broke the Frenchmen were seen close-hauled under their lee.

“What can them chaps be about now?” asked Will Freeborn of Paul Pringle as they stood near each other before going to their respective stations. “They are not going to sneak away after all, I hope.”

“I’m not quite so sure but that they are going to try it on, though,” answered Paul, eyeing the distant fleet of the French with no friendly eye. “But I’ll tell you what: Admiral Rodney is not the chap to let ’em off so easily. Ah, look! they are tacking again; they see it won’t do. Hurrah! lads, we’ll be at them now before long.”

The cheer was taken up by others, and ran along the decks, and was echoed from ship to ship along the British line. Every preparation was now made for immediate action. The magazines were opened, the powder and shot were got up, the bulkheads had long been down, the small-arms were served out, the men bound their heads with their handkerchiefs, threw off their jackets and shirts, buckled on their cutlasses, and stuck pistols in their belts. Meantime, as it had been arranged, Sam Smatch was sent to look after Billy True Blue, and to carry him down into the hold as soon as the ship was getting within range of the enemy’s fire.

“Let me just have a look at my boy!” exclaimed Will, as Sam brought him out on deck, as he said, to show him the enemy whom he would one day learn to thrash.

Will took the child in his arms, and he gave a glance of affection; then, giving little Billy back to Sam, he urged him not to delay too long in taking him below, and sprang aloft to his post in the top, to be ready to make any alterations that might be required in the sails while the ship was going into action.

Some hours from sunrise passed away, during which time the fleet was slowly approaching the reluctant enemy. It wanted but ten minutes to noon, when the signal flew out from the masthead of the Admiral for the fleet to bear down on the French, each ship to steer for and closely engage the one nearest to her in the enemy’s line. The order was received with a hearty huzza. It was promptly and exactly obeyed. Still, from the lightness of the wind, it was nearly one before the engagement became general. And now along the whole line arose dense volumes of smoke—bright flashes were seen, and the roar of the guns, and the shouts and shrieks of the combatants were heard. Thickly flew the round-shot—the gallant Admiral in the Sandwich was engaged with two big Frenchmen, who seemed to have singled her out for destruction, but right nobly and boldly did she bear the brunt of the action. Shot after shot struck her, many between wind and water, and some in her masts and spars, which in consequence threatened to go overboard. The Terrible, too, was hotly engaged with an opponent worthy of her. What her name was could not be discovered.

“Never mind!” was the cry; “we’ll soon learn when we make her haul down her flag!”

Hotter and hotter grew the action. Many were falling on both sides. Nearly all the English ships had lost both officers and men, killed and wounded; while, especially, they were dreadfully cut up in their rigging. Freeborn had come below to serve a gun.

“I see, mate, how it is!” cried Pringle to him. “Those Frenchmen are fighting to run away. It’s strange not one of our fellows on deck have been hit yet. They’ve aimed all their shot at our spars.”

“Hurrah! lads, then,” answered Will in a high state of excitement, which Pringle could not help remarking. “Fire away, lads. We’ll stop them if we can from running away, at all events.”

As he spoke he applied his match to his gun. At the moment it sent forth its missile of death he tottered back, and before Paul Pringle could catch him had fallen on the deck. Paul stooped down and raised up his head.

“It’s all over with me, Paul,” he said in a low voice; “feel here.”

There was a dreadful wound in his side, which made it appear too probable that his prognostication would prove true. The rest of the men near turned round with glances of sorrow, for he was a general favourite; but they had to attend to the working of their guns.

“Paul,” he continued, “you and the ship’s company will, I know, look after my motherless child. I leave Billy to the care of you all. Bring him up as a sailor—a true British tar, mind. There isn’t a nobler life a man can lead. I would not have him anything else. The Captain’s very kind, and will, I know, do his best for him. But I don’t want him to be an officer—that’s very well for them that’s born to it; but all I’d have liked to have seen him, if I had lived, is an open-hearted, open-handed, honest seaman.” Poor Will was speaking with great difficulty. His words came forth low and slowly.

“Yes, yes, Will,” answered Paul, pressing his friend’s hand. “We’ll look after him. There’s not a man of the Terrible who would not look at little True Blue as his own son; and as to making him a seaman, we none on us would dream of anything else. It would be utterly impossible and unnatural like. Set your mind at rest, mate, about that. But I say, Will, wouldn’t it do your heart good to have a look at the younker?”

“Not up here; a shot might hit him, remember,” answered the poor father. “And if they was to move me, I don’t think that I should ever be got below alive. No, no, Paul; I’ll stay here. It’s the best place for a sailor to die.”

Just then there was a cry that the enemy’s ships were retreating. First the Count de Guichen’s own ship, the huge Couronne, was seen standing out of the action, followed by the Triomphant and Fendant, leaving the Sandwich in so battered a condition that she could not follow. The other ships imitated their leader’s example. One after another, the British ships found themselves without opponents. They endeavoured to make sail and follow; but their running rigging was so cut up that few could set their sails, while the masts of many went over their sides. All they could do, therefore, was to send their shot rapidly after the flying enemy, and give vent to their feelings in loud hurrahs and shouts of contempt. The Frenchmen little thought how well this same running away was teaching the English to beat them, as they did in many a subsequent combat, until, learning to respect each other’s bravery, they became firm friends and allies, and such, it is to be hoped, they may remain till the end of time.

The sound of the shouts seemed to revive poor Will Freeborn.

“Now, mate, you’ll see Billy, won’t you?” said Paul. “It’ll do your heart good.”

Will smiled his assent. He was feeling no pain then. A boy was sent to summon Sam and the baby. Meantime the doctor came on deck.

“Let him lie here,” said he after a short examination; “his moments are numbered.”

Sam soon appeared. Paul took Billy from him, and, kneeling down, held the baby to the lips of the dying father. The men, no longer required to work the guns, clustered round the group. Will kissed his child and held him for a moment in his grasp.

“Shipmates,” said he, raising his voice, “you’ll all of you be kind to little True Blue—I know you will; there’s no use asking you. And God will look after him—I know He will, and forgive me my sins. Here, Paul, take the child—I’m slipping my cable, shipmates!”

He turned his eyes on the infant, and, pointing towards him, fell back into the arms of Abel Bush and Peter Ogle, who had come to have a last look at their old friend.

He was dead, and little True Blue was left an orphan.

Chapter Four.

Poor Billy True Blue little knew the loss he had experienced, when, as usual, he kicked and frisked about, and spluttered and cooed, as that evening Paul Pringle, with a sad heart, was dipping him in a tub, preparatory to putting him into his cot. Paul had soon to send for Sam Smatch to take his place, as he had plenty of work on deck in repairing damages. Besides being much cut up in hull and rigging, the fleet had suffered greatly, and had had six officers and one hundred and fourteen men killed, and nine officers and one hundred and forty-five men wounded. The Admiral’s ship, the Sandwich, had suffered the most severely; and it was only by the united exertions of her own and other ships’ companies that she was kept afloat during the night and all the next day, till she could be got back again into Gros Islet Bay. There every possible exertion was made to repair damages, so as to be in a state to go in search of the enemy.

It was not, however, till the 6th of May that Sir George Rodney received intelligence that the French fleet had left the Island of Guadaloupe, where they had been repairing their damages, and were approaching to windward of Martinique.

Once more the English fleet was ordered by signal to put to sea; and with no less zest than before the anchors were run up, and under a crowd of sail they stood out of the bay. The wind, however, was contrary, and for several days the ships had to continue beating against it through the passage between Martinique and Saint Lucia till the 10th, when, as the morning broke, the Frenchmen were seen mustering the same number as before, about three leagues to windward.

“Hurrah! we’ll have them now; they’ll not demean themselves by running away!” was the general shout on board the British ships.

Nearer the English approached. The French formed in line of battle and bore down upon them. The hearts of the British tars beat high. They thought the time they were looking for had assuredly come; but when scarcely within so much as random shot, the Frenchmen were seen to haul their wind, and being much faster sailers than the English, they quickly got again beyond speaking distance. The English seamen stamped with rage and disappointment, as well they might, and hurled no very complimentary epithets on the enemy.

“The time will come when we get up to you, Monsieur, and then we’ll give it you, won’t we?” they exclaimed, shaking their lists at the enemy.

Several times the French came down in the same style, as Paul Pringle remarked, “like so many dancing-masters skipping along, and then whisking round and scampering off again.”

Words will not describe the utter contempt and hatred the British tars felt in consequence of this for their enemies. Had the French mustered twice their numbers, and could they have got fairly alongside of them, yardarm to yardarm, they supposed that they could have thrashed them, and probably would have done so.

At last Admiral Rodney himself, in the hope of deceiving the enemy, made the signal for the fleet to bear away under all sail. The manoeuvre had the desired effect, making the French fancy that the English had taken to flight; and now growing bold, like yelping hounds, they came after them in full cry. The English captains guessed what was expected of them, and did their best to impede the progress of their ships, so as to let the enemy gain as much as possible on them. On the Frenchmen boldly came, till their van was nearly abreast of the centre of the English, who had luffed up till they had almost brought the fleet again on a bowline.

Now, to their great satisfaction, there was a shift of wind, which gave them the weather-gage. That was all Admiral Rodney wanted, and once more the hearts of the British seamen beat proudly with the anticipation of battle and victory.

The signal was made to engage. The British ships bore down on the enemy. It seemed no longer possible that he would decline to fight. On board the Terrible all stood ready at their guns, eyeing the foe. Sam Smatch had been despatched with his little charge into the hold, and ordered, unless he would incur the most dreadful pains and penalties, not to return on deck.

Sam grinned on receiving the order. He had not the slightest intention of infringing it. He was not a coward; but he was a philosopher. He had had fighting enough in his day. He had lost a leg fighting, and been otherwise sorely knocked about; and he had vowed, from that time forward, never to fight if he could help it. He had no king nor country, so to speak, to fight for; for though he had become a British subject, he had not appreciated the privileges he had thereby gained; and, at all events, they had failed to arouse any especial patriotic feelings within his bosom. Nothing, therefore, could please him better than his present occupation; and tucking his fiddle under one arm, and making a seat for the baby with the other, he descended with the most unfeigned satisfaction into the dusky depths of the bottom of the ship.

How intense was the indignation of the British seamen, when, just as they were within long range of the French, they saw ship after ship wear, and, under a crowd of sail, take to an ignominious flight! What showers of abuse were hurled after them, as were numerous random shots, though neither were much calculated to do them any harm. However, by seven in the evening, Captain Bowyer, in the Albion, who led the van, was seen to reach the centre of the enemy’s line. In the most gallant style he opened fire, supported by the Conqueror and the other ships of the van. In vain the ships of the British centre endeavoured to get into action. Every manoeuvre that could be thought of was tried, every sail was set. The brave old Captain Penrose walked his deck with hasty strides and unusual excitement.

“Oh, how I envy that fellow Bowyer!” he exclaimed. “How rapidly his men work their guns! We would be doing the same if we were there. However, the time will come when I shall have another stand-up fight with them before I die. It may be soon, or it may be some time hence; but the time will come, that I feel assured of.”

“I hope, sir, when it does arrive, you, and all with you, will come off victorious,” observed the second lieutenant, who was in no way inclined to enter into what he called the Captain’s fancies.

“No doubt about it,” answered the Captain. “I trust that I may never live to see the day when a British fleet is worsted by our old enemies, the French, or by any others who have ships afloat.”

In spite of the partial engagement taking place, the remainder of the French fleet continued its flight under a press of sail. Right gallantly the Albion and Conqueror continued the cannonade; but, again, the quicker heels of the French enabled them to keep out of the reach of the remainder of the British fleet, and finally carried them free of their pursuers.

Still, although night had closed in, Admiral Rodney persevered in following them up; but the wind had shifted, and given the French the weather-gage, an advantage which they employed in keeping out of action. Day after day passed, and then they were to be seen spreading over the blue sea in the far distance, but not daring to come nearer. Either they were waiting for reinforcements, or for some accident which might give them such a vast superiority that they would no longer have any fear of the result of a general engagement.

Great, therefore, was the delight of the British, when, on the morning of the 19th, the wind shifted suddenly, and enabled them to bear down under a press of sail on the enemy. The Count de Guichen could no longer, it was hoped, avoid an action; but, ere the English could get their guns to bear, the fickle wind again shifted and left the enemy the choice of engaging or not. Although the van of the French was to windward, their rear was still to leeward of the British van, now led by the gallant Commodore Hotham. Immediately he bore down upon them and opened his fire.

The Terrible was in this division, and took a leading part in the fray. Several ships on both sides were now hotly engaged. The French Admiral, seeing this, seemed to have made up his mind to risk a general action; and as soon as his van had weathered the British, which the shift of wind enabled him to do, he bore away along their line to windward and commenced a heavy cannonade, but at so cautious a distance that his shot did little damage. The Terrible’s opponent soon sheered off, and, having more speed than pluck, quickly got out of the range of her guns, greatly to the disgust of all the crew.

“Look here, mates; is this what those frog-eating Johnny Crapauds call fighting?” exclaimed Paul Pringle, pointing to de Guichen’s distant line, firing away at the main body of the British fleet. “Unless fellows are inclined to lay alongside each other, yardarm to yardarm, and have it out like brave men, to my mind they had better stay ashore and leave fighting alone.”

The sentiment was echoed heartily by all his hearers, and more particularly so, when in a short time the whole French fleet was seen fairly to take to flight, and, under a press of sail, to stand to the northward. The British fleet continued all the next day in chase; but, on the morning of the 21st, not a Frenchman was to be seen; and as many of the ships had suffered severely in these partial actions, and were much knocked about by long service, Admiral Rodney stood for Barbadoes, where they might undergo the required repairs. They arrived on the 22nd in Carlisle Bay.

It was not for some time that the crew of the Terrible had a moment to think of anything but the stern calls of duty. At last, however, the old ship was once more ready for sea, and then one spoke to the other about little Billy True Blue, and their promise to Will Freeborn; and it was agreed that an assemblage of the whole ship’s company should be held, to decide the course to be pursued for his rearing and education. The forecastle, or, as seamen call it, “the fo’c’s’l,” was the place selected for the meeting. Tom Snell, the boatswain’s mate, Sergeant Bolton, Peter Ogle, Abel Bush, Paul Pringle, of course, the three godfathers’ mates, and most of the petty officers, spoke on this important occasion. Sam Smatch would have been there, but he had to look after the baby in the cabin; he had, however, explained his opinion, and claimed the right of voting by proxy; which claim was fully allowed, seeing that he was absent on the public service. The warrant-officers were not present—not that they did not take a warm interest in the matter, but they did not wish to interfere with the free discussion in which the men might wish to indulge. Sergeant Bolton, however, came, and it was understood that he knew their feelings in all the important points likely to be broached. His rank might have kept him away, but he was present, because, as he said, “I ham, de ye see, the hinconsolable widower of Nancy Bolton, the hintfant’s nurse, and how do ye think hany one can have more hinterest in the hangel than I?”

Tom Snell was looked upon as a great orator; not the less so that he often enforced his arguments with a rope’s end.

“Mates,” said he, rising, when all the men were assembled, perched about in every available spot and in every possible attitude, and he brought one clenched fist down on the other open palm, with a sound which echoed along the decks, “this is how the case stands, d’ye see. There’s a baby born aboard this here ship, and that baby had a mother, a good real shipshape woman, who was as kind a nurse to all on us as was sick as could be. Well, I won’t talk on her; she dies, and two other women acts as nurses to the baby; they were good women too, but I won’t talk on them.” Tom passed the hairy back of his rough hand across his eyes, and continued: “Now the baby fell to the natural care like of his daddy, a true-hearted honest sailor as ever stepped. He’d have done honestly by him, and brought him up as a right real seaman, there’s no doubt; but, d’ye see, as ye know, mates all, a sneaking Frenchman’s round-shot comes aboard us and strikes him between wind and water, so to speak, and pretty nigh cuts him in two. Before he slipped his cable, many on you who stood near knows what he said to us. He told us that he gave the baby to the ship’s company—to look after—to be brought up as a seaman should be brought up. One and all on us would do the same and much more, as I know, for little True Blue, seeing as how he naturally-like belongs to us—ay, mates, and we would be ready to fight for him to the last; and if there was one thing would make us keep our colours flying to the last, it would be to prevent him falling into the enemy’s hands, to be brought up as a capering, frog-eating Frenchman. But, mates, d’ye see, this would be very well if we could all stick together aboard the same ship, and for his sake I knows we’d try to do it; but, as you knows, there are the chances of war—we may be separated—one may go to one ship, one may go to another, and who is he to go with, I should like to know? Now I don’t want that any on us should lose the pleasure and honour of looking after him, that I don’t—I’d scorn to be so unjust to any one; but we wants to settle when the evil time arrives when we, who has served together so long, and fought together, and stuck together like brothers and true seamen should, comes to be scattered, who the little chap, Billy True Blue, is to go with—that’s the point, mates, d’ye see? He can’t go with us all. He must be with some one on us, the primest seaman, too, who’ll teach him to knot and splice, to hand-reef and steer, and all the ways of a seaman. That’s what we has to do. We can’t teach him much yet, you’ll all allow, and the Captain says as how he’ll give nine dozen to any man as puts a quid of baccy in the younker’s mouth; so we can’t even learn him to chaw yet, which to my mind he’d do better nor anything else, as he’s most practice with his jaws just yet; but the time will come when he can use his fists, too, and the sooner he gets ’em into the tar-bucket the better, says I.” This opinion was loudly applauded by all present.

Tom made some further remarks to the same effect. “And now,” he concluded, “any one on you who has got anything for to say for or again’ what I’ve been a-saying, let him stand up on his legs and say it out like a man.”

Bill Tompion, one of the gunner’s crew, thereon arose with a sudden spring, and, having squirted a stream of tobacco juice through a port, exclaimed:

“What Tom says is all very true. No one here nor there will want to deny it; but what I axes is, who’s to have charge of the younker? That’s what I see we wants to settle. When I fires my gun, I doesn’t blaze away at the air, but looks along it and sees what I’m going to fire at, and takes my aim; and, d’ye see, if it’s an enemy’s ship not far off, I generally hits, too. Now that’s just as I was saying, mates, what we have to do. We wants to fix on fit and proper persons to look after our little chap aboard here,—the ship’s own child, I may say,—to see that he gets into no mischief, and to bring him up as a seaman should be brought up. Now I’d like to be one on those to look after him, and Tom would like to be one, and many on us would like to have the work, and most of us, ay, and all of us,” (there was a general cheer); “but, mates, it isn’t the men who’d like it most, but the men who is most fit, d’ye see, we are bound to choose. Now I speak for myself. I’m a thoughtless, careless sailor—I’ve run my head into more scrapes than I’d like to own. I’m very well afloat, but ashore I wouldn’t like to have on my conscience to have charge of that young chap, d’ye see; and as for Tom Snell, he’ll speak for himself. Betty Snell kept him straight, there’s no doubt of it; but now she’s gone, poor Tom’s all adrift again, and it’s just a chance if he goes for to splice once more, what sort of a wife he’ll pick up. Therefore, says I, neither Tom nor I’m the best man to look after Billy True Blue. But, mates,” (here Tompion stopped and struck his hands together), “I does say that I thinks I knows who is a good man, a fit man, and a friend and messmate of Will Freeborn, and that man is Paul Pringle. He’s what the parsons calls a godfather, and so I take it he’s a sort of a guardian like already, and he’s had charge of the little chap ever since poor Betty and Nancy lost the number of their mess; and if Paul will take charge, and I’m sure he will, I says, ‘Let him be one of the guardians.’”

Paul rose. “Mates all,” said he, giving a hitch to his waistband, “I thanks ye. Don’t you think as long as body and soul keep together I’d look after little Billy True Blue, who was born aboard this ship, whose father and mother was my friends, and who, I may say, is just like a son to me? I know you all sees this; but, mates, I may any day slip my cable, as you and all of us may do, but still one man’s life is not so good as three, and therefore, I says, let me have his father’s friends and messmates, Peter Ogle and Abel Bush, two good men and thorough seamen, to help me; and I can say that I believe one and all of us will do our duty by the boy—we’ll not fail to do our best to make him an honest man and a true sailor.”

There were no dissentient voices to Paul’s proposal. Never was a meeting for any subject held with so much unanimity. The three godfathers’ mates were chosen as their assistant-guardians, and thus, as far as numbers could ensure care, little True Blue had every chance of being well looked after.

Chapter Five.

Captain Penrose was very well pleased when he heard of the arrangements the seamen had made with regard to little Billy. More than once, however, he spoke to Dr Macbride and some of his officers about him in whom he had most confidence.

“As you know,” he remarked, “I am now childless, and have no kith or kin depending on me; and if the boy turns out well, when old enough, I think of getting him placed on the quarterdeck. The son of many a seaman before the mast has risen to the top of his profession. My wife’s grandfather was a boatswain; my father-in-law, his son, was an Admiral and a K.C.B. He won’t have interest; but if he’s a good seaman, and is always on the watch to do his duty,—to run after it, not to let duty come to him,—he’ll get on well enough, depend on that.”

The fleet of Sir George Rodney was now divided. While he despatched a portion, under Josias Rowley, to reinforce Sir Peter Parker at Jamaica, threatened by a powerful French squadron, he sailed with the greater part of the remainder for New York. It must be remembered that the American War of Independence was then going on, and that the French had promised to aid the insurgent colonists.

The old Terrible was still on the Jamaica station; but it was understood that she would soon be sent to join the squadron off New York. She and the gallant old Thunderer, 74, which had so long braved the battle and the breeze, were together, the crews of both eagerly looking out for an enemy.

There was an enemy approaching they little dreamed of. Cape Tiburon, at the west end of the Island of Hispaniola, or San Domingo, the name by which it is now better known, had been sighted the day before, so that all knew well whereabouts they were. There was a perfect calm, and the water was as smooth as the most polished glass—not a ripple was to be seen on it; but yet it was not a plain, for huge undulations came swelling up from the southern part of the Caribbean Sea, which made the big ships roll till their lower yards almost dipped into the water.

Captain Walsingham and several of the officers of the Thunderer, taking advantage of the calm, had come on board the Terrible to visit Captain Penrose and his officers. They were a merry party; they had done their duty nobly, and they were anticipating opportunities of doing it again, not to speak of gaining prize-money and promotion.

“Walsingham, my dear fellow,” said Captain Penrose to his younger brother Captain as they were taking a turn on the quarterdeck after dinner, “I do not altogether like the look of the weather. I have, as you know, been in these seas a good deal. These perfect calms are often succeeded by sudden and violent storms, often by hurricanes; and though we may have sea-room and stout craft, in such a commotion as I have more than once witnessed, it will require all our seamanship to keep afloat.”

“No fear,” answered the younger Captain, smiling, “the Thunderer is not likely to fear the fiercest hurricane that ever blew;” and he looked with all a true seaman’s pride on the noble ship, which floated so gallantly at the distance of a few hundred fathoms.

“At all events, take an old man’s counsel,” said Captain Penrose, stopping in his walk. “I would not be so rude as unnecessarily to urge you to leave my ship; but, my dear fellow, get on board as fast as you can, and make her ready to encounter whatever may occur. If the threatenings pass off, no harm is done. I must prepare the Terrible for a gale.”

Thus urged, the younger Captain could no longer decline to take the proffered advice, but calling his officers, their boats were manned, and they returned on board the Thunderer. In the meantime, everything that could be done was done to prepare the Terrible for a fierce contest with the elements. Royal and topgallant-yards were sent down—topmasts were struck, rolling tackles were made fast to all the lower yards, and all the guns, and everything below that could move, were secured. A thin mist pervaded the atmosphere; the heat grew excessive; both sky and sea became the colour of lead; and an oppressive gloom hung over the waste of waters. Still the wind did not stir, and even the swell appeared to be going down. Hour after hour passed away.

“Our skipper is a good officer, there’s no doubt about it,” observed some of the younger men as they walked the forecastle. “But he’s sometimes overmuch on the safe side, and if a moderate breeze were to spring up, and an enemy appear in sight, she’d slip away long before we could be in a fit state to go after her.”

“You are very wise, mate, I daresay,” said Abel Bush, who heard the remark. “But just suppose the Captain is right and you wrong, how should we look if the squall caught us with all our light sticks aloft and our canvas spread? Old Harry Cane, when you meet with him in these parts, is not a chap to be trifled with, let me tell you.”

The younger seaman might have replied, but the force of Abel’s argument was considerably strengthened by a loud roaring sound which broke on their ears. Far, too, as the eye could reach, the ocean appeared torn up into a vast mass of foam, which rolled on with fearful rapidity, preceded by still higher undulations than before, which made the ship roll, and pitch, and tumble about in a way most unusual and alarming. The officers, speaking trumpet in hand, were issuing the necessary orders to try and get the ship’s head away from the coming blast; but the little wind there yet was refused to fill the head sails, and only made them beat and flap against the masts.

“I told you so, mates,” said Abel Bush as he passed Ned Marline, the young seaman who had been criticising the Captain’s arrangements; “never do you fancy that you know better than your elders till you’ve had as much experience as they.”

Paul Pringle had been watching the Thunderer. He had served on board her; he had many old shipmates now belonging to her; and he naturally took a deep interest in all concerning her.

“She’s a fine old ship, that she is!” he exclaimed as he cast a last glance at the gallant seventy-four, before turning to attend to his duty.

She was then not a quarter of a mile to leeward. Now down came the fury of the hurricane; with a roar like that of a wild beast when it springs on its prey, the tempest struck the Terrible. The headsails, which alone were set, in an instant were blown from the boltropes, and flew like fleecy clouds far away down to leeward. The helm was put up, but the ship refused to answer it. The tempest struck her on the side. The stout masts bent and quivered in spite of all the shrouds and stays which supported them, and then over she heeled, till the yardarms touched the seething ocean. Fore and aft she was covered with a mass of foam, while the waters rushed exultantly into her ports, threatening to carry her instantly to the bottom. The crew hurried to secure the ports. Many poor fellows were carried off while making the attempt. In vain Captain Penrose and his officers exerted themselves to wear the ship. Like a helpless log she lay on the foaming ocean. While still hoping to avoid the last extreme resource of cutting away the masts, the carpenter appeared on the quarterdeck with an expression of consternation on his countenance.

“What has happened below, Chips?” asked Captain Penrose.

“Twelve feet water in the hold, and rapidly gaining on us,” was the answer.

“It is probably the water which has got in through the ports; but man the pumps: we must get it out again as fast as we can,” answered the Captain.

“They’ll not work while the ship is in this position, sir,” said the carpenter.

“Oh, well, then, we must get her out of it!” cried Captain Penrose in a cheerful voice, though his heart was heavy. “All hands stand by to cut away the masts.”

The order was repeated from mouth to mouth, for no voice could have been heard along the deck. The carpenter once more went below to sound the well. He shortly returned with even a worse report than the first. The order was therefore given to cut away the masts. He sprang to his post at the mizen-mast, which was to go first; but, just as he was about to cut, the ship righted with a sudden jerk, which well-nigh sent everybody off his legs. All believed that the dreaded resource would not be required, but still the helm was useless, and therefore the ship could not be got before the wind. Not a minute had passed before she was once more struck on the opposite side with a still more furious blast of the hurricane. Over the big ship heeled to it, till first the foremast went by the head, carrying all the topmast rigging over the bows; the mainmast followed, going by the board, and the mizen-mast was quickly dragged after it, the falling masts wounding and killing many of the crew, and carrying several overboard. Not a moment, however, was lost, before, led by the officers, all were engaged with axes and knives in clearing the wreck. But now the seas leaped up furiously round the labouring ship, tossing her huge hull wildly here and there, as if she had been merely some small boat left helplessly to become their sport.

Now, for the first time, Paul Pringle and others bethought them of looking for the Thunderer. So full of salt spray was the air that they could scarcely make her out, near as she was to them; then on a sudden they saw her dark hull surrounded by the seething foam, but her stout masts were not visible. She, as they had been, was on her beam-ends. Suddenly she, too, righted; up rose the masts, in all their height and symmetry it seemed.

“She has come off scatheless!” cried one or two.

“No, no, mates!” cried Paul Pringle in a tone of anguish. “See! see! heaven have mercy on their souls!”

Down, down, sank the big hull; gradually tier after tier disappeared; the foaming waters leaped over the decks—the tall masts followed—down—down—down—and in another instant the spot where the brave old Thunderer had floated was vacant, and seven hundred human beings were hurried at once into eternity. In vain could the crew of the Terrible hope to render them assistance—the same fate at any moment might be theirs. No one had even time to mourn the loss of their countrymen and friends. Every nerve must be strained to keep their own ship afloat. Still the water rushed in.

The opinion became general that a butt had been started, (that is, the end of a plank), and that the ship must go down. Even Captain Penrose could no longer conceal from himself that such was too probably the case. He, however, and his officers exerted themselves to the utmost to maintain discipline—no easy task under such circumstances in those days, when men who had braved death over and over again in battle with the greatest coolness and intrepidity, have been known to break open the spirit stores with the object of stupefying their minds with liquor to avoid facing the king of terrors.

Fiercer and fiercer raged the hurricane, and now all hopes of saving the ship, or of preserving their own lives, were almost abandoned. Paul Pringle, with Abel Bush and Peter Ogle, were seen to be very busy. They were collecting such shattered spars and small ropes, and casks and other articles, as they could most easily lay hands on. These they quickly converted into a small but very strong raft, with a sort of bulwark all round it. In one of the casks they stowed a keg of water, and some biscuits and beef; and in another they stuffed the bedding of a hammock and some blankets; and they stepped a mast on the little raft, and secured a flag to it. The raft might, probably, have borne four or five men, but there was only sitting room for one just alongside the cask which had the bedding in it. When all was ready, Paul Pringle disappeared into the Captain’s cabin, and returned carrying in his arms Billy True Blue, followed by Sam Smatch, who had his fiddle and bow tucked under his arm.

“Now, Sam,” said Paul, pointing to the raft, “you see that. You didn’t enter to do a seaman’s duty; so you, if any one ought, may quit the ship. Now, you see, none on us knows what moment she may be going down; and so, Sam, just jump into this raft and make yourself fast, so that no sea can wash you off, and take Billy True Blue with you. Though he’s on the ship’s books, he isn’t entered to do duty; so he may quit her without any shame or disgrace, d’ye see. Bear a hand now, Sam.”

The black did as he was bid; and having secured his beloved fiddle in one of the casks, held out his arms to receive little True Blue. Paul for some instants could not bring himself to part with the child. He pressed his lips to its little mouth as a fond mother might do; and then Peter and Abel followed his example with no less signs of affection; but a cry which ascended from below, that the ship was settling down fast, hurried their proceedings.

“There, Sam, take him,” said Paul with a tone of deep feeling, giving up the child to the black. “Watch over him, Sam, for he’s a jewel, mind that. You may be driven ashore on that island out there, and as you know the lingo of the people, you may do bravely among them. Your fiddle will stand you in good stead wherever you go, and you may play them into good humour. But mind you, Sam, as soon as you can, you are to get to a British port, and to go aboard a man-of-war, and say who the boy is, and what he is, and how he’s to be brought up; and try and find out any old shipmates of mine, or Peter’s, or Abel’s, or the Captain’s—for I know he’ll join us—and say that it was our last dying message, just before the waters closed over us, that they would stand in our shoes and look after the boy. We trust you, Sam. You loves the boy. I knows you do. You’ll be faithful, lad?”

“Yes, Paul; so help me, I will,” answered Sam with much feeling, pressing his shipmate’s hand held out to him.

“Stay,” said Paul suddenly, “you shall not go alone, Sam. There’s another who loves little True Blue, and as he’s one of the youngest in the ship, no one will complain that he has a chance of his life given him. It’s Natty Garland. Has any one seen Natty Garland?”

The young midshipman was nowhere to be found. The Captain highly approved of Paul’s proposals, and men hurried off in every direction to look for the lad.

The Captain retired to his cabin to write a hasty despatch, describing the condition of his ship. He expected that it would be the last he should ever indite. “I will entrust this with the young boy,” he said to himself. “I am sure the explanations it will give will exonerate me for the loss of the ship.”

When he returned on deck, the midshipman had not been found. The Captain was about to give his despatch to Sam, when two men returned, bringing young Garland with them. They found him between two of the guns on the middle deck almost stunned from a fall. Had they not arrived when they did, he very likely would have been washed through a port and drowned. He soon recovered in the air, and was told what was proposed.

“To leave the ship while others stay?” he exclaimed. “No, no. I am an officer, and it is my duty to stick by the ship to the last.”

“Right, Garland,” said the Captain, taking his hand warmly. “But I do not propose that you should leave the ship till she will no longer float; and then I have to entrust you with a despatch, which you must deliver to the Admiral, and explain how the ship was lost.”

“I will obey your orders, sir,” cried the boy, bursting into tears; “but I would rather stick to the ship like the rest and go down in her, if go she must.”

“Maybe the ship won’t go down, though,” said Sam.

As Sam spoke, the fury of the hurricane seemed slightly to decrease. The Captain and officers again felt some hopes of saving the ship, by heaving overboard the upper deck guns which could be most easily got at. It was a desperate resource, as the ship would thus be left utterly helpless and a prey to the meanest enemy; still it was better than allowing her to go to the bottom. As she rolled, now one gun, now another, was cast loose, run out, and let slip through the ports. It was difficult work, for one gun slipping on board and getting loose might create the most desperate havoc and confusion. Several guns had been sent plunging into the ocean, when the Captain gave the order to hold fast. Suddenly, as the hurricane began, it ceased. The ship rolled and tumbled about as violently as ever, having no masts to steady her; but some minutes passed and she had not sunk lower in the water; her pumps were got to work steadily; all hands which could be spared were sent with buckets to the lower-deck to bale away; and though at first the impression they made did not appear on so large a bulk of water, it was soon evident they assisted the pumps in gaining on the leaks.

No one, with but one exception, was idle. Everybody was straining every nerve to keep the ship afloat, and to clear her of the wreck of her masts. The only exception was Sam Smatch. Not aware that the state of affairs had much improved, he sat, as ordered, on the raft, holding little True Blue, and expecting every moment to feel the ship sinking from under him.

Bravely and energetically the men laboured on. Once more the ship floated nearly at her usual level; but the continued clank of the pumps showed that it was only while they were kept going constantly that she would do so. The hurricane, with loud mutterings in the distance, died away, and the jury-masts being got up, a light wind from the eastward enabled a course to be steered for Jamaica. Paul had come and released Sam, and sent him with the child into the cabin.

“Gentlemen,” said the Captain to his officers assembled round him, “a merciful Providence has preserved our lives. Every man has done his duty; but let us not boast that it is owing to our own strength or exertions that our ship is still afloat. Our fate might have been that which I fear has overtaken the Thunderer. Alas! we shall have a sad account to give of her.” Captain Penrose surmised too truly what had happened. Neither the Thunderer nor a single man of her crew was ever heard of again.

Chapter Six.

The Terrible was with difficulty kept afloat while jury-masts were being got up, and sails were made to carry her to Jamaica. Never had her brave crew felt so unwilling to meet a foe; but, as Tom Snell, the boatswain’s mate, observed:

“What is sauce to the goose is sauce to the gander, d’ye see, mates; and the chances are that all ships afloat are likely to be pretty evenly tarred with the same brush.”

So it proved. The French suffered as severely as the English. Many vessels of each nation, both men-of-war and merchantmen, were cast away; in some cases the whole of the crew perishing, in others a few only escaping.

Little True Blue had, therefore, at a very early age, to encounter “the battle and the breeze.”

“He was just beginning to get the use of his sea-legs,” as Paul observed; and it was his great amusement and that of the boy’s other guardians, as well as of Sam Smatch, and occasionally of the other men, to teach him to employ them. They would sit on the deck in a circle, and, stretching out their arms, let him run about between them. First he began by merely crawling, and that he did at a very rapid rate; then he got up by degrees and worked his way along their legs, and in a week or two afterwards he could move about between them; but great was the delight of the honest Jacks when he discarded even this support, and toddled boldly from one to the other with a true nautical roll. What shouts of laughter—what applause was elicited at his performances! and Billy was almost smothered by their beards as they kissed him as a reward for his success. Even at this early age, Billy showed, as most children do, a strong inclination to have his own way; but, loving him heartily as they did, they had been too well disciplined themselves to allow him to have it, and no one kept him more strictly in order than did Paul Pringle himself.

Sam Smatch would have done his best to spoil him; but he got for his pains several severe pulls by the ears, boxes on the cheek, and kicks on the shins, so at last he fortunately was compelled to exert his authority and to report him to his head guardians. Billy was a noble little fellow; but he no more nearly approached perfection than does any child of Adam. Billy was destined to experience, before long, more of the ups and downs of a naval career.

It was on the 25th of August 1781, that the Terrible, forming one of Rear-Admiral Sir Samuel Hood’s squadron, arrived off the Chesapeake, and then proceeded to Sandy Hook, where they joined Rear-Admiral Graves, who, being senior officer, became commander-in-chief and sailed in quest of the enemy. Paul Pringle and the rest of the crew of the Terrible were eager once more to meet the foe.

“Here we’ve been a-cruising up and down these two years, and never once been able to get alongside them Frenchmen, to have a regular-built stand-up fight!” exclaimed Paul as he and Abel Bush and one or two others were stretching their legs on the forecastle.

“I should just like to show a Monsieur to Billy, and tell him all about them,” observed Abel. “We can’t begin too soon to teach him how he ought to feel for them. I knows well enough that we mustn’t make him hate them, because, d’ye see, they are our enemies; but we may show him how he must try and give them a sound drubbing whenever he can catch them, because that’s his duty to his country, and it’s good for them to pull down their pride, d’ye see.”

Abel’s opinion was loudly echoed by all his hearers. There soon appeared every probability of the wishes of the old Terribles being accomplished. Early on the morning of the 6th of September, the French fleet was discovered at anchor across the Chesapeake, extending in a long line from Cape Henry to the Middle Ground.

The British ships were cleared for action, and stood towards the enemy. When the French perceived them, they also got under weigh and stood to sea, their line being formed as the ships drew from under the land. It was a fine sight to see the two fleets thus approaching each other in battle array. The hearts of the British tars warmed at it—their courage rose.

“We must have Billy up and show it to him!” exclaimed Paul Pringle to Peter Ogle. “Here, boy, you just run below and tell Sam Smatch to come up with the child. The Monsieurs won’t begin to open fire yet, and it will do his heart good to see the sight—that it will.”

Sam in a short time appeared with Billy in his arms on the forecastle.

“You don’t want to keep a baby up here while de enemy is firing at us, Paul?” said Sam, with his teeth giving signs of an inclination to chatter.

“No fear, Sam,” answered Paul with a quizzical look at the black. “We’ll take care that no harm comes to you and the baby.”

He called him the baby; but little True Blue was now able to understand much that was said to him, while he could talk in a fashion of his own. Though his sentences were not very long, his friends understood well enough what he meant to say; and, judging by their shouts of laughter, it might be supposed that his remarks were witty in the extreme.

Paul now lifted him up in his arms, and pointed to the French fleet.

“See here, Billy,” said he, “look out there at the Monsieurs. You must learn to drub them some day, mind you, if we don’t do it just now. You knows what I mean?”

“Ay, ay,” answered Billy, doubling his little fists; “Billy fight en’y—fight Fen!”

The sentiment was received with the loudest applause by the crew. On the Captain inquiring what had occurred, “It’s little Billy True Blue, sir, standing up and a-swearin’ as how he’ll drub the Frenchmen,” was the answer.

Even Captain Penrose at such a moment, which must be awful to all thinking men when about to engage in deadly combat with an enemy, could not help smiling at the account, however much he might be inclined to doubt the correctness of the assertion.

“Let him get a little bigger before we try his metal,” he replied. “Take him below at once. We are nearing the enemy’s line, and shall soon have their shot come rattling aboard us.”

The day had drawn on before the two hostile fleets could approach each other; but the rear ships, from want of wind, were far astern when the Princessa, Shrewsbury, Intrepid, and Montague, leading, followed closely by the Terrible and Ajax, got into action and bore the whole fire of the van and centre of the French fleet. Right gallantly did the English tars stand to their guns; and seldom have they had more need of their boasted courage. Round-shot and chain-shot and langridge came showering thickly down upon them. The English line was to windward, and might easily have got out of the fight; but this the Captains disdained to do, though anxiously looking for the assistance of their friends. The wind more than once shifted, and each time that it did so, it enabled the French to bring more of their ships down on the English centre, especially on the Terrible. She looked like some noble monster brought to bay. Although with one opponent abeam, and two others on her bows, and another on her quarter, pouring their shot in upon her, not a man flinched from his gun. Numbers fell, killed or wounded, but their places were instantly supplied by their shipmates. Several guns were dismounted, but others were got over from the opposite side, and fought with the most determined spirit. The brave old Captain walked the quarterdeck as coolly as if no enemy was in sight, casting an eye aloft every now and then, to assure himself that the flag, which he had resolved should fly to the last, was still untouched.

Paul Pringle was one of the quartermasters at the helm. Several shipmates and friends had fallen around him. He saw the enemy’s shot striking the ship’s sides between wind and water, and he could not help feeling the very perilous position in which the old ship was placed. In spite, however, of the tumult, the death and havoc which raged around him, his thoughts turned anxiously towards his little charge down in the distant hold. “Well, if the Captain goes, and I go, and we all go who have charge of him, there is One above who will look after him and tend him better than we can,” he said more than once to himself. “Still I wish he were safe out of this. For myself, I’d as lief go down with my colours flying as strike them; but that would be hard for him, and yet the old ship seems very uneasy. Heaven watch over him and protect him!”

As Paul said this to himself, a shot came flying from the ship on the Terrible’s quarter. Suddenly Paul was torn from his hold of the wheel, and, with two other men, was seen struggling on the other side of the deck. Captain Penrose had at that moment faced aft and seen what had occurred.

“Paul Pringle gone!” he said sadly to himself. “A better seaman never died fighting for his country.”

Scarcely had the well-merited eulogium passed his lips, than, from among the mangled forms of his shipmates, and covered from head to foot with their still warm blood, up sprang Paul himself, and with a bound returned to the wheel, the spokes of which he grasped firmly, singing out with stentorian voice and a prolonged cadence, “Steady!” as he passed them rapidly round.

The man who had been ordered to take his place stopped when he saw him, with a look of amazement, uncertain whether it was his ghost or not.

“It’s myself, Jack,” said he; “but it was a near touch and go, and for some moments never did I expect to be on my legs again, let me tell you, lad.”

Still hotter and hotter grew the fight; but the firing sent down the little air that there had been, and it fell so that no more of the British ships could get up to the support of those engaged. Still the van and centre bravely supported the unequal fight. The carpenter came and reported to the Captain that he had sounded the well, and that the water was gaining rapidly on the ship.

“Man the pumps, then, Mr Chips, and try and clear her,” was the answer.

Some men were at once told off for that purpose, ill as they could be spared from the guns, and sent below.

Scarcely had they set to work when a shot came in, carrying off the heads of several of them; another shortly followed and destroyed the pumps. Mr Chips and the survivors, with some of his crew whom he collected, strenuously exerted themselves to repair the damage; but it was a long time before they could get the pumps to work.

All this time little Billy remained with Sam in the hold. Billy, it must be confessed, began to cry at the din and uproar, for he could not make out what it all meant; and the teeth of the poor black, who knew too well, began to chatter in right earnest, and his heart to quake. It was, in truth, a very trying time for Sam. He had a lantern with him, but it gave a very dim, uncertain light; and from the crashing just above his head, and the rushing sound close to his ear, he knew that the shots were finding their way in between wind and water, and that the latter element was gaining a rapid entrance into the ship. Every now and then the splinters, and occasionally also a shot, which fell through the hatchways, showed him that death was being dealt rapidly around just above him; and he dared not therefore move, as he wished to do, to the orlop-deck, into which the shot of an enemy does not often find its way. Then, again, the sound of the water washing about below his feet alarmed him. He began to anticipate the most dreadful of fates.

“De poor little Billy and I will be drowned down here in dis dark hole, and no one come to look for us. What me do? Oh dear! oh dear! Poor little Billy!”

Then he wrung his hands bitterly, while Billy stood between his knees, looking up inquiringly into his face, and wondering what made him so unhappy. Then Billy cried himself, not exactly knowing why. Then he stopped and endeavoured, as far as his knowledge of language would carry him, to ask Sam what was the matter.

“No ask, Billy—no ask,” answered Sam, shaking his head mournfully. “De old ship very ill—hear how she groan and cry!”

Indeed, the sounds which reached their ears were very appalling. The ship herself groaned and moaned as the water rushed through her, and the pent-up air made its escape, and the bulkheads creaked loudly, and then from above came the saddest shrieks and cries. They were from the cockpit, where the poor mangled fellows who had been brought below were placed under the hands of the surgeons. Besides all this, there was the unceasing roar and reverberation of the guns, shaking the ship’s sides as if they were about to fall to pieces; while there was the rattle of shot, and the crash and tearing of planks, and the rending asunder of stout timber.

In time Billy got accustomed to the sounds, and did not seem to connect them with any especial danger to himself and his friends. Not so poor Sam, who grew more and more alarmed, and not without reason; for although he was unable to ascertain how the battle itself might terminate, he saw too evidently that unless it was shortly brought to an end, and the crew were able to exert themselves in keeping her afloat, the ship would go down with all on board still fighting on her decks. Anxiously he waited. There seemed to be no cessation of firing. Then, taking Billy in his arms, he exclaimed, “Better be shot than stay and drown here!” and rushed frantically up the hatchway ladders.

“Down, Sam—down! Is the boy mad?” exclaimed several who saw him. “You’ll be having little Billy hit if you don’t take care, Sam.”

“No, Sam not mad; but de ship is sinking!” he cried out. “De ship is sinking, I say!”

These sounds very soon reached the ears of the Captain.

“Then we’ll sink with her, my boys!” he exclaimed; “for strike that glorious flag of ours while I’m alive, I will not. Fight to the last, my lads, say I; and let us show the boasting Frenchmen what they are to expect from every ship they attack before they can hope to take her.”

The officers and men who stood near echoed the sentiment, and from gun to gun along the decks it flew, till the whole ship’s company broke forth into one loud enthusiastic cheer.

Probably the Frenchmen heard it; but they continued firing with effect, till suddenly their helms were put up, and, their rigging being in far better condition than that of the English, away they stood before the wind towards the mouth of the Chesapeake; and as the shades of night were rapidly closing down on the world of waters, they were soon hid from sight. The English seamen, as they receded into obscurity, looked at the enemy with hatred and contempt. Forbidden by the Admiral to follow, and in truth unable to do so, they felt like chained mastiffs bearded in their kennels by a pack of yelping hounds, who have carried off their bones and pretty severely handled them at the same time. It must be confessed, indeed, that although the French could not claim a victory, they decidedly had the best of it in the fight, their ships having suffered much less than those of the English.

The Count de Grasse, in the Ville de Paris, commanded, and he gained his object of landing a body of troops to assist the Americans, which contributed so much to their success over Lord Cornwallis.

Once more the British ships were left alone, the enemy having, to all appearance, vanished into thin air. The reports brought from time to time to Captain Penrose were truly disheartening. With many men killed, and still greater numbers wounded, and the rest pretty well knocked up with their exertions, it was difficult work to keep the pumps going, by which alone the ship could be saved from going down. There was to be no slumber or rest for any one during all that night; and the Captain and officers could only feel thankful that a gale did not spring up, or that the enemy did not come out and have a brush with them.

When morning broke, the signal for the fleet to get more to windward and to repair damages was flying at the masthead of the flagship. The order was obeyed, and all the day was spent in plugging shot-holes, and in bending new sails or mending rent ones, and in reeving fresh running rigging. Captain Penrose, with an excusable feeling, could not bring himself to reveal the condition of the old Terrible to the Admiral.

“If we must go down, let us first get alongside the enemy, and then, yardarm to yardarm, let us both go down together, or carry her by boarding, and win a new ship for ourselves!” he exclaimed while talking the matter over with his officers.

The idea was approved of by all of them, and they all expressed a hope that the opportunity might be allowed them of carrying it into execution. As was intended, it was repeated to the men, and soon passed along the decks, all joining heartily in the wish that, they might thus have the chance of punishing the enemy.

“But what is to be done with little Billy True Blue?” inquired Sam Smatch. “He can’t board with the rest, I guess.”

“No, Sam; but we will have a bodyguard for him,” observed Peter Ogle. “When Paul Pringle comes for’ard, we’ll ax him what he says to it. When we board and drive the Frenchmen before us, the bodyguard, with Billy in the middle, must follow closely after; and then, d’ye see, we shall win a prize, take care of Billy, and lick the Frenchmen all under one.”

When Paul Pringle heard of the plan, he highly approved of it, at the same time that he put the question, “Who’s to take care of Billy, mates, and form this same bodyguard you speak of?”

Now, of course, everybody would wish to do the fighting part, and to be among the first on board the enemy’s ship. Who would form the bodyguard? That was a poser. Of course Sam Smatch would be one; but then by himself he would not be of much use, as his wooden leg might chance to stick in a hole and stop his progress. At last they agreed to refer the matter to the Captain, and to get him to tell off a body of men for that purpose.

Paul Pringle was selected to be the bearer of the message. Hat in hand, he stood before his Captain.

“What is it, Pringle?” asked the old man.

“Why, sir, please you, I be come about the business of the ship’s child, sir, Billy True Blue,” began Paul. “We hear as how we are to get alongside an enemy and to take her, and we’ve been thinking how we are to get little Billy safe aboard if the Terrible, bless her old ribs! was for to take it into her head to go down; and we thinks as how if he was to have a bodyguard, whose business was to keep round him and look after him, seeing as how Sam Smatch can’t do that same by himself, that it would be the best thing for the youngster we can arrange.”

Much more to the same effect Paul explained; and the Captain finally promised that if there was a chance of getting alongside an enemy, he would appoint some men to the duty.

“And what is more, I will place the party under command of Mr Garland,” said the Captain. “Billy is such a pet with him, that I am sure he will do his best to defend him.”

“That I know he will, sir!” exclaimed Paul. “That will just do, sir. None on ’em will fight the worse for knowing how kind you’ve been to us—that they won’t;” and honest Paul scraped his way out of the cabin.

The enemy, however, showed no inclination to give them the chance they wished for. Although Admiral Graves kept his fleet sailing up and down in front of them, they continued to leeward, without any attempt to approach. The Count de Grasse was more intent on carrying out his immediate object of effecting the safe debarkation of the troops than in sustaining the honour of his nation. He was a wise man, for by risking an action he might have been defeated and lost the attainment of both objects.

In spite of the battered condition of the Terrible, she maintained her position in the line; but she was only kept afloat by the most strenuous and unremitting exertions of her brave crew. Another night and day passed, and each hour the difficulty of keeping her afloat became more apparent. Her masts and spars, too, were much wounded, and it became a question how she would be able to weather even a moderate gale. Still the ship’s company worked on cheerfully, in hopes that they might have the chance of gaining a ship for themselves. At length the wind fell very light, and the Admiral, ordering the fleet to lay to, sent an officer on board each ship which had been engaged, to inquire into her condition and the state of the wounded. It was a trying time when the Captain of the flagship himself came on board the Terrible. Half the men were lying about between the guns, overcome with fatigue, while the remainder were working away at the pumps in a way which showed that they knew their lives depended on their exertions. He examined the ship below, and when he went on deck he cast his eye on the masts and spars. He then took Captain Penrose aside, and, after talking with him, went back to the flagship. He soon returned, and a few more words passed between him and the Captain.

Captain Penrose then appeared on the quarterdeck with a sorrowful countenance.

“Gentlemen,” said he with a voice almost choked with emotion, turning to his officers, “and you, my gallant fellows, who have served with me so long and so faithfully, I have sad news to tell you. It is the opinion of those competent to judge, that we cannot hope to keep the old ship afloat much longer. If we could put her on shore, we might save her to carry us yet longer through the ‘battle and the breeze;’ but we have only a hostile shore under our lee, with an enemy’s fleet in sight, far superior to ours, and which has lately been reinforced by five ships-of-the-line; and therefore, my friends, it has been decided that we must abandon and destroy her.”

The old man could scarcely speak for some minutes, while a general groan ran through the ship’s company. Paul Pringle turned his eyes towards the distant fleet of the enemy, and thought, “But why can’t we get alongside some of them Monsieurs and take a ship for ourselves? We’d do it—we knows we could, if the Captain would give the word.”

The men were mistaken; but the expressions to which they gave vent showed the spirit which animated them.

“Now, my lads,” continued the Captain, “the boats of the squadron will soon be alongside. Each man will have ready his bag and hammock; the officers their clothes, nautical instruments, and desks. One thing I promise you,—and that’s a satisfaction to all, I know, boys, as it is to me,—that, come what may, our stout old ship, which has carried us so long through the tempest and the fight, will never fall into the hands of our enemies.”

The last remark was received with a loud shout, which seemed, as it was intended to do, to relieve the spirits of the men.

“Well, lads,” the Captain went on, “I wish that I had nothing more painful to say; but another bad part of the business is, that I must be separated from the larger number of you who have served with me so bravely and faithfully. I am appointed to the Fame, whose Captain has been badly wounded, and will go home; and I may take with me one hundred and ten men—the rest will be distributed among the ships of the fleet short of their complement. The first lieutenant will call over the names of those selected to go with me; but, lads,—my dear lads, who are to be parted from me,—don’t suppose that I would not gladly have you also—ay, every one of you; and wherever you go, you will, I am sure, prove a credit to the ship you have served in, and the Captain you have served under.”

The Captain could not go on, and many a rough seaman passed the collar of his jacket across his eyes; and then, led by Tom Snell, they gave three thundering cheers for the Captain and officers of the dear old ship they were going to leave for ever.

In a short time the boats of the squadron came alongside. The intermediate period had been spent in getting their bags and bedding ready, and now all stood prepared for the word to step into the boats. Of course the Captain had chosen Paul Pringle; so he had Abel Bush, and Peter Ogle, and Tom Snell, and the other assistant-guardians of little Billy, while Sergeant Bolton with some of his marines were drafted into his new ship, and Sam Smatch was thrown in to the bargain.

Captain Penrose had chosen Natty Garland to be among the officers to accompany him. He had called him up before the ship was abandoned.

“Most of your messmates and friends are appointed to other ships, Garland,” he said; “I can probably get you a berth on board nearly any you may like to name, or, if you like to follow your old Captain’s fortunes, I will take you with me.”

“Oh, sir, I will go with you without a moment’s doubt!” answered the young midshipman warmly. “I am sure, wherever you are, I shall find the right sort of work to be done.”

“I trust you may, my lad,” answered the old man, smiling and putting out his hand. From that time he became a greater friend than ever of the brave boy.

The Fame now bore down to receive her new Captain and the addition to her ship’s company. Three of the Terrible’s officers accompanied their Captain; the rest were distributed among the vacancies in the fleet. There floated the old Terrible, with her well-riddled and torn sails furled, but her pendant, and ensign, and Union-Jack still flying at her peak and mastheads. She was deserted. The lieutenants, with the master-at-arms and the quartermasters, had gone round her decks to assure themselves that no human being remained in her. The shot, too, had been withdrawn from all the guns; and such things belonging to her as could be more easily removed had been carried away. Now the four lieutenants in as many boats returned. Accompanied by picked men, they went to different parts of the ship. As they walked along her silent decks, the groans and sighs which rose from below made their hearts feel sad. They descended to different parts of the hold, and, each collecting such combustible materials as they could find, set fire to them and hastily retreated. Once more they returned to the boats and pulled away for the Fame. Night was coming rapidly on. Scarcely had they reached the deck of the Fame before flames burst forth from every part of the Terrible, Brighter and fiercer they grew. Now they found their way through the hatchways and climbed up the masts and rigging; they twisted and turned along the bowsprit and out to the taffrail. Still by their glare could be seen the victorious flag of England waving proudly in the breeze.

Now, fore and aft, the old Terrible was one mass of flame,—a huge pyramid of fire,—which shed a lurid glare on the clouds above, on the surrounding water, and on the white sails and dark hulls of the ships. Suddenly there was a concussion which shook the very atmosphere, and made the ships roll and shiver as if struck with an ague. Now up in one mass of fire rose the upper deck, and masts, and spars, high into the air, where for an instant they hung suspended, and then, bursting into millions of burning fragments, down they came, scattered far and wide, hissing into the ocean. Here and there, for a few minutes, some shining flames could be seen scattered about; but they quickly disappeared, the hull itself sank, and now but a very few charred fragments remained of the fine old Terrible. A groan burst from the bosoms of the gallant tars who had lately manned her, joined in equally by her Captain; and Billy True Blue, breaking into a flood of tears, was carried still inconsolable to his hammock.

Chapter Seven.

Sir George Rodney remained, from ill health, for some time in England, and the British squadrons on the West India and American stations were engaged chiefly during that time in guarding the Island of Jamaica from the contemplated attacks of the French. Captain Penrose soon taught his new ship’s company to love and trust him as much as the old one had done. The Fame was constantly and actively engaged, and he took good care, as usual, that the weeds should not grow under her bottom.

Billy True Blue was all this time rapidly growing in size and strength, and in knowledge of affairs in general.

Time passed on. Sir George Rodney returned from England and took command of the West India fleet. The French still intended to take Jamaica, but had not, and he resolved, if some thousand brave British sailors in stout ships could prevent them, that they should not. With this object in view, he assembled all his ships at the Island of Saint Lucia, where, having provisioned and watered them, he lay ready to attack the Count de Grasse as soon as he, with his fleet, should venture forth from Fort Royal Bay, where they had been refitting.

Paul Pringle and his shipmates were as eager as ever for the battle.

“I do wish little True Blue was big enough to join in the fight—that I do, even if it were only as a powder-monkey. He’d take to it so kindly—that he would, I know,” said Peter Ogle to Paul.

“I’ve no doubt about that, Peter,” answered his shipmate. “But we’ll wait a bit. He’ll be big enough by and by, and we mustn’t let him run any risk yet. We’ll send him down below, as we used to do in the old Terrible, with Sam Smatch. Sam will have more difficulty in keeping him quiet than he had then.”

“But I wonder when we shall get at these Frenchmen?” said Abel Bush. “They seem to me just as slippery as eels. When you think you’ve got them, there they are gliding past your nose, and safe and sound at anchor under their batteries, or in some snug harbour where you can’t get at them. Well, Paul, night and morning, I do thank heaven that I wasn’t born a Frenchman—that I do.”

“Right, Abel; so do I,” said Paul. “Ah, here comes little True Blue. Now, I’ll warrant, about the whole French fleet they haven’t got such a youngster as he is—no, nor nothing like him.”

“Like him! I should think not!” cried Peter Ogle in a tone of voice which showed that the very supposition made him indignant. “No more like him than a frog is like an albatross. No, no; search the world round, I don’t care in what country, ashore or afloat, black, or brown, or white, you won’t find such another little chap for his age as Billy True Blue.”

The child, as he walked along the deck with a slight roll, which he had learned as soon as he put his feet to the planks, seemed well deserving of the eulogium passed on him. He was a noble child, with a broad chest and shoulders, a fair complexion, though somewhat bronzed already, and a large, laughing blue eye, with a good honest, wide mouth, and teeth which showed that he could give a good account of the beef and biscuit which he put into it.

“Sam says I no big enough to fight de French,” said Billy, pouting his lips, as he came up to his old friends, followed closely by the black. “I put match to gun—fire—bang. Why no I fight?”

“Huzza, Billy!” cried Peter Ogle. “That’s the spirit. You’d stand to your gun as well as the best of us, I know you would. But we can’t let you just yet, boy. Make haste and grow big, and then if there are any Frenchmen left to fight, with any ships to fight in, you shall fight them, boy.”

This promise did not seem at all to satisfy Billy. He evidently understood that the ship was likely to go into action; and though it was a long time since he had been sent into the hold with Sam, he had a dim recollection of the horrors of the place, and fancied that he would much rather be with his friends on deck. Of course Sam was ordered to take charge of the little boy, as before.

The British had not long to wait for the expected meeting with the enemy. At daylight on the 8th of April 1782, the Andromache frigate, commanded by Captain Byron, appeared off Gros Islet Bay, with the signal flying that the enemy’s fleet, with a large convoy, was coming out of Fort Royal Bay and standing to the north-west. Instantly Sir George Rodney made the signal to weigh, and by noon the whole fleet was clear of the bay. The Admiral stretched over to Fort Royal, but finding none of the French ships there, or at Saint Pierre’s, he made the signal for a general chase. Night came on, but still a sharp lookout was kept ahead.

Paul Pringle and Abel Bush walked the forecastle, where the second lieutenant of the ship was stationed with his night-glass. The Fame was one of the leading ships. It was the middle watch. Paul put his hand on Abel’s shoulder. “Look out now there, mate; what do you see now?”

“Ten, fifteen, twenty lights at least. Huzza! That’s the enemy’s fleet. We shall be up to them in the morning.”

The lieutenant was of the same opinion, and went to make his report to the Captain. The men now clustered thickly on the forecastle to watch the Jack o’ Lantern-looking lights, which they hoped proceeded from the ships with which they expected in the morning to contend. As the mists of night cleared away on the morning of the 9th, the French were discovered in the passage between Dominique and Guadaloupe. A signal was seen flying, too, at the masthead of Sir George Rodney’s ship, to prepare for battle and to form the line. The French convoy was made out under Dominique, but the ships of war appeared forming their line to windward and standing over to Guadaloupe.

Unfortunately, however, the British fleet got becalmed for some time under the high lands of Dominique, and unable to get into their stations. The instant, however, that the welcome breeze at length reached the van division under Sir Samuel Hood, he stood in in gallant style and closed with the enemy’s centre. By noon the action had commenced in earnest, and was maintained by this division alone for upwards of an hour without any support from the rest of the squadron, the gallant Barfleur being for most of the time hotly engaged with three ships firing their broadsides at her. At length the leading ships of the centre got the breeze, and were able to come to the support of the van. Many of the French ships even fought well and gallantly, but, in spite of their superiority in numbers, were very roughly handled. In consequence of this, when the Count de Grasse saw the rear of the British fleet coming fast up, having the weather-gage, he hauled his wind and withdrew out of shot. Two of the French ships were, however, so much cut up in hull and rigging that they were compelled to leave the fleet and put into Guadaloupe.

Nothing could exceed the disappointment and rage of the British seamen at this proceeding. They had made sure of victory, and now to have the enemy run away and leave them in the lurch was provoking beyond all bearing.

Several British ships had suffered—the Royal and the Montague, and the Alfred especially, Captain Bayne, who commanded her, being killed. Still the crews entreated that they might not be sent into port, and, with the true spirit of British seamen, undertook to repair damages at sea, in which request they were seconded by their officers. For two days they were at work without cessation, making sail, however, whenever they could, and beating to windward in the direction the French fleet had gone.

The enemy were carrying all the sail they could press on their ships; and by the evening of the 10th they had weathered the Saintes, a group of rocks and islets between Dominique and Guadaloupe, and were nearly hull down.

Towards noon of next day the officers were seen to have their glasses more frequently and intently fixed on them; and by degrees, while the main body grew less and less distinct in the blue haze of the tropics, two ships, with their topmasts down, were perceived standing out in bold relief, and therefore known to be considerably to leeward of the rest, and much nearer the British. The breeze since the morning had been increasing to a fresh and steady gale.

With unbounded satisfaction the seamen saw the signal thrown out from the flagship for a general chase. The gallant Agamemnon, now beginning to earn her well-merited renown, with the noble Fame, and other ships forming Admiral Drake’s division, were ahead of the rest of the fleet. Crowding all sail with eager haste, they dashed on to secure their hoped-for prey. They saw the disabled Frenchmen making signals, calling their countrymen to their relief.

It was a period of intense anxiety; for the doubt was whether the Count de Grasse would abandon his ships to their fate or bear down to their relief, and thus lessen the distance between the enemy and himself. Eagerly they were watched. There remained no doubt that the English would cut off the two disabled Frenchmen, when gradually the bows of the distant ships of the enemy were seen to come round, and the Count de Grasse, adopting the nobler course, came bearing down under a press of sail to attempt the rescue of his friends.

“Now, gentlemen, we shall have them!” exclaimed Captain Penrose in a cheerful voice as he walked the quarterdeck with some of his officers. “Before this time to-morrow we shall have fought an action which will, I trust, be for ever celebrated in the annals of English history.”

Down came the Frenchmen in gallant style, faster than they expected; and the more experienced saw, from the scattered positions of the British ships, that the result of an action at that moment would have been very doubtful. Intense, however, was the disappointment of the greater number, when, towards evening, the leading ships of the two fleets being not a mile apart, they saw the signal of recall made.

Captain Penrose smiled at the impatience of his officers and men.

“I know Rodney pretty well by this time,” he remarked. “He is as eager for the fight as any of us, but he is no less anxious for the victory, and knows that will best be obtained by forming a compact line. See! what do those signals he is now making mean?”

“To form the line of battle,” answered the signal-officer.

“All right, master. Place us as soon as possible in our proper position,” said the Captain. “What’s that signal now?”

“Ships to work to windward under all sail,” was the answer.

It soon became too dark to make out any further signals, so the fleet continued, as last directed, to beat up in the direction of the enemy all night. When dawn broke on the 12th, a French ship of the line was discovered in a disabled condition, towed by a frigate, a considerable distance to leeward of the main body of the French fleet.

Directly a signal could be seen, Admiral Rodney made one for the four leading ships of the fleet to chase, in order to capture the two Frenchmen. It was the same drama enacted as on the previous day. It would have been a stain on the white lilies of France had the Count de Grasse allowed his two ships to be captured; and therefore, once more, to the great delight of the British, he bore up with his whole fleet for their protection.

There seemed no longer a possibility of a general action being avoided. The signal was made, ordering the British ships to their stations, and a close line ahead was formed on the starboard tack, the enemy being on the larboard. Rear-Admiral Drake, in the Princessa, 70 guns, commanded the Blue Division; the van, which was led by the noble Marlborough, followed closely by the Arrogant, Conqueror, Fame, Russell, Norwich, and other ships, which, with their brave Captains, were destined to become famous in story.

At half-past seven in the morning, Rear-Admiral Drake’s division, which led, got within range of the long-sought-for enemy, and soon from van to rear the British ships were sending forth their terrific broadsides. The French replied boldly; and now the two hostile fleets were wrapped in flames and smoke, while round-shot and missiles of all descriptions were passing between one and the other. Both appeared to be suffering alike, and many a brave seaman was laid low. The Fame had got early into action, and gallantly taken up her position opposite an opponent worthy of her. Her brave old Captain walked the quarterdeck, calm as usual, watching with eagle eye the progress of the engagement, and waiting for any opportunity to alter to advantage the position of his ship.

It was just such a fight as Paul Pringle and the crew generally had long wished for; and fierce and bloody enough it was, too. Of course little Billy was down below, as secure from harm as his friends could make him. Few of those present had ever been in a hotter or better contested fight. The officers, at all events, knew how much depended on the result—the safety, probably, of all the British possessions in the West Indies. All the seamen thought of was, how they best could thrash the Frenchmen; and they knew that all they had to do was to stick to their guns and blaze away till they were ordered to stop. Towards noon the wind shifted, and enabled the British fleet to fetch to windward of the enemy.

“See what that gallant fellow Gardner is about with the Duke,” observed Captain Penrose to the master, who was near him.

Putting the Duke’s helm up, he was standing down under all sail in a bold attempt to break the enemy’s line. There was a groan of disappointment given by all who saw him when his maintopmast fell over his side, and, unable to keep his position, he dropped to leeward.

Sir George Rodney in the Formidable, however, supported by the Namur and Canada, was more successful. Keeping up a terrific fire, he dashed through the French line about three ships off from the Ville de Paris, followed by all those in his rear; then, immediately wearing, he doubled on the enemy again, pouring in on them his crashing broadsides. By this bold manoeuvre the French line was broken and thrown into the utmost confusion: their van bore away and endeavoured to reform to leeward; but, too hotly pressed by the British ships, there seemed little probability of their accomplishing this.

Still the Frenchmen, though evidently losing the day, fought with the most desperate courage and resolution. For a short time, while still the battle was raging between many ships, the crew of the Fame ceased firing; for one opponent had sheered off whom they were unable to follow, and another was approaching. Whether the cessation of the roar of the guns made Sam Smatch careless, is uncertain; but just as a ninety-gun ship was bearing down on the gallant Fame, who should appear on the quarterdeck but little Billy True Blue! At that moment the Frenchmen let fly a crashing broadside, speedily returned by the crew of the Fame. Round-shot and bullets were flying about like hail, blocks and yards and splinters were rattling down from aloft, and blood and brains and mangled limbs were being scattered here and there. Unharmed and undaunted, the little fellow stood amid the wild uproar and the havoc and destruction and the scenes of horror taking place on every side.

The Captain at length turned round and saw the child standing near him.

“Oh, go below, boy! go below! You may be hurt, my child!” he exclaimed in a voice of the deepest concern. He turned to young Garland, who was near him, repeating, “Take him below instantly out of harm’s way.”

Billy had never disobeyed the Captain’s commands before; but he struggled violently in the midshipman’s arms and cried out, “No, no! Billy stay on deck and fight French!”

The fine old Captain was raising his hand as a sign that he must be obeyed, when he was seen to stagger. Nat Garland let go the child and ran to catch him; but before he could get up, he had sunk on the deck, just raising himself on one arm; but that slowly gave way, and he lay still on the deck.

Billy True Blue flew up to him with a cry of grief.

“Oh, Captain, Captain, what is the matter?” he exclaimed. Young Garland and those who stood near with deep grief thought that their gallant chief was dead.

“Captain, Captain, do speak—tell Billy what is the matter?” said the child.

At length the old man opened his eyes and smiled as he saw that innocent infantine face looking down upon him.

“Alfred—Edgar,” he whispered slowly. “Yes, dears, I know you; but I am going—going to another world of peace and quiet, where we shall all meet. I have had a rough life away from you; but duty, dears, duty kept me from home—always follow duty wherever it leads.”

Billy could not make out what the Captain was talking about, and others thought that he was speaking to him. In a little time he came more to himself, and they were about to take him below, but he insisted on being left on deck.

“I am shot through and through,” he said. “I will breathe the open air and see how the fight goes as long as I live. But take that little boy below out of danger.”

Soon after he had spoken, he again became partly delirious, and Billy shrieked and struggled so violently that the midshipman, who had a fellow-feeling for him, again set him down, and he ran back to his dying friend.

Captain Penrose now cried out for something to drink; but when it was brought, he would take it from no hands but those of Billy. Unconscious or regardless of the danger which surrounded him, the child sat himself down composedly on the deck, and continued to moisten the lips of the old man. Now a loud, true British hurrah ran along the decks of the Fame. Another English ship was coming up, and the crew of their opponent, unwilling to encounter the fire of a fresh antagonist, were hauling down her colours. The Captain raised himself up on one arm, and his eye fell on the white flag of France coming down from the masthead of the enemy.

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” he feebly exclaimed.

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Billy in a shrill tone, waving his little hat. Then the fine old seaman fell back, and when they got up to him he had ceased to breathe.

Hitherto Sir Samuel Hood’s division had been becalmed, but now getting the breeze, it came up in gallant style to take part in the action. Still many of the French crews fought on with the most heroic bravery. The Glorieux especially, commanded by the Vicomte D’Escar, made a most noble defence. Her masts and bowsprits were shot away by the board, but her colours were not struck till all her consorts were taken or put to flight. Her brave commander fell in the action. Monsieur de Marigny in the Caesar displayed equal bravery. Having sustained the fire of several ships, he was, when almost a wreck, closely and vigorously attacked by the Centaur. His colours, it appeared, were nailed to the mast; and though his men were falling thickly around him, and he himself mortally wounded, he would not yield.

At length, several other British ships coming up, one of the French officers cried out that the ship had surrendered, and at that moment her brave Captain was said to have breathed his last. No sooner did the Caesar surrender than her masts fell over the side. The Ardent, which was in the midst of the British fleet, struck to the Belliqueux, an English ship with a French name, and the Hector, 74, to the Canada, 74, commanded by Captain Cornwallis. He, however, left his prize to be taken possession of by the Alcide, and made sail after the French Admiral in the Ville de Paris, who, with his seconds, was endeavouring to rejoin his scattered and flying ships.

Boldly the brave Cornwallis approached the huge Ville de Paris, and right gallantly opened his fire; and so ably did he hang on her, and cut up her sails and rigging, some other ships coming up to his support, that it was impossible for her to escape. Still the Comte de Grasse, although his fine ship was almost cut to pieces and multitudes of her crew killed, seemed determined rather to sink than to yield to any ship under that of an Admiral’s flag. At length Sir Samuel Hood came up in the Barfleur, and poured in a tremendous broadside. Even then the gallant Frenchman held out, firing away from both sides of his ship on his numerous opponents for a quarter of an hour longer; when at length, seeing that all his own ships had deserted him, and that night was coming on, just as the sun set he hauled down his flag.

The enemy’s fleet continued going off before the wind in small detached squadrons and single ships under all the sail they could crowd, closely pursued by the British ships, which were consequently much dispersed.

Sir George Rodney, on seeing this, made the signal to bring to, in order to collect his fleet and secure the prizes. The signal was seen from many of the ships, and obeyed; but Commodore Affleck, in the Bedford, with other ships which were ahead, not observing it, continued the chase, keeping up a hot fire on the flying enemy.

“Well, mates!” exclaimed Paul Pringle, as that evening, with little Billy on his knee, he sat at the mess-table between the guns which had been so well served, and had served their country so well, “we’ve had a great loss, for we have lost as brave a captain, and as true a man, as ever stepped aboard of a man-of-war; yet, mates, he died as he would have wished, in the hour of victory; and then, just think on’t, we’ve had as glorious a day as I’d ever wish to see. Maybe few of us will ever live to see another such. But, mates, there’s another thing we have to be grateful for—that is, that our little Billy here has escaped the Frenchmen’s shot. What should we have done if he had been killed? It would have broken my heart, I know.”

“Grappled with the first Frenchman we could have met, and blown her and ourselves up together—that’s what I’d have been inclined to do!” cried Tom Snell, who was generally an advocate for desperate measures. “But how was it the little fellow got away from Sam? How was it, Billy?”

“I ran up, and leave Sam down dere,” answered Billy.

“Has anybody seen Sam since then?” asked Abel Bush.

On comparing notes, it was discovered that no one had seen the black since the commencement of the battle. It was agreed, therefore, that instant search should be made for him. Paul having procured a lantern from the master-at-arms, the messmates went below with Billy. They reached the spot where the child said he had left him, but no Sam was there. They shouted his name through the hold, but no reply was made. They hunted about in every direction.

“He must have gone on deck and stowed himself away somewhere,” observed Paul Pringle.

Just then Abel Bush said he heard a groan. Going towards the spot, there, coiled up, not far from one of the hatchways, was poor Sam. After calling to him several times and shaking him, he lifted up his head.

“Who dere? Oh dear, oh dear! What de matter?” he moaned out.

“How was it you let little Billy True Blue run away and nearly get killed, Sam?” asked Paul.

“Billy killed! Oh dear, oh dear! Den kill me!” cried poor Sam, trembling all over.

“But he isn’t killed, and we don’t want to kill you,” answered Paul. “Get up, though, or we shall fancy you’re in a fright or drunk.”

“But I can’t get up—’deed I can’t!” cried Sam. “Leg shot away. I no walkee.”

On hearing this, Paul and his companions lifted up the poor black, and sure enough a leg, but it was his wooden one, was shattered to fragments, and the stump to which it was secured considerably bruised. It then came out that Sam had really attempted to follow little True Blue when he ran on deck, but that, just as he was getting up the hatchway on the lower-deck, a shot had come through a port, and, striking his wooden leg, had tumbled him down again, when by some means or other he had rolled down into the hold, and there, suffering from pain and fear, he had ever since lain, unwilling and unable to rise, dreading lest harm should happen to his little charge, and fearing not a little, should such have been the case, the consequences to himself. He was half starved, too, for he had had nothing to eat all day, and was altogether in a very wretched plight. When, however, he was brought on deck, with some food put into his inside and the assistance of the carpenter, he was once more set on his legs. Many a day, however, passed before the sound of his once merry fiddle was heard on the forecastle of the Fame, for the crew loved their gallant commander too well to allow them to foot it as had been their constant custom during his lifetime.

Little rest had the crews of any of the ships that night after the battle. Not far from the Fame lay the Caesar, which had been so gallantly defended, now a prize to the Centaur. One of the lieutenants of the Centaur, with the boatswain and fifty of her men, were on board the prize, fully four hundred Frenchmen not having yet been removed.

Suddenly flames were seen to burst forth from the lower ports of the Caesar. How the fire originated no one could tell. In vain must have been the efforts of those on board to extinguish it. Boats put off from all the ships near to rescue the unfortunate people on board; but before they could reach her the fire had entered her magazine, and with a dreadful explosion she blew up, hurling every one on board to destruction. The English lieutenant and boatswain, with fifty men, and the four hundred Frenchmen remaining on board, all perished.

For this most important and gallant victory Sir George Rodney was created a peer of Great Britain, Sir Samuel Hood a peer of Ireland, and Admiral Drake and Commodore Affleck baronets of the United Kingdom.

Chapter Eight.

Among the ships forming the squadron under Admiral Graves, ordered to proceed to England, was the Hector, 74, captured from the French in the glorious battle of the 12th of April 1782. Captain Bouchier, who had commanded the Zebra sloop, had been appointed to her to take her home; and although her complement had been filled up chiefly by invalids, and French and American prisoners, who had volunteered to serve in her, it was necessary also to have a certain number of prime seamen on board. These were drafted from several ships, and, to the no small satisfaction of Paul Pringle, he with Abel Bush, Peter Ogle, and Tom Snell were taken from the Fame.

As the Fame had already a fiddler, and the Hector had none, they got leave for Sam Smatch to accompany them.

Paul was anxious to let Billy live a little more on shore than he had hitherto done. “D’ye see, Abel,” he observed to his chum, “it’s time, to my mind, that he should begin to get his ribs lined with true honest English beef, and sniff up some of the old country’s fresh sharp air, and learn to slide and play snowballs, which he can’t do out in these hot outlandish parts; for if he don’t, he’ll not be growing into the stout chap we wants him to be. You mind when we was little, how we used to tumble and roll about in the snow?”

“’Deed I do, mate,” answered Abel. “There’s nothing like a roll in the snow and a mouthful of good air to put strength into a fellow’s back; besides, to my mind, Billy ought to be ashore a little to learn the ways and manners of people there—not but what I thinks our ways afloat are better, or just as good; but, d’ye see, as some day or other I suppose he will have to go on shore for a spell, he’d be just like a fish out of water if he has never been before—not know what to do with hisself any more than a bear in a china shop, or a ploughman aboard a ship.”

At length, on the 15th of August, Admiral Graves, in the Ramillies, 74, with his convoy of merchantmen and prizes captured from the French, sailed for England.

The fleet continued its course without any occurrence worthy of note till the night of the 22nd of August, when Captain Bouchier, from the bad sailing qualities of the Hector, and from her comparatively small crew, unable to make or shorten sail as rapidly as was necessary, found that she was dropping astern. She was an old ship; when captured, many of her guns had been removed at Jamaica, fifty-two only remaining; and her masts had been replaced by others of smaller dimensions, while her crew, all mustered, amounted only to three hundred men.

“I didn’t think things were so bad,” observed Paul to Abel after they had been on board a few days. “Howsomever, Abel, we’ll do our duty and trust in Providence.”

The weather became very threatening, and soon very bad after they parted from the fleet; and the officers, as they went about their duty, could scarcely conceal their anxiety as to what might be the fate of the ship, should matters, as appeared too probable, grow worse than they were.

The Admiral’s ship must be followed for a short time. On the 8th of September, the Caton, 64, and Pallas, frigate, sprung dangerous leaks. The Admiral, consequently ordered them to bear away for Halifax.

On the 16th, when the fleet was in latitude 42 degrees 15 minutes north and longitude 48 degrees 15 minutes west, the weather gave signs of changing, and a violent gale from the east-south-east sprung up and increased towards night. The crews of the ships did all that seamen could do under such circumstances; sails were furled or closely reefed, topmasts were struck, and everything secured to meet the rising tempest. Still it blew harder and harder, and the sea increased and ran mountains high, so that all knew, should one ship be driven against another, most probably both would go down together. With unabated fury it continued all night till three o’clock in the morning, when for a moment there was a lull, and many thought that the tempest was over; but sadly were they deceived. With a roar of thunder, down came the wind upon them in a terrific hurricane; and on board the ill-fated squadron the crashing of masts and spars told of the sad havoc it was committing, while numbers of the merchantmen were thrown on their beam-ends at the same instant, never to rise again.

The Ramillies had been carrying her mainsail, when, the squall striking her, she was taken aback, and before the clew-garnets could be manned and the sail clewed up, the mainmast went overboard, carrying with it in its fall the mizen-mast, the fore-topmast and foreyard; the tiller broke off at the head, and then in an instant the noble ship lay a helpless wreck on the tossing ocean. The carpenter sounded the well, and it was found that a leak had been sprung, and that there were six feet of water in the hold. The chain-pumps were manned; but great was the dismay when it was found that they were choked and would not work.

When the day broke, indescribable was the scene of horror and distress which the light disclosed. Nearly all the ships of war were dismasted and otherwise disabled. Many of the convoy had suffered in the same way, and others had actually foundered, while the tumultuous sea around was dotted thickly with wrecks. Numbers of unhappy beings, both men and women, were seen either lashed or clinging to them, or to shattered masts or spars, while the utter impossibility of lowering a boat in such a sea rendered their situation still more piteous. In vain they shrieked—in vain they waved for assistance. One by one they were torn from their holds, and, hopelessly struggling, sunk amid the waves. Some of the ships less disabled managed to steer near a few of the wrecks; and by means of ropes hove to them, a small number were thus saved, but small indeed compared to the many who were imploring assistance; and gradually the ships drove on before the gale, and they were left to their miserable fate.

Very soon all the ships of war parted company, and the Ramillies was left with a few merchantmen only around her. Her crew were exerting themselves to the utmost to save her. Some of her guns and her heavy stores were, during the course of the day, thrown overboard, in the hopes of easing her; but she still laboured violently, and the pumps could not be cleared. Two more anxious days passed, and, in spite of all their efforts, the leak increased till there were ten feet of water in the hold. The Admiral now began to despair of saving the ship. Happily the gale had abated, so he made a signal to the merchantmen still in his company to come down to his assistance, and to take on board his crew. Their boats thickly surrounded his flagship, and by four o’clock in the afternoon all the ship’s company of the Ramillies were distributed among them. She had by this time fifteen feet of water in her hold.

The last sad act of the drama was to be performed. By the directions of the Admiral, her commander, Captain Moriarty, set her on fire fore and aft, and then, with his boat’s crew, pulled on board the merchantman prepared to receive him. In a few minutes the fine old ship with a loud explosion blew up, and the merchantmen she had been convoying sailed on their way.

On the 4th of October, the Canada, 74, Captain Cornwallis, reached Spithead, and brought accounts of the hurricane and its dreadful effects. In vain those who had friends on board that large fleet waited to hear tidings of them. The Admiral and his scattered crew arrived, but no other man-of-war of all the number ever reached the shores of Old England.

After the Hector parted company from the fleet, she continued on her solitary voyage. Her leaky condition made it necessary to keep her pumps constantly going, a task which her weakened crew were ill able to perform. Had it not been for Paul Pringle and his shipmates from the Fame, the greater number would soon have flinched from the work.

Sam Smatch, too, aided not a little, and his fiddle was in constant requisition to keep up their spirits. When not engaged in playing for the amusement of the men, he employed himself in fiddling to little True Blue, whom Tom Snell had lately undertaken to instruct in dancing a hornpipe. No more apt scholar was ever found.

“Anybody would know that he was a true sailor’s son by the way the little chap handles his feet!” exclaimed Tom with delight as he and his old shipmates stood round, with intense admiration depicted on their countenances, while Billy was performing in public for the first time. “Watch now there his double shuffle—how he slips his little feet about just as if they were on ice!—and hear what a crack he gives his fingers. It won’t be long before he’ll take the shine out of many a big fellow who fancies that he hasn’t got an equal.”

Similar remarks of approbation continued to be showered down on Billy, who certainly entered into the spirit of the dance with all the zest that his patrons could desire, while Sam Smatch fiddled away and grinned from ear to ear with delight.

They were thus engaged when, on the afternoon of the 24th of September, a cry was heard from the masthead that two sail were in sight. In a short time it was ascertained that the strangers were standing towards the Hector. Whether, however, they were friends or foes, she was not in a condition to avoid them. On they came, and towards evening it was seen that they were French frigates, of forty guns each. Captain Bouchier addressed his people, urging them to stand boldly to their guns, and promising them to fight the ship to the last. Paul Pringle backed the Captain with all his influence among the men; but his heart was very sad, for he felt that, from the great superiority of the enemy, they would very likely come off victorious; and if so, little Billy True Blue might be carried to France and brought up as a Frenchman. Such an idea had always been a horror to him, and the too great probability that it might now be realised made his heart sink lower than it had ever done before.

The only alternative seemed to be that of going down with their flag still flying; but the safety of little Billy, who would be involved in the catastrophe, made that too terrible to contemplate. So Paul talked to Abel, and Tom, and Peter, and his other friends, and they went round among the men and urged them to stand boldly to their guns, to blaze away as fast as they could, and to try and beat off the Frenchmen. Night came on before the enemy got up to them, and for some time the two frigates were seen hovering just beyond range of their guns, as if uncertain whether or not to attack them.

Of course Billy, in spite of his entreaties to be allowed to remain on deck, was sent below with Sam, who received the strictest charge under no pretence to allow him to escape. An hour or more passed, and then, through the thick gloom of night, the two strangers were seen drawing near. As they ranged up, after passing her quarters and pouring in a heavy fire, the Hector opened her broadsides in return. Now they sailed by, and first one and then the other crossed her bows, raking her as they did so. Broadside after broadside was poured into her. Many of her brave crew were struck down, some never to rise again. Still Captain Bouchier, ably seconded by Captain O’Brien Drury, who was on his passage to England, continued to defend the ship, though, from want of hands, a complete broadside could never be fired.

Still the few strong, able-bodied seamen made up in activity in a great measure for the paucity of their numbers, and for the weakness of the rest. Paul, Abel, Tom, and Peter, and the rest literally flew about the decks, and handled the guns as if they were quakers made of wood and not of heavy metal.

The officers laboured like the men; their example encouraged the sick and wounded, who slid out of their hammocks and seized the gun-tackles, hauling at them with an energy which no one would have supposed they possessed. Even the Americans and French, in the excitement of the moment, seemed to forget that they were helping their late enemies, and laboured like the rest, in spite of the showers of shot which came crashing in on them. Still, exert themselves as they would, they knew that the Frenchmen must have been aware, from their mode of firing, that they were short of guns, because, having approached while it was yet day, they had seen by her size that she was a seventy-four-gun ship.

The Captain and master stood by the helm, and frequently had to call the men from the guns to trim sails, in order to alter the position of the ship, and to avoid being raked by the French frigates, who, nimble in their movements, again and again attempted to cross her bows and stern. Frequently they succeeded, and their shot came tearing along her decks, and ripping them up fore and aft, wounding the beams and knocking some completely away. Still the British would not give in. Had there been more men on board the Hector, the slaughter would have been much greater. As it was, numbers were falling on every deck.

At length the discouraging cry arose that the Captain was desperately wounded. At that moment his voice was heard exclaiming, loud above the din of battle, “Never fear, my lads; my heart is unhurt, and that still beats for you!”

Just then the first lieutenant was standing not far from Paul Pringle when a shot struck him to the deck. Paul stooped to raise him.

“Let me remain here, my lads,” he said in a low voice. “It’s all over with me; but stick to your guns. Tell the men never to give in.”

These were his last words, for his life was ebbing fast away. Now it was known that Captain Drury had taken command, and once more the courage of the crew, which had begun to sink at the loss of their two principal officers, revived as before. The Frenchmen must have been severe sufferers by the fire of the Hector, and must have felt the apparent hopelessness of compelling her to strike.

Suddenly there was a cry that the French frigates were ranging up alongside, with the evident intention of boarding. Their decks had been seen crowded with men, and there could be no doubt that they had troops on board.

“Boarders, prepare to receive boarders!” shouted Captain Drury through his speaking trumpet. Of course the most active and best men had been told off for the service. Crash came the two ships of the enemy, one on each quarter. Paul Pringle, with Abel Bush, were among the leading men of the party, headed by the second lieutenant, while several of their old shipmates were with them. The instant the Frenchmen’s bows touched the Hector’s sides, numbers of the enemy came swarming on board on the upper deck and through the ports on the main deck. Paul and Abel and their companions rushed aft, with cutlass in hand, to repel the Frenchmen who were attacking on the starboard side. Pistols were flashing, bullets whizzing, and swords were clashing, while a hot fire of musketry was kept up from the enemy’s poops, and the great guns which could be brought to bear were playing away without cessation. There seemed, indeed, every probability that numbers would gain the day. Paul began to think so likewise. Still, amid the desperate fight, one idea was uppermost in his mind. It was about little True Blue. It was the dread, if the enemy gained the day, that he would be turned into a little frog-eating Frenchman.

“Remember our own little True Blue, mates!” he shouted. “Whatever we do, don’t let the Crapauds have him. Huzza for our Billy! Huzza for little True Blue!” and he and his old shipmates, making a fresh and still more desperate onset against the enemy, cut them down right and left, and drove them back with prodigious slaughter, some on board the frigate and some into the water, where many sank to rise no more. Just then, either from accident or design, the frigate on that side sheered off; but the Frenchmen who had attacked on the larboard side had already gained a footing on the Hector’s deck. Every inch of it was, however, being hotly disputed; and now Paul and his companions, with their newly-invented battle cry, rushed over on that side to the assistance of their shipmates. Their coming turned the tide of the fight. “Huzza for Billy True Blue! Huzza for our Billy!” shouted Paul, and Abel, and Tom, and Peter. Step by step, as they had advanced, only at a much greater speed, the Frenchmen were driven back,—though numbers never got back, being cut down as they stood,—till at last the rest, with desperate springs, endeavoured to regain their ship. Very few accomplished their intention, for most of them shared the fate of their friends in the other ship.

Many, indeed, had no friendly plank to step on, for the frigate fell away and left them deserted on the Hector’s decks. No one thought of asking for quarter, and in the heat of that desperate fight no quarter was given. The instant the ship was free of her opponents, the crew flew back to their guns and began to blaze away with as much energy as before. Now the old seventy-four’s yards and blocks, and rigging, came rattling down from aloft; her sails hung in tatters, and the water rushing in told of numerous shot-holes between wind and water, while scarcely a brace or a sheet remained to enable her to alter her position. Once again the Frenchmen ranged up alongside. Again the cry was heard, “Boarders, repel boarders!”

As before, two parties of seamen, and a few of the invalid soldiers and others, rushed to repel them. Neither party could tell how far success was attending the exertions of their friends. Paul’s was very nearly overpowered; but again Billy True Blue’s name was shouted to the rescue, and, with as much slaughter as before, the Frenchmen were driven back to their ships. On the larboard side the fight was even more obstinate; but British pluck gained the day, and tumbled most of the Frenchmen into the sea.

Again the Frenchmen drew off and opened their broadsides. Dawn was now breaking, and what a scene of wreck and havoc did the pure fresh light disclose! Captain Drury gazed with grief at the state of the ship, for he knew that the increasing light would exhibit it to the enemy and encourage them in persisting in the attack. Still he resolved to make them pay dear for their victory, if they were to gain it; and calling on the half-fainting crew to persevere to the last, he ordered them to pour their broadsides into the enemy, who were just then passing them abeam. The men with alacrity obeyed, and cheers, though often faint and feeble, from nearly dying men ran along the decks, and showed the enemy that the true British courage of the Hector’s crew was still unabated. Again another broadside was loaded, and they were preparing to pour it in on the enemy, when what was their surprise to see both the frigates make all sail and stand away to the westward! Some parting shots and some hearty cheers were sent after them; and then numbers of the brave crew sank down exhausted on the decks, slippery with the gore of their shipmates.

Even Paul Pringle began to tremble like a child, and could scarcely drag his legs after him as he went below to assure himself of the safety of little Billy. Stout-hearted as he was, he could not help shuddering at the scenes of horror which met him on every side—at the shattered condition of the ship, and the shrieks and groans of the wounded, now in the hands of the surgeons. Many poor fellows lay about, too, apparently unhurt, but expiring through fatigue. Still, nothing stopped him till he reached the hold.

The water was finding its way down there from the shot-holes above, and all was dark and gloomy. He groped his way on, shouting out for Sam and Billy. At length little True Blue’s voice was heard.

“Here I, Billy; but Sam no let me come.”

“Yes, Billy, you go now—you go now,” said Sam in reply. When Paul got up to them, he found by the dim light of the lantern which Sam had that he had made the child fast to a stanchion, evidently for fear of his again running away, and he was now busily engaged in casting him loose.

As soon as little Billy was free, he rushed up to Paul, who look him in his arms and hugged him and kissed him, as a fond mother would have done, while the child burst into tears, exclaiming:

“Billy so—so berry glad Paul not hurt. How Abel? how Peter? how Tom?”

“Not one of them hit, my boy, I believe,” answered Paul, giving him another hug. “You’ve been thinking on us, then, have you? And we was thinking on you, that we was, bless your little heart; and we made the Frenchmen know that they shouldn’t have you as long as we’d a plank to float you on, and an arm to strike for you. And now, Sam, just stump up out of this, and try and get Billy some breakfast. I must go and lend a hand in getting the ship to rights.”

In the action one lieutenant and eight men had been killed, and thirty-two wounded—their brave captain among the number, having lost his arm, and being otherwise much injured, while from that day many other poor fellows sank under their hardships and privations.

The hope now of reaching England was abandoned, and the ship bore up for Halifax. Scarcely, however, was the helm shifted when a squall struck her, and in an instant, as if they had been mere willow wands, the already injured masts went with a crash over the sides. Now the tempest came on and roared louder and louder, and the sea got rapidly up and tossed the big ship helplessly about, and, before the slightest sail could be made to keep her before the wind and steady her, a sea struck her rudder and carried it away.

Thus like a log she lay, tossed about by the waves. The riven decks could ill keep out the water which washed aboard her, while many of the beams gave way, and those of the orlop-deck bent and cracked till several of them fell into the hold. Nothing now seemed to stop the entrance of the water. Paul and his old companions exerted themselves to the utmost. They did not like to believe for a moment that the ship would go down, and yet they could not help seeing that such a fate was too likely to befall her. Furiously raged the hurricane. Higher and higher rose the sea, and more and more the ship worked; and the leaks increased till the entire hold was flooded, and casks and provisions of all sorts were rolled helplessly about; the bread was spoiled, the water-casks were stove in, and the greater portion of the fresh water destroyed.

“Paul, what is to be done?” said Abel to his friend.

“Pump away, mates, and trust in Providence,” was the answer. “Fresh hands to the pumps, ho!” he sang out with as cheerful a voice as he could command.

His shipmates followed his example and worked away with fresh energy; but pumping is exhausting work, and dry work, too, and there was scarcely any water left, and but a few casks of spirits could be got at. These were carried aft and kept under charge of a sentry. A small quantity only was served out at intervals to each man with a little biscuit; and this was all the crew had to sustain life and enable them to undergo the increasing exertions they were called on to make. Many of the invalids could no longer exert themselves in the slightest degree, and numbers died every day. The surgeons went among the poor fellows and did their utmost, but without sufficient or wholesome sustenance their efforts were unavailing; and one of the saddest labours of each morning was to commit to the deep those who had perished during the night.

At length the gale ceased, and jury-masts were rigged, and the officers thought that by getting a sail thrummed under the ship’s bottom some of the leaks might be stopped. By great exertions they got the sail placed as was intended, but it had no effect whatever: the leaks continued to increase, and consternation and despair appeared on the countenances of nearly all. Some poor fellows actually sank down at the pumps and died; others refused to work at them any longer, declaring that it was utterly useless making the attempt to keep the ship afloat, and the officers had to use the greatest exertions to persuade them to remain at their duty.

“Come, come, mates!” exclaimed Paul Pringle when he saw several quitting the pumps, “there’s not a man of you but what would be ready to stand to his guns and die at them gladly; then why not stand to the pumps to the last, and die like true men doing our duty? Hurrah! lads, who knows but what we may keep the old ship afloat till help of some sort comes to us? And never let it be said that we turned cowards and shrank from our duty.”

Thus exhorted, the greater number again seized the pump-handles and buckets, and continued to work away as before. Still it was too evident that, spite of all their exertions, the leaks were gaining on them. Even the most hopeful began to despair that all their efforts would do no more than prolong their lives. Some few, indeed, went to their hammocks, and, lashing themselves in, declared their intention of remaining there, and thus going down with the ship.

“Oh, shame on you!” cried Paul Pringle when he saw some of them doing this. “Do you call yourselves British seamen, and yet afraid to face death at your quarters? The ship is still afloat, and may float for some hours longer for what you can tell. Think of your duty, lads—think of your duty, and never flinch from it to the last.”

While Paul was saying this, however, his brave heart was very sad. In the cabin of the Captain’s steward sat Sam Smatch, holding little True Blue on his knee. The child’s countenance showed that he partook of the anxiety of all around, and, moreover, that he, too, was suffering from the want of proper sustenance; the colour had forsaken his cheeks, and he looked thin and weak. In vain his friends had foraged for him; they could find nothing but damaged biscuit and salt beef, uncooked. Paul often thought of making a raft; but out in the Atlantic what would be the use of that? It might only prolong the child’s life for a few hours, and inflict on it greater sufferings. Still, he said nothing on the subject.

Again and again the carpenter sounded the well. Each time his report was more disheartening. The end of September arrived, and there was not a drop of spirits or water in the ship. Death in another dreadful form now stared the seamen in the face. Each day the poor feverish wretches cried out for water to moisten their lips, but none was to be had. Many died from that want alone, others from starvation.

Each morning the horizon was anxiously scanned, in the hope that some ship might be in sight to bring them relief. Even an enemy would have been welcomed, for their condition would have excited the compassion of their greatest foes.

Daylight, on the 3rd of October, broke. From the report of the carpenter, the officers knew that the ship could not float many hours longer; and, like brave men and Christians, they prepared to meet that death which now seemed inevitable. The day drew on—slight were the hopes that another would ever dawn on them. A few still refused to give way to despair. Paul Pringle was among the number. He climbed to the head of the jury-mast to have another look out. In vain he looked—still he lingered. Then his eye brightened. “A sail! a sail!” he shouted. With the most intense eagerness he watched her. “She sees us! she sees us! she is bearing down on us!” he cried, still remaining at his post to watch her.

In a short time her hull rose above the horizon, and those on deck could see her. Many burst into tears, and some fell on their knees on deck, and thanked Heaven that assistance had been sent them. Still their anxiety was great, for even before the stranger could get up to them the ship might go down.

“Well!” cried Paul Pringle, seizing little True Blue and holding him in his arms, “if she does, I’ll have a swim for it, and save the most precious thing aboard—that I will.” Paul had got a grating ready, into which he was prepared to spring should the catastrophe occur.

Still the Hector floated. The stranger proved to be the Snow Hawk, a letter of marque, belonging to Dartmouth, commanded by Captain John Hill, from Lisbon, bound to Saint John’s, Newfoundland. No sooner did Captain Hill come on board and understand the miserable condition of the Hector, than, without bargain or agreement, he at once offered to render every assistance in his power. Some few of the wounded were at once removed, but darkness prevented the others leaving the ship. He therefore remained by them all night; but though the spirits of some revived, it was a night of fearful anxiety to many, who believed that at any moment the ship might go down. Paul was of opinion that she would float, but he never let go of Billy, and kept a sharp eye on his grating in case of accident. The next morning, as the men were told off into the boats, only two hundred out of the three which had left the West Indies were found to have survived. As most of the Hector’s boats were damaged, it took a long time to remove the crew; and the greater part of the day had passed before all, with their wounded Captain, were on board the Hawk. Scarcely had the last boat left her than the Hector made one plunge and went down head first into the depths of the ocean. So crowded was the Hawk, that Captain Hill threw overboard a considerable quantity of his cargo to accommodate his passengers. The wind held fair, but all hands were put on a very limited allowance of provisions and water. The last cask of water was abroach on the very day the Hawk reached Saint John’s. No man more deserved to have his name held in remembrance than Captain Hill for his generous and humane conduct on that occasion.

In time, Paul Pringle and his companions, with their young charge and most of the survivors of the Hector’s crew, found their way to the shores of Old England, by which time peace was proclaimed, and men began to indulge in the fond fancy that wars were to cease for ever on the globe.

Chapter Nine.

The year 1793 had commenced, the French had cut off the head of their King, set up the red cap of freedom, proclaimed the age of reason, pronounced liberty, equality, and fraternity to be the rule of the world, and to illustrate their meaning were preparing the guillotines and the cannon to destroy the noblest, the fairest, and best in their own land, and to attack any people who might differ from them in opinion.

War had already broken out with Great Britain. The people of Old England were girding their loins for that gigantic struggle, when nearly all the powers of Europe were leagued with those enemies who strove to overwhelm her. Right noble was the struggle, and right brave and gallant were the soldiers and sailors who then fought for the safety and honour of their well-loved country. Busy preparations were going forward. All classes were exerting themselves, from the highest to the lowest. Ministers were planning and ordering, soldiers were drilling, ships were fitting out in every harbour.

Grass did not grow in the streets of Portsmouth in those days. A large party of seamen were proceeding down the High Street of that far-famed naval port one bright day in summer. There came first undoubted men-of-war’s men, by their fearless bearing and independent air betokening a full consciousness of their value; a young and thorough sailor boy, stout, broad-shouldered, with a fair though somewhat sunburnt complexion, a row of teeth capable of grinding the hardest of biscuit, and a fine large joyous eye and pleasant mouth, exhibiting abundance of good humour and good nature, yet at the same time firmness and decision.

The seamen stopped not far from the Southsea Gate, opposite a large placard, on which it was announced that the thirty-six-gun frigate Ruby was fitting for sea with all possible despatch, and that she had lately been commissioned by a young enterprising commander, Captain Garland, and was in want of first-rate able seamen, as well as other hands, to whom no end of fighting, prize-money, liberty, and fun of every description was promised. The offers and promises thus liberally made were very similar to those put forth in the same way when other ships were fitting out; and seamen had already learned to look more to the character of the ship and captain than to any other inducements held out to them.

“That will just suit us, Paul,” said one of the men after they had carefully spelt over the paper, not without some trouble.

“I’m thinking it will, Abel. But I say, mate, I wonder if Captain Garland is the youngster we had aboard the old Terrible?” answered Paul Pringle, for he was the person addressed. “He was a fine little chap then. Can he have grown into a Post-Captain already?”

“Why, just look at our Billy True Blue here,” observed Peter Ogle, putting his hand on the shoulder of the lad who has just been described. “See, a few years has made a great change in him from the weak little baby he was when he was shipmate with the youngster.”

The boy smiled as he looked at his own strong fists and arms, and then glanced at the countenances of his friends.

“To be sure—to be sure,” said Paul Pringle. “He was a fine true-hearted boy, and there’s no doubt he’ll prove a brave, dashing, and a good captain. Let’s hear what Tom Snell, Marline, and the rest say to the matter.”

They waited till the other seamen came up. With the latter was a one-legged black man, with a fiddle-case under his arm. He was no other than Sam Smatch, who had, ever since the last war, followed the fortunes of Paul Pringle and his old shipmates. The whole party were now grouped together before the placard, with Billy True Blue in the centre. They were not left long to consult together without interruption, for the placard served the purpose for which a bait is hung up in a wood, or placed at the bottom of a pit, while the hunter stands by to watch for the appearance of the animals it may attract. In this case, the first lieutenant of the Ruby was acting the part of the hunter. He had taken a survey of the men from a shop window, and speedily made his appearance on the spot. They knew him by the single simple epaulette on his shoulder. He addressed them at once in a free, hearty tone.

“Well, my lads, you see what’s wanted,” said he. “If you wish to serve under one of the smartest, bravest officers in the Navy, you will join the Ruby. We want some prime hands like most of you. Come, which of you will join? Say the word and stick to it.”

“Why, sir, d’ye see, we all goes together, or we doesn’t go at all,” said Paul Pringle, stepping forward. “We’ve been shipmates off and on for many years, and we wish to be so till we lays up in ordinary again.”

“I may, perhaps, be able to arrange that matter,” answered the lieutenant, not liking to show all the satisfaction he felt, or to yield too soon to the demands the men might make. “But that boy, now? Perhaps we may have boys enough on board already. I suppose you don’t wish to take him to sea?”

“Not him, sir! If he doesn’t go, none on us goes,” answered Paul briskly.

“None on us,” echoed all the other godfathers.

“He is your son, I conclude, my man?” said the lieutenant, addressing Paul.

“No, sir, not mine more than Abel Bush’s or Peter Ogle’s, or any of them astern there,” answered Paul. “No, sir, he belongs to us all, d’ye see, sir? He’s the son of an old shipmate, sir, killed out in the West Ingies, fighting with Lord Rodney; and his mother was an old shipmate too; and so the boy was left to the ship’s company, and they chose us to look after him—and we have looked after him, and we intend to look after him; and we loves him just as if he was a son, and more nor some fathers do their sons, and that’s the truth on’t, sir; and so we all intends to ship with him, that we may have him among us, that’s it, sir.”

“That’s it, sir,” echoed the rest, to show that they were all of one mind.

“Well, if you all like to join provisionally, I will see what the Captain will consent to do,” answered the lieutenant.

Now as none of the party had the slightest idea of what joining provisionally meant, they were very much inclined to declare off altogether, when just then a young active man, with an extremely pleasant expression of countenance, in the full-dress uniform of a Post-Captain, was seen coming up the High Street. He stopped when he got up to the group of seamen.

“Ah, Mr Brine, are any of these men going to join us?” he asked, glancing his keen eyes over them. His countenance brightened when he saw Paul Pringle.

“Why, I believe that I see an old shipmate whom I have not met for many a year; and not one only—two or three more of you I remember clearly. Am I not right?” said he. “We served together in the old Terrible, and afterwards in the Fame.”

“I thought so, sir!” exclaimed Paul with a cheerful voice. “I remember you now, sir, that I do, though I shouldn’t if you hadn’t told me where we’d been together. Maybe, sir, you remember a little baby you used to be kind to, born aboard the ship. There he is, sir.”

“What, Billy True Blue! Of course I do,” answered the Captain in a pleasant tone. “Come here, my lad; and you still follow the sea, do you? You began pretty early.”

“There’s no other calling to my mind a man would wish to follow, sir,” answered True Blue.

“All right, my men,” said Captain Garland; “if you haven’t got a ship, I shall be very glad if you will join the Ruby. I do not believe that there are many frigates in the service will beat her in any way, and I promise you it will not be my fault if she isn’t a happy ship.”

“Just one word, sir, with the rest and we’ll tell you,” said Paul.

“As many as you like,” said the Captain; and he and his lieutenant stepped aside.

Scarcely a minute had passed before Paul Pringle came up to him.

“We’ll all join you, sir, Billy and all,” said he; “and I suppose, sir, you’ll not object to take Sam Smatch in? He always goes with us; and though he’s not wanted to nurse Billy now, there isn’t a better hand with his fiddle to be found anywhere. He might get a good living on shore—that he might, sir; but he’d rather stick by us, as he’s always done, in spite of all the ups and downs of a life at sea, sir.”

“Sam Smatch? Of course we’ll have him!” said the Captain, not trying to conceal how highly pleased he was at getting so fine a haul of good men at one time for his ship. “And now I wish you to accompany Mr Brine on board at once and enter. When it’s known that we have a fair number of good men, others will join; and the faster we man the ship, the sooner we shall get to sea and be at the enemy.”

A little more conversation passed. Paul and his companions went on board and entered; and Mr Brine, soon convinced that they might be trusted on shore, allowed them to go. They employed their time so well in singing the praises of their new Captain, that in a week or two the Ruby was fully manned. In those days the crew themselves were chiefly employed in fitting the ship for sea, and as they all worked with a will, in a very short time longer she had all her stores and provisions on board, and was ready to go out to Spithead. The remainder of the officers had joined; Blue Peter was hoisted, and, with a fair breeze, she stood out of Portsmouth Harbour. In two days more her powder was on board, and under all sail she was running out at the Needle Passage.

The frigate was on the home station; but there was plenty of work for her. The enemy’s cruisers were very active; and they had some fine fast frigates, which committed a great deal of mischief among the merchant shipping, and carried off numbers of prizes.

Captain Garland determined to capture one or more of these, if he could, without delay. His ship soon showed her fast-sailing qualities by making prizes of a number of small fry, in the shape of French coasters, “chasse-marées,” and two or three larger merchantmen, which were sent into either Plymouth or Portsmouth to be disposed of. This sort of work, however, did not satisfy the wishes of either the Captain or his officers or crew. Among those most eager for the fight was Billy True Blue Freeborn. That was the way in which his name had been entered in the ship’s books. He recollected clearly what a battle was, though he had not been engaged in one since that fierce engagement when he lost his friend and chief, Captain Penrose.

Since then, he had been for the greater part of the time at sea, partly on board a man-of-war, but mostly in merchantmen and coasters, where Paul Pringle took him, that, as he said, he might not be afraid of rocks and shoals, or the look of a lee-shore in a gale of wind. Out of all that time he had only remained three years on shore, as his kind guardian remarked, “to get his edication, and to larn manners.”

Paul Pringle used to boast among his friends that Billy True Blue was already a perfect seaman, and that he would sooner trust him at the helm on a squally night, or on the lookout forward on a dark one, than he would most men twice his age; but he took care never to say this in True Blue’s own hearing, lest, as he observed, “the lad should larn to think too much of hisself.”

True Blue had not been long on board the Ruby before he became a favourite with most of his new shipmates. Had he not had watchful guardians about him, he would soon have been spoilt by them. To see him dance the hornpipe, while Sam Smatch played his old fiddle, was, as his admirers declared, “indeed a pleasure not to be met with any day in the week,” except on board the Ruby. How he could shuffle and spring, and whirl, and whisk, and snap his fingers! He looked as if he was made of India-rubber, filled with quicksilver. And then he had a very good voice and a fair notion of singing, and right merrily he could troll forth some of those stirring sea-songs which have animated the gallant tars of Old England to perform deeds of the greatest heroism, and have served to beguile and soothe many an hour of their existence on the ocean, far away from home and all its softening influences.

There were several other boys on board the frigate, among whom, naturally, True Blue took the lead. He was good-natured to all of them. If they quarrelled with him, as some would, and would insist on having it out with him in a fight with fists, he generally managed to make them very cautious about trying the same experiment again.

There was one big fellow, Gregory Gipples by name, who set himself up as a sort of leader among the other boys as soon as he came on board, though he had never before been at sea. He was a big hulking fellow; and as he had a certain amount of cleverness about him, he tried to make it appear that he knew a great deal more about things than he really did. True Blue instinctively discovered that he was a braggart and inclined to be a bully.

Another boy was of a totally different character. At first sight, so delicate did he look that it seemed surprising that little Harry Hartland had been allowed to come to sea at all. But boys were wanted, and the officers who had to pass them were not very particular; besides, on further examination, Harry was stronger than he looked, and the bright expression of his countenance showed that he would probably make up by intelligence what he lacked in physical power. He had also been carefully and religiously educated, and his habits were very refined compared with those of most of the other boys. They soon learned to call him “Gentleman Harry,” though he did not seem pleased with the appellation. He was very silent as to his own early history. He said that his mother was a widow, and that he did not remember his father. He knew that she would not have the means of supporting him, so he wished to come to sea, and with the help of a friend of his own he had, after much exertion, accomplished his object.

“You couldn’t have done better—that you couldn’t, Harry!” exclaimed True Blue, to whom he had confided thus much of his early history. “I wouldn’t have to go and live in smoky cities, or to ride along dirty roads, or to have to look only at sheep, or cows, or horses, not to be the greatest lord in the land. I have never been much on shore, and maybe haven’t seen the most beautiful parts of it; but I was heartily glad to get afloat again. There you are on shore stuck in the same place day after day. What does it matter whether it’s a calm or a gale, it doesn’t make you go faster or slower. And if you want to go away, then you have to get on the outside of a coach, and be covered from truck to kelson with dust, and a precious good chance of a capsize and getting your neck broke. Now, when I was living ashore with Paul Pringle’s mother and people, there sprung up one night a gale of wind which blew down the church steeple, I don’t know how many big tall trees, and sent a large part of the thatched roof off the cottage, besides scattering the tiles of the houses right and left, and toppling down numbers of chimney-pots. There were half a dozen people killed, I heard, that night, and ever so many hurt.”

Harry smiled.

“It is lucky that you think so, and I am quite ready to agree that a sailor’s life is one of the best to choose, seeing that we shall have to spend the best part of ours afloat,” he answered. “But what I hold is, that we shouldn’t think meanly of those who have to live always on shore.”

“I don’t know as to that, Harry,” said Billy quickly. “We shouldn’t think ill of them, I’ll allow; but who can help pitying them? That’s all I say.”

The conversation of the two boys was interrupted by an order which True Blue received to go aloft and take a lookout round the horizon. This was a post of honour to which he had been especially appointed, on account of the sharpness of his vision, and the accuracy with which he noted and could describe the various sail which might be in sight. Paul Pringle watched him with pride. Up—up—up he went. The topmast shrouds were reached—topgallant masthead; the royal mast was swarmed up, and then he stood on the main truck, holding on by the staff of the vane, no longer the little child, the pet of the ship’s company, but a thorough, fearless young seaman—not the less, however, the darling of the crew.

Chapter Ten.

Day had just broken on the world of waters. It was at that time of the year when there is but little night. The water was smooth, the air soft and balmy. Gradually the grey dawn warmed up as the approaching sun cast some ruddy streaks in the eastern sky. It was True Blue’s watch on deck, and he was at his post on the truck at the main-topgallant-mast.

By slow degrees the rich glow increased. He turned his head round to every point of the compass. The Start Point was just in sight, bearing about east by north, distant five or six leagues. When his eye came to the south-east, it rested there steadily for a moment, and then, putting his hand to his mouth, he shouted, “Sail ho!” with a prolonged cadence, pointing in the direction where he saw her. The officer of the watch hailed to know what she was. “A full-rigged ship, sir,” was his unhesitating reply, although even from where he stood her topgallant-sails alone could be seen, and to a landsman’s eye nothing distinguishable would have been visible.

The Captain soon came on deck. True Blue kept his glance on the stranger, that he might note immediately any change in her course. She was standing across the Channel and drawing nearer.

“I trust that she is one of the frigates of which we are in search, Mr Brine,” said the Captain. “We’ll soon learn. Make sail on the ship.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the first lieutenant with alacrity. “All hands make sail!”

“All hands make sail!” shouted the boatswain, putting his silver call to his mouth, and sounding a shrill whistle. “All hands make sail!—rouse up there, rouse up!—an enemy in sight, boys!”

The men sprang from their hammocks, and, shaking themselves rapidly into their clothes, were in another instant on deck. Every inch of canvas the frigate could carry was soon got on her, and she bore up in chase.

Another order quickly followed. It was, “Clear ship for action!”

Never was an order obeyed with more alacrity. The stranger appeared also to be standing under a press of sail, and steering to the southward of east.

“She wishes to escape us altogether, or is not quite ready for action,” observed the Captain to Mr Brine.

“She seems to be putting her best foot foremost, at all events,” answered the first lieutenant, taking a look at the stranger through his glass, for she could now be seen clearly from the deck. “She looks like a frigate of much about our size; and I have little doubt, by the cut of her sails, she is French.”

“I have great hopes that she is, and more, that she is one of the very frigates we have been on the lookout for,” said the Captain. “What do you think, master?” he added, turning to that officer, Mr Handlead, who stood near.

“A Johnny Crapaud, sir,” he answered quickly. “There’s no doubt about it; and to my mind the villain is making all sail to be off, because he doesn’t like the look of us.”

“I trust that we shall overtake her, and take her, too, master,” said Captain Garland. “I think that we are already gaining on her. The frigate slips well through the water.”

The crew on the forecastle were carrying on a conversation much in the same style. “Bless her heart, she is walking along at a good rate,” observed Abel Bush as he looked over the bows. “The old girl’s got as pretty a pair of heels of her own as you’d wish to see.”

“The faster she goes, the better,” answered Peter Ogle. “I never does feel comfortable like when one of those Monsieurs is in sight, till I gets up alongside him and overhauls him one way or the other. You mind how they used to give us the slip in the West Ingies. They’ll be trying on the same game now, depend on’t.”

“But when they do begin, they don’t fight badly, you’ll allow,” observed Paul Pringle.

“Maybe; but while they can lift their heels, they’ll run,” stoutly maintained Abel.

In this instance the stranger seemed determined to contradict his assertion, for at that very moment she was seen to haul up her foresail, while the topgallant-sails were lowered on the caps, where they hung swelling out and fluttering in the breeze; at the same time the flag of republican France was run up at the peak, and a shot of defiance was fired from one of her after-guns.

The British seamen, led by Paul Pringle, replied to it with a hearty cheer, which, although it could not reach the Frenchmen’s ears, served to warm up their own hearts for the fight. Although the crew had not served long together, each man knew his proper station; and there each man now stood bold and fearless, prepared for the contest.

Captain Garland, with Mr Brine near him, walked the quarterdeck, with telescope in hand, watching each movement of the enemy. The marines, commanded by their lieutenant, stood drawn up with muskets, ready to open fire as soon as they could get within range. Added to them were a party of small-arm men prepared for the same object, or ready to board if required, while others were stationed there to fight the quarterdeck guns, or to attend the braces. Here, also, were grouped the mates and midshipmen, not wanted elsewhere, ready to be despatched on any duty which might be required of them. On the maindeck the crew of each gun, with handkerchiefs round their heads, and stripped to the waist, clustered round it, the locks fixed in readiness, and the lanyards coiled around them, the tackles laid along the decks, the captains with their priming-boxes buckled on, the officers with their swords on, standing by their proper divisions; while in long rows were the round-shot and wads, with grape and canister; and at intervals sat the ship’s boys,—powder-monkeys they were often called,—each on his proper tub full of powder, which he had brought up from the magazine below. Here in the depths of the ship was the gunner, the presiding genius of destruction, ready to serve out the further supply of powder which might be required, as the boys came tripping down nimbly to receive it, with no more concern than if they had had to carry up baskets of flour or of corn. The carpenter was also below. He and his mates were preparing shot-plugs with tallow and oakum, and were placing them in readiness in the wings to stop any holes which the enemy’s round-shot might make in the ship’s side; while he was prepared to sound the well occasionally, and to make his report as to the depth of water in the hold. The other warrant-officer, the second in rank, the boatswain, stood on the forecastle with his mates, having especially to look after the masts and spars, and to repair immediately, if possible, any material damage. The purser and Captain’s clerks were mostly on the quarterdeck, and, though not fighting officers, ready and willing enough to fight like the rest; while, lastly, the surgeon and his assistants were in the cockpit, with the tables prepared, and the various implements required by them spread out—saws, tourniquets, knives, basins, and sponges, as well as restoratives of different kinds—to repair the damage, and to soothe or alleviate the pain which the chances of cruel war might inflict on frail humanity.

True Blue sat on his tub, with Harry Hartland next to him, and the big Gipples on the other side of Harry. They were stationed on the upper deck. True Blue was wishing that he was bigger, that he might be serving the guns, or might be standing with Abel Bush and other friends, who, with pistols in their belts and cutlasses at their sides, were collected ready to board the enemy, or to repel boarders, should their opponents make the attempt.

Big Gipples was in no way liking the look of things; and only the conviction that he would be sent up again with a rope’s end prevented him jumping off his tub and running down to stow himself away in the hold. The other boys, though not aware of the excess of his terror, maliciously wished to frighten him in retaliation for his bullying.

“Who’s likely to be best off now?” began Tim Fid, one of the smallest of the set, speaking across Gipples to Harry; “we little chaps or the big ones, when the round-shot comes bowling about us? They’d just as soon take a big chap’s head off as a little one’s. I’d rather, for my part, be small and weak than big and strong. Wouldn’t you, Harry?”

“Certainly,” answered Harry, who, having glanced at Gipples’ countenance, could not resist the temptation of having a fling at him. “I’ve heard it said that the big fellows in a sea-fight are generally picked off first, and that that is the reason there are more small sailors than large ones. I wonder what Billy has to say about it?”

True Blue, thus appealed to, was nothing loth to join in trying to increase the evident terror of Gipples. “Oh, as to that, I’ve heard tell how these powder tubs on which we are made to sit sometimes catches fire and blows the fellows on them like sky-rockets into the air,” remarked Billy, laughing. “Mind, it’s what I’ve heard tell of, though I never saw it. But I did see once a ship and a whole ship’s company blown up together; and, mates, I hope I may never see the same sight again. I was a little chap then, and I saw some sad things that day, but I remember that one just as clearly as if it happened a week ago.”

“Well, I do think it’s a shame we small chaps, as have never done anybody any harm, should be made to sit here to be shot at by them Monsieurs out there—that I do,” continued Tim Fid. “For my part, I do think that the Captain ought to let us little ones go down and stow ourselves comfortably away in the hold. Don’t you, Gipples?”

Gipples, not perceiving that Tim was joking, looked up and said in a half-crying tone:

“Yes, I do; if any on you chaps will come, I’ll bolt—that I will.”

On this there was a general laugh.

“I’d just like to see you,” said Tim, “whether you’d go down or come up the fastest. If every man was to do as you’d do, I should like to know what would become of the ship. The sooner you goes home and learns to hem or sell dog’s meat the better.”

The wretched Gipples saw that his feelings gained no sympathy. He tried to back out of his proposal, but his tormentors were in no way inclined to let him alone, till at last they made so much noise that they were called to order by the men standing at the guns nearest them.

Presently, too, the deep-toned voice of the Captain was heard.

“Silence there, fore and aft!” he exclaimed. “We have an enemy in sight, of equal if not greater force. We must take her, of course, but the sooner we take her the less loss and the more honour we shall gain. I intend to wait till we are close alongside before we open our fire. I shall take off my hat—wait till I lift it above my head; and then, my lads, I expect you’ll give her a right good dose of our shot.”

The seamen raised three hearty cheers. British sailors are always ready for that; and directly afterwards the taunt masts and white canvas of the French frigate were seen by those on deck rising above the hammock nettings on the larboard bow. The Captain stepped to the larboard gangway. A voice came from the deck of the Frenchman.

“What do they say?” asked the Captain of the master, who was nearest him.

“I don’t know, sir. I never could make out the Frenchmen’s lingo, and I doubt that they intend us to understand them,” answered Mr Handlead with a tone of contempt in his voice. “They are only mocking at us. It’s their way, sir.” Mr Brine more briefly said that he could not make out the Frenchman’s hail.

“Then keep her as she goes, master,” said Captain Garland; and, putting his speaking trumpet to his mouth, he shouted, “This is His Britannic Majesty’s ship, the Ruby, and I beg to know the name of yours, and the King you serve?”

“This is La Belle Citoyenne, belonging to the Republican Government of France,” was the answer. To which was added by several men in chorus, “We serve no King—no, no!”

“But we do!” cried Paul Pringle. “And right glad we are to serve him. Hurrah, boys, for King George and Old England! Hurrah! hurrah!”

Three hearty cheers burst from the throats of the British tars. Scarcely had they ceased when the French Captain, who was still standing in the gangway, was seen to hold aloft in his hand a bonnet rouge, the red cap of liberty, and briefly to address his crew in terms of considerable animation. “Vive la Nation!” he exclaimed. “Vive la République!” answered the crew.

The French Captain, having finished his speech, handed the red cap to one of the seamen, who ran with it up the rigging and screwed it on to the masthead, where it was evident that a hole was prepared to receive the screw. The marines might easily have picked him off; but no one even thought of attempting to injure the brave fellow.

The Ruby was now well up with her opponent, and the two Captains, taking off their hats, made the politest of bows to each other, the Frenchman, however, beating the English Captain in the vehemence of his flourish. Both then returned to the quarterdeck. The moment to begin the fight had arrived. Captain Garland, who had kept his hat in his hand, raised it to his head. Every eye was on him. All knew the signal he had promised to give. For an instant not a sound was heard; and then there burst forth the loud continued roar of the broadsides of the two frigates as gun after gun of the Ruby, beginning at the foremost, was brought to bear on her antagonist, responded to by the after-guns of the Frenchman. And now the two frigates ran on before the wind, so close together that the combatants could see their opponents’ faces, pouring their shot into each other’s sides. Fast as the British seamen could run in their guns, they loaded, and, straining every muscle, they were rapidly run out again and fired. While round-shot and grapeshot and canister were sent rattling in through the enemy’s ports and across her decks, about her rigging, or tearing open her sides, she gallantly returned the compliment with much the same coin. Many of the bold seamen on board the Ruby were cut down.

A shot struck two men working the gun nearest to where Gipples was sitting on his powder tub in terror unspeakable, not knowing what moment he might be hit. On came the mangled forms of the poor fellows, writhing in their dying agonies, directly against him. He and his tub were upset, and he was sent, covered with their blood, sprawling on the deck.

“Oh, I’m killed! I’m killed!” he shrieked out, and, overcome with terror, did not attempt to rise.

Two of the idlers, whose duty it was to carry the wounded below and throw the dead overboard,—the common custom in those days of disposing of them,—hearing him shriek out, thought that he had also been killed. Having disposed of the first two men who really were dead, they lifted him up and were about to throw him overboard, when, discovering how he was to be treated, he groaned out, “Oh, I ain’t dead yet—take me below.” The men having been ordered to take all the wounded to the cockpit, immediately carried him below, and, placing him on the surgeon’s table, one of them said:

“Here’s a poor fellow, gentlemen, as seems very bad; but I don’t know whether he wants an arm or a leg cut off most.”

“I hope that he may escape without losing either,” said the surgeon, lifting up Gipples and preparing to strip him to examine his wound. “Where are you hit, my man?”

“Oh, oh, sir! all over, sir!” answered Gregory.

The surgeon, who had noted Gipples for some time and guessed his character, very quickly ascertained that there was nothing whatever the matter with him. Taking up a splint, he bestowed a few hearty cuts with it on his bare body, and then, telling him to jump up and slip on his clothes, he sent him up on deck to attend to his duty. Poor Gipples would gladly have hid himself away; but he was watched, and started from deck to deck till he had resumed the charge of his powder tub. Meantime Paul Pringle was keeping an anxious eye on True Blue. There he sat as composed and fearless as if nothing unusual was going forward, only jumping up with alacrity and handing out the powder to the crews of the guns he was ordered to serve. Never was his eye brighter. Never had he seemed more full of life and animation.

“Ay, he’s of the right sort,” said Paul to himself; “I knew he’d be.”

The moment his tub was empty, down he ran to the magazine, and speedily again sprang with it on deck. His friend Harry imitated his example as well as he could; but he could not avoid stopping short when a shot crashed in just before him, carrying off the head of a seaman, whose body fell across the deck along where he had to pass.

The cry of “Powder, powder, boy!” from the captain of the gun made him move on, but his knees trembled so that he could scarcely reach his post. After he had delivered the amount of powder required and sat down on his tub, his tranquillity of mind and nerve returned. Another shot came whizzing by; he merely bobbed his head. When the next passed near him, he sat perfectly still. After that he scarcely moved eyelid or muscle, in spite of all the missiles and splinters and fragments flying about.

Not so the miserable Gipples. Compelled to stay on deck he was; but nothing could keep his head from bobbing at every shot which struck the ship or passed over her, while his whole body was continually shrinking down on the deck. Several times he lay flat along it, and so confused was he, that, when called on to deliver the powder, he often did not appear to hear, or ran off to the wrong gun; till at last, had there been anybody to supply his place, he would have been kicked below and declared unfit to be even a powder-monkey. Even Tim Fid, when the firing began, was not altogether as steady as usual; but though he bobbed and sprang about with the feeling that he was dodging the shot, which he could not do in reality, it was much in the same way that he would have dodged a big play fellow whom he did not wish to touch him; and as he never for a moment was found wanting at his post, no one complained.

The action began at a quarter-past six that bright summer morning, and for about a quarter of an hour the two frigates ran along parallel to each other, exchanging broadsides with the greatest rapidity of which their respective crews were capable. They were keeping all the time directly before the wind, and within hailing distance of each other. In that short period great had been the carnage on both sides. One of the English lieutenants and two midshipmen, besides a dozen men or more, had been killed, and half as many again had been wounded; while the bulwarks of the lately trim frigate were shattered and torn, her crew begrimed with powder, perspiration, and blood, and her white decks slippery with gore, torn up with shot, and covered with fragments from the yards and the rent woodwork around. The mainmast, too, had been severely wounded; and though some of the carpenter’s crew were busy in lashing and otherwise strengthening it, great fears were felt for its safety.

“If that goes,” exclaimed Paul Pringle, who saw the accident, “those rascally Monsieurs will get off after all!”

At about half-past six the Belle Citoyenne hauled up about eight points from the wind, thus increasing her distance from the Ruby.

“I thought how it would be!” exclaimed Paul Pringle when he saw the manoeuvre. “The Monsieurs can’t stand our fire. Wing him, boys, wing him! Don’t let the Frenchman get away from us. Here, Billy, you come here. You all know that there isn’t a better eye in the ship. Let him have a shot, boys.”

True Blue, thus summoned, sprang with delight to the gun. The mass of smoke which hung round them, and the death of the officer in charge of his division, enabled Paul to accomplish his object without question.

“Now steady, Billy, as you love me, boy!” he exclaimed in his eagerness.

True Blue had not far to stoop as he took the lanyard of the lock in his hand and looked carefully along the gun. The Ruby had herself hauled up a little. For an instant there was a cessation of firing. Billy at that moment pulled the trigger. The Frenchmen were in the very act of bracing up the mizen-topsail-yard when the mizen-mast was seen to bend over to starboard, and, with a crash, to come toppling down overboard, shot away a few feet only above the deck.

“You did it—you did it, Billy, my boy!” exclaimed Paul Pringle, almost beside himself with joy, seizing his godson in his arms and giving him a squeeze which would have pressed the breath out of a slighter body.

“Who fired that last shot?” asked the Captain from aft.

“True Blue, sir—Billy Freeborn!” cried Paul Pringle.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the men at the gun.

“Bravo! let him fire another, then,” answered Captain Garland, not complaining of the irregularity of the proceeding. Not another word could have been heard, for both the Ruby and the French frigate again began pounding away at each other.

True Blue, with the encouragement he had received, stepped boldly up to the gun. The captain was Tom Marline, one of his assistant-guardians, and he was a favourite with all the rest, so that there was no feeling of jealousy excited against him.

Again he looked along it. He waited his time till the smoke had cleared away a little, and then once more he fired. The shot hit—of that both Marline and Paul Pringle were certain, but what damage was done they could not determine.

“I pitched it astern, not far from the wheel,” observed True Blue quietly. “Maybe it hit the wheel—maybe not.”

Again the firing went on as before, and True Blue modestly returned to his powder tub. More than once he jumped up, anxious to have another pull at the lanyard of his gun. Paul, however, did not encourage this; he wisely considered that he had done enough to establish a reputation, which more shots would not have increased.

Suddenly Paul struck his hands together with delight. “She is steering wildly! she is steering wildly!” he cried out. “True Blue, you did knock her wheel away—you did, boy. See what she’s about!”

The French frigate as he spoke paid off right before the wind, and presented her bows directly at the Ruby. In that position she received a raking broadside; but nothing could stop her—she was utterly without guidance, and on she came like a battering-ram directly at the beam of the Ruby. Captain Garland, so sudden was the movement, could accomplish no manoeuvre to avoid the collision. The French ship’s jibboom, as she fell on board the English frigate, passed directly between her fore and mainmasts, and there she hung, while it pressed so hard against the already wounded mainmast that there appeared every prospect of the latter being carried away. Just before, a shot had struck the boatswain and brought him mortally wounded to the deck.

Paul Pringle knew of his loss. As he looked at the mast, strained to the utmost, the main and spring stays being also shot away, he thought to himself, “If the mast goes the Frenchman will break clear, and ten to one, after all, escape us.”

It was a time for decision, not for much consideration.

“Who’ll follow me, lads?” he exclaimed, seizing an axe and springing into the rigging.

Tom Marline and several other bold fellows did follow. They had to ascend and then to descend the tottering mast. Terrific was the danger. Should the mast fall, their death would be almost certain. They thought, however, only of the safety of the ship, or rather, how they might best prevent the escape of the enemy. With right good will they plied their axes on the enemy’s jibboom. Bravely they hacked away, in spite of the fire of musketry which was kept up from her decks. Meantime a cry was raised below that the French were about to board.

“Boarders, repel boarders!” cried Captain Garland.

“I’ll lead you, my lads!” exclaimed the first lieutenant. “See, they are not coming; but we’ll be at them—hurrah!”

True Blue, finding that there was no more work for him to do in getting up powder, and seeing Abel Bush and Peter Ogle, with a few others, following Mr Brine on board the Frenchman, seized the cutlass of a seaman who had just been killed close to him, and, in the impulse of the moment, sprang after them. In vain, however, their gallant leader endeavoured to get on board from the upper deck. Numbers of Frenchmen stood in the head, and, in spite of all the activity of the British seamen, they could not spring into it. On finding this, quick as lightning Mr Brine leaped down, and, followed by a few, reached the maindeck. Then, calling more round him, he sprang through the bow-ports of the enemy’s maindeck, with Peter Ogle, True Blue, and a few others, driving all opponents before him. Just at that moment, before all the boarders had time to follow, Paul Pringle had succeeded in cutting through the Frenchman’s jibboom, with all the connecting rigging, and, her head coming round, she was once more clear of the Ruby, and drifting helplessly away from her. Even while engaged in his task, Paul’s watchful eye had detected True Blue seizing the cutlass, and when he followed Mr Brine he guessed his object. Still he did not suppose that those with him would allow the boy to board the Frenchman; and, at all events, he was not the man to be deterred by any consideration from completing the duty which he had undertaken.

The moment, however, that he had performed it thus effectually, he slid down rapidly on deck and eagerly sought for his godson. He was met with a cry from Harry Hartland and Tim Fid, “Oh yes, Paul, he’s gone—True Blue’s gone; he’s on board the Frenchman, and they’ll make mincemeat of him—that they will!”

He observed, also, Abel Bush, Tom Marline, and others standing eyeing the French frigate, the very pictures of anxiety and disappointed rage. He saw too clearly that True Blue must have been one of those who had been carried off in the French ship when she broke adrift from them. To assist in clearing her, the Ruby’s helm had been put aport, or to larboard, as was then the expression, and this carried her still farther away from La Belle Citoyenne.

Captain Garland was not aware for some little time that any of his people had gained the enemy’s decks. The instant the fact was communicated to him, he became doubly eager to get once more alongside. The minutes, however, appeared like hours to those who knew that their shipmates and friends were surrounded by exasperated foes, who were too likely, in the heat of the moment, to give no quarter. Paul Pringle groaned with anxiety for the fate of his godson. There he stood, his huge beard blackened with smoke and dabbled with a shipmate’s blood; his hair, which had escaped from under his handkerchief when he went aloft, streaming in the breeze; his brawny arm bared, and his drawn cutlass in his hand; and looking truly like one of the sea-kings of old, the rovers of the main, prepared for a desperate struggle with his enemies. Just then the sails of the French frigate were taken aback, and the effect of this was to cause her to make a stern board, which drove her right down on the Ruby.

Once more, by slightly shifting his helm, Captain Garland allowed her to drop alongside, the respective bows and sterns of the two ships being in opposite directions.

“And now, my lads, lash her fast!” he shouted. “We must not let her part from us till she is ours.”

The very instant the sides of the two frigates ground together, Paul Pringle, who, with a party of boarders, many of them old shipmates, stood ready on the maindeck, sprang through the after-ports, shouting out, “Remember little True Blue, boys! Let us get back our Billy True Blue!”

The clash of steel and the occasional report of pistols saluted their ears, and there stood at bay the gallant little band, the lieutenant and Peter Ogle, with most of the men, bleeding at every pore—one or two, indeed, stretched lifeless at their feet; but True Blue himself was nowhere to be seen. Numbers were pressing round the gallant band, and in another instant it seemed likely that they would have been overwhelmed. With such impetuosity, however, did Paul and his party dash on board, that although numbers of the Frenchmen were thronging the maindeck, they were rapidly driven back. In vain they struggled—in vain they fought. Nothing could stop the fierce onslaught of the British seamen.

High above all other cries, Paul Pringle’s voice was heard shouting the name of True Blue. “We must find our True Blue. Huzza for our True Blue, boys!”

Thus timely relieved, Mr Brine was once more able to advance aft, and now on both sides, led by him and by old Handlead, who was among the first of the second party, the British tars swept the Frenchman’s maindeck fore and aft, cutting down or driving below all before them.

At length, when near the after-hatchway, the Frenchmen made a bold stand, as if resolved to sell their lives dearly or to drive back their assailants. Just then, Paul caught sight of True Blue himself, struggling to get free from between two of the after-guns, to which place it was evident he had been carried as a prisoner.

“There he is, boys! there is our True Blue!” shouted Paul, and at the same moment he and his companions dashed on with redoubled energy from the check they had received, tumbled all the remaining Frenchmen down into the cockpit, and in another instant Paul had once more grasped his godson by the hand.

“You deserve one thing, Billy, and you shall do it!” he exclaimed. “Follow me quick, though.”

He sprang up the ladder to the upper deck. Meantime the officers had placed parties at the hatchways to keep in check those who had taken refuge below, the remaining few who appeared on the maindeck having thrown down their arms and prayed for mercy.

On the upper deck stood a gallant few surrounding their Captain, who lay wounded among them at the foot of the mainmast. They seemed scarcely aware that their companions below had yielded, and that all hope of resistance was vain. The rush of the British seamen who now swarmed on board and swept along the deck undeceived them, and, driven right and left or overboard, the remainder dropped their swords and asked for quarter.

Paul, followed by True Blue, had gained the main-rigging. His quick eye had discovered that the halliards of the Frenchman’s flag, that of the new Republic, led into the top.

“There, boy!” exclaimed Paul, “you must haul that down. Quick, aloft!”

True Blue required no second order, but, springing up the ratlines before anybody could overtake him, he had reached the top, when, seizing the halliards, down came gliding the flaunting tricolour, followed quickly by the red cap of liberty, which, unscrewing, he threw among the people on deck; and three hearty cheers from the British crew announced that the well-fought battle was won.

The gallant French Captain opened his dim eyes at the sound, to see the emblem for which he had striven trampled under foot. He had been endeavouring, since he saw that all hope of escape was over, to tear to pieces with his teeth and to swallow a paper which he had drawn from his pocket. Suddenly, while thus engaged, he saw the red cap fall like a flash of fire from aloft. His fingers released their hold of the paper, and with a deep groan he expired.

Mr Brine stooped down by the side of his brave opponent. The paper he had been endeavouring to destroy was his commission; but another paper projected from his pocket. It was a code of private signals, which, with noble patriotism, he had wished to prevent falling into an enemy’s hands.

“Well, I suppose there is some good in those Frenchmen after all!” exclaimed old Handlead when he heard of it. “He tried to serve his country to the last, at all events.”

No time was now lost in securing the prisoners and removing them to the Ruby as the two ships lay alongside each other. Some of the Frenchmen looked very glum, and evidently, if they could get an opportunity, meant mischief; but they mostly yielded to the fortune of war with a shrug, and by the evening were skipping away right merrily, to the sound of Sam Smatch’s fiddle. Indeed, they had little cause for animosity against him, as he had taken no part whatever in their capture, having volunteered to remain below to assist the surgeon. The English, in this gallant action, a type of many which were to follow, had just fifty men killed and wounded, while the French lost between sixty and seventy. Just as the last of the prisoners were removed, and the prize crew of the Belle Citoyenne had got on board, the two ships separated.

When once more the two frigates were in a condition to make sail, and were standing along amicably together, Captain Garland called the crew aft. “My lads,” he cried, “all have done well to-day. That fine frigate, now ours, is the best proof of it—won, too, let me tell you, from the moment the first shot was fired till the flag was hauled down, in less than an hour. When all have done their duty like brave British seamen, I can scarcely pick out any in particular to praise; but there is one lad among you who rendered material service in the work of the day.”

Paul Pringle brightened, and, his countenance beaming with pleasure, he placed his hand on his godson’s shoulder. The Captain went on:

“There was one shot which especially tended to secure us the prize; that shot was fired by the boy Freeborn—True Blue Freeborn. I shall have my eye upon him. If he goes on as he has begun, he will be an honour to the service, and rise in it, too, if I mistake not. Lads, you have all my hearty thanks, and our King and country will thank you too.”

Three hearty cheers for their gallant Captain were given by the crew as he finished his address; and then, however unexpected, and as Paul Pringle expressed himself, “almost dumfoundering,” three more were raised for Billy True Blue Freeborn, the pride of the crew. No one shouted louder than Tim Fid and Harry Hartland; but Gipples growled out as he sneaked below, “It’ll be all the same some day when a shot takes his head off. They can’t keep that on with all their petting.”

The next day the frigate reached Portsmouth, where the brave French Captain was buried with all the honours of war; and Captain Garland, and his officers and ship’s company, received the praises and rewards which they so well-merited for their gallant achievement.

Chapter Eleven.

The frigate very soon had made good the damages she received in the fight, and once more put to sea, all on board wishing for nothing better than a similar encounter with another enemy, feeling full confidence that the result would be the same.

One morning at daybreak, when True Blue had been sent aloft to take a lookout and report any sail in sight, his keen eye detected a small speck floating in the calm, hazy ocean. He knew that the speck was a boat, and hailed to that effect. There was a light breeze from the eastward, and the frigate, under all plain sail, was standing on a bowline to the southward. She was hauled up a few more points, to fetch the boat, which it was soon seen, instead of attempting to escape, was approaching the frigate. Numerous were the conjectures as to what she was; for although an open boat out in mid-channel was not exactly a novelty, still any incident was of interest in those stirring times, when all knew that apparent trifles often led to something important.

The boat appeared to be that of a merchantman. Six men were in her; four were pulling, and two sat in the sternsheets. One of these was a wrinkled, wiry old man, with a big red nightcap on his head, and a huge green and yellow comforter round his throat, while a thick flushing coat and trousers, and high boots, concealed the rest of his form. The other looked like the master of a merchantman. As soon as they got alongside, the latter begged that the boat might be hoisted up. This was done; and while the other men went forward among the crew, he and his strange-looking companion repaired aft to the Captain’s cabin. The information they gave seemed to afford infinite satisfaction to Captain Garland. Several of his officers were breakfasting with him.

“I trust, gentlemen, that, before many days have passed, we shall fall in with another enemy’s frigate, a worthy antagonist for the Ruby,” he remarked as soon as they were seated. “We have also on board, I am happy to say, one of the most experienced pilots for the Channel Islands and the French coast to the westward—a Guernsey man; and, what is more, I know that he is thoroughly to be trusted. He and his companions were on board a merchant vessel, captured by a French privateer; and as the enemy leaped on the deck on one side, they slipped over the bulwarks on the other, and, favoured by the darkness, effected their escape. I propose to run over to the French coast, and watch off Cherbourg for the return of two French frigates, which, I understand, robber-like, go out every night and return into harbour in the morning.”

At first the crew were very much inclined to laugh at the odd appearance of the old pilot; but Paul Pringle soon got into conversation with him, and gave it as his opinion that the little finger of the old Guernsey man knew more than a dozen of their heads put together, both as to seamanship and as to the navigation of the adjacent coasts. It quickly became known that there was something in the wind, and that the Captain hoped to fall in with another enemy before long.

Cape Barfleur, to the westward of Cherbourg, was made during the night. The wind was off shore, and the Ruby was close-hauled on the larboard tack, when, as day dawned, a ship and a cutter were seen from her deck coming in from seaward. All hands were called up, the frigate was cleared for action, and the men went to their quarters. Every glass was turned towards the approaching strangers.

“We shall have another scrimmage—that we shall!” exclaimed Tim Fid to True Blue. “I wonder what Gipples will do this time?”

“It’s a pity he ever came to sea again after the last cruise,” answered Billy. “He’ll never make a sailor, and only bring shame on the name of one.”

“He’s just fit to sell cat’s meat,” observed Harry. “Maybe one of the shot he’s so afraid of will take his head off, as it might that of a better fellow, and that will settle for him.”

With this philosophical remark the boys sat down on their powder tubs to await the commencement of the action; while poor Gipples, who had overheard what was said, sat quaking on his in a most pitiable manner.

The Ruby was kept edging away towards the supposed enemy. As the daylight increased, there was little doubt of her character, and she was pronounced to be a thirty-six-gun frigate.

“A fit opponent for us!” exclaimed the Captain. “We can allow her the cutter’s assistance, and we must see how quickly we can take them both.”

The cutter, however, seemed to have no inclination to assist her consort, from whom she kept hovering at some distance.

There was not much time for talking or speculation. The Ruby soon ranged up on the weather and larboard side of the Frenchman, at whose peak flew the ensign of Republican France. It would have been throwing away words to have exchanged compliments or interrogations in this case. The Frenchmen, indeed, maintained a surly silence, till it was broken by the rapid interchange of broadsides between the two well-matched combatants. The chances of war seemed, however, in this instance to be going against the Ruby. At the second broadside, down came her fore-topsail-yard, followed soon afterwards by the fore-topmast.

“This will never do!” exclaimed Paul Pringle, beckoning to Billy and sending a man to take charge of his tub. “Come here, boy. You must try and see if you can’t do as well as you did when we took the Citoyenne. Give her as good at least as she has given us.”

True Blue, nothing loth, began to take a sight along the gun. Just then the Captain had ordered the Ruby’s helm to be put hard a-starboard, by which she came suddenly round on the opposite tack, and brought her larboard guns to bear on the enemy.

True Blue, finding the ship going about, knew that no time was to be lost. He fired, and the enemy’s foreyard came instantly down. The effect was to throw her up into the wind, in which position she received a raking broadside from the Ruby.

“That’s your doing, True Blue. All at the gun saw it—I know they did.”

“Yes, that was True Blue’s shot, as sure as a gun!” cried Tom Marline. “You shall have as many more as you like, Billy.”

Again True Blue fired, and the enemy’s mizen-topmast came down. This enabled the Ruby to sail round and round her, giving her numerous raking broadsides. Still the gallant Frenchman held out. All this time not a shot had been fired from the cutter, and, greatly to the annoyance of the British sailors, she was seen making off under all sail for Cherbourg.

At the same time, during a pause in the action, when the smoke cleared off, another sail was descried to the northward, three or four leagues off. The sound of the firing had undoubtedly brought her thus far, and there she lay becalmed, unable to get up and join in the fight. Her presence, however, was not welcomed by the Ruby’s crew. She was evidently a frigate. If an enemy, she might prevent the capture of the other Frenchman, and indeed endanger the safety of the Ruby herself. If a friend, they would rather have had the honour of taking their antagonist singlehanded, as they fully expected to do.

As to there being any danger of their being captured, that did not enter the heads of the British tars.

“Come, bear a hand, boys,” said Paul. “We must take this here chap first, and then, if the calm holds for a little longer, we may get all ataunto and be ready for the others. One down, the other come on. That’s it, boys.”

Strange to say, except one man, who had his leg broken by the recoil of a gun he was fighting, not a man on board the Ruby had been hit, though it was evident that numbers of the Frenchmen had been killed, as several were seen thrown overboard. The British began to grow impatient. The French frigate was holding out, probably in expectation of assistance from her consort. The breeze now increased, and the stranger in the offing approached.

“Hurrah!” cried Paul Pringle, “another broadside, lads, and the Monsieurs will haul down their flag.”

Paul’s assertion proved correct. Down came the Frenchman’s colours, after an action which lasted two hours and ten minutes. She proved to be the thirty-eight-gun frigate Réunion, Captain François Adénian.

Numbers of people stood on the French shore watching the combat, and much disappointed they must have been at its termination. The Réunion’s consort, the Sémillante, was seen to make an attempt to come out of harbour to her assistance; but there was not wind sufficient for her to stem a contrary and very strong tide.

“I do wish she’d come!” exclaimed Paul Pringle as he eyed her, while he and his companions were repairing damages, again to make sail. “We’d have her too—I know we should.”

“I thought that I should bring you good luck, Monsieur le Captain,” said the old pilot when the action was over; “I always do.”

“I hope you will stay with us and bring us more, then,” answered Captain Garland.

“With all my heart,” was the answer; and so it was arranged.

Some time after this the Ruby put into Plymouth, from whence she was ordered to proceed to Guernsey in company with the Druid, a thirty-two-gun frigate, and the Eurydice, a twenty-four-gun ship.

A bright lookout was as usual kept. The squadron had got to the distance of about twelve leagues to the northward of the island, when one of the lookouts hailed that two ships were in sight to the westward. Presently two more and a fifth was made out. Whether friends or foes, at first it was difficult to say; but clear glasses were brought to bear on them, and it was declared that they were two fifty-gun ships, two large frigates and a brig, which had crowded all sail in chase.

Many a man might have been daunted by these fearful odds. True British seamen never give in while there is a possibility of escape. Captain Garland called aft the old Guernsey pilot and had a short conversation with him. “Then I’ll do it,” was his remark, and threw out a signal for the Eurydice to make the best of her way under all sail for Guernsey.

Meantime he and the Druid, under easy sail, waited the approach of the enemy. On they came, exulting in their strength, and confident of making prizes of the two British frigates. The latter, nothing daunted, opened their fire on the enemy in a way which must not a little have astonished them.

“Our Captain knows what he is about,” observed Paul Pringle in his usual quiet way, as some of the frigate’s shots were seen to strike the headmost of one of the French ships.

“What! Paul, are we going to take all those big ships?” asked True Blue with much animation. “That will be fine work.”

“As to taking them, Billy, I can’t say,” answered Paul. “It won’t be bad work if we don’t get taken ourselves, do ye see.”

Never, however, did two ships appear in greater jeopardy than did the Ruby and her consort. True Blue observed his Captain. There he stood calm and composed, watching every movement of the enemy, with the old pilot by his side. They were now rapidly approaching Guernsey, and could be seen from the shore, all the neighbouring heights of which were crowded with spectators, eager and anxious witnesses of the unequal contest. Although both the English frigates fired well, they had not as yet succeeded in bringing down any of the Frenchmen’s spars.

Captain Garland now threw out another signal. It was to order the Druid to crowd all sail and make the best of her way for the harbour. Those on board her could scarcely understand his object. It appeared as if he was about to sacrifice himself for the sake of preserving the other two ships. The Captain of the Druid was too good an officer not to obey orders simply because he could not understand their object, or he would have been inclined rather to have gone to the Ruby’s aid, and to have shared her fate, whatever that might have been.

As soon as Captain Garland saw that the Druid was obeying his directions, he boldly hauled up and stood right along the French line, at which the frigate kept up all the time a hot fire. The enemy kept firing away all the while in return; but their gunnery was fortunately none of the best, and but few of their shot had hitherto struck the Ruby.

“Well, what are we going to do now, Paul?” asked True Blue. “Does the Captain intend to try and weather on the Frenchmen, and so get clear?”

“Wait a bit, Billy,” answered his godfather. “You’ll see presently. The Captain means to proceed to Guernsey, and to Guernsey, it’s my opinion, we shall go, in spite of all the Frenchmen may do to try and prevent us.”

On stood the gallant Ruby. The two frigates and brig were passed; then came one of the big ships, then the other. The Eurydice was now close in with the harbour and safe. The Druid was so near that, unless becalmed, there appeared no doubt about her getting in.

“Now, my lads,” cried Captain Garland, “be sharp in all you do!”

The helm was put up, the yards were squared, and on she stood towards a collection of rocky islands, islets, and shoals, apparently to destruction. The never-quiet ocean was sending dense masses of spray and foam over the rocks. The old pilot stood calm by the Captain’s side. The Frenchmen, who had concentrated all their attention on the Ruby and let the other two ships escape, now bore up after them.

On she stood under all sail towards the rocks. The old pilot took his stand in the weather-rigging. The helmsman’s eye was upon him, ready to answer each wave of his hand, or deep-toned sound of his voice. The guns were deserted, and all the crew stood by either the tacks or sheets or braces, or crowded the tops aloft, ready with all possible rapidity to make any alteration in the sails which a shift of wind or change of course might require.

Still the enemy kept firing at the frigate, but their shot fell either altogether short or wide of their mark. The wind increased—the frigate flew on. On either side of her there appeared white foaming seas, dancing up fantastically and wildly, without apparent cause, but which the seamen well knew betokened rocks and shoals. They were aware that they were among the most dangerous reefs on that rock-bound coast.

No one in the ship had ever been there except the curious old pilot. There he stood, as cool and collected as if the ship were sailing in the open sea, with a gentle breeze filling her canvas. The Captain stood near the pilot, and they all knew that they could trust him, and so were content if he trusted the old Guernsey man.

“He knows what he’s about,” observed Paul Pringle to his godson, looking at the pilot. “Mind, Billy, that’s what you must always do. Never attempt to do what you don’t know how to do; but then what I say is, set to work and learn to do all sorts of things. Never throw a chance away. Note all the landmarks as we go along now, and whenever you go into a harbour mark them in the same way.”

“Ay, ay, Paul,” answered Billy; “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any man can do,” remarked his godfather. “Stick to that, boy, and you’ll do well. But, I say, I wish those Monsieurs would just try and follow us. We might lead them a dance which would leave them on some of these pretty rocks alongside.”

True Blue’s interest in what was going forward was so great that he could scarcely reply to Paul’s remarks. The sea foamed and roared on either side of the ship. Now the water became smoother over a wider surface, now black rocks rose sheer out of the sea as high as the hammock nettings, and then once more there was a bubbling, and hissing, and frothing, betokening concealed dangers, which none but the most experienced of pilots could hope to avoid. Meantime, many an eye was turned towards the French squadron. It was scarcely to be expected that the enemy should be ignorant of the surrounding dangers; still no one would have been sorry if, in their eagerness, they had run themselves on shore.

Suddenly the leading French ship was seen to haul her wind—so suddenly, indeed, that the next almost ran into her, and, as it was, shot so far beyond her that she must have almost grazed the rocks before her yards were braced up, and she was able to stand off shore. In a few minutes more the Ruby ran triumphantly into Guernsey roads, where the Druid and Eurydice had already arrived in safety, while thousands of spectators were looking down and cheering them from the surrounding heights.

“I knew our Captain would do it!” exclaimed Paul, when, the sails being furled and the ship brought to an anchor, he and his messmates were once again below. “There are few things a brave man can’t do when he tries. Our Captain can fight a ship and take care of a ship. What I’ve been saying to Billy is, that we should never give up, however great the odds against us, because, for what we can tell, even at the last moment something or other may turn up in our favour. Mind, Billy, whatever you may think now, you’ll find one of these days that what I tell you is right.”

Chapter Twelve.

The frigate did not remain long at Guernsey, but, with the rest of the squadron, put to sea. She soon separated from them, and stood down Channel to extend her cruise to the distance of a couple of hundred leagues or so to the westward of Cape Clear.

As usual, she was very successful and picked up several prizes. Among the prizes were three large merchantmen and two privateers. The latter, especially, required a considerable number of men to take them home. Captain Garland was unwilling thus to weaken his crew, and yet the prizes were too valuable to abandon. These vessels had just been despatched when a brig was descried from the masthead. Chase was given. She was a fast vessel and well handled, but before night she was come up with. When her Captain saw that he had no longer any hope of escape, he, like a wise man, hove to and hauled down his colours.

She proved to be La Sybille, a French letter of marque, carrying eight guns, twenty-five men, and bound for the French West India Islands with a valuable cargo. The prisoners, with the exception of four, three white men and a black, who were left on board to assist in working her, were removed to the frigate; and Captain Garland, who could not spare any more lieutenants or mates, sent a midshipman and prize crew to take charge of her.

The midshipman’s name was Nott. He was generally called in the mess Johnny Nott. He was as short as his name, but he was a brave, dashing little fellow; but though he had been some time at sea, being very idle, his navigation, at all events, was not as first-rate as he managed to make it appear that it was when he had the honour of dining with his Captain. Captain Garland sent for him and told him that he would spare him two men and a couple of boys, and he expected that with them and the prisoners he would be able to carry the brig safe into Falmouth or Plymouth.

“I shall send one of the quartermasters with you, Pringle. He is a steady man; and you shall have Marline and Freeborn, who is as good as a man, and the boy Hartland: he is steady.”

“May I have Fid, sir, also?” put in Nott, who was always free-spoken and wonderfully at ease with his Captain. “He is such an amusing young dog. He’ll keep the rest alive by his jokes, if he does nothing else.”

“You may take him, Mr Nott; but take care that they don’t get to skylarking and fall overboard,” said the Captain.

“Oh no, sir,” answered the midshipman; “I’ll maintain the strictest discipline, and hope to have the brig safe in harbour in the course of a few days.”

Captain Garland smiled at the air with which Johnny Nott spoke, and, shaking him by the hand, sincerely wished him a prosperous passage.

Meantime the first lieutenant had sent for Paul Pringle, and, knowing how thoroughly he could be trusted, had given him his instructions to look after Mr Nott—in other words, to act as his dry-nurse.

“I need not tell you how to behave, Pringle,” observed the lieutenant. “You must advise him when to shorten sail, and what to do, indeed, under any emergency; and let him, as much as possible, suppose that he is following his own ideas.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Paul, not a little flattered. “I know pretty well how to speak to most of the young gentlemen; I always leave them to fancy that they are telling me what to do. Most young gentlemen nowadays are fond of ‘teaching their grandmothers to suck eggs,’ and I never stop them when they like to do it.”

“All right, then, Pringle,” answered Mr Brine; “we understand each other clearly. Keep order among the boys, and have an eye on the prisoners.”

All arrangements being made, Mr Nott, with his quadrant, book of navigation, and his crew, went on board the prize and took charge of her, instead of the officer who had boarded her when she was captured.

Scarcely had he got on board and made sail than a large ship was seen to the southwest. The frigate signalled the brig to continue on her course, and then stood away in chase of the stranger. Johnny Nott would much have liked to have gone too, for he could not help fancying that the stranger was an enemy, and if so, he knew full well that whatever her size, even should she happen to be a line-of-battle ship, his Captain would very likely bring her to action. Though he dared not follow her, he waited till he guessed that no one on board would be paying him any attention, and then, having persuaded himself that there would be no harm in so doing, hove the brig to, that he might have a better chance of ascertaining what might happen.

He then ordered True Blue to the masthead to watch the proceedings of the stranger. The wind was about north-west; the stranger was steering about east, and had apparently come from the southward. In a little time Billy hailed that she had brailed up her courses.

“Then, sir,” observed Paul, “depend on it she is an enemy.”

“I wonder what size she is? What do you think, Pringle?” asked the midshipman.

“Freeborn can tell better than any of us,” was the reply; and on Billy being hailed, he reported her a heavy frigate or a fifty-gun ship.

“I only hope our bright Ruby won’t find that she has caught a Tartar, then,” said Johnny Nott. “I don’t think that we could be of much use if we were to go and try and help.”

“Never fear, sir,” observed Paul; “our Captain will know how to tackle with her, whatever she is.”

While this conversation was going forward, True Blue hailed that the frigate was again making signals, and on Johnny Nott referring to his book he discovered that it was a reprimand ordering him to make all sail to the eastward. Had he persevered in remaining hove to, he would have been guilty of an act of insubordination, and most reluctantly, therefore, he made sail and stood on his proper course.

When daylight returned the next morning the frigate was nowhere to be seen, and La Sybille continued her solitary course towards England.

The Frenchmen had hitherto behaved in a perfectly orderly, quiet manner, and obeyed cheerfully the orders issued to them. No change, indeed, was exhibited towards their English captors; but they soon began to quarrel among themselves, and were constantly fighting and disputing. If they did not actually proceed to blows, they appeared every instant as if about to do so. Their conduct was reported to Mr Nott.

“No great harm in that,” he remarked. “If they are quarrelling among themselves, they are less likely to combine to play us any tricks.”

Not many hours had passed before, while he was below, one of the Frenchmen was left at the helm, and True Blue, who was forward, saw another come up on deck, and, with a capstan-bar in his hand, make a blow, so it seemed, at the helmsman’s head. He missed it, however, and the bar, descending with full force on the binnacle, smashed it and the compasses within it to pieces. Billy remarked the men. There was a great deal of jabbering, vociferation, and action, but neither of them struck or hurt the other.

As he watched them an idea occurred to him. “I don’t think those fellows did that by chance,” he said to himself. “I will keep an eye on them.”

The noise brought Mr Nott and Paul Pringle on deck.

“A pretty mess you have made, Messieurs,” observed the midshipman, who spoke a sufficient amount of bad French to make himself perfectly understood by them, and this was one of the reasons why he had been selected to command the brig. “If I was to give you four dozen each, or put you in irons, or stop your grog, you’d only get what you deserve. Now, go and find another compass and put the binnacle to rights. You Frenchmen are handy at that sort of thing.”

The men slunk off as if very much ashamed of themselves, and Paul Pringle took the helm. True Blue, however, watched them, and he was certain that there was a laugh in their eyes, giving evidence that they were well content with what they had done. When they went below also, they seemed to be on perfectly good terms with each other.

On search being made, no compass whatever was to be found.

“I thought that I had observed, when I first came on board, a spare compass and boat compass,” observed Mr Nott.

But the Frenchmen, on being interrogated, all declared that they were not aware that there were any others, and said that if there were, they were private property, and that the Captain had taken them with him. The other Frenchmen appeared to be very angry at what their countrymen had done, and did their best to ingratiate themselves with Mr Nott. The difficulty was now to know how to steer. The midshipman’s knowledge of navigation was put to a severe test. While the sky was clear, either by night or by day, it was tolerably easy to steer more or less to the eastward; but whether they should hit the chops of the Channel or run on shore on the coast of Ireland or France, or the Scilly Islands, it was impossible to say.

“We must do our best, sir, and trust in Providence,” observed Paul Pringle to the young officer. “Only there’s one thing I’d do—I’d rather steer to the nor’ard than the south’ard of our course, so as to avoid the chance of running ashore on the Frenchman’s coast. Of all the places I should hate most it would be a French prison.”

True Blue was certainly not of a suspicious disposition, but he could not help watching the Frenchmen. He whispered his ideas also to Harry and Tim Fid, who agreed to keep a watchful eye on the prisoners. Little did the Frenchmen think how narrowly all their proceedings were noted. Fid soon remarked that when either of the Frenchmen was at the helm, one of the others was constantly going to a chest in the forepeak and looking steadily into it. His curiosity was therefore aroused to ascertain what it was they went to look at. He reflected how he could discover this without being seen.

Some of the crew slept in the bunks or standing bed-places arranged along the sides of the vessel, but others in hammocks. The hammocks were, however, not sent up on deck every day as they are on board of a man-of-war. One of these hung over the Frenchmen’s chests, and into it Tim stowed himself away, making the lower surface smooth with the blankets, so that the form of his body should not be observed. A slight slit in the canvas enabled him to breathe and to look down below him. Poor Fid had to watch a considerable time, however, and felt sadly cramped and almost stifled without being the wiser for all the trouble he had taken. The Frenchmen were there; but first Tom Marline came below, and then Hartland, and then the black; and the Frenchmen sat on the lockers cutting out beef bones into various shapes and polishing them.

At last all but one man went on deck, and then he jumped up, and instantly going to the chest opened it; and then Tim saw clearly a compass, and, moreover, that the brig was steering a course considerably to the southward of east. The Frenchman then put his head up through the fore-hatchway, took a look round, and then, again diving into the forepeak, had another glance at the compass.

“That’s it,” thought Tim; “True Blue is right. The Frenchmen intend to run us near their own coast and then rise on us, or they hope to fall in with one of their own cruisers and be retaken. Small blame to them.”

The thread of his soliloquy was interrupted by his observing the Frenchman go to a chest on the opposite side, which, when opened, he saw was full of arms, cutlasses, long knives, and pistols. The man sat down by the side of it, and deliberately began to load one after the other, and then to arrange the knives and dirks, so that they could in an instant be drawn out for use.

“Ho, ho!” thought Tim; “that’s your plan, is it? Two can play at that game, we will show you!”

Fid was now very anxious to get out of his hiding-place, and to go and tell True Blue what he had seen. The Frenchman, however, after he had made all his arrangements, put a brace of pistols into his pocket and stuck a dirk into his belt, concealed by his jacket, sat down on a locker, and, with the greatest apparent unconcern, pursued his usual occupation of bone-cutting.

Fid grew more and more impatient. He waited some time longer, then he saw the man prick up his ears and listen eagerly. Presently there was the sound of a scuffle on deck. The Frenchman sprang up the ladder through the fore-hatch-way. As he did so a key fell from his pocket. The moment he was gone, Fid jumped out of his hiding-place, picked up the key, applied it to the chest which contained the arms—the lid flew open. He drew out several brace of pistols and a bundle of dirks. He stuck as many of both into his belt and pockets as he could carry, and hid the others in the hammock in which he had been concealed, while the key he also hid away. All was done as quick as lightning. Then, with a pistol in one hand and a dirk in the other, he followed the Frenchman up the hatchway.

As he did so he chanced to cast his eye aloft, when he saw True Blue in the fore-rigging. He signed to him to come on deck. Billy saw him, and slid down rapidly by the foretop-mast-stay. On looking aft they saw Hartland and Mr Nott stretched on the deck, apparently lifeless, while the three Frenchmen, with the black, were making a furious attack on Tom Marline, who had the helm, while Paul Pringle stood by defending him with a boat’s stretcher. Neither Pringle nor Marline had arms, while two of the Frenchmen and the black had dirks, and the third Frenchman, as Fid knew, had pistols. Fid immediately handed a brace of pistols and a dirk to True Blue, and together they rushed aft. Paul saw them coming, but the Frenchmen did not. One of them had cocked his pistol, and was taking a deliberate aim at Paul, when True Blue, who at that instant had reached the quarterdeck, lifted his arm and fired.

The Frenchman staggered a few paces, fired his pistol in the air, and then fell to the deck. To prevent his companions from seizing his weapons, Fid drew them from his pocket and bolted off with them round the deck. Before, however, the smoke of the pistol which True Blue had fired had cleared off, he had sprung to the side of Paul Pringle and handed him the remaining pistol and a dirk. Paul on this sprang on the Frenchmen.

The black was the first to fly. The other two men, finding themselves clearly overmatched, retreated forward and gained the fore-hatchway. It was blowing fresh, so that Marline was afraid if he left the wheel the brig would broach to. Consequently only Paul and True Blue pursued the Frenchmen. One of them leaped down the fore-hatchway. As he did so a pistol-shot was heard, and Fid immediately afterwards appeared at the same place, exclaiming:

“I’ve done for the fellow—settle the other two!”

Fid held a pistol in his hand. The black saw it, and sprang at the boy to seize it; but True Blue, who saw it also, was too quick for him, and had got hold of it just before the negro reached the spot. Fid sprang out of his way; and so eager had he been, that he pitched head-forward down the hatchway.

The last Frenchman attempted to defend himself; but when he saw Paul and the two lads with arms in their hands approaching him, while his companions were unable to assist him, he knew that resistance was useless and cried out for quarter.

“You don’t deserve it, Monsieur Crapaud,” answered Paul; “but I’m not the fellow to take a man’s life in cold blood. Howsomdever, there’s one thing I’ll take, and that is, good care you don’t attempt to play us such a trick again. Here, Billy, hand me that coil of rope. We’ll keep him out of harm for the present.”

Saying this, while True Blue stood by presenting a pistol at the prisoner’s head, Paul proceeded to lash his arms and legs, and to secure him to one of the guns.

“Well done, mate!” exclaimed Tom Marline from aft. “And now just come and have a look at Mr Nott. I think that he’s coming to.”

“And I do hope that Harry isn’t killed either!” cried Fid. “He’s breathing, and that’s more than dead men can do.”

In a little time both Mr Midshipman Nott and the boy Hartland came to themselves, and sat up rubbing their eyes, as if trying to understand what had occurred. The moment the truth flashed on Mr Nott’s mind, he sprang to his feet, and, seizing a stretcher, the nearest weapon he could lay hold of, stood on the defensive, looking about for an enemy.

He was much relieved in his mind when he saw one of the Frenchmen lying not far off dead on the deck, and another sitting bound, where Paul and True Blue had placed him, between the guns.

“What! have we come off victorious in the struggle?” he exclaimed, turning to Marline.

“Yes, sir,” answered the seaman, “we’ve been and drubbed the Monsieurs; but there are still two on ’em below kicking up a bobbery. If you’ll take the helm, sir, I’ll go and help Pringle to make them fast.”

“No, no,” answered the midshipman somewhat indignantly, as if his courage or strength had been called in question. “I can do that. You stay at the helm.”

When the Frenchman and the black had jumped down into the forepeak, Tim Fid had very wisely clapped the hatch on, so that they were left in darkness, and were also unable to return again on deck. Pringle was on the point of taking off the hatch to secure the two men when the midshipman got forward.

“Very glad, sir, to see you all to rights,” said Paul, looking up. “I suppose that you’ll wish us to get hold of the two fellows down below?”

“By all means. I’ll hail them and advise them to surrender at discretion.”

The hatch was taken off, and Mr Nott explained, as well as his limited knowledge of French would allow, that all their chance of success was gone. Only the black man answered. Mr Nott ordered him to come up.

“L’autre est mort,” (the other is dead), said he as he made his appearance, looking very much frightened.

“He is as treacherous as the rest; it will not do to let him be at liberty,” said Mr Nott. “It was he who knocked me down and began the mutiny.”

The black was accordingly lashed to a gun on the opposite side of the deck, facing his companion.

On going below they found that the Frenchman whom Fid had shot was not dead, having only been stunned by the fall. He would, however, very shortly have bled to death had they not bound up his wound. In mercy to the poor wretch, they placed him in a bunk, but did not tell him that either of his companions had escaped.

“Ah, I deserve my fate!” he observed to Mr Nott. “Had we succeeded, we should have thrown you all overboard and carried the vessel into a French port. There is a large sum of money on board stowed away below the after-lockers. It escaped the vigilance of the officers who examined the vessel. We knew of it, and for its sake we intended to get rid of you, that we might obtain possession of the whole.”

“Much obliged for your kind intentions,” answered Johnny, laughing. “The dollars we’ll look after, and you will consider yourself a prisoner in your berth till I give you leave to get out of it. If you put your head above the hatchway, you’ll be shot. That is an understood thing between us.”

The Frenchman could only make a grimace as a sign of his acquiescence.

“I’m in earnest, remember!” said Mr Nott as he climbed up the ladder on deck.

Fid now reported all that he had done, and he and True Blue received the praise from their young commander which they so fully merited. The compass was got up on deck and shipped in the binnacle, and the arms were carried aft and placed in the cabin. The other chests belonging to the Frenchmen were broken open; but nothing particular was found in them.

When all these arrangements were made, the officer and his small crew assembled on deck to hold a council of war.

“The first thing we had better do, sir, is to shorten sail, seeing how shorthanded we are,” observed Paul Pringle. “We couldn’t do it in a hurry, and if it comes on to blow, our spars and sails may be carried away before we know where we are.”

This advice was too good to be neglected. “Then, sir, as these Frenchmen have been steering to the southward and east whenever they have had the helm, oughtn’t we to steer so much to the nor’ard to make up for the distance we have run out of our course?” observed True Blue with much modesty.

“Capital idea, Freeborn!” exclaimed the midshipman with a patronising air. “You’ve a very good notion of navigation; we’ll do it.”

Mr Nott now took the helm, while the crew went aloft to furl the lighter canvas and to take a reef in the topsails. While True Blue was on his way up to hand the main-royal, his eye fell on a vessel following directly in the wake of the brig, which might have been seen long before had not they all been so fully occupied. He hailed Mr Nott and pointed her out.

The midshipman, who, from being at the helm, could not at the same time take a steady look at her, inquired what she was like. “A schooner, sir, with a wide spread of canvas,” answered True Blue. “She seems to be coming up fast with us.”

“All hands come down on deck!” shouted Mr Nott. He then asked Paul what he thought of the stranger.

“She does not look like an English craft, and may be an enemy—a privateer probably,” was the answer. “I suppose, sir, you’ll think fit to hold on and try and get away from her?” continued Paul. “It will soon be growing dark, and if the weather becomes thick, as it promises to do, we may alter our course without being discovered.”

“Yes, exactly—that is just my idea,” observed Mr Nott. “We could not have hit upon a better.”

The sail was consequently not taken off the brig, which, under other circumstances, it ought to have been; and on she stood, the breeze gradually increasing, and the weather becoming more and more unsettled. Mr Nott watched the schooner. It was very clear that she was gaining on the brig.

“It is very probable that we shall have to fight, after all,” he said to himself. “So, as the Captain always makes a speech to the crew before a battle is begun, I think I ought to do so.”

Accordingly, calling all hands aft, he cleared his throat and began. “My lads,” he said, imitating as well as he could the tone and manner of Captain Garland, “we shall very likely have to fight that fellow astern of us. You’ll do your duty like true Britons, I know you will—you always do. We will take her if we can. If not, we’ll try to get away from her; but if we cannot do either, we’ll blow up the brig and go down with our colours flying. I don’t think that it matters much which. Both are equally glorious modes of proceeding.”

True Blue was very much taken with the speech, and told Harry Hartland that it was just what he thought they ought to do; but Tim Fid said that he hadn’t made up his mind which he should prefer. Blowing up was very fine to look at, but going down must be a very disagreeable sensation.

Paul, meantime, took off his hat to reply. “As you wish it, Mr Nott, we’ll fight the brig to the last, and maybe we shall knock away some of her spars and get off. I don’t think we shall have much chance of taking her, and as to blowing up or going down with our colours flying, if the enemy send their shot through her sides, between wind and water, and won’t take us on board, we can’t help ourselves; but perhaps, sir, you’ll just think over the matter about blowing up. It would be like throwing our best chance away. I for one don’t wish to see the inside of a French prison; but you know, sir, even if we are taken, we may have a chance of being retaken before we get into a French port, or of escaping even when we are there. Now, if we blow ourselves up into the air, we shall have no chance of either.”

“Very true, Pringle, very true,” answered the midshipman; “I did not think of that. Well, we won’t blow ourselves up; and if we find our brig sinking, we’ll strike our flag and yield. There’ll be no dishonour in doing that, I hope. Several brave officers have been obliged to strike to a superior force at times; so it will be all proper, but it’s what the Frenchmen are more accustomed to do than we are.”

There was no sun visible, so Mr Nott looked at his watch and found that there would be scarcely more than an hour of daylight.

“If we can but keep ahead, we shall do,” he remarked.

Paul agreed with him in this, but suggested that, by cutting away the stern-boat, and by making two temporary ports in her stern, they might fight a couple of long brass guns which they had found on board. This idea was immediately adopted, and all hands set to work to get the guns and tackle ready, while Paul, with an axe, soon made the required ports. He was not very particular as to their appearance. With the aid of the timber-heads, there were already a sufficient number of ringbolts to enable them to work the tackles.

All this time the schooner was gaining on them. Scarcely were these two guns fitted and loaded than the schooner yawed, and a shot came skipping along the water and disappeared close under their counter.

“Not badly aimed,” observed True Blue, “but the range is too great. Paul, don’t you think that these long guns would carry farther?”

“Wait a bit, Billy,” answered Paul; “we haven’t much powder or many shot to spare. We won’t throw away either till she gets a little nearer. Then you shall have it all your own way.”

True Blue, with this promise, was eager for the Frenchman to get nearer. There had been no doubt that such the stranger was. Her own colours could not be seen; but, to make sure, Mr Nott first hoisted a French flag. No notice was taken of this. Then he hoisted the English ensign over the French, and immediately the stranger yawed and fired a bow-chaser.

“You’d think it well to mystify them a little, sir,” observed Paul. “We should do that if we hoisted the French flag over the English.”

This was done, and for some time no other shot was fired. Still the stranger seemed to be not altogether satisfied. The breeze was freshening all this time, and at length it became evident that the brig was carrying much more canvas than was necessary, unless she was trying to get away from the schooner. The stranger seemed to think so, at all events, and without yawing fired a shot as a signal to the chase to heave-to.

This was what no one but the prisoners had the slightest wish to do; and so, as it was now getting dark, both flags were hauled down and not again hoisted.

“Now, Billy,” said Paul, “let us see, my boy, what you can do.”

True Blue was in his glory. He had a gun almost entirely to himself. Tim Fid acted the part of powder-monkey; while he and Hartland had charge of one gun, and Mr Nott, helped by Paul, worked the other. Paul, indeed, stepped from gun to gun as his services were required. Now they set to work in right earnest and began to blaze away as hard as they could, while Tom Marline stood at the helm and steered the flying brig. He had no easy work either, for, with the immense press of canvas she had on her and the strong breeze, it was with difficulty he could keep her on her course.

True Blue was delighted to find that his shot, at all events, reached the enemy.

“Paul, Paul, that shot hit her bows—I saw the splinters fly from them!” he exclaimed while he and Harry were again loading.

“All right,” answered Paul, who likewise saw the effect of the shot. “Keep on like that, and you’ll soon bring down some of the chap’s spars.”

Meantime, Mr Nott was working away manfully with his gun. He felt rather vexed to think that a ship’s boy was a better shot than himself; only just then, as he wished to preserve the brig, he was thankful to any one who could aid in accomplishing that object. Now and then the schooner fired; but as at each time, in order to do so, she had to yaw and then keep away, she fired much less frequently than the brig. The Frenchmen probably also judged that, as they were rapidly coming up with the chase, it was not worth while to throw their shot away. As the darkness increased, the wind got up more and more, and so did the sea, and all around looked very gloomy and threatening.

“We must shorten sail, sir!” exclaimed Tom Marline at last, who had been looking up ever and anon at the bending, quivering spars.

“Never mind, my man,” said Johnny Nott with the greatest coolness, “the brig will do that for herself better than we can. We have enough to do just now to try and wing the enemy.”

There seemed a fair chance of their doing this. The guns were excellent, and True Blue’s gunnery was first-rate. But as the brig tumbled about and pitched more and more, he found greater difficulty in taking aim. Still he persevered, and so did Mr Nott; and as it was far too dark for them to see the effects of their shot, they both hoped that they were doing a great deal of damage. One thing concerned Paul exceedingly. He feared that, the instant they hauled their wind and got out of their previous course, the masts would go over the side.

Still True Blue, regardless of everything else, kept firing away as fast as ever. What did he care what might happen besides just then? There was a fine brass gun he had been ordered to serve, and there was the enemy. The scud was flying rapidly overhead, the wind howled, the thunder roared, and flash after flash burst forth from the sky, mocking the tiny light of the British guns. The whole ocean was of a dark slaty hue, with white, hissing, foaming crests dancing up as far as the eye could reach, while many came hissing up and almost leaped on board. The brig went tearing along, her masts bending and writhing as if they were about to be torn out of her. Suddenly there was a terrific crash, and both the tall masts leant over and went by the board. Fortunately they fell forward and none of the party was hurt.

“Well, we have shortened sail with a vengeance!” cried the midshipman, even at that moment unable to restrain a joke, though he felt in no joking mood. “Never mind the guns now. Let us clear the wreck. Perhaps the Frenchman may pass us in the dark.”

This was a wise thought, as it was the best thing that could be done. With axes and knives they set energetically to work to cut the ropes which kept the masts and spars thumping against the vessel’s sides like battering-rams.

While thus engaged, True Blue exclaimed:

“See, see!—what is that?”

All hands looked up. The dark outline of the schooner was visible flying by them. Just then a vivid flash of lightning darted from the sky. There was a loud crackling noise heard even amid the raging of the rising tempest; the flame ran down the schooner’s mainmast. Shrieks reached their ears; there was a loud roar like a single clap of thunder without an echo; the whole dark mass seemed to rise in the air, and here and there dark spots could be seen, and splashes could be heard close to the vessel, and for a few seconds flames burst forth from where the schooner had been seen; but in an instant they disappeared and not a trace of her could be discovered. The dismantled brig floated alone, surrounded by darkness on the wild tumultuous ocean.

Chapter Thirteen.

The dismasted brig lay tumbling about, utterly helpless. Neither moon nor stars were visible. The seas came roaring up around her, now throwing her on one side, now on the other. Her stern-boat had already been cut adrift.

Not long after the disappearance of the schooner, a sea struck her quarter and carried away one of the boats on that side, and at the next roll the one on the opposite quarter went.

Mr Nott, with Paul and Marline, and the three boys, were clustered aft.

“Paul,” observed True Blue, “the Frenchman and black can’t play us any tricks now. They run a great chance of being drowned where they are; couldn’t we cast them loose and let them come aft here?”

“Right, Billy,” answered Paul. “We should be merciful even to our enemies. I had forgotten them.”

Mr Nott offering no objection, Paul and True Blue worked their way to the waist, where the two men sat bound. Paul loosened the Frenchman, and True Blue took out his knife and cut the lashings which bound the black; and then, assisting him up on his legs, pointed aft, and by a push in that direction intimated that he had better get there as soon as possible.

Billy then bethought him of the wounded prisoner in the dark damp forepeak, all alone, expecting every instant to be his last. “I shouldn’t like to be left thus,” he thought; “I’ll go and see what I can do for him.”

Without, therefore, telling Paul what he was going to do, he worked his way gradually forward, grasping tightly on by the belaying-pins and cleats made fast to the bulwarks.

Just as he got close to the fore-hatch, he saw rolling up, just ahead of the vessel, what looked like a huge black mountain with a snowy top. It was a vast sea appearing still larger in the darkness. On it rolled, roaring above the bows of the brig, and then with a terrific crash down it came on her deck, threatening to swamp her and sweeping everything before it.

True Blue’s foot had been pressing against a ringbolt: a rope was made fast to it. He threw himself flat down, grasping the ring with one hand and making several turns with the rope round the other. He felt the breath almost pressed out of his body with the weight of water rushing above him; and then he fancied that the vessel herself was going down and would never rise again.

The rush and the roaring sound of water passed on. He felt the bows of the brig rise once more; he lifted himself up on his knees and looked over his shoulder. The sea had made a clean sweep, and had carried away the caboose, the boats on the booms, and every spar remaining on deck, besides, as it appeared to him, a considerable portion of the larboard bulwarks.

His anxiety was for his shipmates. How had they withstood the rush of waters? He shouted; but though his voice was loud and shrill, the howling of the tempest and the dash of the sea were louder. He tried to penetrate the darkness, but he could distinguish nothing beyond half the length of the ship. His heart sank lower than it had ever done before at the thought that his faithful kind guardian might be torn from him for ever.

Having started to visit the wounded Frenchman, he wished to do so before he tried to find his way aft again to ascertain the state of the case. He lifted the hatch off and dived below. All was dark. There were no means of procuring a light in the place.

“I say, Monsieur Frenchman, how are you?” he began, groping his way towards the bunk where the prisoner lay.

A groan showed that the man was not dead. True Blue remembered that there was some food in one of the lockers. Taking some sausages and biscuit, he put them into the man’s hand. “Here, eat; you’re hungry, I daresay.”

“Merci! merci! de l’eau-de-vie, je vous prie, donnez-moi de l’eau-de-vie.”

Billy, on searching about, had found a can with a little water at the bottom of it, and a flask of spirits; so, guessing what the man wanted, he poured some of the spirits into the can and gave it to him.

The draught must have been very refreshing, for the Frenchman’s expression of gratitude knew no limits. He made True Blue understand that he had better take something himself. This, as he was very hungry, he was nothing loth to do; but he had not eaten much, and had only taken one pull at the grog can when he recollected his friends. He felt that he could eat nothing more until he had ascertained their fate.

“If they are alive, they’ll want to eat,” he said to himself. “They can’t be gone—no, no; I won’t believe it.”

So he filled his pockets with as many sausages and as much biscuit as they could carry, and, shaking the Frenchman by the hand to show that he would not be forgotten, he ascended the ladder, closed the fore-hatch behind him, and began his perilous journey towards the stern. The sea on one side, he discovered, had made so complete a wreck, that he knew, should he slip, there would be nothing to prevent his going overboard.

The greatest caution therefore was necessary. He could feel the ringbolts, but he could not see them, or indeed any object by which to secure himself. On hands and knees he crept on, feeling his way. He had got as far as the main hatchway when he saw another sea rising. He clung, as before, to a ringbolt. Over came the water with a furious rush, which would have carried any one unprepared for it away. He felt his arm strained to the utmost; still he had no notion of letting go. When the sea had passed over, the vessel was steadier for an instant than she had been. He took the opportunity to make a bold rush to the nearest part of the bulwarks remaining entire. He now got aft with less difficulty. His heart felt lighter when he saw the group he expected standing there; but Paul didn’t come forward to welcome him. Instead, he heard Marline’s voice say, “Rouse up, Pringle; rouse up, mate—the boy is safe.”

True Blue was in an instant kneeling down by the side of his guardian. “I am here, Paul, I am here; Billy True Blue all right, godfather!” he exclaimed, putting his mouth to Paul’s ear.

“What has happened? Is he hurt?” he asked.

“He has hurt his side and ribs, and we are afraid he has broken his leg,” answered Marline. “We all thought that you were gone—washed clean away, boy; but he wouldn’t believe it, and started off to look for you, when a sea took him and washed him back in the state you now see him. He was nearly carried overboard, and we have had hard work to save him.”

True Blue forgot everything else but the state of his friend, till at length Paul came to himself and comprehended what had occurred. The knowledge that his godson was safe seemed to revive him. Billy then remembered the provisions he had got in his pocket, and served them out among his companions, the two prisoners getting an equal share.

Dawn came at last, and presented a fearful scene of wreck and confusion: the dark-green seas were rising up on every side, topped with foam, which came down in showers on the deck, blown off by the fierce wind; while the lately trim brig lay shattered and dismantled, and, too evidently, far deeper in the water than she had been before the gale.

Not a boat remained; there were not even the means of making a raft.

“But what can we do, Paul?” asked True Blue, thinking how sad it was that his fine old friend should thus ingloriously lose his life. Paul smiled as he answered:

“Trust in Providence, boy. That’s the best sheet-anchor a seaman can hold to when he’s done his duty and can do no more. There are others as badly off as we are, depend on that.”

When his godfather had ceased speaking, True Blue cast his eye around in the faint hope that some aid might possibly be at hand. As he did so, he saw that several pieces of wreck were floating round the brig. As the light increased, he thought he saw the form of a man on one of them. He looked again; he pointed the spar out to the rest: they were of the same opinion. The man was alive, too. He saw the wreck, he waved to them, he turned his face with a look imploring assistance.

“Here, Tom, make this rope fast round me; I think that I can reach that poor fellow. The next send of the sea will bring him close alongside.”

Though True Blue was a first-rate swimmer for his age, Marline demurred and appealed to Pringle.

“He is only a Frenchman and an enemy, after all,” argued Marline.

“He’s a fellow-creature, Tom,” answered True Blue. “Here, make fast the rope. I am sure I can save him.”

“Will you let him go, Paul?” asked Tom as a last resource.

Paul raised himself on his arm.

“If the lad thinks it’s his duty to try and save the man, yes,” he answered firmly. “If he loses his life, it will be just as a true British sailor should wish to lose it. Go, boy; Heaven preserve you.”

There was an unusual tone of solemnity and dignity in the way Paul spoke as he grasped his godson’s hand. The rope had by this time been properly adjusted. The piece of wreck with the man on it was drifting nearer and nearer. The man on it again waved his hand. True Blue waved his in return. “He is alive!—he is alive!” he shouted.

“If go you must, now is your time,” shouted Tom.

True Blue leaped off the deck into the raging sea. Boldly he struck out. Down came a sea thundering towards him, hurling the spar with it. There was a shriek of horror: all on board thought he was lost. He had only dived to avoid the sea. Then up again he was on the other side, clinging on to the spar, with his knife in his mouth, ready to cut the lashings which secured the stranger to it. It was done in a moment. He had him tight round the waist.

The stranger is now seen to be a boy not bigger than himself. This makes his task easier. The spar drifts away; the two are in the water together.

Tom and Mr Nott, and the other boys, and the Frenchman and the black, haul away, and, with some severe bruises, rescuer and rescued are safely brought on deck.

“It’s Sir Henry, I do believe!” shouted Tom, hauling in the rope.

“Why, Elmore, my dear fellow, is it you?” exclaimed Johnny Nott, taking the hand of the lad, who, with True Blue, had been dragged aft and placed in as safe a spot as the deck afforded. “We thought you were a Frenchman.”

“I scarcely know who I am. I know that I have to thank Freeborn for my preservation,” answered the young baronet.

He took True Blue’s hand.

“I do thank you heartily, Freeborn,” he said with much emotion.

The excitement of the first minutes of his wonderful preservation over, young Elmore felt the effects of the exposure to which he had been subjected so long, and sank almost helpless on the deck.

“He wants food,” said Tom. “I wish that we had some.” True Blue instantly volunteered to try and go and get it; but of this the rest would not hear.

Marline said he would go; but he was wanted to look after the rest, and take care of poor Pringle, who was utterly unable to help himself. Neither the Frenchman nor the black volunteered to go. The truth was, they dared not face the danger.

“I’ll go if I may!” exclaimed Tim Fid. “If I am not strong, I’m little, and a shrimp can swim where a big fish would be knocked to pieces.”

“Stay, though,” said True Blue. “Here, make fast the rope round you. If you are washed away, we can haul you in by it. It served me a good turn, it will now serve you one.”

“A good thought,” said Tim, fastening the rope round his waist, and away he went. He worked his way forward, as, True Blue had done; but just as he was in the middle of the waist, a sea swept the deck, and would have carried him off had it not been for the rope round him.

He was hauled back not a little bruised. Still he insisted on making another attempt. Having kicked off his shoes, away he went. The deck was clearer than usual of water. He ran and leaped along, and before another sea came had reached the fore-hatch. His first care was to make the rope fast to the windlass. Then he slipped off the hatch and descended. He soon again appeared, and succeeded in reaching the after part of the vessel with a good supply of food and a can.

“There,” he said, “that’s full of honest grog; it will do all hands good. But, I say, we must try and get the poor Frenchman up out of his bunk. He’ll be drowned in it if we don’t in a short time.”

It was agreed that the Frenchman and the black ought to perform the duty; but it was not till they had taken several pulls at the grog can that they seemed to understand what was required of them. Even then Mr Nott had to show a pistol, and hint that they should not remain where they were if they did not go and help the wounded man.

The rope which Fid secured made the task comparatively, easy. Led by the little fellow himself, at last they set off. When they got below, they found so much water that the poor fellow was very nearly washed out of his berth. They managed, however, to get him on deck. To carry him aft, however, was the most difficult part of their task. As it was, the Frenchman, in his anxiety to take care of himself, let go his hold of his wounded countryman; and had it not been for Fid and the black, he would have been washed overboard.

At length they reached the stern in safety. The account Fid gave, however, of the quantity of water below, was truly appalling. They could not hope that the brig could swim many hours longer, and should she go down, they had nothing on which to float; the boats were gone, not a spar remained. There were the hatches, certainly; but there would scarcely be time to construct a raft out of them.

Mr Nott had, during this time, been attending to his messmate. It was some time before young Elmore again revived.

Nott was curious to know how his messmate had come to be on board the schooner which had chased them.

“I will tell you in a few words,” said Elmore. “We had not parted company with the frigate many hours before a strange sail hove in sight. As I knew that we could gain but little by fighting should the stranger prove an enemy, we did our best to run away. The prize, however, sailed badly, and the stranger, which turned out to be a large schooner, sailed remarkably well. We had a couple of guns; so we fired away with them as long as we could till she ranged up alongside, when a number of men leaped on our decks and we were obliged to give in. I was carried on board the schooner; but the rest of the men were left on board the brig to work her, so that I hope that their lives may have been preserved. She was a privateer out of Saint Malo. Your determined attempt to escape excited their anger to the highest degree; and at the very moment that the vessel was struck by lightning, from the effects of which she foundered, they were swearing vengeance against you, wherever you might be. Their terrific shrieks and cries, as one after the other they were overwhelmed by the waves, made my heart sink within me. Still I determined not to yield as long as my strength endured, and I struck out for dear life. I soon found myself close to a shattered spar, to which was attached a quantity of rigging. I climbed up and lashed myself securely to it. Thus I passed the night. I more than once thought I saw the dismantled brig; and you may fancy my joy when I caught sight of her at dawn. Still I scarcely expected that anybody on board would be able to render me assistance; and when I saw that all her boats were gone, I almost gave up hope. I have not thanked Freeborn as I wish; but I have those at home who will thank him still more, if we are allowed to reach dry land, and I am sure our Captain will thank him too.”

While the lads had been talking, the appearance of the sky gave evident signs that the gale was breaking. Still the sea ran very high, and the waterlogged wreck laboured in a way which made it doubtful whether each plunge she made would not prove her last. She sunk lower and lower, and it was very evident that in a short time no part of her deck would be tenable. Anxiously, therefore, all eyes were looking out for a sail. Each time that the brig rose to the top of a sea, they all looked out on every side, in the hope of catching a glimpse of some approaching vessel; and blank was the feeling when she again sunk down into the deep trough and they knew that no help was near.

Suddenly True Blue shouted out, “A sail! a sail!—she is standing towards us!” He had seen her before, but was uncertain which way she was steering, and he had not forgotten a caution given to him by Paul—never to raise hopes when there is a likelihood of their being disappointed.

The sea had for some time been decreasing; but there was still so much that a boat would run considerable risk in boarding the wreck. It was soon proved that True Blue was right. The stranger was steering towards them. On she came. She was a brig, and showed English colours.

A cheer rose from the deck of the waterlogged vessel. The brig came down in gallant style; but she gave evident signs that she also had been battling with the gale. Her bulwarks were shattered, and not a boat was to be seen on board. Her flag showed her to be a packet. A fine-looking man stood in the main-rigging.

The midshipmen shouted, “We are going down, we fear. Can you render assistance?”

“Ay, ay—that I will!” answered the master of the packet. “I will run alongside you. Stand by to leap on board!”

The least experienced of the party saw the great risk the packet was running by this proceeding; for a send of the sea might easily have driven the wreck against her and stove in her upper works. This consideration did not deter the gallant sailor from his act of mercy. He made a signal as he approached, that he would pass the wreck on the larboard quarter. The Frenchman and the black were told that they must help their wounded shipmate. Tom and True Blue begged that they might take charge of Paul, while the rest were to leap on board the instant the vessels’ sides touched. The midshipmen and the two boys wanted to stay and help Paul, but he would not hear of this.

“No, no,” he answered; “if we talk about it, no one will be saved; and if I am left on board, I shall be no worse off than we all have been till now.”

The packet tacked. Now she stood down towards the wreck. The sides of the two vessels touched. The midshipmen and two boys leaped on board. So did the Frenchman and the black; they made a pretence of helping their comrade, it seemed. They placed him on the bulwarks of the wreck, and then, when safe themselves, they were about to regain their hold of him; but the poor wretch lost his balance, and with a cry of horror fell between the two vessels. The two men looked over the side with stupid dismay, abusing each other; but their unfortunate comrade had sunk for ever from their sight.

Meanwhile Tom and True Blue had made an attempt to lift Paul on board the packet. Had her crew known his condition, they probably would have been ready to render assistance; as it was, his two friends, fearful of letting him slip between the two vessels, lost the moment as the brig glided by, and all three were left on the sinking wreck.

“Why have you done this?” said Paul when he saw that the packet had shot ahead. “You should have left me, boys.”

“Left you, Paul!” exclaimed True Blue with an emotion he rarely exhibited. “How can you say that? Please Heaven, we’ll save you yet.”

There was no necessity for hailing the packet. They knew well that the two midshipmen would make every effort in their power to render them assistance. Once more the brig tacked and stood towards them; but the position of the wreck had changed, and it was impossible to run alongside.

Again and again the gallant Captain of the packet tried the manoeuvre without success. At last, passing close to them, he shouted, “Lads, I will heave you ropes; you must make yourselves fast to them and jump overboard: it’s your only chance.”

“Tom, you must do it!” said True Blue, turning to Marline. “It would kill Paul; I’ll stay by him. We shall be taken off when the weather moderates; and if not, I’m ready to go down with him.”

Paul heard this. “True Blue, I’m your guardian, and you must obey me!” he said almost sternly. “The ducking won’t hurt me more than others. Maybe it may do me good. So, I say, make the rope fast round me, and help me overboard when you two go, and I shall not be the worse for it.”

Thus commanded, True Blue could no longer refuse obedience. Down came the packet towards them. The ropes were hove on board.

“Tom, you can’t swim—go by yourself. I’ll stay by Paul!” exclaimed True Blue as he was securing the rope. “Help me to launch him first. Away, now!”

Paul was lowered into the water, True Blue keeping tight hold of the rope just at his waist with his left hand, while he struck out with his right. Thus the two together were drawn through the foaming sea towards the packet. Arrived at the vessel’s side, True Blue was of the greatest service to Paul in protecting him from the blows he would otherwise have received by the sea driving him against it.

Right hearty was the welcome they received from all hands, especially from the gallant commander, Captain Jones.

Scarcely had the packet got a hundred fathoms from the brig when she was seen to make a plunge forward. The two midshipmen were watching her, expecting to see her rise again. They rubbed their eyes. Another sea rolled over the spot where she had been, but no sign of her was there.

Chapter Fourteen.

The Chesterfield packet was bound from Halifax to Falmouth. Fortunately among the passengers was a surgeon, who was able to attend to Paul’s hurts. He set his leg, which was really broken, as were one or more of his ribs.

The passengers, when they heard from Sir Henry Elmore and Johnny Nott of True Blue’s gallantry, were very anxious to have him into the cabin to talk to him, and to hear an account of his adventures. The young midshipmen, knowing instinctively that he would not like this, did not back the passengers’ frequent messages to him; besides, nothing would induce him to leave the side of his godfather, except when the doctor sent him on deck to take some fresh air.

A strange sail was seen on the starboard bow. In a short time she was pronounced to be a ship, and, from the whiteness and spread of her canvas, a man-of-war. Elmore and Nott hoped that she might be their own frigate. They thought that it was a latitude in which she might very likely be fallen in with. Of course, till the character of the brig had been ascertained, she would bear up in chase. They expressed their hopes to Captain Jones, and begged him to steer for her.

“Were I certain that she is your frigate, I would gladly do so; but as you cannot possibly recognise her at this distance, we shall be wiser to stand clear of her till we find out what she is. I will not alter our course, unless when we get nearer she has the cut of an enemy.”

The midshipmen, having borrowed telescopes, were continually going aloft to have a look at the stranger.

“I say, Elmore, it must be she. That’s her fore-topsail, I’ll declare!” exclaimed Johnny Nott. Elmore was not quite so certain.

After a little time, they were joined by True Blue.

“Paul Pringle, sirs, sent me up to have a look at the stranger,” he remarked.

“I am very glad you have come, Freeborn,” said Sir Henry. “Your eyes are the best in the ship. What do you make her out to be?”

True Blue looked long and earnestly without speaking. At last he answered, in an unusually serious tone:

“She is not our frigate, sir—that I’m certain of; and I’m more than afraid—I’m very nearly certain—that she is French. By the cut of her sails and her general look, she puts me in mind of one of the squadron which chased us off Guernsey.”

True Blue’s confidence made the midshipmen look at the stranger in a different light, and they finally both confessed that they were afraid he was right. Captain Jones agreeing with them, all sail was now crowded on the brig to escape.

In spite of all the sail the brig could carry, the frigate was fast coming up with her.

“I wish that we could fight,” said Johnny Nott to Elmore. “Don’t you think that if we were to get two of the guns aft, we might knock away some of her spars?”

“I fear not,” said his brother midshipman, pointing to the popguns which adorned the packet’s deck. “These things would not carry half as far as the frigate’s guns; and, probably, as soon as we began to fire she would let fly a broadside and sink us.”

“Too true, Sir Henry,” observed the brave Captain of the packet, who stood on deck surrounded by the passengers, many of them asking all sorts of useless questions. His countenance showed how distressed he was. “In this case I fear discretion will form the best part of valour.”

Captain Jones cast anxious glances aloft, as well he might, and the midshipmen and True Blue eyed the frigate; and Nott turned to his messmate and said, in a doubting tone, “Elmore, what do you think of it?”

The other answered sadly. “There is no doubt of it. She is coming up hand over hand with us. Freeborn, I am afraid that I am right.”

“Yes, sir,” answered True Blue, touching his hat. “She is going nearly ten knots to our six.”

“Then she will be up with us within a couple of hours at most,” said the young midshipman with a deep-drawn sigh.

The breeze kept freshening rapidly. The brig carried on, however, till her royal masts went over the side, and her topgallant-masts would have followed had the sails not been handed in time; and now all expectation of escape was abandoned.

Still Captain Jones held on his course, remarking, “It will be time enough to heave-to when her shot comes aboard us.”

The crew went below and put on their clean things and a double allowance of clothing, as well as all their possessions which they could stow away in their pockets. When they returned on deck, they certainly did look, as Johnny Nott observed, “a remarkably stout set of Britons.”

Sir Henry borrowed a midshipman’s hat and dirk, as he had lost his own; and Nott, who had a few sovereigns in his pocket,—a wonderful sum for a midshipman,—divided them with him. The Captain insisted, as the last act of his authority, that all the passengers should remain below, during which time the ladies, at all events, employed themselves in imitating the example of the sailors.

At last a shot was heard; then another and another followed, and then a whole volley of musketry.

Captain Jones kept calmly walking his deck till the French frigate began to fire. He then looked round: there was no ship in sight, no prospect of escape; so, with a sad heart, hauling down the British ensign, he ordered the topsails to be lowered and the courses brailed up, and thus waited the approach of the enemy. What was the astonishment and rage of all on deck to have a volley of musketry fired right down on them, with the coolest deliberation, from the forecastle of the frigate as she ranged up alongside, and then, passing ahead of the brig, rounded-to near her.

“Ah, bêtes! we will teach you dogs of Englishmen to lead a French ship such a chase as you have done when you have no chance of escape!” shouted some one from the quarterdeck.

A bullet passed through Elmore’s hat; another struck Captain Jones on the side, but in the excitement of the moment he did not perceive that he was hurt; while a third grazed True Blue’s arm, wounding the skin and making the blood flow rapidly. Without moving from where he stood or saying a word, he took off his handkerchief and began to bind it up, Harry Hartland and Tim Fid hurrying up with expressions of sorrow to help him.

“Never mind this—it’s nothing,” he said, the tears starting into his eyes. “But it’s the French prison for Paul I’m thinking of. It will break his heart. And those brutes may take me from him.”

The frigate now lowered all her boats, and sent them, with their crews armed to the teeth, on board the brig. The Frenchmen jumped on her deck as if she had been a pirate captured after a desperate fight and long chase.

Scarcely a word was spoken—not a question asked; but officers and men were indiscriminately seized by the collars and hurled into the boats, some of the French officers striking them with the flat side of their drawn swords, and at the same time showering down the most abusive epithets on their heads.

Captain Jones, whose appearance and bearing might have saved him from insult, was seized by several men and thrust, with kicks, into the nearest boat.

Just as the boats came alongside, True Blue had gone below to remain with Paul Pringle. The Frenchmen soon followed him. He tried to show by signs that his godfather was very much hurt. This was evident, indeed. At first the men who came below were going to let him remain; but the order soon reached them that all the English were immediately to be removed from the brig. Not without difficulty, True Blue got leave to assist in carrying Paul, aided by Tom Marline, who had fought his way down below to his friend, and the black cook. With no help from the Frenchmen, Paul was at last placed in a boat, with True Blue by his side.

The passengers were scarcely better treated than were the seamen. The ladies and gentlemen were bundled out of the vessel together, and were allowed to take only such articles as they could carry in their hands. Some of the gentlemen who spoke French expostulated.

“Very good,” answered the Lieutenant. “You have chosen to lighten the vessel of all public property, which would, at all events, have been ours; we must make amends to ourselves by the seizure of what you call private property.”

As True Blue sat at Paul’s head, his godfather looked up. “Ah, boy!” he said with a deep sigh, “this is the worst thing that I ever thought could happen to us; yet it’s a comfort to think that it isn’t our own brave frigate that has been taken, and that a number of our shipmates haven’t been struck down by the enemy’s fire. But it’s the thoughts of the French prison tries me. Yet, Billy, I don’t mind even that so much as I should have done once. You are now a big strong chap, and you won’t let them make a Frenchman of you, as they might have done when you were little, will you?”

“No, Paul; they’ll have a very tough job if they try it on—that they will,” answered True Blue with a scornful laugh which perfectly satisfied his godfather.

“What are the brutes of Englishmen talking about?” growled out one of the Frenchmen. “Hold your tongues, dogs.”

Neither Paul nor True Blue understood these complimentary remarks; but the tone of the speaker’s voice showed them that it might be more prudent to be silent.

As soon as Captain Jones and his mates and the two midshipmen appeared above the gangway of the French frigate, they were seized on by a party of seamen, who threw them on the deck, knocked off their hats, out of which they tore the cockades, and, with oaths, trampled them beneath their feet.

In vain Captain Jones in a manly way appealed to the good feelings of his captors. In vain Sir Henry Elmore repeated what he said in French. The Frenchmen were deaf to all expostulations. The second Captain of the frigate stood by, not only superintending, but aiding in inflicting the indignities with which they were treated.

They were next dragged off and brought into the Captain’s own cabin. Here they expected to be better treated; but no sooner did the Captain enter, than, walking up and down and showering on them the most abusive epithets, he ordered his men to take away their swords and dirks, and to strip off their coats and waistcoats, exclaiming as he did so:

“No one on board La Ralieuse shall wear the livery of a despot—one of those hateful things, a King. Bah!” The Captain and his second in command, having thus vented their rage and spite, ordered the men to carry off their prisoners. The Captain and the young officers were therefore again unceremoniously dragged out of the cabin and forced down below into a space in the hold, dimly lighted by a single lantern. There they found the greater part of the crew already assembled, bursting with rage and indignation at the way they had been treated.

Meantime the boat which contained Paul Pringle, with Tom Marline, True Blue, and the other two boys, arrived alongside the frigate. The French sailors were going to hoist up Paul with very little consideration for his hurts, when, in spite of their black looks, Tom shoved in his shoulder, vehemently exclaiming:

“Avast, ye lubbers! Can’t you see that the man has his ribs stove in? Send down proper slings to lift him on deck, or out of this boat he don’t go while I’ve an arm to strike for him.”

True Blue had continued to support Paul’s head in his lap. The Frenchmen did not understand this demand, and might have proceeded to force Tom up the side had not Pringle himself interfered.

“Don’t fall out with the men, Tom; there’s no use grumbling with them. Do you and Billy help me up. I’ve still some strength left in me.”

Aided thus, Paul reached the Frenchman’s deck, the first he had ever trod except as a victor. No sooner were they there than Tom was seized on, as had been the other seamen, and was dragged off to be abused and kicked down into the hold with the rest. No sooner, however, did some of the Frenchmen attempt to lay hands on Paul, who had been placed sitting up against a gun, than True Blue threw himself before him, and, with a blow on the chest of the man who was about to drag him along, sent him reeling across the deck. Tim Fid and Harry, who had been left at liberty, on this flew to his support, and, standing on either side, literally kept the rest at bay.

True Blue said not a word, but his lips quivered, and, had he held a sharp cutlass in his hand, he would evidently have proved no contemptible opponent.

At first the Frenchmen were amused, and so were a number of the French boys belonging to the ship, who quickly assembled at the spot, especially devoting their attention to jeering and quizzing Fid and Harry.

Their good humour, however, was rapidly vanishing, and they would have probably proceeded to disagreeable extremities had not the surgeon of the ship appeared on the deck. He was a gentleman and a royalist, and had been most unwillingly compelled to come to sea as the alternative of losing his head. His profession gave him some influence among the crew, which he exerted on the side of humanity. Seeing at a glance Paul’s condition, he appealed to his countrymen, remarking that the Englishman must evidently be a good-natured person, or the boys would not be so ready to fight for him.

“Brave little fellows! They deserve to be well treated,” he remarked. “And now do some of you help me to carry the old man below. He is not in a state to be left on deck. Any one of us, remember, may speedily be in a worse condition.”

This appeal had the desired effect, and, the kind surgeon leading the way, Paul was lifted up and carried below to a side cabin on the orlop-deck. True Blue was allowed to remain with him.

The mode of proceeding on board the frigate seemed to True Blue like that of the very slackest of privateers; indeed, when he described what he saw to his godfather, Paul told him that even pirates could not carry on in a worse way.

Before long several of the crew looked in and attempted to speak English, but very seldom got beyond a few of the ordinary oaths so general in the mouths of seamen. At length a man appeared who had been in England as a prisoner during the last war, and could really speak enough English to explain himself. He asked them a number of questions, which either Paul or True Blue answered truly.

“And so,” he said, “I hear from my compatriot that you belonged to the Ruby frigate. Ah! she was a fine ship, and her crew were brave fellows—they fought well. You have heard of her fate, perhaps?”

“No,” answered Paul and True Blue in a breath. “What has happened to her?”

“The fortune of war, my friends,” answered the Frenchman. “She fell in with our consort, La Nymphe of forty guns, and engaged her bravely for three hours. For which side victory would have declared is doubtful, when we appeared in sight. Just then, awful to relate, whether by design or not I cannot say, she blew up with a loud explosion, wounding and killing many on board La Nymphe. Not one man escaped of all her crew.”

“Oh, mate, do you speak the truth?” exclaimed Paul, starting up and seizing the Frenchman by the hand.

“Why should I deceive you, my friend?” answered the republican, putting his other hand on his bosom. “I know how to pity a brave enemy, believe me.”

Paul lay back on his bed and placed both his hands before his eyes, while a gasping sob showed how much True Blue felt the sad news.

Chapter Fifteen.

The account of the destruction of the Ruby soon spread among the English prisoners. At first the two midshipmen especially would not credit it; but the date of the alleged occurrence answered exactly with that of the day when Johnny Nott parted with her and saw her standing towards an enemy’s ship, and heard the firing at the commencement of the action.

“They do not even boast that they took her, or that she had hauled down her flag before she blew up,” he observed. “If they had done so, we might have doubted them. I’m afraid their account is too true.”

“I am afraid so, indeed,” responded Elmore mournfully; “so many fine fellows lost. Our brave skipper Garland, he is a public loss. They do not say that a single officer was saved.”

Thus the midshipmen talked on. They almost forgot their own misfortunes and abominable ill-treatment while thinking of their friends. Some coarse bread and cheese was handed to them in a dirty basket, and water was the only liquid given them to drink; while at night no bedding nor the slightest accommodation was afforded them. In vain the officers pleaded. The men to whom they spoke only laughed and jeered at them, and poor young Elmore only came in for a greater share of abuse when by some means it was discovered that he was what they called an English aristocrat.

“Ah, milord!” exclaimed one fellow with a horrid grin; “if we had you in la belle France, your head would not remain long on your shoulders. We guillotine all such. It’s the best way to treat them. They have trampled too long on our rights, to be forgiven.”

The next morning the British seamen and officers were ordered up on deck, and, being placed near the gangway, were surrounded by a guard of marines with fixed bayonets. If they attempted to move from the spot, they soon had notice to go back again.

The prize had parted company, and they supposed had been sent into port; but the frigate herself stood away to the westward to continue her cruise. In spite of the general want of discipline, a very bright lookout was kept for any strange sail in sight. In the afternoon watch a vessel was seen to the southward, and the frigate bore up in chase. The stranger, on seeing this, made all sail to escape.

The French seamen pointed her out to the British. “Ah! ah! we shall soon have her!” they exclaimed. “See, the cowards dare not wait our coming up.”

Meantime, Paul Pringle lay in his berth, pretty well cared for, and most devotedly watched by True Blue. Billy was advised by the kind doctor to show himself as little as possible, lest he should be ordered to join the rest of the prisoners. He occasionally, however, stole out, that he might ascertain for Paul in what direction the ship was steering, and what was taking place. It was towards the evening that he came quickly back and reported that he had seen all the prisoners hurried below on a sudden, and that the wind being from the westward, all sail had been made on the frigate, and that she had been put dead before it, having abandoned the chase of the vessel of which she had been in pursuit.

“What it means I don’t quite know,” observed True Blue; “but there’s something in the wind, of that I’m pretty certain.”

The tramping of feet overhead, the hurried passing of the crew up and down, showed Paul also that such was the case. True Blue was standing at the door of the berth when the surgeon came below, and, as he passed him, whispered, “Keep quiet with your friend, boy. The crew may not be in the humour to bear the sight of you.” He did as he was advised for some time; but, peeping out, he saw the powder-boys carrying up powder and shot, and other missiles from the magazine, while the flurry and bustle increased, and he felt sure that the frigate was going into action.

“Paul, I must go and learn what it is all about,” he said. “I suppose that we are coming up with the chase.”

Paul, not supposing there would be any risk, did not prevent his going. He crept out quietly. Everybody was so busy that no one remarked him. He looked out at one of the bow-ports; but nothing was to be seen ahead. He glanced on the other side; not a sail was in sight.

He came back to the berth. “Paul!” he exclaimed joyfully, “it is not that the frigate is chasing, but she is being chased. She seems to be under all sail, and in a desperate hurry to get away.”

“We’ve a chance, then, of not having to see the inside of a French port,” observed Paul Pringle. “That’s a thing to be thankful for; but, Billy, it’s sad news we shall have to take home about Abel, and Peter, and the rest. I must go and break it to Mrs Ogle and Mrs Bush, and their children. It will make my heart bleed—that it will, I know.”

Paul and True Blue talked on for some time, as very naturally they often did, about their old ship and shipmates, till their well-practised ears caught the sound of a distant gun.

“That’s right aft!” exclaimed Paul. “It comes, I doubt, from the leading ship of the pursuing squadron. I pray that the frigate may not escape them.”

“I must go on deck and see how many ships there are,” said True Blue. “The Frenchmen can but kick me down again, and I can easily jump out of their way.”

He had not gone long when down he came again, panting as if for want of breath. “Oh, Paul!” he exclaimed, “I thought to have seen two or three frigates or a line-of-battle ship at least; but, would you believe it, there is but one frigate, more like the Ruby than any ship I ever saw; and if I didn’t know for certain that her keel was at the bottom of the Atlantic, I could have sworn that it was she herself. It quite took away my breath to look at her, and then when the Frenchmen saw me looking at the stranger, they hove their gun-sponges and rammers at me, so I had to run for it to get out of their way.”

“Billy, I wish that I could have a look at this stranger the Frenchmen are so afraid of,” said Paul. “If she is a frigate I have seen before, I should know her again.”

“I don’t mind the Frenchmen. I will go and have another look at her,” answered True Blue. “We shall soon be within speaking distance of her guns.”

As he spoke, he kept moving about the berth like a hyena in its cage; and soon, unable any longer to restrain his impatience, out he darted and unimpeded reached the deck. The pursuing frigate ran up the British colours, and opened her fire with a couple of bow-chasers. She had good reason to do so, for the Frenchman was steering to the southward and land was ahead. One of the shot struck the counter of La Ralieuse, the other passed a little on one side. True Blue gazed earnestly and long at the English frigate. He was recalled in a disagreeable way to a sense of where he was by feeling the point of a cutlass pressed against his back, and, looking round, he saw a seaman with no pleasant looks grinning at him and pointing below.

What the man said he could not make out. He got out of the fellow’s way and hurried below. “Paul, I am right!” he exclaimed. “She is either the Ruby or another frigate so like her that you couldn’t tell one from the other.”

The next ten minutes were passed in a state of great anxiety, and when True Blue again looked out, he reported that the Frenchmen were shortening sail preparatory to commencing action. The crew were all at their stations. An unusual silence reigned on board. The Captain was making a speech. It was about liberty, equality, and fraternity, and the bonnet rouge was displayed.

The cheers were cut very short by a broadside from the English frigate, the shot of which crashed through the Frenchman’s sides, tore up the planks, and carried off the heads of two or more of the cheerers.

“That was a right hearty English broadside!” exclaimed Paul. “I could almost fancy I knew the sound of the shot. I wish that you and I were with them, Billy, instead of being cooped up here.”

The English had not the game all to themselves. The French almost immediately replied with considerable spirit to the compliment they had received.

“They are having a running fight of it—yardarm to yardarm, as far as I can make out,” said Paul. “Well, that’s the right way to go about the business. A brave fellow commands the English frigate, whatever she is.”

“She’s no bigger than the Frenchman,” said True Blue.

“Maybe not, Billy,” observed Paul, lifting himself up on his elbow. “It isn’t the size of the ship—it’s the men on board her makes the difference. Depend on’t, those in the ship alongside us are of the right sort and properly commanded.”

Presently there was a louder noise on deck than usual, and evident confusion. True Blue could contain his curiosity no longer, and before Paul could stop him, he had darted out of the berth.

“Heaven will guard him,” said Paul to himself; “but he runs as great a risk as any of these Frenchmen.”

True Blue was soon back. “The English frigate has shot away the Frenchman’s fore-topmast and foreyard, and she’s up in the wind, and the Englishman is ranging ahead to rake her!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “We shall have it in another half minute. And do you know, Paul, the more I look at the stranger, the more I fancy she is like our brave little Ruby. Here it comes.”

True enough, the shot did come, thick and fast—not one seemed to have missed—right into the bows of La Ralieuse. Some seemed to be sweeping her main, others her upper deck, or flying among her masts and spars, while more than one struck between wind and water. At the same moment shrieks, and cries, and groans, arose from all parts of the ship, mingled with shouts and oaths, levelled at the heads of their enemies.

“Keep quiet, Billy,” said Paul. “The French, if they saw you, might do you an injury, boy. We shall soon have the flag of England flying over our heads.”

As True Blue peeped out as before from the berth, he saw numerous wounded men brought into the cockpit, where the surgeons were already busy at work with their instruments and bandages. More and more were brought down. Further supplies of shot were being carried up, and the rapid passing of the powder-boys to and from the magazine showed that there was no expectation of bringing the contest to a speedy termination.

Nearly all this time the Frenchman’s guns kept up an incessant roar. They ceased only now and then, when, as Paul conjectured, the English frigate was passing either ahead or astern of them, so that they could not reach her.

Now La Ralieuse had to stand the effects of another raking broadside. This time it was astern, and came in at the after-ports, tearing away the head of the rudder, and sweeping both decks from one end to the other. Thirty men or more were killed or wounded as they stood at their guns by this one broadside. True Blue ran up on deck to take a look round and saw them stretched on the decks in ghastly rows, pale and still, or writhing in their agony. The mizen-topmast was also gone, and the rigging of the mainmast seemed terribly cut up.

He rapidly again dived below to report what he had seen.

“That’s enough, boy!” exclaimed Paul in a voice of triumph. “She cannot get away from the English ship, and sooner or later our brave fellows will have her. Ah, there they are at it again. Hurrah for Old England!”

“Old England for ever!” shouted True Blue. He might have sung out at the top of his voice, for amid the terrific din of battle the Frenchmen could not have heard him.

Presently there was a loud crashing sound, a severe shock, and the frigate heeled over with the blow, which made her quiver in every timber.

“Oh, boy!” cried Paul, seizing True Blue’s hand in his eagerness, “they are going to board, and here I lie with my ribs stove in. If I could but handle my cutlass, we could be on deck and join them; but no—stay below by me, Billy. They’ll make short work of it. Hark! those are true British cheers. They have the Frenchman fast. There they come! They are swarming over the side and through the ports! There’s the sound of the cutlasses! Cold steel will do it! Those are the Frenchmen’s pistols; our fellows know what’s the best thing to use. They’ve gained a footing on the deck—they’ll not lose it, depend on that. There! they shout again! The sounds are just above our heads. Hurrah for Old England! The Frenchmen are crying out, too. It is—it is for quarter! They’ll get that, though they don’t deserve it. On come our brave fellows! There’s the tramp of their feet—the clash of the cutlasses! Nearer they come! They’re overhead! They’ve gained the main deck! Hark! Shut to the door and hold it tight, boy. Down come the Frenchmen, helter-skelter! They’re flying for their lives! They’re coming down by dozens, twenties, fifties! They’ve given way fore and aft! All hands are shouting for quarter! Hurrah, boy! Hurrah, True Blue! That cheer, I know it. The Frenchman’s flag is down! Once more we’ve the glorious British ensign above our heads! Here come our fellows, open the door and hail them!”

True Blue did as he was bid; and at that instant who should appear, cutlass and pistol in hand, but Abel Bush, Peter Ogle, and a dozen or more, whose well-known faces proclaimed them part of the crew of the Ruby. Great was their surprise at finding Paul and True Blue there, and loud and hearty were the greetings which hurriedly passed between them.

“And so you all escaped when the frigate blew up in action with the Frenchman the day we left you?” said Paul after he had explained in a few words how he and his companions had been captured by the Frenchmen.

“Blew up!” exclaimed Abel. “We never blew up; though we had a jolly good blow-out that evening, after we had taken a thundering big French frigate, which we must have begun to engage before you lost sight of our mastheads. We should have taken her consort, too, before the sun went down, if, like a cur, she hadn’t turned tail and run for it; when, as it took us some little time to repair damages, we could not follow.”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Paul. “Hurrah! I thought so. This is the very craft herself, depend on it; and that is the reason the hounds have been worrying our poor fellows, as if they had been mere brutes. You’ll hear all about it by and by. But I say, Abel, do you go and look after the surgeon of this ship. He’s a kind-hearted gentleman. Take care no one hurts him. Billy will try and find him.”

Paul Pringle never forgot those who had been kind to him. True Blue was also very glad to show his gratitude to the French doctor, whom they soon found in his cabin, where he had retired during the first rush of the British on board.

Summoning his assistants, the surgeon returned to the cockpit, where he was quickly occupied in endeavouring to mitigate the sufferings of his wounded countrymen, who now, mangled and bleeding, were being collected from all parts of the captured ship.

When True Blue got back to Paul, he found Tom Marline and Harry and Fid with him. The prisoners had been released; but by the particular advice of the officers, they had not yet mentioned the insults they had received, lest, already heated with the excitement of battle, the accounts should exasperate the crew of the Ruby and make them retaliate on the Frenchmen.

Paul, at his earnest request, was now removed back to his own ship while she lay alongside the prize. He and True Blue were warmly received by their shipmates, as were Tom and Fid and Harry. So also were the two midshipmen. The Captain, especially, was delighted at getting back young Elmore, who was an only son, and placed by his mother especially under his care.

“Yes, sir; here I am!” said the middy after the Captain had greeted him. “And, sir, I owe my life to the bravery of Freeborn, who leaped overboard to save me, in a raging sea, when no other means could have been employed.”

“A noble, gallant young fellow. I will not overlook him, depend on that, Elmore. You and I must settle what we can best do for his interests,” said the Captain warmly. But just then there was so much to be done that he could say no more on the subject.

The Ruby had suffered considerably both in hull and rigging, and in killed and wounded. The Frenchmen had, however, lost between seventy and eighty men in all. The second Captain was killed, and the first desperately wounded. The frigates had got so close in with the French coast that they were obliged to anchor to repair damages, so as to be in a condition to make sail and stand off again. It was a very anxious time for the English, for they were close enough in to be very much annoyed, should guns be brought down to the coast to bear upon them, or should any French ships be warned of their vicinity, and be able to get up and attack them before they were prepared for another engagement.

These considerations made everybody on board work with a will, and all night long the wearied crew of the Ruby were putting their own ship into fighting order, and getting up jury-masts so as to make sail on the prize. A careful lookout was kept, however, so that they might be prepared to meet danger from whatever quarter it might come.

The passengers taken in the packet were among the first removed from the French frigate, and were accommodated as well as circumstances would allow on board the Ruby.

The morning after the battle, the wind came off the shore, and a large concourse of people assembled on the coast had the mortification to see the Ruby and her prize make sail and stand away to the northward.

A few hours afterwards, a fleet of gunboats and two frigates came to look for them; but they were beyond reach of the former, and though the frigates followed, they were driven back by the sight of an English squadron, and both the Ruby and La Ralieuse reached Portsmouth in safety.

Chapter Sixteen.

True Blue’s agitation was considerable, when, the day after the ship’s arrival in Portsmouth Harbour, he heard his name called along the deck, and found that he was sent for into the Captain’s cabin. “I wonder what I can be wanted for,” he said to Abel Bush as he was giving his jacket a shake, and seeing that his shoes and handkerchief were tied with nautical propriety.

“About the matter of the jumping overboard,” said Abel. “They think a good deal of it, you know!”

“That’s more than I do,” answered True Blue. “I wish they hadn’t found out it was me. Still I must go. Good-bye, Abel. I hope they won’t want to be paying me. I’ll not touch a shilling—of that I’m determined!”

“Stick to that, boy—don’t,” said Abel. “You did your duty, and that’s all you’d wish to do.”

True Blue hurried along the deck till he reached the Captain’s cabin, then hat in hand he entered, and, pulling a lock of his hair, stood humbly at the foot of the table. He saw that the Captain and Mr Brine, and the two midshipmen, Sir Henry Elmore and Mr Nott, were there, and two or three strange gentlemen from the shore.

“Sit down, Freeborn,” said the Captain, pointing to a chair, which, very much to his surprise, Mr Nott got up and placed near him. “It is now a good many years since we were first shipmates, and during all that time I have only seen and heard good of you, and now I wish to thank you most heartily for the gallant way in which you saved Sir Henry Elmore’s life. He and all his family wish also to show what they feel in the way most likely to be acceptable to you.”

“Indeed they do. You performed a very gallant, noble action, young man, one to be proud of!” observed one of the gentlemen from the shore, who was an uncle of Sir Henry. “On what have you especially set your heart? What would you like to do? I suppose that you would not wish to leave the navy?”

“No, that I would not, sir,” answered True Blue warmly. “But I know, sir, what I would like to do.”

“What is it, my man? Speak out frankly at once!” said the gentleman. “I have no doubt that we shall be able to do as you wish.”

“Then, sir, it’s this,” said True Blue, brightening up. “They’ve carried Paul Pringle to the hospital. Captain Garland knows the man, sir—my godfather. He’ll be alone there, nobody particular to look after him; and what I should like, sir, would be to be allowed to go and stay with him till he is well and about again, or till the ship sails, when I don’t think godfather would wish me to stay on shore even to be with him.”

The gentlemen looked at each other, and then at the Captain and Mr Brine, who did not seem surprised, though Johnny Nott appeared a little inclined to laugh.

“A seaman thinks less of jumping overboard to save the life of a fellow-creature than you would of picking a drunken man up out of the road,” said the Captain, addressing the gentleman. “You must propose something to him. He will not suggest anything himself.”

“I think, Freeborn, I may easily promise that you will be allowed to remain with your old friend as long as he wishes it,” said the Captain, turning to True Blue. “But I am sure Sir Henry’s family will not be satisfied without showing some mark of their esteem and gratitude. What should you say now if the way was open to you of becoming an officer—first lieutenant of a ship like this, or perhaps her Captain? There is nothing to prevent it. I am very sure that you would be welcomed by all those among whom you were placed.”

“There would be no difficulty as to expense,” said the gentleman from the shore.

True Blue looked up at first as if the Captain was joking with him; then he became very grave, and in a voice almost choking with agitation he answered, “Oh, don’t ask me, sir; don’t ask me. I don’t want to be anything but a seaman, such as my father was before me. I couldn’t go and leave Paul, and Abel, and Peter, and the rest—men who have bred me up, and taught me all a sailor’s duties in a way very few get taught. I couldn’t, indeed, I wouldn’t, leave them even to be an officer on the quarterdeck.”

True Blue was silent, and no one spoke for some time, till the Captain turned aside to the gentleman and said, “I told you that I thought it likely such would be his answer. You must find some means of overcoming his scruples. Perhaps Elmore and Nott will manage him by themselves better than we shall.”

The two midshipmen took the hint and invited True Blue to accompany them out of the cabin. They wisely did not take him on the quarterdeck, but got him between two of the after-guns, where they could converse without interruption. The result of the deliberation was that True Blue promised to consult his friends on the subject; and Elmore wound up by saying, “At all events, you must come up with me to see my mother and sisters in London. They will not be content without thanking you, and they cannot come down here to do so.”

“With you, Sir Henry!” said True Blue, thinking that the midshipman really now was joking. “They wouldn’t know what to do with such as me. I should like to go and see great London town—that I should; but—but—”

“No ‘buts,’ and so you shall, Freeborn; and that’s all settled.”

True Blue got leave of absence that afternoon, and Abel Bush accompanied him to the hospital, where he left him with Paul. He had never been more happy in his life, for the hospital servants were very glad to have their labours lightened, and left him to attend all day long on his godfather, and on several other wounded shipmates in the same ward. He told Paul all that had been said to him, and all the offers made him; but his godfather declined giving any advice till a formal consultation had been held by all his sponsors and their mates. Still True Blue thought that he seemed inclined to recommend him to do what he himself wished.

Paul was rapidly getting better, and in less than ten days who should appear at the hospital but Sir Henry Elmore himself. He went round the wards and spoke separately to each of the wounded men belonging to the Ruby, and then he came to Paul Pringle and had a long talk with him. Paul thought that in a few days he should be sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital and get as far as his own home, at the pretty village of Emsworth, and he had proposed that True Blue should accompany him. Abel Bush and Peter Ogle both lived there, and had families, among whom their godson would pass his time pleasantly enough.

“I daresay he might,” said the young baronet, to whom Paul had mentioned this; “but I have the first claim on him. I have come now expressly to carry him off, so let him pack up his traps and accompany me.”

Paul offered no further opposition to this proposal; so True Blue, having tied up a clean shirt and a thin pair of shoes, with a few other things in a handkerchief, announced that he had his clothes ready and was prepared to accompany the baronet.

The midshipman looked at the bundle, but said nothing. He knew well enough that a ship’s boy was not likely to have any large amount of clothing. He had a coach at the door, and he ordered the coachman to drive to the George Hotel at Portsmouth. On the way he asked his companion whether he would not prefer dressing in plain clothes, and that, if so, a suit forthwith should be at his service; but True Blue so earnestly entreated that he might be allowed to wear the dress to which he had always been accustomed, that his friend gave up the point.

They found a capital dinner prepared for them at the George, in a private room; and the gentleman whom True Blue had seen on board the Ruby was there to receive them, and talked so kindly and pleasantly that he soon found himself very much at his ease, and was able and willing to do ample justice to the good things placed before him.

As Mr Leslie, Sir Henry’s uncle, was obliged to return to London that night, they set off by the mail. Mr Leslie went inside; but the midshipman and True Blue, who disdained such a mode of proceeding, took their places behind the coachman, the box seat being already occupied by a naval officer. Mail coaches in those days were not the rapidly-moving vehicles they afterwards became. Passengers sat not only in front, but behind, where the guard also had his post—a most important personage, resplendent in red livery, and armed to the teeth with pistols, a heavy blunderbuss, and often a hanger or cutlass; so that he had the means, if he possessed a bold heart, of defending the property confided to him.

True Blue had never before been on the top of a coach, and his remarks as they drove along, till the long summer day came to a close, amused the young baronet very much.

When they reached London, Mr Leslie called a hackney coach, and True Blue found himself rumbling along through the streets of London, towards Portman Square, at an early hour on a bright summer morning.

“Where are all the people, sir?” he asked, looking out of the window. “I thought London was full of people.”

“So it is. They are all asleep now, like ants in their nest. When the sun is up by and by, they will be busy enough, you will see,” answered Mr Leslie.

It was still very early when they arrived at Lady Elmore’s house; and, as they were not expected, no one was up to receive them. They, however, got in quietly; and while his arrival was being made known to his mother, Sir Henry took True Blue to a room and advised him to turn in and get some sleep. He would, however, very much rather have been allowed to go out and see the wonders of the great city; but his friend assuring him that, if he did, he would inevitably lose himself, he reluctantly went to bed.

The moment, however, that his head was on the pillow, he was fast asleep, and, in spite of the bright sun which gleamed in at the window, it was not till nearly the family breakfast-time that he awoke.

He was awakened by a bland voice saying, “It is time to get up, sir. Shall I help you to dress?”

True Blue opened his eyes and saw before him a personage in a very fine coat, with powdered hair, who he thought must be some great lord or other, even though he held a can of hot water in his hand.

The young sailor sat up, and, seeing no one else in the room, said, pulling a front lock of his hair, “Did you speak to me, sir?”

“Sir Henry sent me to ascertain if you wanted anything,” answered the footman, somewhat puzzled, as he had not been told who the occupant of the room was.

When, however, he came to examine the clothes by the bedside, he guessed that he was some naval follower of his young master. He was about to carry off the clothes to brush them.

True Blue saw the proceeding with dismay. “Don’t take them away, please. I have no others!” he exclaimed. “But, I say, I’m very hungry, and shouldn’t mind some bread and cheese if there’s any served out yet.”

“I can get it for you at once; but breakfast will be ready directly, and you will find better things to eat then,” said the footman, smiling.

“Oh, I’ll be dressed in a jiffy, then,” answered True Blue, jumping out of bed and forthwith commencing his ablutions in sea fashion, and almost before the footman had left the room he was ready to go downstairs.

Sir Henry came for him.

“Come along, Freeborn. My mother and sisters are anxious to see you. They are in the breakfast-room. I am sure that you will like them.”

True Blue, looking every inch the sailor, with his rich light curling hair, sunburnt countenance, laughing blue eye, and white strong teeth, followed the midshipman. He felt rather strange when the door opened and a handsome, tall lady came forward, and, taking him by both his hands, said:

“You saved my dear boy’s life at the risk of your own. I owe you all the gratitude a mother can offer.”

She shook his hands warmly. He made no answer, for he did not know exactly what to say, except, “Oh, marm, it’s nothing!”

Two tall girls then followed her example, and he thought that they were going to kiss him; but they did not, which he was glad of, as it would have made him feel very bashful.

Mr Leslie came down, and the party were soon seated round the breakfast-table. True Blue was very hungry, but at first everything seemed so strange about him that he could not eat. However, the ladies spoke in such kind, sweet voices, while they in no way seemed to notice what he was about, that he quickly gained courage and made the beef, and ham, and eggs, and bread and butter, rapidly disappear.

After the meal was over, some time was spent by Sir Henry with his mother and sisters, while Mr Leslie remained with True Blue, talking with him in a friendly way; and then he gave him a number of books with prints to look over, which interested him very much.

At last his host came back. “Come along, Freeborn,” he said. “The coach is at the door, and we have numberless sights to see, which, truth to say, I have never seen myself; so my mother will go with us to show them. Is there anything you have heard of you would particularly like to see?”

True Blue thought a little. “Yes, indeed there is, Sir Henry,” he answered. “There is one thing I’d rather see than anything else. It is what I have always longed to have a sight of, and that is His Majesty the King we fight for. Paul Pringle says he would go a hundred miles any day to see him; and so would I—two hundred for that matter. Every true sailor is ready enough to shed his blood for him, marm; but we should all of us like to see him just once, at all events.”

“I daresay that we shall be able to manage that without difficulty,” said Lady Elmore. “His Majesty will probably soon come up to deliver a speech in Parliament, and we shall then have a good opportunity of seeing him.”

This promise highly delighted True Blue; and he evidently looked forward to seeing the King with more satisfaction than to any sight he expected to witness during his visit to London.

True Blue was taken one evening to the play, but, unfortunately, what was called a naval drama was acted. Here both he and the midshipman were well qualified to criticise. He certainly was the more severe.

“Does that fellow call himself a sailor, marm?” he asked, turning to Lady Elmore. “Don’t believe it. He isn’t a bit more like a sailor than that thing they are hauling across the deck is like a ship—that is to say, any ship I ever saw. If she came to be launched, she’d do nothing but go round boxing the compass till she went to the bottom. Would she, Sir Henry?”

The midshipman was highly diverted. “The manager little thought that he had us to criticise his arrangements,” he answered, laughing. “The play is only got up for the amusement of landsmen, and to show them how we sailors fight for them.”

“But wouldn’t they like us to go and do that just now ourselves, Sir Henry?” exclaimed True Blue with eagerness. “If they’d give us a cutlass apiece, and would get those Frenchmen we saw just now to stand up like men, we would show them how we boarded and took the French frigate in our first cruise.”

Lady Elmore said she thought some confusion might be created if the proposal was carried out, and persuaded True Blue to give up the idea. When, however, one of the stage sailors came on and volunteered to dance a hornpipe, his indignation knew no bounds. “He’s not a true bluejacket—that I’ll warrant!” he exclaimed. “If he was, he wouldn’t be handling his feet in the way he is doing. I should so like to step down and just show you, my lady, and the rest of the good people here, how we dance aboard. If I had but Sam Smatch and his fiddle, I’ll warrant people would say which was the right and which was the wrong way pretty quickly.”

Lady Elmore explained to him, much to his surprise, that none but the actors who were paid for it were allowed to appear on the stage, but assured him that she would be very glad if some evening he would give them, at her house, an exhibition of his skill in dancing the hornpipe.

“That I will, my lady, with all my heart!” he exclaimed frankly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to please you and the young ladies; and I think that you would like to see a right real sailor’s hornpipe danced. It does my heart good to dance it, I know. It is rare fun.”

On driving home, Lady Elmore asked him how he liked the play altogether.

“Well, my lady,” he exclaimed, “much obliged to you for taking me to the place! It was very good sport, but I should have liked it better if I could have lent a hand in the work. When there is a scrimmage, it is natural-like to wish to be in it. And I couldn’t bear to see that black pirate fellow carry off the young gal, and all the gold and silver plates and candlesticks, and not be able just to go and rout out his nest of villains.”

This visit to the play enabled his friends to understand True Blue’s style of thought and manners far better than they had before done, and was in reality of considerable benefit to him. Gentle of heart and right-minded, and brave as a lion, he was still a rough sailor; and only a considerable time spent in the society of polished people could have given him the polish which is looked-for in a gentleman.

The next day the King was to prorogue Parliament. Mr Leslie called in the morning and took his nephew and young guest down towards Westminster to wait for his approach. True Blue was full of excitement at the thought of seeing the King. “I wonder what he can be like? He must be a very grand person to have so many big ships all of his own,” he observed to Mr Leslie.

“You would find His Majesty a very affable, kind old gentleman if he were to speak to you at any time,” said Mr Leslie. “Here he comes, though. You will see him inside the coach. Take off your hat when he passes.”

At a slow and stately pace the carriage of the kind-hearted monarch of Great Britain approached. First came the body of Life Guards, their belts well whitened with pipeclay, and their heads plastered with pomatum and powder; and then followed the royal carriage, as fine as gold and paint and varnish could make it.

“There’s King George, Freeborn,” said Mr Leslie, pointing out his Majesty, who sat looking very gracious as he bowed now out of one window, now out of the other.

“God bless him, then!” shouted True Blue, almost beside himself with excitement, throwing up his hat and catching it again. “Three cheers for King George, boys! Three cheers for the King! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah, boys! Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” True Blue’s eye had fallen on several other bluejackets, who happened to be near him in the crowd, come up to London on a spree to get rid of their prize-money. Instantly the shout was taken up by them and echoed by the rest of the crowd, till the air was rent with cries of “Long live the King!” “Long live King George!”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah for King George!” “Hurrah for Old England!” “Old England in arms against the world—Old England for ever!”

Mr Leslie was highly delighted, and he and his nephew joined in the shout as loudly as any one, while the King, looking from the windows, bowed and smiled even more cordially than before.

“Well, I’ve had a good sight of His Majesty, and I’ll not forget his kind face as long as I live!” exclaimed True Blue as the party walked homeward. “It is a pleasure to know the face of the King one is fighting for; and, God bless His Majesty, his kind look would make me more ready than ever to stand up for him!”

All the way home True Blue could talk of nothing but the King, and how glad he was to have seen him. In the evening, however, one of the young ladies began to play a hornpipe, the music of which Sir Henry, not without difficulty, had procured for her. True Blue pricked up his ears, and then, running to the piano, exclaimed, “You play it very well indeed, Miss Julia—that you do; but I wish that you could just hear Sam Smatch with his fiddle—he’d take the shine out of you, I think you’d say. Howsomdever, my lady, if you and the young ladies and Sir Henry please, and Miss Julia will just strike up a bit of a tune, I’ll shuffle my feet about and show you what we call a hornpipe at sea. Sir Henry knows, though, right well; but, to say truth, I’d rather have the smooth deck under my feet than this grassy sort of stuff, which wants the right sort of spring in it.”

“Never mind, Freeborn,” said Sir Henry, laughing. “They are not such severe judges as Ogle and Bush, and Marline and our other shipmates.”

“To be sure—to be sure,” said True Blue in a compassionate tone. “Now, Miss Julia, please marm, strike up and off I go.”

True Blue did go off indeed, and with the greatest spirit performed a hornpipe which deservedly elicited the admiration of all the spectators. Miss Julia’s fingers were tired before his feet, and, having made the usual bow round to the company, throwing back his hair, he stood ready to begin again.

The applause which followed having ceased, he laughed, exclaiming, “Oh, it’s nothing, ladies—nothing to what I can do, Sir Henry will tell you; but, you see, there’s a good deal of difference between the forecastle of a man-of-war, and this here drawing-room in big London City.” The tone of his voice showed that he gave the preference to the forecastle.

That evening Lady Elmore and her son had a long discussion.

“But are you certain, Henry, that we are doing the best thing for the brave lad?” she said.

“Oh, he’ll polish—he’ll polish rapidly!” answered her son. “He has no notion of concealment, or that it is necessary for him to assume shoregoing manners, now that he has got over his bashfulness at finding himself among strangers. He says exactly what he thinks and feels. The outside husk is rough enough, I own, but, depend on it, the jewel within will soon take a polish which will shine brightly through the shell and light up the whole form. Not a bad notion for a midshipman, mother!”

“Oh, you were always poetical and warm-hearted and good and enthusiastic, Henry,” said Lady Elmore, pressing him to her heart. “Do as you think best, and I have no doubt our young sailor will turn out a shining character.”

Chapter Seventeen.

It had been arranged that True Blue should visit Paul Pringle and his other friends at Emsworth before returning to his ship. The day for his leaving London was fixed. He had seen all the sights and been several times to the play; and though he thought it all very amusing, he was, in truth, beginning to get somewhat tired of the sort of life. As to Lady Elmore and her daughters, he thought them, as he said, next door to angels, and would have gone through fire and water to serve them.

One morning he awoke just as the footman walked in with a jug of hot water, and, leaving it on the washhand stand, retired without saying a word. Sir Henry had directed that he should be waited on exactly as he was himself. True Blue jumped out of bed; but when he came to put on his clothes, they had disappeared. In their stead there was a midshipman’s uniform suit, dirk, and hat, and cockade complete, while a chest stood open, containing shirts, and socks, and shoes, and a quadrant, and books—indeed, a most perfect outfit.

“There’s a mistake,” he said to himself. “They have been and brought Sir Henry’s traps in here, and John has carried off my clothes, and forgot to bring them back. I never do like ringing the bell, it seems so fine-gentleman-like. Still, if he doesn’t come, it will be the only way to get to him.” While waiting, he was looking about, when his eye fell on a paper on the dressing-table. His own name was on it. It was a document from the Admiralty, directing Mr Billy True Blue Freeborn, midshipman of H.M. frigate Ruby, to go down and join her in a week’s time. He rubbed his eyes—he read the paper over and over again; he shook himself, for he thought that he must be still in bed and asleep, and then he very nearly burst into tears.

“No, no!” he exclaimed passionately; “it’s what I don’t want to be. I can’t be and won’t be. I’ll not go and be above Paul, and Abel, and Peter, and Tom, which I should be if I was on the quarterdeck: I shouldn’t be one of them any longer. I couldn’t mess with them and talk with them, as I have always done. I know my place; I like Sir Henry and many of the other young gentlemen very much, and even Mr Nott, though he does play curious pranks now and then; but I never wished to be one of them, and what’s more, I won’t, and so my mind is made up.”

Just then he saw another document on the table. It was a letter addressed to him. He opened it and found that it came from Paul Pringle. It began:

“Dear Godson,—That you must always be to me. Who should come to see me first, as I left the hospital, but our Captain—bless him! He tells me there is talk of putting you on the quarterdeck. Now, that’s what I never wished for you, any more than your own father did. His last words were, ‘Let him be brought up as a true British seaman.’

“That’s what your other godfathers and I have done for you—as you’ll allow, Billy. Well, as to the quarterdeck idea, we all met and had a talk about it. The long and the short of what we came to is, that you must do as you wish. A man may, we allow, be on the quarterdeck, and yet be a true British sailor all over. Many of our officers are such, no doubt of it, every inch of them; but whether a man is the happier or the better for being an officer, without being in the way born to it—that’s the question. We wouldn’t stand in your way, Billy, only we feel that we shouldn’t be to each other what we were. We don’t say that it ought to make a great difference, but it would. That’s the conclusion we’ve come to. Bless you heartily, boy, we all say, whatever course you steer.—Your loving godfather, Paul Pringle.”

True Blue read the epistle over several times. Though signed by Pringle, it had partly been written by Abel Bush, and partly by Peter Ogle. It contained a postscript, inviting him to come down to Emsworth, whatever the determination he might come to, as his many friends there were anxious to see him.

The mention of his old friends roused up thoughts and feelings in which, for some time past, he had not indulged. Both Peter Ogle and Abel Bush were married men, with large families. With them he felt how perfectly at home and happy he should be. One of them, too, Mary Ogle, though rather younger than himself, had always been his counsellor and friend, and had also materially assisted in giving him the amount of knowledge he possessed in reading and writing. Had it not been for her, he confessed that he would have remained a sad dunce.

After he had thought over the letter, he exclaimed, “Then again, now, if I was an officer I should have to go with the other officers wherever they went; and when the ship came into port, I should be for starting off for London, and couldn’t go and stay comfortably with my old friends. No, I’m thankful to Sir Henry—I am, indeed; but I’ve made up my mind.”

He rang the bell. When John appeared, he asked for his clothes.

“There they are, sir,” said John, pointing to the midshipman’s uniform.

“I see; but I want the clothes I wore yesterday, John,” said True Blue.

“Master said those were for you, sir,” explained John.

“I’m not going to put on those clothes, John,” said True Blue quietly. “They don’t suit me, and I don’t suit them.”

The footman was astonished.

“But they will make you an officer and a gentleman,” said he earnestly.

“That’s just what I don’t want to be, John,” answered True Blue. “They wouldn’t do it, either. It isn’t the clothes makes the man. You know that. Bring me back my own jacket and trousers. I know Sir Henry won’t be angry with you. I’ll set it all right. There’s a good chap, now—do as I ask you.”

John still hesitated.

“Very well,” continued True Blue, “if you don’t, I’ll just jump into bed again, and there I’ll stay. The only clothes I’ll put on are my own. They were brand new only last week, and I’ve not done with them.”

John, seeing that the young sailor was in earnest, went and brought back his clothes. True Blue was soon dressed, and considerable disappointment was expressed on the countenances of the ladies as they entered the breakfast-room, when, instead of the gay-looking midshipman they expected to see, they found him in his seaman’s dress. He looked up frankly, and not in the slightest degree abashed.

“My lady,” he said, “I know what you and Sir Henry intended for me, and there isn’t a part of my heart that doesn’t thank you; but d’ye see, my lady, I was born a true sailor, and a true sailor I wish to be. I have old friends—I can’t leave them. I know what I’m fitted for, and I shouldn’t be happy in a midshipman’s berth. I know, too, that it was all done in great kindness; but it’s a thousand limes more than I deserve. I shall always love you, my lady, and the young ladies, and Sir Henry; and if ever he gets a ship, it will be my pride to be with him and to be his coxswain. There’s only one favour more I have to ask—it is that Sir Henry will set to rights the order about my having a midshipman’s rating aboard the Ruby. It’s a great favour, I’ll allow; but it’s one I don’t deserve and don’t want. I’ve made up my mind about it, and, my lady, you will let me be as I was—I was very happy, and shall not be happier as an officer.”

“I think very likely not,” said Lady Elmore, taking his hand. “But, Freeborn, we are all anxious to show our gratitude to you. Can you point out how it may best be done?”

“That’s it, my lady!” exclaimed True Blue vehemently. “I have done nothing to speak of, and I do not wish for anything. Let me just think about you all, and how kind you’ve been to me, and that’s all I want. If I serve with Sir Henry, I’ll always be by his side, and I’ll do my best to keep the Frenchmen’s cutlasses off his head.”

“Thanks, thanks, my boy. Your love for my son makes me take a double interest in you,” said Lady Elmore warmly; and then she added, “still I wish that you would allow us somewhat to lighten the load of obligation we owe you.”

As True Blue had not the slightest notion what this meant, he made no reply.

Everybody in the house was sorry to part with the frank-spoken young sailor. Even the butler and footman begged him to accept some token of remembrance; and Mrs Jellybag, the housekeeper, put him up a box containing all sorts of good things, which, she told him, he might share with his friends down at Emsworth. He reached Emsworth in the evening, and right hearty was the welcome he received from all the members of the Ogle and Bush families, though not more kind than that old Mrs Pringle and Paul bestowed on him.

The whole party assembled to tea and supper at Mrs Pringle’s, and he had not been many minutes in the house before he unpacked his chest and produced his box of good things for them. He insisted on serving them out himself, and he managed to slip the largest piece of cake into Mary’s plate, and somehow to give her a double allowance of jam.

Then there were a couple of pounds of tea,—a rare luxury in those days, except among the richer classes,—and some bottles of homemade wines or cordials, which served still more to cheer the hearts of the guests. The pipes were brought in and fragrant tobacco smoked, and songs were called for. Paul and Abel struck up. True Blue sang some of his best, and, as he every now and then gave Mary a sly kiss, suiting the action to the words of his songs, he never felt so happy in his life.

Supper was scarcely over when there was a rap at the door, and a well-known voice exclaiming, “What cheer, mates, what cheer?”

Billy sprang from his stool, and, lifting the latch, cried out, “Come in, Sam, come in! Hurrah! here’s Sam Smatch. We were just wishing for you to help us to shake down our supper, but little thought to see you.”

“Why, d’ye see, I wasn’t wanted aboard, and so I got leave and just worked my way along here, playing at the publics and taking my time about it,” said Sam.

“Not getting drunk, I hope, Sam?” asked Paul.

“Why, as to that, Paul, d’ye see, sometimes more liquor got into my head than went down into my heels; and so, you see, the heels was overballasted-like and kicked up a bit, just as the old Terrible used to do in a heavy sea; but as to being drunk, don’t for to go and think such a thing of me, Paul,—I, who was always fit to look after the cook’s coppers when no one else could have told whether they had beef and duff or round-shot boiling in them.”

The black’s countenance and the twinkle of his eyes belied his words, but he was not the less welcome. Paul told him to sit down, and he was soon doing ample justice to the remains of the supper. Without a word the table was cleared away. Mrs Pringle and the older people retired into the wide chimney recess. Sam, taking his fiddle, mounted on a meal-tub, which stood in a corner by the old clock, and then, striking up one of his merriest tunes, he soon had all the lads and lasses capering and frisking about before him, True Blue being the most lively and active of them all. Never did his heart and heels feel so light as he bounded up and down the room with Mary by his side, sometimes grasping her hands, and sometimes whirling round and round, while both were shrieking and laughing in the exuberance of their spirits.

He felt as if a load had been taken off his mind. Once more he was among his old friends and associates, and, without confessing the fact to himself, he infinitely preferred being with them to enjoying all the luxury and refinement which Lady Elmore’s house in London had afforded. So the days flew rapidly by till the party of seamen had once more to rejoin their ship.

She was bound for the Mediterranean. The first port they entered was Toulon. The town and the surrounding fortifications were held by the Royalists, aided by British, Spanish, Sardinians, and Neapolitan troops, and strong parties of seamen from the English and Spanish squadron. The Republican troops were besieging the place, vowing vengeance against their countrymen who opposed them. Lord Hood, the British Commander-in-Chief, was expecting a reinforcement of Austrian troops to defend the town. He sent some ships to convey them, but an answer was returned that they could not be spared; and the Republican army having increased rapidly in numbers and gained several posts, a council of war was held to deliberate as to the advisability of longer holding the place. The result was that Toulon must be abandoned. It was the death-knell to thousands of the inhabitants.

Several important objects had to be accomplished. The ships of war must first be carried out of the harbour, the defenders withdrawn from the batteries, the Royalist inhabitants got off, and, finally, all the French ships, magazines, and stores which could not be removed destroyed.

It was an anxious and awful period. Between forty and fifty thousand Republican troops were preparing to storm the works, which, covering a vast extent of ground, were defended by less than eleven thousand. Sir Sydney Smith had volunteered to destroy the magazines and ships.

On the 18th of December, all the troops, having been withdrawn from the forts, were concentrated in the town. Happily the weather was fine and the sea smooth. The enemy had been so severely handled that they advanced cautiously. Among those who volunteered to accompany Sir Sydney Smith was Mr Alston, one of the lieutenants of the Ruby. Mr Nott, too, was of his party, as was Abel Bush, and True Blue got leave to go also.

The Neapolitan troops, by their dastardly desertion of the fort of the Mississi, at which they were stationed, nearly disconcerted all the arrangements. Great numbers of the inhabitants had already gone on board the ships of war.

Sir Sydney Smith had with him the Swallow, a small lateen-rigged vessel, three English and three Spanish gunboats, and the Vulcan fireship, under charge of Captain Charles Hare, with a brigade of boats in attendance.

The ships had got out; the boats of the fleet were waiting to carry off the troops. Already shot and shell from the surrounding heights were beginning to fall thickly into the harbour. The galley slaves in the arsenal, 800 in number, were threatening to interfere, but were kept in check by the gunboats; the Republicans were descending the hill in numbers, and opening fire with musketry and cannon on the British and Spanish.

Night came on; the fireship, towed by the boats, entered the basin. Her well-shotted guns were pointed so as to keep the enemy in check. The Spaniards had undertaken to scuttle the Iris frigate, which contained several thousand barrels of powder, as also another powder vessel, the Montreal frigate.

Hitherto Sir Sydney Smith and his gallant companions had performed all their operations in darkness, the only light being the flashes of the cannon and muskets playing on them. At length ten o’clock struck—a single rocket ascended into the air. In an instant the fireship and all the trains leading to the different magazines and stores were ignited. The boats lay alongside the former, ready to take off the crew. There was a loud explosion—the priming had burst, and the brave Captain Hare narrowly escaped with his life. “To the boats, lads, for your lives!” he shouted.

Mr Nott and True Blue were assisting him. Not a moment was to be lost. Upwards burst the flames with terrific fury, literally scorching them as they ran along the deck to jump into the boats. Abel Bush caught True Blue, or he would have been overboard.

“Bravo, boy!” cried Abel; “you’ve done it well.”

“Yes, we’ve done it; but where’s the Captain?” asked True Blue, about to spring back to look for him.

Just then the Captain appeared, with his clothes almost burnt off his back. The flames of the burning ships, the storehouses and magazines, now clearly exposed to the view of the exasperated Republicans those who were engaged in the work of destruction, and showers of shot and shell soon came rattling down among them. Still the gallant seamen persevered in the work they had undertaken, when suddenly the very air seemed to be rent in two; the masts, rigging, and deck of the Iris rose upwards in a mass of flame, shattering two gunboats which happened to be close to her, and scattering her burning fragments far and wide around her among the boats. The brave fellows in the latter, heedless of the danger, dashed on to assist the crews of the gunboats. Several people in one had been killed; but the whole crew of the other, though she had been blown into the air, were picked up alive.

“That is the ship the lazy Spaniards undertook to scuttle!” exclaimed Mr Alston after they had picked up all the poor fellows they could find. “However, bear a hand; we have plenty of work before us. There are two seventy-fours. We must destroy them by some means or other.”

When, however, they reached the seventy-fours, they found them full of French prisoners, who seemed inclined to protect them.

“Very well, gentlemen,” shouted Sir Sydney; “it will be a painful necessity to have to burn you in the ships!”

The hint was taken, and the prisoners thankfully allowed themselves to be conveyed to the nearest point of land.

The British ran no little risk in this undertaking, for the French far outnumbered them; but no attempt at rising was made; and now the two ships, Héros and Thémistocle, being cleared of their occupants, were set on fire in every direction, and were soon blazing up brightly.

In every direction similar large bonfires were lighting up the harbour and shores of Toulon, among which the British boats were incessantly plying, carrying off the remaining troops and rescuing the terrified inhabitants.

At length the work of destruction, as far as means would allow, was well-nigh accomplished, when another fearful explosion, even greater than the first, took place, close to where the tender and the boats were at the moment passing.

It was the frigate Montreal. Down came around the boats a complete avalanche of burning timbers, huge guns, masts, spars, and blocks, rattling, and crashing, and hissing into the water. The seamen, already almost exhausted with their exertions, could scarcely attempt even to escape the fiery shower. Many of the poor fellows sank down at their oars, and those in each boat believed that their comrades had been destroyed; but when they drew out of the circle of destruction and mustered once more, not one had been injured.

Although fired on by the Republicans, who had taken possession of Forts Balaguier and Aiguillette, the boats slowly pulled out to join the fleet already outside. A few only, whose crews had strength left, returned to aid the flying inhabitants. The last of the troops had been embarked under the able management of Captain Elphinstone, of the Robust, and other Captains, without the loss of a man, the Robust being the last ship to leave the harbour when the infuriated Republicans, breathing vengeance on the helpless inhabitants, rushed into the city.

The terrible intelligence reached them that even in the suburbs neither age nor sex had been spared. Husbands seized their wives or daughters, mothers their children, and, rushing from their houses, fled towards the water, where their friends had already long ago embarked. Shot and shell were remorselessly fired down on them; numbers were cut in pieces as they fled. Every step they heard behind they thought came from a pursuing foe. Many, unable to reach the boats, preferring instant death to the bayonets of their countrymen, rushed, with their infants in their arms, and perished in the waves.

Daylight approached, and with sorrowful reluctance the brave seamen had to draw off from the scene of destruction to avoid falling into the hands of the enemy.

The boat in which True Blue pulled the bow oar was one of the last to quit the harbour, and for many a day afterwards the shrieks of the hapless Toulonese, murdered by their countrymen, rang in his ears.

Chapter Eighteen.

The frigate was soon after this sent home with dispatches; but scarcely was she clear of the Straits of Gibraltar than the wind fell, a thick fog came on, and she lay becalmed some twenty leagues off the Spanish coast. So dense was the fog, that no object could be seen a quarter of a mile off.

At length a light breeze sprang up from the westward; but though strong enough to fill her sails and send her slowly gliding over the mirror-like surface of the water, it had not the power of blowing away the mist which hung over it.

True Blue was walking the forecastle with Paul Pringle when his quick ear caught the sound of a distant bell. He touched Paul’s arm as a sign not to speak, and stood listening; then almost simultaneously another and another sounded, and the ship’s bell directly after struck, as if responding to them. The sounds, it was evident, came down with the wind.

“Come aft and report them, in case the officer should not have heard them.”

Mr Brine was on deck and listened attentively to what True Blue had to say. “How far off were the bells?” he asked.

“Half a mile, sir,” was the prompt answer.

“Large or small, should you say?”

“Large, sir,” said True Blue.

“English or French? I take it that there is a difference in the sound.”

“And so there is, sir,” quickly replied True Blue. “I marked it when we were aboard the Ralieuse; and now, sir, you ask me, I should say they were French.”

“Very clear, indeed,” remarked the first lieutenant. “Go into the weather-rigging, Freeborn, and keep your eyes about you and your ears open, and report anything more you may discover.”

Mr Brine then went into the cabin to consult with the Captain. The sentry was ordered, when his half-hour glass was run out, to turn it, but not to sound the bell; and the word was passed along the decks to keep the ship as quiet as possible.

It was possible that they were in the presence of a greatly superior force of the enemy. The frigate’s course, however, was not altered. The breeze was freshening, and any moment the veil might be lifted from the face of the waters, and the vessels floating on it disclosed to each other. Everything on board the frigate was prepared for flight or battle; and, in spite of the probability of having to contend with a superior force, the crew showed by their remarks that they would infinitely prefer the latter to the former alternative.

The only two, probably, on board who wished to avoid a fight were Sam Smatch and Gregory Gipples, who still remained on board. Poor Gregory would gladly have followed some more pacific calling, but his poverty, and not his will, compelled him to be a sailor. Besides, he was now a big, stout, well-fed fellow, and could pull and haul as well as many seamen; and in those days the pressgang took care that once a sailor, a man should remain always a sailor. Big as he was, and inclined to bully all fresh hands, Tim Fid defied him, and never ceased playing him tricks and quizzing him.

“Gipples, my boy, they say that there are three big Frenchmen coming down upon us, and that we are to fight them all!” cried Fid, giving his messmate a dig in the ribs. “One down, t’other come on, I hope it will be; but whether we drub them or not, some of us will be losing the number of our mess.”

“Oh, don’t talk so, Fid!” answered Gipples, looking very yellow. “What’s the use of it? We don’t see the enemy.”

“No, but we very soon shall,” said Fid. “Just let the mist lift, and there they’ll be as big as life one on each quarter, so that every shot they fire will rake us pretty nigh fore and aft. Our Captain’s not a man to give in, as you well know; so we shall soon have our sticks a-rattling down about our heads, and the round-shot whizzing by us, and splinters flying about, and arms and legs and heads tumbling off. How does yours feel, Gipples? It’s odd a shot has never come foul of it yet. Howsomdever, you can’t expect that always to be. But never mind, old fellow. I’ll tell the old people at home how you died like a true British sailor; and if you have any message to your old chums, just tell me what to say.”

Thus, with an ingenious talent at tormenting, Tim Fid ran on, till, from the vivid picture he drew, poor Gipples was fairly frightened out of his senses. Tim was just then called off by the boatswain. When he came back, Gipples was nowhere to be seen. The crew had been sent quietly to their quarters without the usual beat of drum. Gipples ought to have been seated on his powder tub, but he was not. He had been seen to go forward. Fid looked anxiously for him. He did not return.

A considerable time passed. No Gipples appeared, and Fid felt sure that he must have slipped purposely overboard.

Still Fid was not as happy as usual. True Blue asked him what was the matter. He told him of his fears about Gipples. Indeed, the unguarded powder tub was strong evidence that he was right in his surmises. Another boy was ordered to take charge of the tub, and nobody but Tim thought much more about the hapless Gregory.

The wind had gradually been increasing, and at length it gained sufficient strength to sweep before it the banks of heavy mist, when the loud sharp cry of the lookouts announced five sail right astern, and some five or six miles distant. As they could be seen clearly from the deck, numerous glasses were instantly pointed at them, when they were pronounced without doubt to be enemy’s ships.

They also saw the frigate, and instantly bore up in chase. Had they all been line-of-battle ships, the swift-footed little Ruby might easily have escaped from them; but two looked very like frigates, and many of that class in those days were superior in speed to the fleetest English frigates.

All sail was made on the Ruby, and she was kept due north. “We may fall in with one of our own squadrons, or we may manage to keep ahead of the enemy till night, and then I shall have no fear of them,” observed the Captain as he walked the quarterdeck with his first lieutenant.

“We shall soon see how fast the Frenchmen can walk along after us,” answered Mr Brine. “I hope the Ruby won’t prove a sluggard on this occasion; she has shown that she can go along when in chase of an enemy.”

“Even should the two frigates come up with us, we must manage to keep them at bay,” said the Captain. “I know, Brine, that you will never strike as long as a hope of escape remains.”

“That I will not, sir!” exclaimed the first lieutenant warmly, and Mr Brine was not the man to neglect such a pledge.

“Never fear, lads,” said Paul Pringle; “the Captain carried us clear with about as great odds against us once before, and he’ll do it again now if the breeze holds fair.”

“But suppose it doesn’t, and those thundering big Frenchmen manage to get alongside of us, what are we to do then?” asked a young seaman who had lately been impressed from a merchantman.

“What do, Dunnage?—why, fight them, man!” answered Paul briskly. “You don’t suppose, do you, that we should do anything else till we have done that? We may knock away their spars, or maybe a shift of wind may come, or a gale spring up, or we may give such hard knocks that the enemy may think us a bad bargain. At all events, the first thing a man-of-war has to do is to fight.”

In a short time it was seen that the two frigates took the lead, and that one of them was much ahead of the other. “All right,” said Paul when he perceived this, “we shall be able to settle with one before the other comes on.”

The officers, however, knew well enough, as in reality did Paul, that a vessel much inferior in size might so far cripple them and impede their progress as to allow the more powerful ships to come up. Still the Ruby was well ahead when the sun went down. As twilight rapidly deepened into the gloom of night, the spirits of all on board increased. A light was now shown at the cabin window. There was no moon, and the night became very dark. Meantime, a cask had been prepared with a bright light on the top of it. The loftier sails were handed, the cask was lowered, and at the same instant the after-ports were closed. The light was seen floating brightly and calmly astern. The helm was then put down, the yards braced up, and the frigate stood away on a bowline close-hauled to the westward.

For some hours she tore on with her hammock nettings almost in the water; but it was a race for freedom, and what Briton would not undergo any risk for that? No one, not even the idlers, thought of turning in. Dawn came at length. Eager and sharp eyes were on the lookout at the mastheads, but not a sign of the enemy was perceived. Once more the helm was put up, and the frigate stood to the north-west.

Never did a ship’s company turn to at their breakfast with more hearty goodwill than did that of the Ruby. The only person missing at his mess was Gregory Gipples; and this convinced Tim Fid that he must have thrown himself overboard. True Blue and Harry Hartland, however, differed with him, and argued the point. “If he was such a coward and so afraid of shot, surely he would not deliberately go and destroy himself,” said they.

Fid insisted that his great fear of being shot made him dread less the idea of drowning.

“He wasn’t quite such a fool as all that,” said Harry. “Here comes Sam Smatch. Let’s ask him what he thinks about it.”

“What do I think about it?” exclaimed Sam, after they had laid the state of the case before him. “I’ll tell ye, boys. Big Gipples, him no fool. He’s stowed his fat carcase away somewhere down in de hold. Let’s you all and me go and look for him, and we soon rouse him up like one great rat with rope’s end.”

“Set a thief to catch a thief!” whispered Harry to Fid. “I thought he would know where Gipples was likely to be found.”

Sam had been known on more than one occasion to stow himself snugly away during action. When discovered, he had boldly avowed the wisdom of his conduct. “For why?” he argued. “Suppose now my arm shot away, ship’s company lose fiddler; for how I fiddle without arm? And suppose no fiddler, how anchor got up? how ship go to sea? and how take prize? and how dance and be merry? No, no; you men no signify—go and be shot. I berry important—take care of self.”

Accordingly, Sam being the guide, the party set out with proper authority to look for the missing Gipples. They searched in every vacant space in the cable tier, and in every accessible spot in the hold, among the water-casks and more bulky stores not under lock and key; but no Gregory was forthcoming.

Fid began to fear that his forebodings would prove true. One spot, however, had to be visited, commonly called the coal-hole. It was very dark and close, and not a place that any one would willingly pass a day in.

They thought that every corner had been explored, when, just as they were retiring, Fid heard a suppressed groan. He started, and, had he been alone, he felt that he should not have liked it; but he was a brave little fellow, especially in company with others; so he stopped and listened, and called Sam, who held the lantern, to examine the spot whence the groan had proceeded.

There was a loose pile of firewood in one corner; and, on examining it, there was no doubt that it had slipped over during the night. “He or his ghost is under there,” said Fid, pointing to it.

“Even if it’s his ghost, it’s not a pleasant place to be in!” exclaimed True Blue, setting to work to remove the logs.

This was soon accomplished; and there, sure enough, black as a sweep from the coal dust, and bruised with the logs, lay not the ghost of Gipples, but Gipples himself, terribly frightened with the idea that he was looked-for only that he might be drawn forth to be punished.

“Oh, lagged—lagged!” he exclaimed bitterly. “I’ll not do it again—indeed I won’t, your worship. Just let me off this once. Oh do!”

“What’s the fellow singing out about?” exclaimed Sam. “Just you come out. No one’s going to hurt you. Just wash yourself and come and have some breakfast. You look pretty near dead already.”

The truth was that the poor wretch was already out of his wits with fright, starvation, and sleepiness, and had a very confused idea of where he was or what had happened.

Sam Smatch now acted the part of a good Samaritan towards him. He got him up on the lower-deck, and then went and called the doctor, and said that he had found him bruised all over and apparently out of his wits. The doctor ordered him to be put into a hammock in the sick-bay.

Sam, however, first got him washed and cleaned, and gave him some food, which considerably revived him. After this, when Gipples came to himself, Sam administered a severe lecture to him for his cowardice.

“But you, Sam—you’re afraid, I’m sure, Sam,” whimpered the culprit.

“No, I not afraid,” he answered indignantly; “but why for I go lose my head or arm, when I get noding for it? I am paid to play the fiddle and help the cook. I do my duty and keep out of harm’s way. You, Gipples, are paid to be shot—you must stay where the shot comes, or you not do your duty. There all de difference.”

“Then I’ll try and get a rating where I needn’t stop and be shot!” cried Gipples, as if a bright idea had seized him. “If I can’t, I’ll cut and run. I can’t stand it—that I can’t.”

Had not the doctor reported the boy Gipples as having met with an accident, he would have been severely flogged for not having been at his quarters. As it was, he escaped without further punishment; but he got the name from his messmates of “Gregory Coal-hole.”

The ship without further adventure reached Portsmouth. At this time, in spite of the destruction of so many ships and magazines at Toulon, the French Republic was preparing an armament so great that she hoped to be able at once to crush with it the fleets of Old England. The British Government, however, had not been idle; and a superb fleet of thirty-four line-of-battle ships, and numerous frigates, under Lord Howe, lay at Portsmouth ready to sail to meet the enemy.

Besides fighting, the Admiral had, however, two important objects in view. One was to intercept a convoy of some three hundred and fifty merchant vessels coming from the ports of the United States, laden with provisions and the produce of the West India Islands for the supply of the people of France, who were threatened with starvation for the want of them; the other object was to see the British East and West India and Newfoundland convoys clear of the Channel, where they might be intercepted by French cruisers.

The Ruby was attached to Lord Howe’s squadron. It was a magnificent sight, when, on the morning of the 2nd of May 1794, a fleet of one hundred and forty-eight sail collected at Saint Helen’s, of which forty-nine were ships of war, weighed by signal, and with the wind at north-east, stood out from that well-known anchorage at the east end of the Isle of Wight, from which they were clear by noon. The weather was fine, the crews were in good discipline, the ships kept well together, and the men doubted not that they were able to fight and to conquer any foe they might encounter.

Never had Paul Pringle felt more proud of his country and his profession, as, walking the deck of the frigate, with True Blue at his side, he looked out at the numerous magnificent ships which glided proudly over the blue ocean.

“Look there, Billy—look there, my boy! Isn’t that a sight to make a sailor’s heart swell high with pride?” he exclaimed as he swept his arm round the horizon.

“It does, godfather—it does!” answered True Blue warmly. “And if I hadn’t loved the sea and the life of a sailor better than anything else, I should have loved it now, I think.”

“Right, boy—right!” exclaimed Paul. “It’s the calling for a man—there’s no doubt on’t. Look there now at Earl Howe’s ship, the Queen Charlotte, called after our own good Queen, with her hundred guns; and then the Royal George, with Admiral Sir Alexander Hood’s flag, and the Royal Sovereign, which carries that of Admiral Graves, each with their hundred bulldogs; and the Barfleur, and the Impregnable. And the Queen, and the Glory, each of them not much smaller; and the Gibraltar, and the Caesar, of eighty guns each. And then look at that hoop of seventy-fours. There’s the Billy Ruffian, and the Tremendous, and the Ramillies, and the Audacious, and the Leviathan, and Majestic, and the Orion, and Marlborough, and Brunswick, and Culloden—they’ll make a noise in the world some day, and perhaps before long too.”

“That’s it, Paul,” said True Blue, looking up at his godfather’s face. “I like our ship, as you know right well, and every timber and plank in her; but I should like to be aboard one of those seventy-fours when the day of battle comes. We aboard the frigates shall see what is going on, but the fine fellows belonging to them will have the real work.”

Paul glanced down approvingly at True Blue. “Never mind that, boy,” he answered. “We have had our turn while the line-of-battle ships were in harbour doing nothing, and we shall have it again, no fear of that. Besides, d’ye see, the enemy have frigates, and we may pick out one of them to lay aboard; or what do you say when the Frenchmen take to flight, we may then go in chase of some of their ships, and, big as they are, make them haul down their colours.”

“Ay, that’s some consolation,” answered True Blue. “Still, it is not like being in the middle of the fight—that you’ll allow, godfather.”

“No, True Blue, it is not, boy; but in the middle of the fight you see nothing often—only your own gun and the side of the enemy at which you are firing away,” remarked Paul. “Now aboard a frigate we are outside of all, and can see all the movements of our ships as well as those of the enemy; and as to fighting, a frigate with a smart Captain gets twice as much of that as any line-of-battle ship; except, perhaps, three or four favourites of fortune, which somehow seem to be in at everything. Look now, there’s Lord Howe signalling away, and Admiral Montague answering him.”

The fleet was now off the Lizard. The signal was made for the different convoys to part company, and for Admiral Montague, with six seventy-fours and two frigates, to protect them as far as the latitude of Cape Finisterre. Away sailed the rich argosies, many of the Indiamen worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, and almost as large as the line-of-battle ships themselves. Extending far as the eye could reach, they covered the glittering ocean with their white canvas and shining hulls, their flags streaming out gaily to the breeze.

Lord Howe, with the remainder of the men-of-war, steered for Ushant, and, arriving there, sent some frigates to look into Brest, to ascertain if the French fleet was there. The frigates returned with the report that it was in the harbour, a large number of ships having been clearly seen. Lord Howe calculating the time that the expected convoy from America would probably arrive, steered straight on a course to intercept them. The line-of-battle ships had of necessity to keep together, in case of encountering an enemy’s squadron; but the frigates were scattered far and wide; and True Blue had no reason to complain of want of employment, as night and day a sharp lookout was kept for a strange sail.

None, however, was seen, and once more the fleet returned to the neighbourhood of Brest. Two frigates, with two line-of-battle ships to support them, were now ordered to look once more into Brest harbour. On going in, they met with an American merchantman coming out, and, on a boat from the Leviathan boarding her, the master informed the officer in command that the French fleet had sailed some days before. This report was found to be correct, and the same evening the reconnoitring detachment rejoined the fleet.

Without loss of time, Lord Howe sailed in search of the French fleet. This consisted of some twenty-five ships of the line, and sixteen frigates or corvettes under the command of Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, in the Montague, of 120 guns; besides this ship, considered so enormous in those days, there were three of 110 guns, and four eighty-gun ships, all the rest being seventy-fours. The first object of this fleet was to protect the expected convoy of provision ships, while that of the English was to capture it. The French Admiral steered, therefore, a direct course to the point where he hoped to intercept the convoy. His ships, indeed, passed so close to those of the British during a thick fog that they heard the usual fog-signals of the latter, such as the ringing of bells and beating of drums; but as their object was not then to fight, they did their best not to be discovered, and on the following morning, when the fog cleared, they were out of sight of each other.

Lord Howe had, however, determined to overtake and bring the Frenchmen to action; and as the ocean at that time was covered with vessels of all nations, playing somewhat a puss-in-the-corner game as they ran from port to port, he had every reason to expect that he would obtain the required information as to their movements.

On the evening of the 19th of May a frigate appeared, despatched by Admiral Montague, saying that, while cruising in the latitude of Cape Ortegal, he had captured a French twenty-gun ship and a corvette, with ten British sail of the Newfoundland convoy which they had taken; that, from the information he obtained from the prisoners, he found that the squadron protecting the American merchant fleet now consisted of nine line-of-battle ships and several frigates, and requesting, therefore, reinforcements. He was then, he stated, about to proceed along the same meridian of longitude to the latitude of 45 degrees 47 minutes north, in which, according to the information of the prisoners, the Rochefort squadron had been directed to cruise.

On learning this, Lord Howe, believing that Admiral Montague’s squadron was in danger of being overpowered by Villaret, made all sail to his rescue.

On the 21st, however, the lookout gave notice of a strange fleet in sight. Chase was made, and ten out of fifteen sail of merchantmen—part of the Lisbon convoy captured by the Brest fleet—were retaken.

The vessels were burnt, as Lord Howe could not weaken his crews by sending them into port. From the prize crews taken in them, he learned that the French had prepared red-hot shot, and that the officers had determined to engage at close quarters. At the first piece of information the British seamen were inclined to laugh; and as to the second, though inclined to doubt it, they only hoped it might be true.

No sooner was the information received that the French fleet was so near, than Lord Howe abandoned his intention of joining Admiral Montague, whom he considered in safety, and stretched away to the northward and westward in daily expectation of coming up with the enemy.

All the information he gleaned confirmed Lord Howe in the opinion that he was but a short distance from the enemy. The morning of the 28th of May found the British fleet, with a strong wind at south by west and a heavy sea, formed in order of sailing, with the lookout frigates stationed around them. The Ruby was to windward, about one hundred and forty leagues west of Ushant, and True Blue was one of the lookouts. Great was his delight when at 6:30 a.m., he discovered a sail to the south-south-east, and scarcely had he hailed the deck with the information than he made out a strange fleet directly to windward.

“Hurrah! there is the enemy!” was the general cry throughout the British fleet.

Intense was the interest on board every English ship. In about two hours the French were seen bearing down in somewhat loose order; but when about ten miles off, they hauled their wind and began to form in order of battle.

The frigates were now for safety recalled, and the main body continued in the order of sailing, except the Bellerophon, Leviathan, Marlborough, Audacious, Russell, and Thunderer, which were a considerable distance in advance to windward, and were coming fast up with the enemy’s rear. The ever-exciting signal of the whole fleet to chase and prepare for action was now thrown out from the Queen Charlotte. Every sail the ships could carry was immediately set, and away the whole fleet plunged through the rolling, tumbling sea in chase of the flying enemy. It was not, however, till towards the evening that Admiral Pasley, in the Bellerophon, closed with the rear ship of the enemy’s line, a three-decker, on which he commenced a firm and resolute attack, supported occasionally by the ships in his division. The Bellerophon being soon disabled, fell to leeward; and just then the Audacious came up, and for two hours most gallantly engaged the Frenchman, which proved to be the Révolutionnaire of 110 guns. The enemy’s mizen-mast falling overboard, and her lower yards and main-topsail-yard having been shot away, she fell athwart hawse of the Audacious. Getting clear, however, she put before the wind; nor was it in the power of the latter, from her own crippled condition, to follow her.

Still the French, though having the weather-gage, and therefore having it entirely in their power to engage, avoided an action. By the persevering efforts of some of the weathermost ships of the British, several of their ships most to leeward were compelled to fight. One of them indeed struck; but, a consort coming up and pouring a broadside into her as a gentle reminder of her duty she again hoisted her colours. The frigates meantime were hovering about, ready to obey any orders they might receive, their Captains and officers, as well as their crews, naturally severely criticising the movements of the two fleets, and jealous that they themselves were not permitted to take part in the now active work going on.

“That’s always like them, Abel, isn’t it?” exclaimed Paul Pringle as he watched the main body of the French fleet still keeping aloof. “It puts me just in mind of what they used to do in the West Indies. When they numbered twice as strong as we did, they would come down boldly enough; but when we showed our teeth and barked, they’d be about again, thinking that they would wait for a better opportunity.”

“Ay, Paul, I mind it well. Even Billy here minds it, too, though he was a little chap then,” answered Abel, placing his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “And, True Blue, what’s more, do you tell it to your children’s children. Never mind how big may be the ships of the enemy, or how many guns they may carry, let British seamen when they meet them, as we do nowadays, feel sure that they will conquer, and I am very sure that conquer they will; ay, however the Frenchmen may bluster and boast of their mountain ships, just as the French Admiral does now.”

“That’s it, mate,” chimed in Peter Ogle. “That’s the way. Go at them. Show them that you know you are going to thrash them—stick to it. Never mind if you are getting the worst; be sure you’ll be getting the better before long, and, as Abel was a-saying, so you will in the end.”

“Right, right!” said Abel impressively. “Suppose now they were for to go for to cover up their ships with padding, or thick coats of wood or iron, just as men once had to do their bodies, I’ve heard tell, when they went to battle,—not that in the matter of ships it could be done on course, ha! ha! ha! but we never knows what vagaries the Monsieurs may try. Well, what should we do? Stand and play at long bowls with them? No, I should think not; but go at them, run them down, or lay them alongside just as we do now, and give them the taste of our cutlasses. They’ll never stand them as long as there’s muscle and bone in an Englishman’s arm.”

“Never did you say a truer word, Abel!” exclaimed Paul. “And mind you remember it, True Blue. But I say, mates, what’s the Caesar about there? I’ve been watching her for some hours, and there she is still under treble-reefed topsails; and, instead of boldly standing up along the French line, she has been edging away, and now she’s been and tacked as if she was afraid of the enemy. What can she be about? He’s making the Frenchmen fancy that there is a British officer in this fleet who fears them. Oh, boys, for my part I would sooner be the cook than the Captain of that ship! But don’t let’s look at him; it makes my heart turn sick. Look instead at our brave old Admiral! He is a fine fellow. See, see! he has tacked. He doesn’t care a rap for the Frenchman’s fire. The Queen Charlotte must be getting it pretty warmly, though. There, he’s standing right down, and he’s going to break the French line. There’s a broadside the old lady has poured into the quarter of one of those rear French ships. Now he luffs up right under her stern, and has repeated the dose. The Frenchman will not forget it in a hurry. There go the Billy Ruffian and the Leviathan. They’ll cut off a couple of Frenchmen if they manage well. Hurrah! That’s the way to go about the work. It cannot be long before our fine old chief makes the Frenchmen fight, whether they will or not.”

Several other ships, besides those observed by Paul Pringle and True Blue, were hotly engaged during the course of that 29th of May, and lost a considerable number of officers and men.

Chapter Nineteen.

On the first of June 1794, the British fleet was steering to the westward with a moderate breeze, south by west, and a tolerably smooth sea. All night Lord Howe had carried a press of sail to keep up with the French fleet, which he rightly conjectured would be doing the same; and as he eagerly looked forth at early dawn, great was his satisfaction to descry them, about six miles off, on the starboard or lee bow of his fleet, still steering in line of battle on the larboard tack. His great fear had been that the French Admiral would weather on him and escape; now he felt sure that he had him.

At about 5 a.m. the ships of the British fleet bore up, steering first to the north-west, then to the north; and then again, having closed with the Frenchmen, they hauled their wind once more, and the Admiral, knowing that their crews had heavy work before them, ordered them to heave-to and to pipe to breakfast.

The frigates, the Ruby among them, and the smaller vessels brought up the rear. Exactly at twelve minutes past 8 a.m., Lord Howe made the looked-for signal for the fleet to fill and bear down on the enemy; then came one for each ship to steer for and independently engage the ship opposed to her in the enemy’s line.

The British line was to windward, and Lord Howe wished that each ship should cut through the enemy’s line astern of her proper opponent, and engage her to leeward.

Soon after 9 a.m. the French ships opened their fire on the advancing British line, which was warmly returned. The gallant old English Admiral set an example of bravery by steering for the stern of the largest French ship, the Montague, and passed between her and the Jacobin, almost running aboard the latter.

So energetically did the men labour at their guns, and so tremendous was the fire that they poured into both their opponents, that in less than an hour the Montague had her stern-frame and starboard quarter shattered to pieces, and a hundred killed and two hundred wounded. In this condition she was still able to make sail, which she did, as did also the Jacobin, the Queen Charlotte being too much disabled in her masts and rigging to follow.

Most of the other British ships were in the meantime hotly engaging those of the enemy. The Queen especially received a tremendous fire from several ships, and became so crippled that the Montague, after she had got clear of the Queen Charlotte, followed by several other ships, bore down to surround her.

Lord Howe, however, having once more made sail on his ship, wore round, followed by several other ships, to her rescue. The Montague, though she had suffered so much in her hull and had lost so many men, had her masts and rigging entire; and this enabled her to make sail ahead, followed by other ships which had in the same way escaped with their rigging uninjured. Twelve French ships, however, were by half-past eleven almost totally dismasted, while eleven of the British were in little better condition; but then the Frenchmen had suffered in addition far more severely in their hulls.

The proceedings of the line-of-battle ships had been viewed at a distance by the eager crew of the Ruby. As one ship after the other was dismasted, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.

“Oh, Paul, I wish I was there!” cried True Blue vehemently. “There!—there!—another Frenchman is getting it! Down comes her foremast!—see!—her mainmast and mizen-mast follow! Oh, what a crash there must be! That’s the eighth Frenchman without a lower mast standing. Hurrah! we shall have them all!”

“Not quite so sure of that, boy,” observed Peter Ogle, who had come upon the forecastle. “Two of our own ships, you see, are no better off; and several have lost their topmasts and topgallant-masts. Still they are right bravely doing their duty. I’ve never seen warmer work in my day. Have you, Paul?”

“No. With Lord Rodney we have had hot work enough; but the Frenchmen didn’t fight as well as they do to-day, I must say that for them,” observed Paul. “See now that Admiral of theirs; he is bearing down once more to help some of his disabled ships. See, his division seems to have four or five of them under their lee; but there are a good many more left to our share.”

“Hurrah!” cried True Blue, who had been watching an action briskly carried on in another direction. “There’s one more Frenchman will be ours before long. That’s a tremendous drubbing the Brunswick has given her.”

No ship’s company displayed more determined gallantry during that eventful day than did the Brunswick, commanded by the brave Captain Harvey. Being prevented from passing between the Achille and Vengeur, in consequence of the latter shooting ahead and filling up the intervening space, she ran foul of the Vengeur, her own starboard anchors hooking on the Frenchman’s larboard foreshrouds and fore-channels.

“Shall we cut away the anchor, sir?” inquired the master, Mr Stewart, of the Captain.

“No, no. We have got her, and we will keep her,” replied Captain Harvey.

The two ships on this swung close to each other, and, paying off before the wind with their heads to the northward, with their yards squared, and with a considerable way on them, they speedily ran out of the line, commencing a furious engagement. The British crew, unable to open the eight lower-deck starboard ports from the third abaft, blew them off. The Vengeur’s musketry, meantime, and her poop carronades, soon played havoc on the Brunswick’s quarterdeck, killing several officers and men, and wounding others, among whom was Captain Harvey, three of his fingers being torn away by a musket-shot, though he refused to leave the deck.

For an hour and a half the gallant Brunswick carried on the desperate strife, the courage of her opponent’s crew being equal to that of her own, when, at about 11 a.m., a French ship was discovered through the smoke, with her foremast only standing, bearing down on her larboard quarter, with her gangways and rigging crowded with men, prepared, it was evident, to board her, for the purpose of releasing the Vengeur. Instead of trembling at finding the number of their enemies doubled, the British seamen cheered, and the men stationed at the five aftermost lower-deck guns on the starboard side were turned over to those on the larboard side, on which the fresh enemy appeared. A double-headed shot was added to each of these guns, already loaded with a 32-pounder. The main and upper deck guns were already manned.

“Now, my lads,” cried the officer, “fire high, and knock away her remaining mast!”

The stranger, which was the Achille, had now got within musket-shot, and wonderfully surprised were her crew at the hot fire with which they were received. Round after round from the after-guns were discharged in rapid succession, till, in a few minutes, down came the Frenchman’s foremast, falling on the starboard side, where the wreck of the main and mizen-masts already lay, and preventing him making the slightest resistance. A few more rounds were given. They were not returned, and down came the Frenchman’s colours, which had been hoisted on one of her remaining stumps. The Brunswick, however, was utterly unable to take possession, not having a boat that would swim, and being still hotly engaged with her opponent on the opposite side.

When the Frenchmen discovered this, they once more rehoisted their colours, and, setting a spritsail on the bowsprit, endeavoured to make off. The Brunswick, as they did so, gave them a parting dose; but it had not the effect of making them once more lower their colours. All this time, the crews stationed at the Brunswick’s lower and main deck guns were heroically labouring away. Profiting by the rolling of the Vengeur, they frequently drove home the quoins and depressed the muzzles of the guns, which were loaded with two round-shot, and then before the next discharge withdrew the quoins and pointed the muzzles upwards, thus alternately firing into her opponent’s bottom and ripping up her decks. While, however, they were hurling destruction into the side of the enemy below, the French musketry was sweeping the quarterdeck, forecastle, and poop, whence, in consequence, it was scarcely possible to work the guns. Several times, also, she had been on fire from the wadding which came blazing on board.

The brave Captain Harvey, on passing along the deck, was knocked down by a splinter; but, though seriously injured, he was quickly on his legs again encouraging his men. Soon afterwards, however, the crown of a double-headed shot, which had split, struck his right arm and shattered it to fragments. He fell into the arms of some of those standing round.

“Stay a moment before you take me below!” he exclaimed, believing that he was mortally wounded. “Persevere, my brave lads, in your duty. Continue the action with spirit, for the honour of our King and country; and remember my last word, ‘The colours of the Brunswick shall never be struck!’”

Hearty shouts answered this heroic address, and the crew set to work with renewed energy to compel their opponents to succumb. Never, perhaps, however, were two braver men than the Captains of the Brunswick and Vengeur opposed to each other, and their spirits undoubtedly animated their crews. If the British had resolved to conquer, the French had determined not to yield as long as their ship remained afloat.

Still it appeared doubtful which would come off the victor. At this crisis, for an instant, as the smoke cleared off, another line-of-battle ship was seen approaching the Brunswick. If a Frenchman, all on board saw it would go hard with her. Still they determined not to disappoint their Captain’s hopes, and to go down with their colours flying rather than strike.

The command had now devolved on Lieutenant Cracraft. For three hours the two ships had been locked in their fiery embrace, pounding away at each other with the most desperate fury, when, near 1 p.m., the Vengeur, tearing away the three anchors from the Brunswick’s bow, rolled herself clear, and the two well-matched combatants separated.

The newcomer was seen to be the Ramillies, with her masts and spars still uninjured. Having, indeed, had but two seamen killed and seven wounded, she was quite a fresh ship. She, however, waited for the French ship to settle farther from the Brunswick, in order to have room to fire at her without injuring the latter. The brave crew of the Brunswick were, however, not idle even yet, and continued their fire so well-directed that they split the Vengeur’s rudder and shattered her stern-post, besides making a large hole in her counter, through which they could see the water rushing furiously.

At this spot the Ramillies, now only forty yards distant, pointed her guns, and the Brunswick, still firing, in a few minutes reduced the brave Vengeur to a sinking state. Just then, it being seen from the Ramillies that the Achille was endeavouring to make her escape, all sail was made on her, and away she stood from the two exhausted combatants in chase of the fugitive, which she ultimately secured without opposition. Soon after 1 p.m., the two gallant opponents ceased firing at each other, and at the same time a Union-Jack was displayed over the quarter of the Frenchman as a token of submission and a desire to be relieved.

Not a boat, however, could be sent from the Brunswick, and in a few minutes her mizen-mast went by the board and made her still less able to render assistance. It made the hearts of the brave crew of the Brunswick bleed to think of the sad fate which awaited their late enemies, and which no exertion they had the power of making could avert.

Mr Cracraft now considered what was best to be done. The French Admiral Villaret was leading a fresh line on the starboard tack, to recover as many as he could of his dismasted ships; and the difficulty of the Brunswick was to rejoin her own fleet, without passing dangerously near that of the French, the loss of the mizen-mast and the wounded state of the other masts rendering it impossible to haul on a wind as was necessary. Accordingly, the head of the Brunswick was put to the northward for the purpose of making the best of her way into port, while all possible sail was made on her.

Sad was her state. Her mizen-mast was gone, and her two other masts and bowsprit were desperately wounded; her yards were shattered; all her running and most of her standing rigging was shot away, and her sails were in shreds and tatters. Twenty-three guns lay dismounted; her starboard quarter gallery had been carried away, and her best bower anchor with the starboard cathead was towing under her stem. Her brave Captain was mortally wounded, and she had three officers, eleven marines, and thirty seamen killed, and three officers, nineteen marines and ninety-one seamen wounded. The survivors immediately began to fish the masts, repair the damaged rigging, and to secure the lower-deck ports, through which the water was rushing at every roll. Her adventures were not over, though; for at 3 p.m., on her homeward course, she fell in with the Jemappes, wholly dismasted, and moved only by means of her spritsails. The Brunswick, which had received, early in the day, considerable annoyance from her, luffed up under her lee for the purpose of capturing her; but her crew displayed the Union-Jack over her quarter, and hailed that she had struck to the English Admiral, at the same time pointing at the Queen, then some distance to the south. The assertion being credited, the Brunswick stood on, and happily reached Plymouth Sound in safety, where, on the 30th, her brave Captain, John Harvey, died.

Her gallant opponent, meantime, the Vengeur, soon after they parted, lost her wounded fore and main masts, the latter in its fall carrying away the head of the mizen-mast. Thus reduced to a complete wreck, she rolled her ports deeply in the water, and the lids of those on the larboard side having been torn or knocked off in her late engagement, she filled faster than ever. Hopeless seemed the fate of all on board. Her officers scarcely expected that she could float many hours, or indeed minutes, longer.

None of her own consorts could come to her assistance. Her boats were knocked to pieces; there was no time to construct a raft, and the sea was too rough to launch one. Her decks were covered with the dead and dying; her cockpit full of desperately wounded men, not less than two hundred in all. Discipline was at end. Many broke into the spirit-room. Many burst forth into wild Republican songs, and insisted on the tricoloured flag being again hoisted.

Their brave Captain looked on with grief and pain at what was going forward, and did his utmost to restore order. He had a young son with him—a gallant little fellow, who had stood unharmed by his side during the hottest of the fight; and was he now thus to perish? Could he save the boy? There seemed no hope.

Captain Garland had been aloft all day with his glass, as had also several of his officers, eagerly watching the proceedings of the two fleets. Never for a moment did he doubt on which side victory would drop her wreath of laurel; still his heart beat with an anxiety unusual for him. He had remarked the two ships remaining hotly engaged, yardarm to yardarm out of the line, and he had never lost sight of them altogether. What their condition would be after so desperate and lengthened an encounter he justly surmised, and he at length bore down to aid a friend in capturing an enemy, or to succour one or the other.

The Ruby had more than one ship to contend with on her way, and her boats were summoned by signal to take possession of a prize; so that the evening was drawing on when she, with another ship, and the Rattler cutter, got down to the sinking Frenchman.

Evidently, from the depth of the shattered seventy-four in the water, and the slow way in which she rolled, she had but a short time longer to float. The guns were secured, and every boat that could swim was instantly lowered from the sides of the British ships. The gallant seamen showed themselves as eager to save life as they had been to destroy it.

“Jump, jump, Jean Crapaud!—jump, jump, friends!” they shouted as they got alongside. “We’ll catch you, never fear,” they added, holding out their arms.

Numbers of Frenchmen, begrimed with powder and covered with blood, threw themselves headlong into the boats, and had it not been for the English seamen, would have been severely injured. Some refused to come, and looked through the ports, shouting, “Vive la Nation!”, “Vive la République!”

“Poor fools!” cried Paul Pringle sadly; “they’ll soon be singing a different tune when the water is closing over their heads. That will bring them too late to their senses.”

The boats, as fast as their eager crews could urge them, went backwards and forwards between the sinking Frenchman and the English ships. Some hundreds had been taken off; but still the wounded and many of the drunken remained.

Sir Henry Elmore commanded one of the boats, and True Blue was in her. In one of her early trips an officer appeared at one of the ports, dragging forward a young midshipman.

“Monsieur,” he said, hearing Sir Henry speak French, “I beg that you will take this brave boy in your boat. He wishes to be one of the last to leave the ship, and, as you see, we know not how soon she may go down, and he may be lost. He is our Captain’s son, and where his father is I cannot say.”

“Gladly—willingly,” answered Sir Henry. “And you, my friend, come with the boy.”

The lad showed signs of resistance; but True Blue sprang up into the port, aided by a boathook which he held, and, taking the lad round the waist, leaped with him into the boat. The officer refused to come, saying that he had duties to which he must attend; and the boat being now full, Sir Henry had to return to the frigate.

On hastening back to the ship, the officer again appeared. “I will accompany you now,” he said, leaping in and taking his seat in the sternsheets. “But I have been searching in vain for our brave Captain Renaudin. What can have, become of him I do not know. If he is lost, it will break that poor boy’s heart, they were so wrapped up in each other.”

The boat, as he spoke, was rapidly filling with French seamen.

“Shove off! shove off!” cried Sir Henry energetically.

It was time, indeed. There was a general rush from all the decks and ports of the hapless Vengeur. Some threw themselves into the water, some headlong into the boats; others danced away, shouting as before; while one, more drunken or frantic than the rest, waved over her counter the tricoloured flag under which the ship had been so gallantly fought.

The boats shoved off and pulled away as fast as they could move; there was danger in delay. The men pulled for their lives. The ship gave a heavy lurch, the madmen shouted louder than ever; and then every voice was silent, and down she went like some huge monster beneath the waves, which speedily closed over the spot where she had been, not a human being floating upwards alive from her vast hull, now the tomb of nearly a third of her crew.

There were many other desperate encounters that day, but none so gallantly fought out to the death as that between the Brunswick and the Vengeur. Six line-of-battle ships were secured as prizes. The total loss of the French in killed, wounded, and prisoners was not less than 7000 men, of whom fully 3000 were killed.

The whole loss of the English on the 1st of June, and on the previous days, was 290 killed and 858 wounded. The French having suffered more in their hulls than in their masts and rigging, were able to manoeuvre better than the English; and Admiral Villaret, being content with having secured four of his ships, made no attempt to renew the battle, but under all the sail he could set, with the dismasted ships in tow, stood away to the northward, and by 6 p.m. was completely out of sight, a single frigate only remaining astern to reconnoitre.

Thus ended this celebrated sea-fight, chronicled in the naval annals of England as the glorious First—1st of June. Its immediate results were in themselves not important; but it showed Englishmen what they were ready enough to believe, that they could thrash the Frenchmen as in days of yore; and it taught the French to dread the dogged resolution and stern courage of the English, and to be prepared to suffer defeat whenever they should meet on equal terms.

The news of the victory reached London on the 10th. So important was it considered, that Lord Chatham carried the account of it to the opera, and just after the second act it was made known to the house. A burst of transport interrupted the opera, and never was any scene of emotion so rapturous as the audience exhibited when the band struck up “Rule Britannia!” The same enthusiasm welcomed the news at the other theatres. The event was celebrated throughout the night by the ringing of bells and firing of cannon, and the next day at noon by the firing of the Park and Tower guns. For three successive evenings also the whole metropolis was illuminated.

A few days afterwards, the King himself, with the Queen and Royal Family, went to Portsmouth to visit the fleet. Lord Howe’s flag was shifted to a frigate, and the royal standard was hoisted on board the Queen Charlotte. The whole garrison was under arms, and the concourse of people was immense. The King, with his own hand, carried a valuable diamond-hilted sword from the Commissioner’s house down to the boat. As soon as His Majesty arrived on board the Queen Charlotte, with numbers of his ministers and nobles, and the officers of the fleet standing round on the quarterdeck, he presented the sword to Lord Howe, as a mark of his satisfaction and entire approbation of his conduct.

As their Majesties’ barges passed, the crews cheered, the ships saluted, the bands played martial symphonies, and every sign of a general enthusiasm was exhibited.

The next day, the King gave audience to the officers of Lord Howe’s fleet, and to the officers of the army and navy generally; and after their Majesties had dined at the Commissioner’s house, they proceeded up the harbour to view the six French prizes which lay there at their moorings.

The primary object for which the fleet had put to sea was not accomplished; the great American convoy was not fallen in with, nor did Admiral Montague succeed in intercepting it, though he himself met Admiral Villaret’s defeated Squadron, and might, had the French shown more courage, have been overpowered by it. He avoided an engagement and returned into port; and a day or two afterwards, the expected convoy appeared off the French coast, and gained a harbour in safety.

The Ruby had arrived with the rest of the fleet at Spithead. The seamen treated their prisoners with the greatest kindness and humanity; and even Paul Pringle declared that the Jean Crapauds were not after all such bad fellows, if you got them by themselves to talk to quietly.

Young Renaudin, the son of the brave Captain of the Vengeur, during their ten days’ passage home, became a great pet among the officers and midshipmen. Still his spirits were very low, and he was very despondent, believing that his father was lost to him for ever. He had especially attached himself to Sir Henry Elmore and Johnny Nott, who, remembering their own preservation from foundering, had a fellow-feeling for him, and more especially looked after all his wants, while True Blue was appointed to attend on him.

The day after their arrival, Sir Henry got leave to go on shore and take their young prisoner, as well as Nott and True Blue, with him. Scarcely had they touched the point, than the boy sprang from the boat, and, breathless with excitement, rushed into the arms of a gentleman who had just landed with some English officers.

“Mon père! mon père!” exclaimed the boy.

“Mon fils! mon fils!” cried the gentleman, enclosing him in his arms and bursting into tears.

It was the gallant Captain of the Vengeur.

“Next to winning the battle, I would sooner have seen that meeting between the brave French Captain and his son than anything else I know of!” exclaimed True Blue as he recounted the adventure to Tim Fid, Harry Hartland, and other messmates on board the Ruby.

Chapter Twenty.

A considerable time had passed after that celebrated 1st of June, and the French had learned to suspect who were to be the masters at sea, whatever they might have thought of their own powers on shore, when a fine new corvette of eighteen guns, the Gannet, was standing across the British Channel on a cruise. Her master and commander was Captain Brine, long first lieutenant of the Ruby. Her first lieutenant was a very gallant officer, Mr Digby; and her second was Sir Henry Elmore, who was glad to go to sea again with his old friend Captain Brine. She had a boatswain, who had not long received his warrant for that rank, Paul Pringle by name; her gunner was Peter Ogle, and her carpenter Abel Bush; while one of her youngest though most active A.B.s was Billy True Blue Freeborn. She had a black cook too. He was not a very good one; but he played the fiddle, and that was considered to make amends for his want of skill.

“For why,” he used to remark, “if my duff hard, I fiddle much; you dance de more, and den de duff go down—what more you want?”

True Blue’s three godfathers had resolved to become warrant-officers if they could, and all had studied hard to pass their examinations, which they did in a very satisfactory way.

Their example was not lost upon True Blue. “I have never been sorry that I am not on the quarterdeck,” said he one day to Paul. “But, godfather, I shall be if I cannot become a boatswain. That’s what I am fitted for, and that’s what my father would have wished me to be, I’m sure.”

“That he would, Billy,” answered Paul. “You see a boatswain’s an officer and wears a uniform; and he’s a seaman, too, so to speak, and that’s what your father wished you to be; and I’ll tell you what, godson, if some of these days, when you’re old enough, you becomes a boatswain, and when the war’s over you goes on shore and marries Mary Ogle, so that you’ll have a home of your own when I am under hatches, that’s all I wishes for you. It’s the happiest lot for any man—a good wife, a snug little cottage, a garden to dig in, with a summer-house to smoke your pipe in, and maybe a berth in the dockyard, just to keep you employed and your legs going, is all a man like you or me can want for, and that is what I hope you may get.”

Some young men would have turned the matter off with a laugh, but True Blue replied, “Ay, godfather, there isn’t such a girl between the North Foreland and the Land’s End so good and so pretty to my mind as Mary Ogle; and that I’ll maintain, let others say what they will.”

“True, boy, true!” cried Paul, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder. “You are right about Mary; and when a lad does like a girl, it’s pleasant to see that he really does like her right heartily and honestly, and isn’t ashamed of saying so.”

The Gannet had altogether a picked crew, and Captain Brine was on the lookout to give them every opportunity of distinguishing themselves. There were, to be sure, some not quite equal to the rest. Tim Fid and Harry Hartland had joined with True Blue, and poor Gregory Gipples had managed still to hang on in the service, though, as his messmates observed, he was more suited to sweep the decks than to set the Thames on fire.

As yet the saucy little Gannet, as her crew delighted to call her, had done nothing particularly to boast of, except capturing and burning a few chasse-marées, looking into various holes and corners of the French coast, exchanging shots with small batteries here and there, and keeping the French coastguard in a very lively and active condition, never knowing when they might receive a nine-pound round-shot in the middle of one of their lookout towers, or be otherwise disturbed in their nocturnal slumbers.

Captain Brine was up the coast and down the coast in every direction; and if he could manage to appear at a point where the wind was least likely to allow him to be, by dint of slashing at it in the offing against a head wind, or by creeping in shore with short tacks, he was always more pleased and satisfied, and so were his crew.

The wind was north-east, the ship’s head was south; it was in the month of March, and the weather not over balmy.

“A sail on the weather bow!” cried the lookout from the masthead.

“What is she like?” asked the second lieutenant, who had charge of the deck.

“She looms large, sir,” was the answer.

The information was notified to the Captain, who was on deck in an instant.

Whether the stranger was friend or foe was the next question to be ascertained. Doubts were expressed as to that point both fore and aft. She was a frigate, that was very certain; still, without trying her with the private signal, Captain Brine did not like to haul his wind and make sail away from her. The nearer she drew, the more French she looked. Eighteen guns to thirty-eight or forty, which probably the stranger carried, was a greater disproportion than even the gallant Brine was inclined to encounter. All hands stood ready to make sail at an instant’s notice.

At length the two ships drew almost near enough to exchange signals. “That ship is French, depend on it, sir!” exclaimed the first lieutenant to the Captain.

“I am not quite so certain of that, Digby,” answered Captain Brine. “But if she is not an enemy, she is the Diamond frigate, commanded by Sir Sydney Smith. He has a wonderful knack of disguising his ship. I have known him to deceive the French themselves, and quietly to sail under a battery, look into a port, and be out again before he was suspected. He delights in such sort of work, and is not over bashful in describing afterwards what he has done. We shall soon, however, ascertain the truth. Try the stranger now with our private signals.”

The flags were run up, and in a short time Sir Henry exclaimed, “You are right, sir! She replies, and makes the Diamond’s number. There is another signal now. Sir Sydney orders us to close with him.”

“I felt almost certain that it was the Diamond,” said the Captain. “Well, gentlemen, I have no doubt that we shall soon have some work to do.”

As soon as the corvette got within a short distance of the frigate, she hove to; and a boat being lowered, Captain Brine went on board to pay his respects to his superior officer. He, however, speedily returned.

“Sir Sydney proposes a cruise round the French coast together, which accords with our instructions,” he said, addressing his two lieutenants, and the news soon spread through the ship.

Away the frigate and corvette sailed together, and soon fell in with a large lugger, to which they gave chase; but she turned out to be the Aristocrat, a hired vessel, fitted out by Government, and commanded by Lieutenant Gossett. Sir Sydney rubbed his hands.

“We could not be better off!” he exclaimed. “The Lion, Wolf, and Jackal all hunting in company.”

Not many days had passed before a fleet of vessels was espied under the land, and evidently French. One was made out to be a corvette, and the others brigs, schooners, and luggers, which she was apparently convoying. Chase was instantly given, and the strangers made all sail to escape.

Away they went, close in with the shore, just as a herd of oxen run along a hedge looking for an opening into which to escape. At length the water shoaled so much that the frigate had to haul off. The corvette stood on a little longer, and had to do the same; while the lugger, running on still farther, signalled that all the enemy had run into a harbour under some high land which appeared to be surmounted with batteries.

Sir Sydney on this called the other two vessels near to him, and informed their commanders that he knew the place, and that he intended surveying the entrance, which he believed was deep enough for the frigate herself. The frigate and her consorts then stood off till the approach of evening, as if giving up the pursuit. As soon, however as it was dark, they once more approached the land.

All the night Sir Sydney and his lieutenants, and Captain Brine and his, were busily sounding the channel; but before daybreak the little squadron was too far from the land to seen from it. A favourable breeze carried them back, and without hesitating, they stood boldly on towards the mouth of the port. The entrance to it was guarded by two batteries one beyond the other, on the left hand, and by several guns posted on a commanding point which it was necessary to round before the harbour could be entered. For the forts Sir Sydney was prepared, as he knew of their existence; and he had directed four of his own boats, with three from the corvette and one from the lugger, to attack and carry them in succession.

Mr Digby, from a wound in his right arm, which prevented him from using it, was unable to go; and so Sir Henry Elmore had command of the Gannet’s boats, and True Blue went in his boat as his coxswain, Mr Nott, now a mate, accompanying him. Paul Pringle, the boatswain, had command of another boat, and a mate and midshipman of the Gannet had charge of the other two. The whole expedition was under the command of the first lieutenant of the frigate, who was accompanied by a lieutenant and the marines of the two ships. As soon as the frigate and corvette got within range of the guns on the point, the latter opened a hot fire on them; but so well did the ships ply theirs in return as they passed that the gunners were speedily driven from them.

On rounding the point, however, the vessels became exposed to a severe fire from the two batteries. A considerable tide was running out, and Sir Sydney saw, as he expected, that the ships might suffer a severe loss before they could be passed, unless the batteries could be silenced. The order was therefore given for the boats to be lowered, and instantly to shove off. Away they dashed with loud cheers. The French troops, not expecting such a mode of attack, hurried down from their batteries to oppose them on the beach. This was just what Sir Sydney wished, as it enabled the ships to creep up without being fired at.

The boats, as they advanced, were so warmly received by the troops on the beach that they could not effect a landing at the spot proposed. True Blue’s quick eye, however, observed what he thought looked like a landing-place, close under the nearest fort. He pointed it out to Sir Henry, who, calling the boats nearest to him to follow, dashed on towards it. The first lieutenant of the Diamond meantime so entirely kept the troops on the beach employed, that no one saw what was occurring.

In another minute Sir Henry and his followers were on shore. True Blue was next to him, carrying the flag. A rocky height, almost a precipice, had to be climbed to reach the fort. Up they all went at once, like goats, making violent springs, or climbing up with hands and knees. True Blue was one of the first, helping up Sir Henry, whose strength was often not equal to his spirit.

When the English were half way up, the French caught sight of them, and now the whole body hurried along the road to regain the fort. It was a desperate race between the two parties. The English had a short but rugged height to scale, the French a longer but smoother path to traverse. The frigate’s boats however, by a well-directed fire, assisted to impede their progress, and to thin their numbers as they went. On sprang the daring seamen. True Blue was the first over the parapet and into the fort. Sir Henry followed close to him. The French were almost at the gate, which was left open.

“Here, Freeborn!” he exclaimed; “this gun, slew it round and give it to them. It is loaded and primed—see!”

The gun which Sir Henry touched was a field-piece, evidently brought for the occasion into the fort. Several seamen assembling, the gun was instantly got round, and as the leading body of French appeared, True Blue pointing it, fired it directly in their faces; then with a loud shout drawing his cutlass, he and Sir Henry rushed furiously at them, followed by most of the men. So unexpected was the assault that the leading files gave way, and, pressing on the others, hurried down the narrow path. Sir Henry calling back his companions, they re-entered the fort.

The gate was then shut, lest the enemy should return, and all the guns were immediately spiked. The commander of the expedition, and the lieutenant of marines and his men, had in the meantime come round and gained the height, in spite of a heavy flank fire from the French. Several of the guns were now, besides being spiked, tumbled down the precipice, and a considerable amount of destruction effected in the fort.

The French, however, were now collecting in stronger force, and the work on which the party were sent being accomplished, a return to the ships became necessary. The officer in command, seeing that, if they attempted to return by the steep way they ascended, they might be shot down in detail, resolved to make a bold dash and cut his way back to the boats, which had been compelled to return under shelter of the ships. The plan suited the spirits of the men. The gate was thrown open. Out of the fort they dashed, and down the hill at a double quick march. They had not got far before they encountered a large body of French, who attempted to oppose them; but the enemy, though double their number, could no more withstand their headlong charge than does the wooden village the force of the avalanche. Down before them went the Frenchmen, scattered right and left; but some got up, and others came on, and the English found themselves nearly surrounded, while a considerable body, remaining at a distance, kept up a hot and galling fire, which brought down several of the bold invaders.

Pistols were flashing, cutlasses were clashing, and the marines were charging here and there with their bayonets, keeping the French back while they retired towards the water, when another large body of French was seen coming over the hill. Their friends below saw them also, and now all uniting made a furious onslaught on the French.

“Charge them, my lads, and drive them back, or they will not let us embark quietly!” shouted the Diamond’s lieutenant.

Sir Henry Elmore with a number of followers, carried on by his ardour, went farther than was necessary, when a shot from a distance brought him to the ground.

At that moment the retreat was sounded, for the fresh body of French was coming on. True Blue had two stout Frenchmen to attend to, and had just disabled one and driven the other back when he saw what had occurred. Sir Henry’s followers were almost overpowered and retreating. True Blue saw that he would be made prisoner or killed, and that not a moment should be lost if he was to be rescued. “Back lads, and help our officer!” he shouted, springing desperately onward.

Several of the corvette’s crew, headed by Tom Marline, followed him, Tom shouting, “Hurrah, lads, hurrah! We mustn’t let our True Blue be made prisoner.”

The French, who had already had a sufficient taste of the English seamen’s quality, hurriedly retreated for a few yards, keeping up, however, a galling fire. They then waited till the reinforcement came up, and left Elmore unmolested. This gave time to True Blue to spring forward and lift him in his arms, and to run back with him through showers of bullets among his shipmates before the enemy could recover their prisoner.

Sir Henry, though suffering great pain, was perfectly conscious. “Thanks, my brave friend—thanks Freeborn!” he exclaimed; “you’ve again saved me from worse than death. But now, my lads, back to our boats; we shall do nothing now, I fear.”

The boats only just then reached the beach, and True Blue had but bare time to spring with his charge into the first, which proved to be their own, when the French troops came charging down upon them. The last man to leave the beach was the officer of marines, who, like a true soldier, retreated with his face to the foe amidst thick showers of bullets. He had just stepped into one of the boats, when he fell back into the arms of the Captain with a cry, shot through the body. He was lifted up and placed in the sternsheets.

“Shove off! shove off!” cried the officer.

The sailors shoved away with their oars, while the marines stood up with their muskets, returning the fire of the enemy, desirous to punish them for the loss of their officer. One marine and two seamen had fallen, and several men were wounded. In another minute they would with difficulty have got off, for, in the rear of the reinforcement, there came rattling along two small field-pieces.

The boats were afloat, the men pulled away with all their might and were soon on board the ships. True Blue would allow no one but himself to carry the young lieutenant below to his cabin. Of course he had to return to his duty on deck, for there was hot work going on; but he stood anxiously waiting till he could hear the surgeon’s report.

“Ah, mates!” he said to Fid and Hartland, and other friends stationed near him, “if you had seen, as I have, young Sir Henry at home, and how her ladyship, his mother, and sisters loved him and made much of him, you would understand what a killing blow it would be to them if they heard that he was dead or even hurt. I’d rather lose my own right arm any day, and my life too, than have them hear such a tale.”

As soon as the boats returned, the fire from the frigate and corvette knocked over the two field-pieces and several of the men who served them, and the ships then proceeded up the harbour. The French troops, as they did so, followed them along the shore, keeping, however, as well as they could, concealed behind the inequalities of the ground, and only occasionally halting and firing rapid volleys at them.

The corvette, and several brigs and schooners, and three armed luggers, were soon seen either at anchor close to the beach or on shore. The frigate could not venture to close with them, but the gallant little Gannet, with the lead going, stood on till she had scarcely a foot of water under her keel, and then, dropping an anchor with a spring to the cable, so as to keep her broadside to the corvette, opened her fire.

The Frenchmen replied briskly enough at first; but as they occasionally got a dose from the frigate’s long guns, they gradually slackened in their efforts to defend their ships, and finally were seen taking to their boats and escaping on shore. Mr Nott instantly volunteered to board and set fire to the corvette. He beckoned to True Blue, who flew to the boats, which had been kept ready on the side of the ship away from the shore. Within a minute, two boats were pulling under a hot fire towards the French ship. True Blue and his companions speedily climbed through her ports both fore and aft. They had brought abundance of combustibles. These were instantly carried below, and, the most inflammable materials being thrown together in piles along her lower deck, were set on fire. The thick wreaths of smoke which ascended assisted to conceal the party in their rapid retreat, the more rapid as they could not tell at what moment a spark might enter the magazine and blow them all into the air.

Back they pulled, and were on board the Gannet once more, within five minutes after they had left her side, not a man having been hurt, and the work so thoroughly accomplished that the corvette was in a furious blaze fore and aft, the flames already licking the heels of her topmasts in their upward ascent.

All this time, the frigate astern and the lugger ahead of the Gannet were keeping up a warm fire on the shore, to hold the troops in check. They wisely concealed themselves when no boats appeared; but as the various merchantmen, one after the other, were attacked by the boats of the squadron, they sallied bravely out, and endeavoured to drive back their assailants. In vain, however, they made the attempt; the British seamen persevered, and before the evening every vessel in the harbour was destroyed.

Not a moment had honest True Blue been idle, from the time that the boats had been first sent away till dark; nor had he had an opportunity of inquiring after the second lieutenant. At length the surgeon came on deck to take a breath of fresh air. True Blue stepped up to him, and, touching his hat, inquired after Sir Henry.

“Hurt very badly, my lad,” answered the surgeon, “and, I am very much afraid, will slip through our fingers; but do not let that vex you. He has told me of the gallant way in which you brought him off from the enemy; and his great anxiety seems to be, that your interest should be cared for—that you should be rewarded.”

“Rewarded, sir!” exclaimed True Blue in a tone of indignation and sorrow. “Oh, sir, I don’t want any reward. Sir Henry knows that I would go through fire and water to serve him, that I would sooner have lost my own right arm or my life than that he should be hurt. Do tell him, sir, that I am unhappy when I hear about a reward. I shall be joyful, indeed, if he gets round again, and be able to go to his duty.”

“All right, my lad, I will tell him; and I hope he may recover, and settle the matter with you in your own way.”

“I hope so, sir—I hope so,” said True Blue; but he felt very sad about what he had heard.

This conversation took place during a short cessation of firing, when, for some reason not ascertained, the French troops retreated. They now came back with more field-pieces, and opened on the ships. Happily the ebb just then made, and a light breeze sprang up and blew down the harbour. A fire was kept up from the ships, however, all the time, while their anchors were weighed, and their topsails being sheeted home, they stood out of the harbour. Still the shot followed them. They had got some way when True Blue felt himself struck to the deck. He lay some little time before being observed in the dark, and then he was carried below. He knew no more, till he heard a voice in a tone of deep grief saying, “Oh, doctor, is he killed?”

It was that of Paul Pringle.

“I hope not, boatswain,” was the answer. “I have extracted the bullet, which was pretty deep in; and I trust he may do well.”

Chapter Twenty One.

As True Blue lay wounded in his hammock, he made daily, almost hourly, inquiries after Sir Henry; and nothing seemed to expedite his own recovery so much as hearing that the lieutenant was considered out of danger.

The Gannet still continued in company with the Diamond, and True Blue’s chief unhappiness arose at not being allowed to join the various cutting-out expeditions in which the crews of the two ships were engaged.

At length, by the time that they once more stood up channel, both Sir Henry and True Blue were sufficiently recovered to go on deck, the lieutenant being almost fit to do some duty, though the latter was not allowed to exert himself.

Sir Sydney had invited the young lieutenant to spend a day or two on board the frigate, as he said, for change of air; and Sir Henry got leave for True Blue to accompany him, for the purpose, in reality, of making him known to one who, brave himself, could so well appreciate bravery in others, and who, if he had the will, would probably have the means of forwarding the young seaman’s interests.

Soon after this, in a thick fog, the frigate parted company with the corvette. The Diamond had taken a number of prizes, and sent them away under the command of various officers, so that she had very few left. Sir Sydney had intended to go the next day into Portsmouth to pick them up, when he fell in with a schooner making for the French coast, which turned out to be a prize to a French privateer lugger, the Vengeur, known to have taken a number of prizes.

From the prisoners, Sir Sydney learned that she had the character of being very fast, that she was armed with ten nine-pounders, that her commander was a very enterprising character himself, and that she had been in vain chased on several occasions by British cruisers.

“Then we must put a stop to this gentleman’s proceedings!” exclaimed Sir Sydney. “We may not gain much glory, but we shall be doing good service to the commerce of our country; and that, after all, is our duty, and I take it we could not be engaged in more honourable work than in the performance of our duty.”

“Certainly not, sir,” warmly responded the young lieutenant, his guest; “and, if you will give me leave, I will accompany you. I am quite able to endure fatigue, and will take my young shipmate, True Blue Freeborn, with me, of whom I spoke to you—a gallant fellow, who has twice saved my life.”

Sir Sydney, who delighted in the sort of spirit exhibited by the young lieutenant, at once acceded to his wishes, and arranged that he should have charge of one of the boats. The frigate stood in, and soon discovered the lugger at anchor in the outer roads. The first lieutenant was on shore in England, the second was very ill, and the third lay in his berth severely wounded; so Sir Sydney gave notice that he himself would take command of the expedition.

The information was received with infinite satisfaction on board, because, in the first place, it seemed certain that there was some dashing work to be done; and, in the second, it was believed that, in whatever the Captain engaged, he succeeded. The necessary preparations were rapidly carried out. An eighteen-pounder carronade was mounted in the frigate launch, and her crew were also armed with muskets; three other boats were armed with smaller guns on swivels, and muskets; and one with muskets only—a wherry, pulling two oars.

Everything was ready by ten o’clock at night, when Sir Sydney Smith pushed off from the frigate, taking the lead of the other boats in his wherry. In perfect silence they pulled away, till through the darkness they perceived the lugger ahead of them. The crews now lay on their oars, while their Captain, in a clear, distinct voice, issued his definite orders.

“Understand, my lads, we must not alarm the enemy sooner than we can help. Give her a wide berth, therefore, and get between her and the shore, so that those on board, if they see us, may fancy that we are fishing-boats dropping out of the harbour. Then pull directly for the lugger, and be on board her as soon as possible.”

No further words were spoken. When they had got to the position indicated, no apparent notice was taken of them, and they hoped to get close alongside undiscovered.

“Pass the word along to the men to reserve their fire till the Frenchmen open theirs,” said the Captain, who continued ahead. “Now, my lads, pull straight for her.”

Away dashed the boats as fast as their crews could urge them. The Frenchmen were all asleep, or the watch on deck had not made them out. When, however, about a musket-shot off, lights were seen, and there was a considerable bustle on deck, and hallooing and shouting. On they dashed; they had got within half pistol-shot of the lugger, when a volley was let fly amongst them. As usual, the dose, instead of checking their progress, only stimulated them to greater exertions. The marines and small-arm men returned the fire in right good earnest, while the boats advanced more rapidly than before.

The Frenchmen had been taken by surprise: they had barely time to load their guns. As they had not pointed them precisely, most of their shot flew over the heads of their opponents, and there had been no time to trice up the boarding nettings. The British were therefore soon alongside; a fierce hand-to-hand conflict commenced with pistols, boarding-pikes, and cutlasses, and the gallant assailants began to climb over her low bulwarks and furiously to attack the enemy with cutlass and pistol. The French crew, though far outnumbering the British, could not withstand the desperate onslaught.

Sir Sydney Smith was one of the first on board. True Blue, cutlass in hand, leaped over the bulwarks at the same moment from another boat, with Sir Henry Elmore. There was a rapid mingling of shouts and cheers and cries, and rattling of musketry, and the crack of pistols and clashing of cutlasses and then the privateer’s men gave way, leaped down below, and cried for quarter. It was given, and the prisoners were at once secured.

Scarcely was this done, when True Blue, who was forward, discovered that the cable was cut, and that the vessel was drifting with the tide, now making strong up the river, rapidly towards the shore. He reported this to Sir Sydney, who instantly ordered the boats to go ahead and tow her away. Meantime, search was made for an anchor to hold the vessel against the tide making up the Seine, every instant apparently increasing in strength.

“Here’s a small kedge, sir!” cried True Blue, who, one of the most active, was searching away in the forehold. “It will be of little service, I fear, though.”

“Get it bent on. We will try what our canvas will do first,” answered the Captain.

Every stitch of sail the lugger could carry was set on her; but still the breeze refused to blow with sufficient strength to enable her to stem the tide, even with all the boats towing ahead. The kedge was therefore let go, but though it somewhat stopped her way, still she dragged it rapidly on. Higher and higher she drifted up the Seine, till at length she brought up off Harfleur, on the northern bank of the river, two miles above Havre.

It seemed as if nothing more could now be done.

“I ought to return to the frigate,” said the Captain, “Sir Henry, you will accompany me. Mr Wright, you will get under weigh the instant the tide slackens or a breeze springs up, and run out to us.”

Sir Henry begged that he might remain on board the lugger and share the risk with the rest, though it was not without considerable reluctance that Sir Sydney consented to leave him. Sir Sydney then pulled off in his small boat for the frigate.

Daylight was now coming on, and by its means several boats were seen coming down the Seine, evidently with the intention of trying to recapture the Vengeur. At the same time, however, a small boat was observed approaching from the frigate, and soon afterwards Sir Sydney Smith himself stepped on board.

“My lads,” he said, “I believe that we shall have to fight for our prize, and I have returned to lend a hand in defending her. However, we have more boats and people than are required. Sir Henry Elmore, I must beg you to undertake the charge of landing the prisoners at Honfleur, on the southern bank of the river, in the launch and pinnace, and then return to the Diamond. These are my orders. We must first, however, make the Frenchmen give us their parole not in any way to interfere in whatever takes place. I propose fighting the lugger under weigh, till the breeze and ebb tide enable us to carry her out. The tide will soon make, and I hope to be alongside the frigate in an hour or little more.”

Very unwillingly Sir Henry quitted his gallant chief and friend, taking, of course, True Blue with him.

It was now broad daylight, and all the glasses of the frigate were turned towards the Vengeur. Another large lugger as big as herself was seen approaching her. She got under weigh, and a warm action began.

“She is giving it her!—she is giving it her!” shouted True Blue. “Sir Sydney will beat him, I am certain.”

So it seemed probable by the gallant way in which the Vengeur met her approach. The latter was soon seen to sheer off and drop up the river again, evidently having had fighting enough. Most anxiously a breeze was looked-for.

Though victorious in this instance, the prize was even in a more perilous position than before, having drifted still more up the river, and numerous boats being seen in the distance approaching her. Down they came, their numbers rapidly increasing. Now she opened her fire right and left upon them. They returned it with heavy discharges of musketry, till she was completely surrounded by smoke, an evidence also that she had no breeze to assist her in manoeuvring.

Farther and farther off she drifted, till, with hearts foreboding evil, the spectators on board the Diamond lost sight of her in the distance, surrounded by smoke. In vain they waited. The day wore on; there was not a sign of their gallant Captain and his brave followers, and at length it became too certain that they must have been taken prisoners by the French.

A strong breeze now sprang up. After waiting off the port all the night, the Diamond ran across the Channel, and anchored at Spithead, with the intelligence of Sir Sydney Smith’s capture. The Gannet had not yet appeared, and True Blue, as well as Sir Henry, began to be anxious, fearing that some mishap might have befallen her.

Two days passed by. On the third, True Blue was looking out to the south-east, when he espied two ships standing in towards the anchorage. He looked and looked again. One was, he thought, and yet doubted, the Gannet, so different did she look to the trim and gallant little ship she had but lately been; the other was a craft much of her size, with the English ensign flying over the tricolour of France. The first soon made her number, and left no doubt as to her being the Gannet.

An action, and a well-fought one, had evidently taken place, and the corvette had brought in her captured prize; but then came the question, who among shipmates and friends had suffered? True Blue could not help thinking of Paul Pringle, whom he loved with an affection which could not have been surpassed had Paul been his father, and Peter Ogle, and Abel Bush, and his own messmates. Had any of them been killed or hurt?

He knew that Sir Henry, who had remained doing duty on board the Diamond, would feel somewhat as he did; so he went to him, and Sir Henry gratified him by saying that he would at once make arrangements for returning to the corvette the instant she anchored. A boat was got ready, and away they pulled for her. They were on board almost as soon as the anchor was dropped.

True Blue glanced eagerly forward. Paul Pringle was on the forecastle, call in mouth, issuing the necessary orders for furling sails. Peter Ogle was not to be seen, nor was Abel Bush, but they might be about some duty below; nor were Tim Fid nor Gregory Gipples visible, though they ought to have been on deck.

Having reported himself as come on board with Sir Henry to the first lieutenant, who was near the gangway, he dived below. Numerous hammocks slung up forward showed that there were many sick or wounded, while groups of Frenchmen, with sentries over them, proved that a prize had been taken.

He first hurried to the gunner’s cabin. The door was closed—he knocked—there was no answer—his heart sank within him—his thoughts flew to Mary and her mother. Could Peter Ogle be among the killed in the late action? He dared not ask; he opened the door and looked in. The cabin was empty. He went next to that of Abel Bush.

“Come in,” said the carpenter in a weak voice, very unlike his usual sturdy bass. “True Blue, is it you, my lad? Right glad to see you!” he exclaimed in a more cheerful tone. “Well, we have had a warm brush. Only sorry you were not with us; but we took her, as you see, though we had a hard struggle for it. Do you know, Billy, these Frenchmen do fight well sometimes. They’ve given me an ugly knock in the ribs; but the doctor says I shall be all to rights soon, so no matter. I don’t want to be laid up in ordinary yet. Time enough when I am as old as Lord Howe. He keeps afloat; so may I for twenty years to come yet, I hope.”

Thus he ran on. He was evidently feverish from his wound.

“But oh, Abel, where is Peter Ogle?” exclaimed True Blue, interrupting him at length.

“Peter?—oh, aboard the prize!” answered Abel. “Where did you think he was?”

“All right,” replied True Blue.

In the evening, both ships went into the harbour to be refitted, an operation which, from the battered condition of the corvette and her prize, would evidently take some time.

Scarcely was the ship moored, when Sir Henry sent for True Blue, and told him that, on account of his having been wounded, he had obtained leave for him to have a run on shore, and that if he liked he would take him up to London with him, and let him see more of the wonders of the great metropolis.

The colour came to the young sailor’s cheeks. “Thank you, Sir Henry—thank you,” he answered; “but to be honest, I’d as lief go to my friends at Emsworth, you see, sir. They know me, and I know them; and though I should like to see her ladyship and the young ladies,—indeed I should,—there’s Mary Ogle, Peter Ogle’s daughter; and the truth is, we’ve come to understand each other, and talk of splicing one of these days, when I’m a bo’sun perhaps, or maybe before that. If you saw Mary, sir, I’m sure you wouldn’t be offended at my wishing to go down there rather than go up to big London with you, sir. But you’ll give, I hope, my dutiful respect to your mother, sir, and the young ladies, and tell them it’s not for want of love and duty to them that I don’t come.”

“I am sure that they will think everything right of you, Freeborn,” answered the young baronet, struck by True Blue’s truthful frankness. “But instead of being a boatswain, why not aim at being placed, as I long ago wished, on the quarterdeck? Surely it would please your Mary more, and I daresay my friends would accomplish it for you.”

“Thank you, Sir Henry—thank you. I’ve thought the matter over scores of times, and never thought differently,” answered True Blue with a thoughtful look. “And do you know, sir, I’m sure that Mary wouldn’t love me a bit the more because I was a Captain, than she does now, or than she will when I am a bo’sun. She isn’t a lady, and doesn’t set up for a lady; and why should she? I couldn’t love her a bit the more than I now do if she did. You see, Sir Henry, she’s a right true honest good girl, and what more can a man like me want in the world to make him happy?”

“You are right, Freeborn—you are right!” exclaimed the young baronet, springing up and taking his friend’s hand; “and I wish you every happiness your Mary can give you. Remember, too, if I am in England, invite me to your wedding, and I’ll do my utmost to come to it. I have not often been at a wedding, and never thought of marrying; but I am very sure that somehow or other you will set me on the right course, by the pleasure I shall experience on that occasion.”

The next day, while Sir Henry went up to London, True Blue started off by himself to Emsworth, his godfather having too much to do in refitting the ship to be spared away from her. He had not given notice that he was coming, and the cry of pleasure with which he was received when his smiling countenance appeared at Peter Ogle’s cottage door showed him that he might depend on a hearty welcome.

A fair girl, with the sweetest of faces, rose from her seat, and, running towards him, put out both her hands, and did not seem overwhelmed with astonishment when he threw an arm round her waist and kissed her heartily.

“Hillo, Master True Blue, are those the manners you have learned at sea?” exclaimed Mrs Ogle, not very angrily, though.

“Yes, mother,” answered Billy, laughing, and still holding Mary by the hand and looking into her face. “It’s the way I behaved scores of times whenever I’ve thought of the only girl I ever loved; and now, though I didn’t intend to do it, I couldn’t help it—indeed I couldn’t. I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs Ogle, if Mary does.”

“Well, Billy, as my goodman has known you since you were a baby, and I’ve known you nearly as long, I suppose I must overlook it this time,” answered Mrs Ogle. “And now tell me, how is my husband, and Pringle, and the rest?”

“Ogle and Pringle are very well; but Abel Bush has had an ugly knock on his side. It will grieve poor Mrs Bush, I know, when I tell her. He’ll be here as soon as he is out of hospital; but he wants to be aboard again when the ship is ready for sea.”

Good Mrs Ogle, on hearing this, said that she would go in and prepare her neighbour for the news of Abel being wounded; and after she had done so, True Blue went and told her all the particulars, and comforted her to the best of his power; and then he hurried off to see old Mrs Pringle, who forgave him for not coming first to her, which he ought to have done.

The hours of True Blue’s short stay flew quickly by—quicker by far than he wished. Never had the country to his eyes looked so beautiful, the meadows so green, the woods so fresh, and the flowers so bright; never had the birds seemed to sing so sweetly; and never had he watched with so much pleasure the sheep feeding on the distant downs, or the cattle come trooping in to their homesteads in the evening.

“After all, Mary,” he said, “I really do think there are more things on shore worth looking at than I once fancied. Once I used to think that the sea was the only place fit for a man to live on, and now, though I don’t like it less than I did, I do love the look of this place at all events.”

Mary smiled. They were sitting on a mossy bank on the hillside, with green fields before them and a wood on the right, in which the leaves were bursting forth fresh and bright, and a wide piece of water some hundred yards below, in which several wild fowl were dipping their wings; while beyond rose a range of smooth downs, the intermediate space being sprinkled over with neat farmhouses and labourers’ cottages; and rising above the trees appeared the grey, ivy-covered tower of the parish church, with the taper spire pointing upwards to the clear blue sky—not more clear or bright, though, than his Mary’s eyes; so True Blue thought, whether he said it or not.

“Yes,” said Mary; “I am sure, True Blue, when you come to know more of dear Old England, you’ll love it as I do.”

“I love it now, Mary—that I do, and everything in it for your sake, Mary, and its own sake!” exclaimed True Blue enthusiastically. “I used to think only of fighting for the King, God bless him; but now, though I won’t fight the less for him than I did, I’ll fight for Old England, and for you too, Mary; and not the worse either, because I shall be thinking of you, and of how I shall hope some day to come and live on shore with you, and perhaps go no more to sea.”

Mary returned the pressure of his honest hand, and in the wide realms of England no two people were happier than they were; for they were faithful, guileless, and true, honest and virtuous, and no shadow cast by a thought of future misfortune crossed their path.

Thus the days sped on. Then a letter came from Sir Henry, saying that he had obtained another fortnight’s leave for True Blue; and the different families looked forward to a visit from the three warrant-officers of the Gannet, and felt how proud they should be at seeing them in their uniforms. Abel Bush was so far recovered that he was expected in a day or two.

Such was the state of affairs, when one evening True Blue heard that an old shipmate of his in the Ruby was ill at a little public-house about three miles off, nearer the sea; so he at once set off to visit him, intending to bring him up to Mrs Pringle’s, if he was able to be removed, for he was a favourite and friend of Paul’s.

When he got there, he found a good many men in the house, mostly seamen, drinking and smoking in the bar. However, he passed on, and went up into the room where his old shipmate was in bed. He sat talking to him for some time, and then he gave him Mrs Pringle’s message, and told him that, as she had a spare room, he must come up there and stay till he was well. He had arranged to return with a cart the next morning, and had bid his friend good-bye, when, as he was on his way down the dark narrow stairs, he heard the door burst open, and a tremendous scuffle, and shouts, and oaths, and cries, and tables and chairs and benches upset, and blows rapidly dealt.

He had little doubt that a pressgang had broken into the house, and, though they lawfully couldn’t touch him, he instinctively hurried back into his friend’s room, knowing how unscrupulous many people, when thus engaged, were, and that if they got hold of him he would have no little difficulty in escaping from their clutches.

His friend, Ned Archer, thought the same. “Here, Billy,” he exclaimed, “jump out of the window! I will shut it after you, and you will be free of these fellows.”

There was not a moment to be lost. True Blue threw open the casement, and dropped to the ground. It was a good height; but to an active lad like him the fall was nothing, and he would have made no noise had not a tin pan been set up against the wall. He kicked it over, and, as he was running off, he found himself collared by three stout fellows, drawn to the spot by the clatter it made.

“You’ll have to serve His Majesty, my lad—that’s all; so be quiet,” said one of the men, for True Blue very naturally could not help trying to escape.

“I have served His Majesty long and faithfully, and hope before long to be serving him again afloat,” answered True Blue. “But just hands off, mates. You’ve got hold of a wrong bird. I belong to a sloop of war, the Gannet, and am away from her on leave.”

“A likely story, my lad,” said the officer commanding the pressgang, who just then came up. “You are fair-spoken enough; but men with protections don’t jump out of windows and try to make off at the sight of a pressgang. Whether you’ve served His Majesty or not, you’ll come along with us and serve him now—that’s all I’ve to say on the subject.”

The officer would not listen to a word True Blue had to plead, but with eight or nine other men, captured at the same time, he was forthwith marched down in the direction of the Hamble river.

It was a long tramp, and True Blue often looked round for an opportunity of escaping; but his captors were vigilant, and there seemed but little chance of his getting away. Never had he felt so anxious, and, as he expressed his feelings, downhearted, not for himself,—he believed that all would come right at last, as far as he was concerned,—but for those he left behind him. He thought how anxious and grieved Mary would be when he did not return; and though he was aware that ultimately she would ascertain that he had been carried off by a pressgang, he knew that that would not mend matters much.

A boat was waiting for them in the Hamble creek; and the party pulled on, till at daybreak they found themselves at the mouth of the Southampton Water, on board an eighteen-gun brig. The pressed men looked very sulky and angry, and eyed the shore as if even then they longed to jump overboard and swim for it; but the sentry, with his musket, at the gangway was a strong hint that they would have other dangers besides drowning to contend with should they attempt it.

True Blue, who disdained to shirk duty on any pretence, performed as rapidly and well as he could what he was ordered to do; but at the same time his heart was heavier, probably, than that of any one on board. The officer who had captured him might or might not believe his assertion that he belonged to another ship. He had not his papers with him, and he had been caught trying to escape from the pressgang. The Captain of the brig was on shore, and was to be taken on board at Plymouth, where she was to call in for him.

“Where are we bound for?” asked True Blue of one of his new shipmates.

“Don’t you know, lad?” answered the man with a laugh which sounded harsh and cruel in his ears. “Why, out to the East Indies, to be sure—that’s the land, I’ve heard, of gold and silver and jewels. We shall all come back with our pockets well lined with the rhino. Lots of prize-money, lad—that’s the stuff we want. No wonder our skipper is in a hurry to be off. We shan’t drop anchor even in Plymouth Sound, but he’ll post down from London; and as soon as he sees us he’ll be aboard, for I know well that he will be eager to be off. He’s in as great a hurry to finger the ingots as any of us.”

This was very unpleasant information for True Blue. He had no reason, either, to doubt it. As soon as the tide made, the brig got under weigh, and, standing out of the river, ran down the Solent towards the Needle Passage.

Had True Blue been on board his own ship, he would have been contented enough, even though he had been bound for the East Indies; but to be carried off among strangers, without an opportunity of communicating with those he loved, was hard indeed to bear. The brig had got down as far as Berryhead, when it fell very nearly calm, and a thick fog came on. All night long the fog continued, and though it was not dark, all objects beyond ten or twenty fathoms at most of the brig were rendered invisible. Her head, therefore, was put off shore, to avoid the risk of running on it, and sail was reduced, so as merely to allow her to have steerage way.

The breeze, however, got up a little with the sun, which was seen endeavouring to pierce the mist; but for a long time the sun appeared to strive in vain to accomplish that object.

At last the silvery mist was, as it were, torn asunder; and then, running under all sail, and about to pass between the brig and the land, appeared a large lugger. The brig under reduced sail, seen through the fog, looked probably more like a merchantman than a man-of-war. The lugger ran up the tricolour and fired a round-shot at the brig.

The first lieutenant, springing on deck with his trousers in one hand and his coat in the other, ordered the brig to be put about, and then all hands to make sail, and the guns to be cast loose and run out. The Frenchmen, before they discovered their mistake, had also tacked,—the wind was from the southward,—and were standing back towards the brig; but what was their astonishment, when, instead, of the thumping big merchantman they had expected to make their easy prize, they saw a trim man-of-war with nine guns looking down on them!

They at the same time had the full taste of the nine guns, and of a volley of musketry also, to which they, however, in another minute, responded in gallant style. The brig was to windward. The object of her commanding officer was to jam the lugger up between her and the land, so that she could not possibly escape.

The lugger’s Captain, unwilling to be thus caught, hauled his tacks aboard, and made a gallant attempt to cross the bows of the brig. Her helm, however, at that moment was put down, and a broadside fired right into the lugger, one shot bringing down her mainyard, and another knocking the mizen-mast over her side. The escape of the Frenchmen was now hopeless—they must either conquer or be captured. They made a bold attempt to win, by immediately running aboard the brig, before the lugger had lost her way, and securing her with grappling-irons.

“Boarders, repel boarders!” shouted the first lieutenant of the brig.

Among the first to answer the call was True Blue. Seizing a cutlass from a heap brought on deck,—for there had been no time to buckle them on,—he sprang to the spot where he Frenchmen were swarming on board.

“Drive them back, for the sake of Old England, our King, and the homes we love!” he shouted, a dozen arming themselves as he had done, and following him.

The officers in the same way seized what weapons they could lay hands on, and met their desperate assailants. In boarding, those who board, if they can take their opponents by surprise, have greatly the advantage. The Frenchmen reckoned on this, and were not disappointed. A strong party had made good their footing on the brig’s deck, when the first lieutenant, who was a powerful man, seizing a cutlass, with some of the best of the crew, threw himself upon them. So desperate was the onslaught he made that none could withstand it. The Frenchmen fired their pistols, by which several of the English, who had not one loaded, fell; and the gallant lieutenant was among others hit. Still his wound did not stop his progress.

The Frenchmen retreated inch by inch, throwing themselves over the brig’s bulwarks into their own vessel. True Blue and his party had been equally successful forward, and now not a Frenchman remained on the brig’s deck. In another moment, he with his companions had leaped down on that of the lugger, and, though the French far outnumbered the British, drove them all abaft the foremast, where they found themselves attacked by another portion of the brig’s crew, headed by two of her officers.

The first lieutenant had carried her aft, and the French, seeing that all was lost, threw down their arms and cried out for quarter. It was instantly given, and in ten minutes from the time the first shot was fired, the capture of the lugger was complete.

As True Blue looked along her decks, he thought he recognised her appearance. “Hurrah!” he shouted. “Why, she’s the very craft, the Vengeur, we took in the Seine.”

So she proved. From one of the prisoners, who spoke English, True Blue learned that, soon after the boats had left her for the frigate, the Vengeur had been attacked by a large armed lugger, which, however, she beat off; that then a number of boats with soldiers in them surrounded her, and that, after a furious action had been carried on for some time, chiefly with musketry, and numbers of the British had been killed or wounded, Sir Sydney had yielded.

Between twenty or thirty officers and men only had been landed at Rouen, the rest having fallen. The greater number were imprisoned at Rouen; but the French Government had considered Sir Sydney as a prisoner of state, and, with his secretary and servant, he had been placed in the tower of the Temple at Paris.

In the afternoon, the brig and her prize ran up Plymouth Sound; and as she had killed and wounded and prisoners to land, and repairs to make good, instead of sailing at once, as had been intended, she had to wait several days.

True Blue’s gallant conduct had been observed both by the first lieutenant and the master, and when the Captain came on board it was reported to him.

“I think I must know the man,” he observed. “A fine young fellow—an old shipmate of mine in the Ruby.”

True Blue was sent for. The recognition was mutual. He told his story, and described also how he had been at the former capture of the Vengeur.

“I do not doubt a word you say,” said the Captain. “Still, here you are. I am unwilling to lose you, and am not compelled to release you. I will give you any rating you like to select in the ship.”

“Thank you, sir, heartily,” answered True Blue; “but I belong to the Gannet, and have no right to desert her, and have all my best friends aboard her. I would rather be put ashore to join her as soon as I can.”

“But I cannot take any man’s word for such a statement,” answered the Captain. “If it were known, I should have all the pressed men coming to me with long yarns, which it might be difficult to disprove.”

“Then, sir, perhaps you will take Sir Henry Elmore’s word for it. You know his handwriting, I daresay. I got this letter from him a few days ago;” and True Blue handed in the note, somewhat crumpled, which the young baronet had sent, saying that he had obtained longer leave for him.

“That is sufficient warrant to me in allowing you to leave me, if we fall in with the Gannet,” observed the Captain, who was a man never inclined, whether right or wrong, to yield a point.

True Blue felt that he was cruelly wronged; still he hated the notion of running from the ship. Others put it into his head, but he would not accept it. “No, I have been unfairly taken, and I will be properly released,” he said to himself. “I’ll do what is right, whatever comes of it.”

The brig’s repairs did not take long; but the arrangements respecting the prize occupied the Captain some time, so that nearly ten days passed before the brig was standing once more down the Sound.

Poor True Blue’s application for a release had been ignored, and he now felt certain that he should have to go out to India. As they reached the entrance of the Sound, a corvette was seen standing in. She exchanged colours with the brig, and proved to be the Gannet. Captain Brine, who was superior officer, directed the brig to heave-to. A boat shoved off from her, and, coming alongside, who should jump on the deck of the brig but Paul Pringle, who, touching his hat, said in a stern voice that he had been sent to bring back to his own ship Billy True Blue Freeborn.

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Gannet was bound to the West Indies. All True Blue’s friends were on board. The indignation they felt at the way he had first been captured, and then kept on board, was very great. He had contrived to get off a letter to Mary, who of course told her father and Abel Bush what had occurred; and they at once told the Captain, who, finding that the brig was still at Plymouth, hoped to get there in time to recover him.

“Ah, True Blue, my lad, you did right to stick to your ship, and not to run,” observed Paul Pringle, when his godson told him how much he had been tempted to do so. “Look here, now; if you had run, you see, you would have found the Gannet sailed, and lost your ship altogether. There’s no doubt about the matter.”

Sir Henry Elmore was still on board as second lieutenant, and appeared very glad to see him. Captain Brine called him aft, and spoke very kindly to him. Moreover, he told him that he had given him the rating of captain of the foretop, which was a great honour for so young a seaman, and that when another vacancy occurred, he should have the highest which his age would allow.

The ship had a quick passage to the West Indies, without meeting with an enemy or even making a prize of a merchantman. When there, however, plenty of work appeared cut out for her.

Before long, when cruising off Porto Rico, a sail was descried from the masthead. The stranger at once bore down on the corvette. She was soon made out to be a large ship. No thought of flight entered the heads of any one. If Spanish, they would take her; if French, they might hope to beat her off. All hands were rather disappointed when she made the signal of H.M. frigate Trent; and when she came up she hove to, and Captain Brine, ordering his boat, went on board.

The two ships made sail and stood in for the land. As they skirted along the coast, as near in as they could venture, several vessels were seen at anchor in a bay, under the protection of a fort. Some were large and apparently armed. The frigate and corvette now stood off shore again, and the senior Captain informed Captain Brine that he proposed cutting them out at night, when they would be less prepared for an attack. Before the evening, the two ships had run to a sufficient distance not to be seen from the shore.

As soon as it was dark, they once more beat up towards the bay. Every preparation was made for the intended cutting-out expedition. There were six boats, all of which were placed under the command of the first lieutenant of the frigate, and Sir Henry Elmore went as second in command, with True Blue as his coxswain.

The ships hove to, and the boats shoved off about midnight. In two of them the marines of the frigate, with their officer, were embarked, to act on shore if necessary. The plan was, that they were together to board each vessel in succession, beginning at the largest. With muffled oars and in dead silence away they pulled. The night was dark; but the phosphoric sparkle of the water as the boats clove their way through it, and the oars lifted it in their upward stroke, might have betrayed them as they drew near, had the Spaniards been vigilant.

The frigate’s boats, it was settled, should board aft, while the corvette’s boarded forward of each vessel.

The outline of the hills rose in a clear line ahead, while the fort appeared directly above their heads, looking down on the anchorage, where the vessels lay clustered together. Not a light appeared; there was not a movement of any sort: the Dons were evidently fast asleep.

They were close alongside one of the largest ships—a heavy merchantman, she seemed—when the loud barking of a dog was heard. Still no one was aroused. It increased in fury as they approached. At last one of the watch must have seen the strange boats, for he shouted to his shipmates. They did not understand their danger till the British seamen were climbing up the ship’s sides. The deck was won, and every Spaniard who came up from below was unceremoniously knocked down again. The prize was armed and the crew were numerous; so, as soon as they were secured below hatches, a mate with a boat’s crew was ordered to cut the cable, make sail, and carry her out to the ships outside.

This first victory had been bloodless and easy; but now all the crews of the vessels were on the alert, as were the garrison of the fort, though in the darkness they were unable to ascertain in which direction to point their guns. However, they soon opened their fire on the outer ship, when she began to move; but their range was not correct, and their shot fell among friends and foes alike. The shot fell rapidly among the boats; and at the same moment a warm fire of musketry was opened on them from the decks of the vessels, proving that there must be a considerable number of men among them, and that some were well armed.

To silence the fort, the marines were ordered to land; and while they gallantly rushed up the heights to storm it, the bluejackets pulled on towards the next vessel. As they got alongside, she seemed like a man-of-war or a privateer; but there was no time for deliberation. Up her sides they were bound to go. As Sir Henry and his boat’s crew made the attempt, they were received with boarding-pikes and pistol-shots in their faces. The bow-gun in the boat was in return pointed up and loaded to the muzzle with musket balls and all sorts of langrage. It cleared a space on the deck, and before it was again occupied the English had possession of it.

Two vessels were thus taken, both armed; but the strength of the cutting-out party was gradually decreasing, while the number of the enemy appeared as large as ever.

The cable of the vessel, a schooner, was cut; and the night wind blowing off shore, headsail was got on her, and she stood out after the first captured. The boats pulled on to attack a third vessel, while the fire of the marines as they stormed the fort, smartly returned by its defenders, lighted up the ground above them.

The next vessel was also a schooner. She looked long but low, and it seemed as if there would be but little difficulty in boarding her; but it was found as they got up to her that stout boarding nettings were triced up all round, though no one was to be seen on her decks.

Sir Henry Elmore’s division was the first which reached, her, and True Blue was the first man up her side, the young lieutenant being close behind him. True Blue was hacking away at the netting, as were the other boarders, several of whom had leaped down on deck, when True Blue sprang through the opening he had made, and, grasping Sir Henry, literally forced him back into the boat. Before a word could be spoken there was a loud roar, the deck of the vessel lifted, fierce flames burst out from her sides, and all on board were blown into the air. True Blue’s quick eye had detected the first glare of the flame as it appeared through the hatchway, and instantly he sprang back, or he would have been too late. As it was, he was very much scorched, as was Sir Henry in a less degree, though somewhat hurt by his fall.

“You have again saved my life, Freeborn!” he exclaimed as soon as he had recovered his senses and saw what had occurred.

“All right, sir,” answered Billy; “but we will punish the next craft. I suppose they don’t all intend to blow up. Hurrah, lads, we’ve not done with the Dons yet!”

Even while he was speaking, the mast, spars, and rigging of the vessel which had blown up kept thickly falling around them. Some of the English seamen were hurt, and one or more killed by them, besides three or four killed by the actual explosion on board; still the commander of the expedition was not a man to give up any work on account of losses. On they went, therefore, towards the next vessel—a large brig. The Spanish crew were prepared to receive them, and opened a hot fire from several guns. However, from being pointed too high, the shot passed over their heads.

The boats were the next instant alongside. Sir Henry, with True Blue, gained the forecastle. Scarcely for a minute did the Spaniards withstand their onslaught; their boats were on the opposite side, and, rapidly retreating, they leaped into them.

“Elmore, you and your boat’s crew keep possession of the vessel, and carry her out,” said the first lieutenant. “I will take a couple more, and, if possible, come back for the rest.”

Having hurriedly given these directions, he with his men leaped into their boats, while Sir Henry gave the necessary orders for getting the brig under weigh; the jib was hoisted, and two hands were sent aloft to lower the fore-topsail.

True Blue, however, without waiting for orders, acted on the impulse which seized him, and hurried below. It was more than an impulse; his mind was full of the dreadful fate he and his companions had just escaped, and it occurred to him that the Spaniards might again be guilty of a similar act of barbarity.

All was quiet below, but a stream of light issued from a chink in one of the side cabins. He hastily opened the door; a taper was burning on the top of a cask. The cask was full of gunpowder! Several similar casks stood around. The slightest heeling over of the brig, as her sails felt the wind, might make her share the fate of her consort, or, in another minute or two, the candle itself would burn down and ignite the powder.

There was not a moment for deliberation, and yet the slightest act of carelessness would destroy him and his friends. A single spark falling from the long wick would be ruin. A firm hand and a brave heart were required to do that apparently simple act—to withdraw the taper from the cask. It must be done at that moment! He heard Sir Henry calling him to take the helm. Planting his feet one on each side of the cask, to steady himself, he stooped down, and, bringing his hands round the taper, enclosed it tightly within them, withdrawing them quickly, and at the same time pressing out every particle of fire. When it was done, his heart beat more freely. He hurried round to ascertain that no similar mine existed, ready to destroy them, and then, returning on deck, went calmly to the helm.

The gallant marines had in the meantime bravely done the work on which they had been sent, as was evident from the cessation of the fire from the fort, and the cries of the Spaniards who had been driven out of it. Having spiked the guns, they came down to the shore, when the boats went in and re-embarked them.

A large merchant ship was brought off, and another schooner. The rest of the vessels were either scuttled or had driven on shore. The latter were set on fire, and the whole expedition then sailed away with their well-won prizes.

“I called to you some time before you came to the helm. Where were you, Freeborn?” said Sir Henry as the brig they had captured had got some way out of the harbour.

True Blue only then told his superior officer of the providential escape they had had.

“But we ought to have drowned the casks. Should any careless fellow be prowling about with a light, we might all be blown up as it is.”

“The people were too busy on deck, I know, Sir Henry,” answered True Blue. “I shut the door, and think there is no risk.”

Sir Henry, however, did not feel comfortable till he had taken precautions against the risk they were running. Sending Tom Marline, now a quartermaster, to the helm, he got a lantern, and he and True Blue, going below, brought on deck all the casks of powder they could find. True Blue then suggested that they might search further; and in the hold of the vessel they discovered a considerable quantity more, while the magazine, the door of which had been left open, was full. Had, therefore, the first explosion merely set her on fire, the remainder of the powder would have blown her and all on board to fragments.

“Had you been an officer, Freeborn, you would have been able to have command of the prize,” observed Sir Henry. “I wish you were from my heart, for you deserve it richly.”

“Very happy as I am, Sir Henry, thank you,” was True Blue’s answer. “Maybe when I’m a bo’sun I may have charge of some craft or other; but I’ve no wish now to command this or any other vessel.”

All Sir Henry could say would not rouse True Blue’s ambition. He got, however, very great commendation from Captain Brine for his conduct in the cutting-out expedition. The prizes were officered and manned from the frigate and corvette, and the two ships shortly after this parted company. The Gannet took two or three more prizes, and sent them into Jamaica. Some little time had passed when, as the Gannet was standing to the southward of Guadaloupe, having gone through the passage between that island and Dominique, just as day broke, the land was seen in the far distance; and much nearer, on the weather beam, a sail, which no one doubted was an enemy’s frigate.

There she lay, with fully twenty guns grinning through each of her sides, opposed to the Gannet’s nine in her broadside. Some short time elapsed after the two ships had discovered each other. The midshipman of the watch had gone down to summon Captain Brine.

“I wonder what our skipper will do?” observed Tom Marline to True Blue. “Shall we fight the Frenchman, or up stick and run? or give in if we find that he has a faster pair of heels than we have, which is likely enough?”

“Run! Give in!” ejaculated True Blue. “I hope not, indeed. I know you too well, Tom, to fancy that you’d be for doing either one or the other without a hard tussle for it. It’s my idea the Captain won’t give in as long as we have a stick standing or the ship will float. If we are taken, depend on it, he will sell the Frenchmen a hard bargain.”

“Right, lad—right!” exclaimed Tom Marline. “I knowed, Billy, that you’d think as I do; and if the Captain proposes to do what I think he will, we must stick by him, for I know some of the people don’t quite like the look of things, and fancy it’s hopeless to contend with such odds.”

Captain Brine, however, when he came on deck and took a survey of the state of affairs, did not seem to hold quite to the opinion of Tom and True Blue. His heart did not quail more than theirs; but he reflected that he had no right to hazard the lives of his people and the loss of his ship in a contest against odds so great, if it could be avoided. He gave a seaman’s glance round as he came on deck, and then instantly ordered all sail to be made, and the ship’s head to be kept north-west. The stranger, which then hoisted French colours, leaving no doubt of her character, made all sail in chase. Anxiously she was watched by all hands.

“I thought how it would be, Billy!” exclaimed Tom Marline; “she is coming up fast with us. The Monsieurs build fast ships—there’s no doubt on’t; we shall have to fight her.”

Meantime, all the crew were not so satisfied. Gipples and several others like him looked at their overpowering enemy, and some went below to fetch out their bags, for the sake of putting on their best clothing.

“I don’t see why we should go for to have our heads shot away, or get our legs and arms knocked off, just for the sake of what the Captain calls honour and glory,” observed Gipples in a low voice to those standing near him. “We are certain to lose the ship and be made prisoners when a quarter of us, or it maybe half, are killed and wounded, and I for one don’t see the fun of that.”

“No more don’t I,” observed Sam Smatch, who had come up on deck to have a look round. “I’ve been fiddler of a seventy-four, and now I’m cook of this here little craft, all for the sake of old friends, and I’ve larned a thing or two; but I haven’t larned that there’s any use knocking your head against a stone wall, or trying to fight an enemy just three times your size, and that’s the real difference between us and that big Frenchman. Mind you, mates, though, I don’t want to be made a prisoner by the Frenchmen, but it can’t be helped—that I see.”

Such was the tone of the remarks made by a considerable number of the crew as they watched the gradual approach of the frigate. It was not surprising, when they considered that they had, with their diminished numbers, not a hundred men to oppose, probably, three hundred. Mr Digby, the first lieutenant, as he passed along the decks, observed their temper and reported it to the Captain.

“Never mind what some of them just now feel,” he answered; “we have plenty of good men and true, who will stand by me to the last. I intend to fight the Frenchman, and beat him off, too. Send the men aft; I will speak to them.”

The crew, both the discontented and the staunch, came crowding aft.

“My lads,” cried Captain Brine, “you have served with me now for some time, and on numerous occasions showed yourselves to be gallant and true British sailors. We have been in several actions when the enemy has been fully equal to us in force, and we have never failed to come off victorious; and not only victorious, but for every man we have lost, the enemy has lost five or six. As I have ever before been successful, so I hope to be now. You see that French frigate coming up astern? I intend to engage her, as I am sure you will all stand by me to the last. Never mind that she has got twice as many guns as we have; if we handle our bulldogs twice as well as she does hers, we shall be a match for her. So, my lads, go to your quarters. Fight as bravely as you ever have done for our good King and dear Old England; and let us uphold the honour of our flag, and thoroughly drub the Frenchmen.”

“That we will, sir—that we will!” shouted True Blue, several others joining him. “Hurrah for Old England! Hurrah! hurrah!”

“The sooner, then, we begin the better, my lads,” continued Captain Brine. “Wait till I give the word to fire; and when I do give it, don’t throw your shot away.”

After another hearty cheer, set off by True Blue, the men went steadily to their quarters. Royals and topgallant-sails were handed, the courses were clewed up, and the corvette under her three topsails stood calmly on, waiting the approach of the enemy. Undoubtedly the Frenchmen fancied that some desperate trick was going to be played them.

On came the frigate. “Remember, lads, do not fire till every shot will tell!” cried Captain Brine. “Wait till I give the word.”

The frigate, under all sail, approached on the starboard and weather beam of the corvette. As the former found that her small antagonist was within range of her guns, she opened her fire; but the guns, being pointed high, either passed over the British ship or merely injured some of her rigging.

When the Frenchman got within hail, some one on board, seeing the small size of the corvette, and believing that she would instantly give in, sang out, “Strike! strike, you English!”

“Ay, that we will, and pretty hard, too,” answered Captain Brine through his speaking trumpet. “Give it them, my lads!”

The loud cheer which the crew gave on hearing this reply had not died away before every shot from the corvette’s broadside had found its way across the frigate’s decks, or through her side. Again the heavy carronades were run in and loaded.

“Remember, lads, we have to make our nine guns of a side do more work than the Frenchman’s twenty!” cried True Blue as he hauled in on the gun-tackle, every muscle strained to the utmost. “Hurrah, boys! we’ve already sent twice as many shot aboard him as he has given us.”

With similar cries and exclamations, True Blue and others of the best seamen encouraged the rest, while the commissioned and warrant-officers kept their eyes on any who seemed to despair of success, and urged them to persevere.

Captain Brine seldom for a moment took his eyes off the French ship, and kept his own just at sufficient distance to let his carronades have their full effect, and yet not near enough to run the risk of being suddenly boarded, should any of his masts or spars be shot away. This seemed to be the aim of the Frenchman, for but very few of her shot had struck the hull of the corvette, though they had considerably damaged her rigging.

At length the frigate put up her helm to close. Captain Brine, who had been watching for this manoeuvre, shouted to his men to cease firing for an instant, till her head came round.

“Now rake her, my boys!” he cried; and the shot and various missiles with which the guns were loaded went crashing in through the frigate’s bow-ports and along her main deck.

He then put his own helm down, and, hauling the tacks aboard, would have shot ahead of the Frenchman, had not the latter done the same to prevent her opponent obtaining the weather-gage. Just as she was doing so, she received the larger portion of another broadside. Thus the two ships ran on. Nothing could exceed the rapidity with which the Gannet’s crew kept up their fire. For nearly two hours they had fought on. One man only had been wounded. What the casualties of the enemy were, they could not tell; but they had every reason to believe them severe. Suddenly the frigate ceased firing; she was seen to haul her tacks aboard, and away she stood to the northward, under a press of sail, the corvette being too much cut up in rigging and sails to follow.

Right hearty were the cheers which burst from the throats of the seamen when they found that their Captain had fulfilled his promise and beat off the Frenchmen. No one cheered more loudly than Gregory Gipples, whether or not at pleasure at having escaped without harm, or at the honour of having beaten the enemy, may be doubted.

“Well shouted, old Gipples!” cried Tim Fid. “One would suppose you’d been and done it all yourself.”

Just then a puff of smoke was seen to proceed from one of the retreating frigate’s after-ports, and the next instant poor Gipples was spinning along the deck, shrieking out with terror and pain. Out of all the crew, in spite of the heavy fire to which the corvette had been exposed, he and another poor fellow were the only men hit. This shot seemed a parting one of revenge. As Captain Brine watched the receding frigate, he could scarcely persuade himself that she would not again bear down upon him. On she stood—farther and farther off she got, till her hull sank beneath the horizon, and her courses, and then her topsails, and finally her topgallant-sails and royals, were hid from sight.

Fid, Hartland, and others carried poor Gipples below. Wonderful to relate, when the surgeon came to examine him, he pronounced his wound, though bad, not of necessity mortal, and thought that under favourable circumstances he might possibly do well. No one could have tended him more carefully and kindly than True Blue and his other old messmates; and he showed more gratitude for their attention than might have been expected.

Scarcely had the enemy disappeared, when the lookout at the masthead reported a large ship on the lee beam. Every exertion that could be made was applied to get the Gannet into a condition to chase, and in an hour’s time, under a wide spread of canvas she was standing after the stranger.

The latter appeared not to be a man-of-war, as she made off towards the Island of Guadaloupe, then dead to leeward. As she had so far the start, it became a question whether she could be brought to before she ran herself on shore. Still the Gannet, it was soon seen, sailed faster than she did, and Guadaloupe was scarcely visible on the horizon.

The breeze freshened, the corvette tore with foam-covered bows through the blue glittering ocean. At 11 a.m. she had made sail. By 3 p.m. she had got the stranger within range of her long guns.

“She is remarkably like an English ship, and from the way she is handled, I think she must be a prize, with a small crew on board,” observed the first to the second lieutenant.

After a few shots, the stranger’s main-topsail-yard was shot away, when she brought to, and proved to be the Swift, a British merchant ship, bound to Barbadoes, a prize to the frigate the Gannet had just beaten off. Mr Nott, with ten men, including True Blue and Tim Fid, were sent on board to work her; and as, instead of deserving the name of the Swift, she was more worthy of that of the Tub, the Gannet took her in tow, hoping to carry her to Barbadoes. All night long she towed her.

At daybreak next day, Captain Brine found that the misnamed Swift had drifted close in towards the land, while within her lay a frigate, and to all appearance the very frigate he had beaten off the day before.

Not a breath of wind ruffled the calm surface of that tropical sea. It was evident that the Gannet herself could do nothing to assist her prize. The Captain therefore called his officers round him, and asked their opinion as to the possibility of successfully defending her with the boats. They were against the advisability of making such an attempt.

As the daylight increased, the French frigate discovered the character of the two ships outside her.

“I wonder whether she will attempt to retake the Swift,” said Captain Brine. “If so, Nott will be unable to defend her, and I must recall him. Let the lookout aloft give us notice the instant any boats are seen to leave her side.”

No long time had elapsed before the French, supposing that the calm was going to continue, put off from the frigate with four boats.

“I believe Nott and his men would defend the prize to the last; but I must not expose them to such a risk,” observed the Captain.

“I am sure our True Blue won’t give in if he has a word in the matter,” observed Paul Pringle to Peter Ogle. “Mr Nott is staunch, too. They’ll do their best to beat the Frenchmen off.”

This was very well; but though possible, it was not probable that they would succeed; so the Captain ordered the signal, “Escape in your boats,” to be made.

It had been made some time, and yet it was not answered, probably because it was not seen. The French were getting very near.

“It’s my belief that they intend to try and defend the ship,” observed Paul Pringle. “I wish I was with them if they do—that’s all.”

“Fire a gun to call their attention to the signal!” cried the Captain.

Immediately the signal was answered, and two boats put off from the ship’s side. In two minutes afterwards the French were up to the prize; but they seemed inclined to have the crew as well, and, instead of boarding her, pulled on in chase. Captain Brine, on seeing this, ordered three boats to be lowered and manned on the opposite side, hoping that they might venture near enough to be caught themselves. They now began firing at the two English boats, with which they were fast coming up. The Frenchmen must have seen that there was a great chance of their prey escaping them, unless they captured them at once. The crews uttered loud cries, the boats dashed on. In another minute they would have been up to them, when the corvette’s three boats appeared from under her counter, and pulled rapidly towards them.

They saw that their chance of success was over, and, pulling round, went back to the prize as fast as they came.

“We should have fought them, sir, if we had not been recalled,” observed Mr Nott, when reporting what had occurred to the Captain.

There appeared every probability of the corvette having to contend with two frigates instead of one, for the masts of another were made out in the harbour just abreast of them. The crew also knew of this. There was a good deal of talking among them, when they all came aft in a body. True Blue stepped out from among them, and spoke in a clear, firm voice:

“You called on us, sir, to fight the last time; we hope, sir, that you will allow us to ask you to fight this time, and we’ll stick by you.”

“Thank you, my lads—thank you; I am sure that you will,” answered the Captain. “Whatever we do, we will not disgrace our flag.”

The crew gave three loud cheers and retired. Cat’s-paws were now seen playing on the water; the sails of the French frigate filled, but her head was not turned towards the corvette. Soon the latter also felt the force of the breeze. Captain Brine ordered the sails to be trimmed, and the corvette stood away from the land. As she did so, her crew could clearly make out another frigate coming out of harbour to join her consort, but what the enemy’s two ships were about, it was impossible to say, as in a short time, with the freshening breeze, they were both run out of sight.

Chapter Twenty Three.

The Gannet had now been some time on the station, and had performed a number of deeds worthy of note, taken several prizes, and injured the enemy in a variety of ways, when one morning, just at daybreak, as she lay not far from Porto Rico, a schooner was seen creeping out from under the land towards her.

Captain Brine had done his best to make his ship look as much as possible like a merchantman. She was now slowly yawed about as if badly steered, with sails ill trimmed, and her sides brown and dirty and long unacquainted with fresh paint, a screen of canvas concealing her ports. The schooner came on boldly, her crew evidently fancying that they had got a rich prize before them.

“Are those Spaniards or French, Paul?” inquired True Blue of his godfather.

“Anything you please, probably,” was the answer. “They have, I doubt not, as many flags on board as there are months in the year. She looks at this distance just like a craft of that sort—a regular hornet; I hope we may stop her buzzing.”

While Paul was speaking, the wind fell, and the schooner, now about six miles off, was seen to get out her sweeps and pull away from the corvette.

“We must get that fellow!” exclaimed the boatswain. “If the Captain will let me, I’ll volunteer to pull after him. True Blue, you’ll come?”

“I should think so,” answered True Blue, looking into Paul’s face. “If none of the quarterdeck officers have thought of going, he’ll not refuse.”

“I’ll go too!” cried Abel Bush. “The superior officers have had their share lately, and the Captain will be glad to give us our turn.”

Without further parley, the two warrant-officers went to the quarterdeck, where the Captain was standing. The lieutenant and master gave up their right, as did the master’s mates; and, accordingly, the pinnace and launch were ordered to be lowered and manned immediately, ready for service.

Paul went in the pinnace with True Blue, while Abel Bush had charge of the launch. Away the boats glided in gallant style through the smooth water. The men had taken a hurried breakfast before leaving the ship, for they saw that they had a long pull before them.

The crew of the schooner seemed determined to give them as long a pull as possible, and with their sweeps kept well ahead, not going less than three or four knots an hour. This, however, in no way daunted the boatswain and his companions. “Hurrah, my lads, we’ll soon be aboard!” he shouted. Give way—give way! In two minutes we may open fire on her. We’ve distanced the launch. The schooner must be ours before she comes up.

Even while he was speaking, the shot from the chase came falling pretty thickly around them. That only made them pull the faster. The schooner appeared to be full of men, with several guns on each side, and boarding nettings fixed up. Paul might have been excused if he had waited for the coming up of the other boat, but that was not his way of doing things—on he pulled.

The schooner swept round so as to present her broadside to the approaching boats; but he, altering his course a little, steered directly for her quarter. Led by True Blue, the crew gave a loud cheer as they dashed on under her counter, and then, pushing round to her quarter, hooked on. In a moment, cutting the tricing lines of her boarding nettings, they sprang up her side and threw themselves on the deck. They were received with a shower of musket and pistol bullets, and the points of a row of pikes.

The bullets struck down two of the daring boarders; but the remainder pushed on, striking down the pikes with their cutlasses, and playing havoc among the heads of the men who held them.

The Frenchmen stoutly defended themselves for some time with swords and axes, but in vain did they attempt to withstand the fierce onslaught of the British seamen. They began to give way; some were cut down, others in their terror sprang overboard. Paul received a wound in his side which prevented him from moving; but True Blue, heading his companions, with his sharp cutlass whirling away in front, swept along the deck, driving the Frenchmen before him.

A desperate stand was made by the officers of the vessel on the forecastle, and from the small number of their assailants they might even then have hoped, with some reason, still to gain the victory; but while they were discussing what was to be done, the British seamen were making good use of their cutlasses, and in another moment they found themselves hurled down the hatchway, knocked overboard, or, if alive, on their knees asking for quarter.

All opposition had ceased, and the schooner’s flag was hauled down, when Abel, in his heavy-pulling launch, came alongside.

“Well, mates, you’ve made quick work of the Monsieurs, and have had the honour and glory, too, while we’ve only had the hot pull!” cried the crew of the latter boat.

“And what’s more, mates,” answered the boatswain, “you’ll have to pull hard to get us back again; for there are few of us who have not got touched up by the enemy.”

Of this, the appearance of the survivors of the gallant crew of the pinnace gave evidence. Paul himself was pretty severely wounded; and True Blue, Hartland, Fid, and all the rest were more or less hurt. One seaman had been killed, and one marine knocked overboard by the French.

The enemy’s loss had, however, been much more severe. Out of a crew of nearly fifty men, four lay killed on her deck, fully eight had jumped or been knocked overboard, and a dozen or more were badly wounded.

After the remainder had been mustered and secured, a watchful eye was kept on them; but they showed no disposition to mutiny, even though compelled to work the sweeps, to enable the schooner to close with the corvette.

Captain Brine highly applauded the gallant way in which the schooner had been taken.

“Ay, sir, and I wish you could have seen my godson as his cutlass cleared the Frenchman’s decks!” exclaimed Paul.

“I have no doubt about it,” answered the Captain. “It is no fault of his friends that he is not on the quarterdeck. But for yourself, Mr Pringle, I wish to know what reward you would like, that I may do my best to secure it for you.”

“I have not thought about that, sir; but if you could spare me, I should be glad to have charge of the prize to take her to Jamaica. I should just like to find out how I feel acting as Captain.”

Captain Brine was amused at Paul’s notion.

“But how will the Gannet get on without her boatswain, Mr Pringle?” asked the Captain. “She can ill spare him, I should think.”

“Why, sir, I thought about that, and wouldn’t have asked leave if I didn’t know my place would be well filled while I was away,” replied Paul. “There’s my first mate, Dick Marlowe, a very steady man, who hopes to pass as boatswain when he gets to England; and I’ll engage the duty is properly done while he is acting for me.”

“But you and the rest are wounded. How can you do without a surgeon?” said Captain Brine.

“Mere fleabites, sir—nothing to signify. The doctor has patched up my side, and says I shall do well; and the lads I wish to take with me are only slightly hurt, and don’t want doctoring.”

The Captain, on sending for the surgeon and hearing his report, made no further objections, but promised compliance with Paul’s wishes, the more readily that the Gannet herself was to go to Jamaica in a week or two.

The prisoners were soon removed from the prize, with the exception of a Dane and a Dutchman, who volunteered to remain in her; while Paul took with him True Blue, Tom Marline, Harry Hartland, Tim Fid, and three other hands.

Paul had, since he became a warrant-officer, been studying navigation, and was able to take an observation, and to do a day’s work very correctly. All his knowledge he imparted to True Blue, who, however, quickly surpassed him, in consequence of Sir Henry frequently sending for him aft, and giving him regular instruction. By this time, therefore, True Blue, by directing his attention entirely to the work, had become really as good a navigator as any of the midshipmen, and a better one than those who were content to fudge their day’s work, and never attempted to understand the principle of the science.

Of navigation, Tom Marline, like most seamen not officers, was profoundly ignorant. Paul, therefore, told him that he was very sorry he could not bestow on him the rating of lieutenant, which he must give to True Blue, but that he would make him sailing-master. Harry Hartland should be a midshipman, on account of his general steadiness and intelligence; the Dutchman should be cook, and the other four men crew; while Tim Fid, who was little less a pickle than when he was a boy, must do duty as gunroom and purser’s steward, besides doing his work as part of the crew.

At this arrangement no one grumbled; indeed, all hands liked the boatswain. It was arranged that his gunroom officers should mess with him, Harry also being invited as a regular guest. Paul took one watch with four of the men. True Blue, with Tom, Harry, Fid, the Dane, and the Dutchman, had the other.

These various arrangements occupied some time after the schooner lost sight of the corvette. In the next day, the wind being very light, she made but little progress. The day following, the weather, which had long been fine, gave signs of changing; and instead of the clear blue sky and glass-like sea, which for many weeks had surrounded the ship, dark clouds gathered overhead, sudden gusts of winds began to blow, and the water began to undulate, and every now and then to hiss and foam as the blast passed over it. Then down came the rain in right earnest, and continued for some hours, the watery veil obscuring every object beyond a mile or so. Suddenly, as the rain ceased, about two miles off, a schooner was seen, apparently the size of the prize, if not larger, and dead to windward.

Paul instantly hoisted French colours, and the other vessel did the same. On looking at her through a telescope, she appeared to have on board a numerous crew. Paul, however, determined at all events not to be taken, and, following the example of Captain Brine, he called his crew aft and made them a speech.

“Lads,” he began, “you know what we did in the corvette. We beat off a frigate twice our size; we took this craft with twelve men, for, no blame to him, my brother officer, Mr Bush, and his companions did not come up till the day was gained. And I need not tell you, lads, we ourselves and other British seamen have dared and done a thousand things much more desperate than our attempting to beat off such a craft as that one out there, though she may have five times as many hands aboard as we have, and twice as many guns.”

“Hurrah, that’s just like him!” cried True Blue, turning to his shipmates; “and I say, Mynheer, you’ll fight, won’t you?” he added, seizing the Dutchman’s hand and wringing it heartily.

“Ya, va! I’ll stick by you brave Anglish lads,” answered the Dutchman.

The Dane made a similar reply, though somewhat less cordial, to Tom’s appeal, and then all the crew, having given three hearty cheers, set about getting their prize ready for action.

All the firearms were brought on deck and carefully loaded, and so were the guns, and each man girded a trusty cutlass to his side and stuck his belt full of pistols; and then Paul had all the hammocks brought on deck, and lashed upright inside the bulwarks, so as to serve as a screen to the men working the guns.

The prize had all this time been kept running on under full sail to the westward, and as the stranger was steering the same course, the distance between the two had not been decreased, the latter evidently being under the impression that the prize was a friend.

Suddenly, though it was blowing fresh, she made more sail, put up her helm, and bore down on the prize. Paul stood steadily on with the French flag flying, till the enemy was within musket range; then down came the tricolour and the British ensign flew out at the peak.

“Now, lads, as we’ve got the flag we all love to fight under aloft, give it them!” he shouted, and, putting his helm down, he brought his broadside to bear on the bows of the advancing stranger. Every one of the raking shot told among the crowd of men who clustered on her deck. Wild shrieks and cries arose; and now her helm being put down, she ranged up on the beam of the prize, with the intention of boarding.

Paul, however, who saw their intention, told Harry Hartland, who was at the helm, to keep away a little, so as to avoid actual contact; and in the meantime all the guns were again fired, within ten yards’ distance, directly at the schooner. Hitherto, strange as it may appear, not an Englishman had been hit, while some dozen or more of the enemy had been struck down. Still the privateer had greatly the advantage in point of numbers, besides being a larger and more heavily-armed vessel.

She now steered on alongside the prize for a few seconds, while her guns were reloaded; and then, firing her broadside once more, she kept suddenly away to run aboard her opponent.

The wind had been increasing, and the sea getting rapidly up. This was now much to the advantage of the British, as they could fight their weather guns far more easily than the enemy could their lee ones, the muzzles of which were almost buried in the foam.

The stranger had got so close that Harry was not able to keep away in time to avoid her running her bows right into the prize’s quarter.

“Now we’ve got you, we’ll keep you until we have given you more than you bargained for!” cried True Blue, lashing the stranger’s bowsprit to their own mainmast, where she was kept in such a position that three of their guns could be continually firing into her, while her crew could not reach the prize’s deck without taking a dangerous leap from their bowsprit. Many attempted it; but as they reached the vessel’s bulwarks, they had to encounter the cutlasses of True Blue, Paul Pringle, and Tim Fid, while Tom Marline and the other men kept the forward guns in active work.

Frenchmen, negroes, Spaniards, mulattoes, and other mongrels were hurled one after the other into the water; while numbers were jerked overboard by the violent working of the vessels. At length, as the enemy, in greater numbers than ever, were making a furious rush forward, fully expecting to overwhelm the English, the bowsprit with a loud crash gave way, carrying, as it did so, the foremast, just before wounded by a shot, with it.

Wild shrieks and cries and imprecations rose from the savage crew—from some as they fell into the boiling ocean below their feet, now swarming with sharks, called around by the scent of human blood; from the rest at their disappointment in missing their prey.

Glad as Paul would have been to make a prize, he saw that his opponent would prove worse than a barren trophy.

“Up with the helm, Harry!” he cried. “Cut, my lads—cut everything! Clear the wreck!”

The crew needed no second order. True Blue, axe in hand, had already cut away the lashings of the bowsprit. A few more cuts cleared the bowsprit shrouds and other ropes, by which the enemy still hung on, and in another instant the prize was going off before the gale, while her disabled opponent luffed up into the wind’s eye.

Down came the squall, darker and more furious than before. Not another shot was fired. Paul and his people had enough to do in shortening sail and getting their craft into a condition to meet the rising gale. Their strength, too, had been reduced in the action. The poor Dutchman was severely wounded, though, like a brave fellow, he insisted on keeping the deck, and so was one of the Gannet’s men.

With the next squall down came a thick pour of rain.

“Where is the enemy?” suddenly exclaimed True Blue, looking aft.

Paul turned his eyes in the same direction. “We cannot have run her out of sight in so short a time,” he answered gravely; “it’s my belief that she this instant has foundered, and all on board have become food for the sharks.”

“But ought we not to go about and see if any are afloat?” asked True Blue. “We might pick up some of the poor wretches.”

“Not the smallest use,” answered Paul firmly. “If she foundered, she went down too quickly to give any one a chance of escaping. We must just now look after ourselves; this craft is very cranky, I see.”

No one would have been more ready than Paul to help his fellow-creatures, whatever the risk to himself, had he seen that there was the slightest prospect of doing so effectually.

For the remainder of the day the prize stood on close-hauled, nearly up to her proper course; but as the evening advanced, she fell off more to the westward, while the sea increased more and more, as did the violence of the squalls, while the thunder rolled, and vivid flashes of lightning darted from the dark skies.

The night drew on. True Blue, with Tom, Harry, Tim, and the Dane, had the first watch; Paul, with the rest of the crew, was to keep the middle watch. Though tough enough, he was pretty well worn out with the exertions he had gone through; so he went below, charging True Blue to call him should anything particular occur. His cabin was on the starboard side; and in the main cabin was a table with a swing light above it, and also a compass light in the cabin binnacle.

True Blue with Tom walked the deck for some time, watching each change of the weather; Fid had the helm, Harry was on the lookout forward, while the Dane sat silent on a gun under the weather bulwarks. The rest of the crew were asleep below forward.

The weather, as the night advanced, grew worse and worse.

“Tom, I think we ought to bring the schooner to,” said True Blue at last; “she’ll do no good keeping at it, and a sudden squall may carry away our masts.”

Accordingly the schooner was at once brought to under her close-reefed foresail; and then she lay riding with tolerable ease over the seas, which foamed and hissed as they rushed past her.

Everything having been made secure, True Blue went below to report what had been done. He found Paul sleeping more soundly than usual. Perhaps some of the medicine the surgeon had given him, on account of his wound, had affected him, True Blue thought. He had to speak two or three times before he could make him comprehend what he had to say.

“All right,” he answered at length; “if the weather gets worse, call me again.”

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he was thrown out of his bed-place, and True Blue was sent with great violence against the bulkhead of the cabin.

“On deck! on deck!” they both shouted; but as they made for the companion-ladder, they were driven back by a tremendous rush of water: the lights were extinguished, and they were left in total darkness. Paul had scarcely recovered his senses, and neither he nor True Blue could find their way to the companion-ladder.

The water continued rushing furiously into the cabin, and one thing only was certain, that the schooner had upset. How the accident had happened, it was difficult to say; in all probability, too, she was sinking. The cabin was now more than three-quarters full of water, and the only places where they could escape being instantly drowned were in the berths on the starboard side. In vain they shouted to their friends on deck to come and help them out of the cabin. No one answered to their cries.

“They are all gone, I fear,” said Paul. “It’s the fate of many brave seamen; it will be more than likely our fate before many minutes are over. Still, godson, as I have always told you, it’s our duty to struggle for life to the last, like men; so climb up into these starboard berths. We shall be free of the water there for a little time longer.”

True Blue followed Paul’s advice; and there they clung, while the water rose higher and higher. It got up to their waists, then up to their armpits, and by degrees it almost covered their shoulders, though their heads were pressed against the starboard side of the vessel, which lay on her larboard beam-ends. Both were silent; they could not but expect that their last moments were come, and that the vessel must shortly go down.

Time passed on. The water did not further increase; but they felt almost suffocated, and, indeed, the only air they breathed found its way through the seams in the deck above their heads. There they hung, in total darkness: the roar and rush of waters above their heads; the air so close and oppressive that they could scarcely draw breath or find strength to hold themselves in the only position in which they could prolong their lives, while they had the saddest apprehensions for the fate of their companions, as they could scarcely hope, even should they succeed in regaining the deck, that they would find any of them alive.

Hour after hour passed away, when suddenly the vessel righted with a violent jerk, which sent them out of their berths into the centre cabin, where they found themselves swimming and floundering about, sometimes with their heads under water, sometimes above it, among boxes, and bales, and furniture, and articles of all sorts.

They were now fully aroused. True Blue exerted himself to help Paul, who, wounded as he had been, and now sore and bruised, was less able than usual to endure the hardships he was undergoing.

They were still in total darkness, and had to speak to let each other know where they were. True Blue had worked his way close to the companion hatch, and thought that Paul was following. He spoke, but there was no answer. His heart sank within him. He swam and waded back, feeling about in every direction with frantic eagerness.

“Paul Pringle—godfather—where are you?” he shouted.

Suddenly he felt an arm; it was Paul’s. He lifted him up, and, with a strength few could have exerted, dragged him under the companion hatch. The ladder had been unshipped; but True Blue having righted it, dragged Paul up a few steps, where, in a short time recovering his breath, and Paul regaining his consciousness, they together made an effort to reach the deck.

Chapter Twenty Four.

When True Blue went below to tell Paul how bad the weather had become, he left the schooner hove to under her foresail, which, being stretched out completely in the body of the vessel, is the best adapted for that object under all circumstances but two—one, is, that being low down, it is apt to get becalmed when the waves run high; the other is, that should a heavy sea strike the vessel, it is likely to hold a dangerous quantity of water. The foreyard had been sprung, or True Blue would have brought the vessel to under her fore-topsail. True Blue had not long left the deck when a tremendous sea, like a huge black hill, was observed rolling up on the weather bow.

“Hold on, lads—hold on!” shouted Tom Marline.

Harry, who was at the helm, in an instant passed a rope round his waist and stood at his post, hoping to luff the vessel up so as to receive the blow on her bows; but the roaring sea came on too rapidly—down it broke on board the vessel, driving against the foresail like a battering-ram. Over it passed, and the schooner in an instant lay on her beam-ends, the water rushing in at each hatchway. The boats, guns, caboose, hencoops—all the things, in short, on deck were swept away, with a great part of her bulwarks.

Tom and the rest secured themselves under the weather bulwarks. They had not been there many seconds before they recollected their companions below. While Harry tried to reach the after cabin, Tom did his best to get to the men in the forepeak. Letting go his hold, he was working his way forward, when another sea struck the vessel.

“Oh, Tom is gone!” cried Fid.

No one could help him. Away the relentless sea washed him; but, just as he was being hurled to destruction, he grasped the fore-rigging hanging overboard, and hauled himself again on deck. Tim and the Dane dragged him up to the weather side, where they were joined by Harry, who reported that the cabin was full of water; and he added, “Oh, mates, it will break my heart—the boatswain and True Blue must both be drowned!”

“Ay, and we shall be drowned too!” cried the Dane, who had been for some time complaining of pain. “Our officers are gone, and we may as well go too. There is no use living on in misery longer than can be helped. Good-bye, mates!”

“Avast there, mate!” exclaimed Tom; “be a man. Don’t give in till the last! Let us hope as long as there is life. The day will come back, and the sun will shine out, and a vessel may heave in sight!”

“No, no! I can’t stand it!” cried the poor unhappy Dane. “I have no hope—none! Good-bye!”

On this, before Tom could prevent him, he cast off the lashings by which he was secured to the bulwarks, and, sliding down into the water, a roaring sea, as if exulting in its prize, carried him far away out of their sight.

“Oh, mates, this is very sad!” exclaimed Tom to his two younger companions.

“True, true,” said Harry. “Don’t you think, now, we could do something to try and save the vessel? If we were to cut away the starboard rigging, she might be freed from her masts and right herself.”

The suggestion was of a practical nature, and pleased Tom; and all three setting to work with their knives, with considerable labour cut through the shrouds. Scarcely were the last strands severed than the masts with a loud crack went by the board, and with a violent jerk the vessel righted.

“There, lads!” said Tom; “I told you things would mend, if we would but trust in Providence.”

Tom wished to encourage his companions, for the state of the vessel was only apparently a degree improved.

“Ah, now, if we had had the bo’sun and True Blue with us, and the poor fellows for’ard, we might have still done well. Howsomdever, daylight will come at last, and then we shall see better what to do.”

As he ceased speaking, Tim Fid uttered a loud cry. “Why,—oh, mercy!—there be their ghosts!” he exclaimed. “Paul and Billy! It can’t be them! They’ve been drowned this many an hour.”

“It’s them, though!” cried Harry. “Heaven be praised! They are beckoning to us; let us go aft and help them.”

He and his friends were soon grasping each other’s hands, and describing what had occurred. Tom soon followed, and poor Tim, having recovered his wits, and being convinced that they were alive, joined them.

Their condition was sad indeed. There lay the vessel rolling and tumbling about in the stormy ocean, the seas constantly making a clear breach over her, the mainmast gone altogether, but the wreck of the foremast still hanging on by the bowsprit and violently striking her bows.

It was found that the best place for safety was inside the companion hatch, where they all collected; and being there partially free from the seas, they endeavoured to get a little rest, to prepare for whatever they might have to do in the morning.

At length daylight broke; but it did little else than reveal more clearly their forlorn condition.

True Blue having been preserved himself, was anxious to ascertain whether his companions might have escaped in a similar way. Tom assured him that there was no hope; but he insisted on going forward to see. The rest of the party watched him as he performed the dangerous passage, for the seas kept continually beating over the vessel, and might easily have washed him away. He reached the fore-hatch, and, stooping down, called to the men. No answer was given. The water was much too high in the cabin to have allowed them to escape, and he returned aft convinced of their death.

For some hours no one had thought of eating, but hunger now reminded them that it was necessary to try and obtain food. There was enough in the vessel, if it could be got at; but the difficulty was to fish it up from beneath the water.

In vain they watched—nothing appeared. True Blue, who was the most active, made several unsuccessful dives; but returned at length so exhausted that Paul would not let him go again.

At last a flag floated up. It seemed to come to remind them that it would be wise to make a signal of distress. A small spar had got jammed in the bulwarks. The flag, which proved to be a French tricolour, was secured to it, and it was stuck in one of the pumps.

“I would rather see any ensign but that flying overhead,” said Paul; “but it will help to make us be seen, anyhow.”

The night again returned, and during the whole of it they remained in the same miserable condition that they had been in all day, the sea raging as furiously, and the wind blowing as high as before.

The first thing in the morning, True Blue volunteered with Harry to go and cut the foremast adrift. An axe had been found. Together the two worked their way forward. Having secured themselves by ropes, they set to work, True Blue with his axe, Harry with his knife. Now they were completely covered with the seas which broke over the bows; again they rose and drew breath, and made a few more desperate hacks, again to be impeded by the next roaring surge. Several shrouds, however, had been severed. Another sea, fiercer than ever, came rushing on.

A cry from Harry made True Blue turn round. The greedy wave was whirling him away, when True Blue grasped him by the arm and drew him once more on board, when he more firmly secured himself.

“We must not give in, though!” cried True Blue, and went on hacking at the ropes.

Again Harry joined him, and at length the heavy mast went floating away free of the schooner. Successful in their bold attempt, they returned aft. Hunger was now an enemy much to be feared; for among all the articles which kept continually appearing and disappearing from the cabin, nothing fit for food had been discovered. At last two or three roots appeared. Fid, who was on the watch, made a dart at them, and, fishing them up, declared them to be onions; so they were. Several others followed, and, being divided equally, were eagerly devoured. How delicious they tasted!

“Never fear, lads, but what assistance will be sent us in some way or other which we don’t expect, if we trust in God,” said Paul. “We didn’t expect to get these onions a minute ago, and we shall have more before long, I daresay.”

Nothing else, however, was found to eat during the rest of the day, and another tempestuous night closed in on them.

Even in the darkness a gleam of hope burst on them; the wind sensibly fell, and the clouds opening, exhibited a bright star above their heads. Again the morning came.

“Lads, we must try and pump the vessel out!” cried Paul, rousing himself with the first gleam of light.

The pumps without another word were manned; all hands set to work, and in an hour a sensible diminution of the water in the vessel had taken place. This encouraged them to persevere; but at length, overcome with fatigue, they had to throw themselves on their backs on the deck, to regain their strength. True Blue was the last to give in; but even he had more than once to stop. By and by they divided into two gangs, one relieving the other at the pumps, while they alternately bailed with buckets. From sheer exhaustion they were compelled, after a time, to knock off altogether; but they had so far rid the vessel of water that there was no immediate fear of her sinking.

Before even they made a search for food, with considerable difficulty they got up from below the bodies of their late shipmates, and, with a sigh for their fate, launched them overboard. Already they were no longer to be distinguished by their features.

While getting up the dead bodies, a prize had been discovered. It was a small keg of water; it seemed to give, new life to all the party. This encouraged them to hunt for other things. Some more onions and some shaddocks were discovered, and in a tureen with the top on, a piece of boiled beef. They had now no fear of dying of starvation or thirst for some time, at all events.

True Blue’s chief anxiety was about Paul, who suffered far more than the rest, on account of his wound; still nothing would induce him not to exert himself as far as his strength would possibly allow. The next day after these occurrences, the sea went down so much that Paul determined to get some sail on the vessel.

“How is it to be done, though?” asked Tom. “We’ve no spars, sails, or rigging.”

“Hunt about, and let us see if we cannot find what will do,” was Paul’s answer.

True Blue dived below, and soon discovered some rope, a large coil of strong spun yarn, a fore-royal, and the bonnet of the jib, a palm, sail needles and twine, and many other useful articles; and beside these, one of the ship’s compasses, True Blue’s quadrant, given him by Sir Henry; and also the larger part of a long sweep, and two small spars. Curiously enough, also, a page of an old navigation book, with the sun’s declination for that very year.

The first thing to be done was to get sail on the craft. Paul thoroughly understood sail-making, and Tom was a good hand at it. A mast was formed out of the sweep and one of the spars, which was secured to the stump of the foremast. The canvas they had found was cut into a gaff-sail, while the other spar served as the gaff. It was but a small sail, little larger than that of a frigate’s launch; yet, with the wind free, it served to give steerage way to the schooner, and to send her along at the rate of three knots an hour.

All on board had reason to be thankful when once more they found their vessel, which had so long seemed on the point of foundering, almost free from water, and gliding smoothly over the sea. Paul determined to endeavour to reach Jamaica without touching at any other place.

All night they ran on. Sometimes, however, the wind fell so much that they only made a knot an hour; but still, as True Blue remarked, that was something if it was in the right direction.

The want of food was a serious affair, and they resolved the next day to have a grand hunt to try and discover some. Both forward and aft there was a great variety of casks, and bales, and packages, apparently taken out of different vessels which had been captured. As soon as the sun rose, the search was commenced. Another keg of water, found in the forepeak, first rewarded their labours. Some pine apples and other West India fruits were discovered; but a sack of potatoes or a cask of biscuits would have been more acceptable.

Though fitted for fighting, the schooner had also a hold for the stowage of cargo, and here was discovered a considerable number of casks of French wine. Such a discovery as this wine among a set of unsteady men would have been fatal, but to the present crew of the prize it was a most valuable acquisition. A bundle of salt fish and a cask of pork were next hauled out; a cask of bread was also discovered, though much damaged by salt water. Altogether they were well satisfied with the provisions they had discovered.

At noon an observation True Blue took showed that they had drifted a considerable way to the southward, and that it might still take them a long time to reach Jamaica. The rudder also was found to be much injured, the rudder-head being split through the centre, as low down as the upper pintle. It was with the greatest difficulty that it could be kept together, or the tiller held in its place. It was therefore very evident that it would be necessary to husband the provisions and water with the greatest care, as they could not expect to avoid having a long voyage, and might be reduced to very short commons before the end of it.

For three days the weather was fine. On the second day a spar floated alongside, which they secured, and forthwith fitted as a mainmast; a storm-jib which had been discovered was hoisted on it as a sail. It stood pretty well; and now, as the schooner moved with some liveliness through the water, the spirits of all on board revived.

“Ah, now, if that poor Dane had borne up like a man and clung to the ship, he might have been as well and happy as any of us,” observed Tom to Fid as they were together setting up the fore-rigging. “Remember, Tim, whatever happens, never despair. It’s wicked and unmanly—not like a true British sailor; and that’s what I hope you will consider yourself all the days of your life.”

Tom was, as it proved, over sanguine. The following day, once more the wind got up, as did the sea, and the helpless schooner lay battered and knocked about by its fury. The fractured rudder-head continually gave way, and, it being impossible to keep the helm properly down, the vessel fell off before the wind, and several heavy seas broke on board, reducing her almost to the same condition in which she had been before.

For two whole days she lay tossed and buffeted; more of her bulwarks were stove in, and the companion hatch received so tremendous a blow from a sea that it was nearly carried away. Had this occurred, the only place of shelter in the vessel would have been destroyed.

During all this trying time, True Blue was the life and soul of the little band. Though others gave way, he kept up his spirits, and cheered and endeavoured to animate them. Even Paul desponded; but True Blue was ever ready to offer some encouraging suggestion. The gale soon must cease—deliverance could not be far off. This was the hurricane season, when bad weather must be expected; and these gales were much better than a regular hurricane, which would too probably send the schooner to the bottom.

The gale came at last to an end, and comparatively fine weather returned. In spite of all their care, their provisions had by this time sadly diminished, and the fruits and roots were entirely destroyed and unfit for food. They still had a supply of salt fish and abundance of wine, and therefore they had no cause to fear dying of actual starvation; but such food was anything but wholesome, and they would gladly have exchanged the finest claret for half the quantity of pure water and a supply of bread—even the hardest of sea biscuits.

Still, True Blue setting them the example, they made the best of everything; and Paul took care that, as soon as the weather allowed again of their moving about the deck, no one should be idle. The French ensign was still flying at the head of the foremast. A lookout was always kept for any sail which might heave in sight, that they might steer so as to try and cut her off if possible.

One morning True Blue descried two sail on the weather bow. They appeared, when the sun rose, to be standing towards the vessel. The hopes of all on board rose high. The strangers were pronounced to be English merchantmen by the cut of their sails and general appearance. They bore down till within the distance of three miles or so, and then suddenly hauled their wind, and stood off again under all sail.

Of course this unaccountable conduct met with no small amount of complaint, if not of abuse. Even Paul Pringle could not help saying, “If the fellows had no intention of helping us, why did they not stand on their proper course, without bearing down to disappoint us?”

Some hours afterwards, he suddenly struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, and exclaimed, “Why didn’t I think of that before! Of course it’s that Frenchman’s flag. I ought to have known that it could never have brought us good. The masters of these vessels evidently thought that the craft was still a French privateer, and that the Monsieurs were playing them off some trick in the hope of catching them. We’ll not carry the flag any longer. Haul it down, True Blue.”

More anxiously even than at first, all on board kept a lookout for a sail. Several more days passed, and on each they were doomed to disappointment. Tim Fid had the lookout one morning at daybreak. Those asleep were roused up by his voice shouting, “A sail! a sail!—not three miles to windward of us. We must be seen. Hurrah!”

Paul crawled on deck and took a look at the stranger, a large brig with taut masts and square yards. “Yes, Tim, there is a sail,” he said slowly. “She is either a man-of-war or a privateer; but from the cut of her sails, she is French. For my part, I would sooner remain on the wreck than be shut up in a French prison.”

All hands expressed the same opinion; but how to avoid being compelled to go on board the brig was the question. The stranger soon espied the schooner and bore down upon her. Paul eyed the approaching brig with anything but looks of affection, when, as she drew near, who should be seen on the poop but Sir Henry Elmore and Mr Nott, while forward were several of the Gannet’s crew.

She hove to; a boat was sent on board, which conveyed Paul to the brig. All that had occurred was soon explained. The brig was a privateer, captured after a smart action, and Sir Henry had been put in charge to carry her to Jamaica. He now took the prize in tow, and sent some fresh hands on board to relieve those who had suffered so much in her.

In four days they arrived at Port Royal; and Paul and his companions obtained the greatest credit for the way in which they had fought one privateer and preserved their own prize from destruction.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The brig which had been captured by the Gannet was a fine new vessel, mounting sixteen guns, and almost a match for the Gannet herself. Mr Digby, the first lieutenant of the corvette, had been so severely wounded that he was compelled to go home invalided. Sir Henry Elmore had much distinguished himself; and the Admiral on the Jamaica station, who wished to promote him, gave him an acting order as commander of the prize, which, under the name of the Rover was added to the Navy. As soon as Sir Henry had commissioned the brig, he sent for True Blue.

“Freeborn,” he said, “I think that I can at once obtain an appointment for you which will suit your wishes. If you will accept it, I will get the Admiral to give you an acting order as boatswain of the Rover, and you can then take out your warrant as soon as you reach England for a still higher rate. What do you say?”

The look of intense satisfaction which lighted up True Blue’s countenance assured Sir Henry that his offer would be accepted, and made him shrewdly suspect that an object beyond the rank of boatswain depended on it.

“Thank you, Sir Henry, thank you,” he answered. “If Paul Pringle says yes, so do I; and if Peter Ogle doesn’t say no, I think that it will be all right.”

“But what has Peter Ogle to do with the matter?” inquired Sir Henry, trying to be grave.

“Why, you see, Sir Henry, he’s Mary’s father, and it wouldn’t be right or shipshape to marry without his leave.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Sir Henry, who had suspected all along how matters stood. “You have agreed with Mary Ogle to marry her as soon as you are a boatswain; and as you did not expect to become one for some time to come, you do not think it would be right ‘to steal a march,’ as the soldiers say, on her father, and accept the appointment without consulting him.”

“That’s just it, Sir Henry,” answered True Blue with his usual frankness. “Peter knows I want to marry his daughter, and that Mary is ready to marry me; and of course Paul knows it too, and, moreover, says that I might search the world around and not find a better wife; and that I know right well. But then, you see, Sir Henry, I expected, and so did they, that I should have to go out to the East Indies, or round the world maybe, before I should be able to get my warrant; and so I am taken all aback, as it were, with joy and pleasure, and I do thank you from my heart—that I do.”

“All right, Freeborn!” exclaimed Sir Henry with evident pleasure, and putting out his hand. “I wish you all happiness from my heart. We must take care to pick up a good supply of prize-money, to help you to set up housekeeping; and all I bargain for is, that you invite me to the wedding.”

“Ay, that I will, Sir Henry, and a right hearty welcome we’ll give you,” was the answer.

Paul Pringle and Peter Ogle yielded their very willing consent to True Blue’s acceptance of the offer made him, and he came, highly delighted, to tell Sir Henry, who did not suppose that there would be any doubt about the matter.

“I thought it would be so,” he said, handing the newly made boatswain a handsome silver call and chain. “You will wear this, Freeborn, for my sake; and, not to lose time, I have already got your appointment. Mr Nott has also got an acting order as second lieutenant, and Captain Brine has spared me Tom Marline, Hartland, and Fid, so that you will have several old shipmates with you. The rest of the crew we must make up as best we can. Marline will be a quartermaster; are either of the others fit for petty officers?”

“Well, sir, Hartland is fit for anything, I’ll say that of him; and so would Fid be, if he was more steady and had some education; but though there is not a fellow I would more trust to in a scrimmage, or to have at my back when boarding an enemy, he can’t depend on himself, if there’s any mischief under weigh, and that’s the worst of him.”

“Well, then, I’ll make Fid boatswain’s mate, and then you can have an eye on him, and keep him in order. As to Hartland, he has been very steady ever since I have known him, some six years or more. What say you, if we get him an appointment as acting gunner? He is as well fitted for the duties as any man I can put my hand on.”

“That he is, Sir Henry!” exclaimed True Blue warmly. “There isn’t a man in the service you can more depend on in every way than Harry Hartland, and there isn’t one I would rather have as a brother officer, for we have, as it were, been brothers ever since he came to sea.”

So it was arranged; and Harry Hartland found himself, beyond his most sanguine expectations, appointed as acting gunner of the Rover.

The refitting of the Rover progressed rapidly, while, by degrees, a number of very fair seamen were picked up. She still wanted more than a third of her number, when the Gannet received orders to return to England, and Captain Brine allowed those of his crew who wished to do so to volunteer for the brig. Here would be evidence whether or not Sir Henry Elmore and his second lieutenant, and especially his two young warrant-officers, were popular with their late shipmates.

On the offer being made them, nearly every man on board volunteered for the Rover. Only thirty, however, were allowed to go; but they were all prime hands, with the exception of Sam Smatch, whose love for True Blue overcame every other consideration.

“Ah, Mr Freeborn, I come wid you, you see,” he said, stepping on board the brig. “I no call you Billy now, ’cause you great officer, and right glad to see you; but so I officer very great too. Ship’s cook. If the crew not eat, what become of dem?”

Sam, who was a sheet or two in the wind,—that is to say, not as sober as he should have been,—was winking and smiling all the time he was speaking, as if he wished True Blue to understand that though he was fully aware of the change in their relative positions, his feelings of affection towards him were in no way altered. One volunteer most of his old shipmates would willingly have seen return home; but, like a bad shilling, he turned up when least wanted. When the Gannet sailed, Gregory Gipples had by some mischance been left on shore, and, meeting Sir Henry, he begged so strenuously to be taken on board the Rover, and promised so earnestly to reform in all respects, that the young commander undertook to give him a trial.

This was the first time in his life that True Blue had been parted, beyond a few days, from Paul Pringle. They both felt the separation more than they ventured to express or exhibit to their shipmates; but, as they knew that it was inevitable, they bore it like brave men, each confident that absence would not diminish the affection which reigned in their hearts.

Away sailed the Rover for a cruise on the Spanish main, famed in days of yore as the locality where the richest prizes were to be picked up. Even Sir Henry Elmore, whose income was, for his rank, somewhat limited, had no objection to the chance offered of obtaining a stock of prize-money; and his officers and crew, including True Blue, looked forward to the prospect with infinite satisfaction.

The brig had been out of Port Royal about a week, when six sail were discovered to leeward, and proved to be a ship, with four brigs and a schooner. They continued their course till the Rover got near enough to allow her commander to see that the schooner and one of the brigs each carried sixteen guns, and that another carried six.

They, on discovering that the Rover was English, showed French colours, and drew close together, as if prepared to engage.

“I know, my lads, that you’ll wish to take some of these vessels,” said the commander, as he gave the order to bear down upon the enemy.

The schooner, on this, immediately made the signal to all the vessels to disperse in different directions, while she herself stood away under all the sail she could carry.

The Rover made chase, and after three hours came up with the ship and the largest brig, both of which struck without firing a shot. They proved to be prizes to the schooner, a French privateer, said to be one of the fastest vessels in those seas, and, from the number of prizes she had taken, one of the most successful cruisers.

“Fast as she may be,” exclaimed Sir Henry, “we will do our best to take her!”

From the prisoners he learned, also, that she not only carried sixteen guns, full as heavy as those of the Rover, but a crew of not less than a hundred and fifty men. The ship and brig having prize crews put on board them, were sent back to Jamaica, and the Rover continued her chase of the schooner. She kept her in sight, running to the southward, till Sir Henry felt satisfied that the vessels he had recaptured were safe, and then, night coming on, she was hid from sight.

When morning broke not a sail was to be seen. Soon after noon, however, land was discovered ahead, and in an hour afterwards a schooner hove in sight. As the Rover drew near, she hoisted Spanish colours, and, evidently soon suspecting the brig’s character, put up her helm, and ran before the wind towards the coast.

It was soon seen that she was not the privateer they were in search of. On she went, till she ran right on shore. The Rover on this, shortening sail, hauled her wind, and two boats being lowered, under command of Mr Nott, True Blue having charge of one of them, pulled in to ascertain whether she could be got off. The Spaniards, as they approached, fired a volley at them, and then, abandoning the vessel, pulled through the surf on shore. The schooner was immediately boarded, set on fire in every direction; and the English, driving the Spaniards from the boat, waited till she burned to the water’s edge, and the sea, breaking over her, extinguished the flames.

This necessary though unsatisfactory work having been accomplished, the Rover made sail along the coast.

Two days afterwards, as she lay becalmed under the land, a schooner, having long sweeps at work, and three gunboats, were seen making for the Rover. The schooner was large, full of men, and carried a number of guns, and with the aid of the gunboats, should the calm continue, would, it was very evident, prove a formidable opponent to the English brig. Still, as usual, her crew were eager for battle; and as they went to their guns, they laughed and cut their jokes as heartily as ever. Of course, Gipples came in for his ordinary share of quizzing. Fid was the chief quizzer; but he had got several others to join him in making a butt of Gregory.

“I say, mates, did you ever hear what the savages on that shore out there do when they take any prisoners?” he began, winking to some of his shipmates. “They cuts them up just like sheep, and eats them. I’ve heard say, that as you walks the streets, you’ll see dozens of fellows sometimes, tarry breeches and all, hanging up in the butchers’ shops. There was the whole crew of the Harpy sloop, taken off here, treated in that way—that I know of to a certainty. The Captain was a very fat man, so his flesh fetched twice as much a pound as the others; and when they served him up at dinner, they ornamented the dish with his epaulets and the gold lace off his coat.”

Gipples opened his eyes very wide, and did not at all like the description.

Fid continued, “I hope, if they take us, they won’t serve us in the same way; but there’s no saying. We’ll fight to the last; but all these gunboats and that big schooner are great odds against our little brig. Maybe Sir Henry would rather blow up the brig and all on board. I hope as how he will, and so we will disappoint the cannibals.”

While Tim Fid and his companions were running on with this sort of nonsense, poor Gipples wishing that he was anywhere but on board the Rover, the enemy were gradually stealing out towards her.

True Blue saw that the contest, if carried on in a calm, would be a very severe one, and anxiously looked out for the signs of a breeze. As the schooner drew near, it was clear that she was the French privateer of which they were in search.

“We must take her somehow or other, there’s no doubt about that,” thought True Blue. “We have got some long sweeps; we’ll get these all ready to rig out as soon as she comes near to lay her on board. I’ll hear what the Captain has to say to the idea.”

The boatswain on this went as near aft as etiquette would allow, knowing that the Captain would call him up and talk to him about the approaching conflict. Sir Henry had himself intended to board the enemy, but feared, from their being so close in under the land, that before the contest was over the vessels might drift on shore.

The sweeps were, however, got ready. Just then a light air from off the land sprang up, and the brig, making all sail, stood away from it—much, probably, to the satisfaction of her enemies, who fancied that her crew were afraid of fighting, and that, should they come up with her, she would prove an easy conquest. They began, therefore, briskly firing their bow-guns at the Rover, a compliment which she as warmly returned with her after-guns.

The breeze dying away, the sweeps were got out, and the Rover still kept ahead of her pursuers. All her guns were loaded with round and small shot; and a warm fire was kept up from her deck with muskets and pistols at the schooner which followed in her wake, her stern being kept, by means of the sweeps, directly towards the enemy. One of the gunboats had dropped astern, but the other two kept close to her.

A Spanish officer on board the schooner now ordered the gunboats to board the brig, the schooner herself giving signs that she was about to do the same. Sir Henry watched carefully to ascertain in what way they were about to attack the brig. The schooner kept off a little, and then showed that she was about to board on the starboard quarter, while the gunboats pulled for her larboard quarter and bow.

Sir Henry waited till the schooner and gunboats had got within about fifteen yards of the brig; then, with the sweeps on the larboard side, he rapidly pulled her round, so as to bring her starboard broadside to bear athwart the schooner’s bow.

“Now, lads, give it them!” he shouted, and the whole broadside of the brig, with round and grape shot, was poured into the schooner’s bows, now crowded with men ready to board, raking her fore and aft, and killing numbers of them. The Rover’s crew instantly rushed over to the other side and swept her round; then, manning the larboard guns, raked both the gunboats in the same manner.

The shrieks and cries of the wounded showed the damage which had been done, the Spanish boats backing their oars, as if not wishing to renew the contest.

A voice from the schooner, however, ordered them to come on, while she kept firing away, though with somewhat abated energy. The crews of the Spanish boats having somewhat recovered their courage, once more returned to the attack; but the Rover’s guns kept them from again attempting to board. Now and then they retired, and whenever they did so she pulled round, and again brought her broadside to bear on the bows of the schooner.

Thus for nearly an hour and a half was the contest carried on, when a light breeze sprang up, which placed the schooner to windward.

True Blue hurried aft. “If we back our headsails, Sir Henry, we shall run stern on the enemy, and may then carry her by boarding!” he exclaimed.

“Right, boatswain,” was the answer. “Boarders, away!—follow me!”

The manoeuvre was quickly performed. With a crash the brig’s stern ran against the schooner’s side, and before the enemy knew what the English seamen were about, they, led by their gallant young Captain, who was closely followed by True Blue, had leaped on her deck and were driving all before them.

A tall French officer, evidently a first-rate swordsman, stood his ground, and rallied a party round him. He encountered Sir Henry, who, attacked by another Frenchman, was on the point of being cut down, when True Blue with his trusty cutlass came to his aid, and turned the fury of the Frenchman against himself.

There was science against strength and pluck. True Blue saw that all ordinary rules of defence and attack must be let aside; so, throwing up the Frenchman’s sword with a back stroke of his cutlass, he sprang in on him, seized him by the throat, and, as he pushed him back, with another cut brought him to the deck.

The loss of their champion still more disheartened the French, who now gave way fore and aft. Numbers had been cut down—some jumped overboard, but the greater portion ran below and sang out lustily for quarter.

Strange to say, not a man of the Rover was hurt, while nearly fifty Frenchmen and Spaniards were killed and wounded.

The moment the schooner’s flag was hauled down, the Spanish boats made off; nor did they stop till they had disappeared within some harbour on the coast.

“I suppose,” said Gipples, looking at the swarthy Spanish soldiers with no friendly eye, “though these chaps may have liked to eat us if they had caught us, we ain’t obliged to eat them.”

“That will be as the Captain likes,” answered Tim Fid. “Perhaps he’ll not think them wholesome at this time of the year, and let them go.”

A very few days were sufficient to refit the Rover, and to store and provision her ready for sea. This time, however, she was ordered to cruise along the coasts of San Domingo and Porto Rico, towards the Leeward Islands.

At length she ran farther south, and came off the harbour of Point-à-Pitre, in the Island of Guadaloupe.

The time allowed for the cruise was very nearly expired, and Sir Henry was naturally desirous of doing something more than had yet been accomplished. The saucy little English brig poked her nose close into the French harbour one morning, and there discovered several vessels at anchor close under a strong fort.

“We must be on the watch for some of these gentlemen when they come out, and capture them,” thought Sir Henry as the brig steered away again from the land.

True Blue had, however, fixed his eye on a French gun-brig which lay the outermost of all the vessels, and which he thought, by a bold dash, might be carried off.

“It can be done—I know it can, and I will ask the Captain,” he said to himself. “Harry will join me, and I will have Tim Fid and a good set of staunch men. With two boats and thirty men, we could do it; but if Sir Henry will give us another boat, so much the better.”

Sir Henry, consenting to his proposal, allowed him three boats, and promised to run in that very night, should the weather prove favourable, that he might carry out his object.

The boatswain had no difficulty in obtaining all the volunteers he required for his enterprise, and the rest of the day was spent in making the necessary preparations.

Towards evening the brig once more stood back in the direction of Point-à-Pitre. She reached the mouth of the harbour about midnight, when True Blue and his bold followers shoved off. He had an eight-oared cutter, carrying sixteen men in all; the remainder were in two boats—one under command of the gunner, the other of Tom Marline. Tim Fid was with True Blue.

The night was pitch dark, but a light in the harbour showed them in what direction to steer. The cutter soon got ahead of the other boats, and, as True Blue was anxious to get on board before he was discovered by the French, he kept on without waiting for them.

True Blue was well aware of the dangerous character of the enterprise on which he was engaged. The brig would not have been placed where she was unless she had been well armed and manned; and as the Rover had been perceived in the morning, in all probability her crew would be on the alert and ready to receive them. Still he knew well what daring courage could effect, and he had every hope of success.

The mouth of the harbour was reached, and up it the boats rapidly but silently pulled. There were two or three lights seen glimmering in the forts, and a few in the town farther off; but none were shown on board any of the vessels, and True Blue began to hope that the enemy were not expecting an attack.

True Blue stood up and peered earnestly through the obscurity.

“There she is, lads!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “Starboard a little—that will do; we will board under her quarter. Stand by to hook on. Second division, do not leave the boat till we have gained a footing on the deck. Now, lads, follow me.”

True Blue expected when he leaped down to find himself on the deck, with his arms free to use his cutlass with advantage. Instead of that, he discovered that he had fallen into a net spread out over the quarter to dry. Here he could neither stand nor use his weapon, and in this position a Frenchman thrust a pike towards him, which wounded him in the thigh. Happily he got his cutlass sufficiently at liberty to cut the net. Then he dropped once more into the boat, into which he found that Tim Fid and the rest of the men had been thrust back, several severely wounded.

It would never do, however, thus to give up the enterprise; so, in a low voice telling the men to haul the boat farther ahead, he once more sprang up over the brig’s bulwarks. Most of the Frenchmen, fancying that the attacking boat was still there, had rushed aft.

The clash of British cutlasses, and the flash of pistols in the waist, quickly brought them back again. True Blue, Fid, and two or three more stood on the bulwarks, bravely attempting to make good their footing; but one after the other, and as many more as came up, were hurled back headlong, some into the water, and others into the boat, till True Blue stood by himself, opposed to the whole French crew.

Undaunted even then he kept them at bay with his rapidly whirling cutlass, till those who had fallen overboard had had time to climb into the boat; then he shouted, “All hands aboard the French brig!”

“Ay, ay,” was the answer, “we’ll be with you, bo’sun. True Blue for ever! Hurrah!”

Once more the undaunted seamen, in spite of cuts and slashes, and broken heads, were climbing up the brig’s sides. Fid was the first who joined True Blue, in time to save him from an awkward thrust of a boarding-pike; and, dragging it out of the hands of the Frenchman who held it, he leaped with it down on the deck. A few sweeps of True Blue’s cutlass cleared a space sufficient to enable more of his party to join him; and these driving the Frenchmen still farther back, all the boat’s crew at last gained the brig’s deck. The Frenchmen now fought more fiercely than before, and muskets and pistols and pikes were opposed to the British cutlasses; but the weapons of cold steel proved the most effective.

On the British went. Some of the enemy jumped overboard, the rest leaped into the cabins, or threw down their weapons and cried for quarter. The after part of the vessel was gained. A group on the forecastle still held out. Another furious charge was made. Just then loud huzzas announced the arrival of the other two boats, and Harry Hartland and Tom Marline, with their followers, climbing up the sides, quickly cleared the forecastle.

The Frenchmen who had escaped below were ordered to be quiet, and sentries, with muskets pointed down, were stationed to keep them so.

The boats were once more manned and sent ahead, the cables were cut, and, amid a shower of shot from the forts, the gallantly-won brig was towed out of the harbour. Several other vessels were seen to be slipping their cables to come in chase; but just then a light air came down the harbour, which those nearer the shore did not feel. Hands were sent aloft to loosen the brig’s sails. On she glided, increasing her speed; the boats towed rapidly ahead, but the work became lighter and lighter every instant.

“Hurrah! we have gained her, and shall keep her!” was the cry on board the prize.

However, they were not yet quite out of the enemy’s harbour. The shot from the forts came whizzing along after the prize; and though, as not a light was shown on board her, the gunners could not aim very correctly, the missiles reached as far or farther than she then was,—now on one side, now on the other, and sometimes nearly over her.

True Blue occasionally looked aft. Through the darkness he now distinguished two vessels standing after him. The breeze had increased. He called the boats alongside, and ordered the crews on board. Pointing out the vessels astern, “Lads,” he said, “we may still have to fight for our prize: but I am sure that you will defend her to the last.”

“That we will, bo’sun—that we will, never fear,” was the cheerful answer.

The guns were found to be loaded, and the Frenchmen had got up a supply of powder and shot to defend their vessel when True Blue and his companions so unceremoniously cut short their proceedings. In case an action should be fought, it was necessary to secure both the French officers and seamen. Harry Hartland was charged with this duty. On going below, he found that not an officer had escaped without a wound; some had been hurt very severely. Fortunately an assistant-surgeon was on board, able to look after them. Harry placed a sentry in the gunroom, with orders to shoot the first man who made the slightest sign of revolting; while he stationed a couple more over the crew, with directions to treat them in the same way.

The two vessels were getting very near; so was the mouth of the harbour. Not far outside True Blue knew that he should find the Rover. On they came. He luffed across the bows of one, and poured in a broadside; then he treated the other in the same way, and directly afterwards, with a slashing breeze, dashed out of the harbour. In a quarter of an hour he was up to the Rover, and right hearty were the cheers with which he was received; for the constant firing had made Sir Henry fear that the boats were pursued, and that the enterprise had failed.

The two vessels now stood away under all sail from the land.

“I have known many brave actions,” said Sir Henry, when on the next day True Blue presented himself before his Captain, “but I assure you, Freeborn, none exceeds the one you have just performed in dash or gallantry. You have still, I am certain, the road to the higher ranks of our noble profession open to you, if you will but accept the first step.”

“Thank you, Sir Henry,” answered True Blue modestly; “I have just done my duty. My mind is made up about the matter. I wished to take the craft, just to show that I deserved your good opinion of me; and perhaps it may help somewhat to confirm me in my rank as bo’sun, and if it does, I shall be well content.”

Chapter Twenty Six.

Peace—known as the Peace of Amiens—was concluded in 1801; and though England called in her cruisers, prohibiting them any longer to burn, sink, and destroy those of her enemies, she wisely declined drawing her own teeth or cutting her claws, by dismantling her ships and disbanding her crews, but, like a good-natured lion, crouched down, wagging her tail and sucking her paws, while, turning her eyes round and round, she carefully watched the turn affairs were likely to take.

Never had more ships been seen arriving day after day at Spithead, and never had Portsmouth Harbour been fuller of others fitting and refitting for sea, or its streets more crowded with seamen laughing, dancing, singing, and committing all sorts of extravagances, and flinging their well-earned money about with the most reckless prodigality.

About this time, while Portsmouth was in the heyday of its uproarious prosperity, and prize-money was as plentiful as blackberries in summer, a man-of-war’s eight-oared cutter was seen pulling in from Spithead, and then, entering the harbour, making for the Gosport shore. There was nothing unusual in this, or rather it was an event not only of daily but of hourly occurrence.

There were two officers in the sternsheets; but their simple uniform showed that they were not of any high rank, though the crew paid them the most profound respect. They were young men, though beards, pigtails, and lovelocks, with thoroughly weatherbeaten, sunburnt countenances, made them look somewhat older. One had a silver chain round his neck, with a call or whistle attached to it, which showed that he was a boatswain.

As they stepped on shore, the crew threw up their oars, and with one voice shouted, “We wish you every happiness—that we do, sir, from our hearts! Three cheer for the boatswain! Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!”

“Thank you, lads,” said the young boatswain, turning round with a pleasant smile on his countenance. “We have served long and happily together, and done some things to be proud of; and I tell you that I would rather be boatswain of such a crew as you are, than Captain of many I have fallen in with. Come up here and have a parting glass! I know that I can trust you to go back to the ship, as you promised; for it’s one of many things to be proud of, to be able to say that we never knew a man to run from our ship.”

The two warrant-officers were accompanied by an old black man with a wooden leg, who stumped along, aided by a stick, as fast as they could walk; while a couple of seamen followed with huge painted canvas bags on their shoulders, and various foreign-looking things hung about outside. They themselves carried a couple of birdcages and two parrots; and a mischievous-looking monkey sat on the black’s shoulder, another parrot being perched on the top of his hat, and a fiddle-case hung over his neck. They soon got out of Gosport into the country.

“Stay, Harry!” said the elder of the officers; “Paul wrote that we were to steer west by north, and that if we stood on under easy sail for half a glass, we should just fetch Paradise Row. Now here we are, with the sun right astern; let’s have the proper bearings of the place.”

True Blue—for he was the young boatswain who had been speaking—looked at the sun, and then, turning himself round, in a few seconds seemed to make up his mind that they were proceeding in the right direction.

“I feel uncommonly inclined to set more canvas; and yet we mustn’t quit our convoy,” he remarked as he moved on.

“No, that wouldn’t do,” answered his friend, Harry Hartland. “Come, heave ahead, my hearties!” he added, looking back at the seamen carrying the bags; “and you, Sam, shall we lend you a leg, old boy?”

“Tank’ee, gunner—a grand new cork one, if you like!” answered Sam, grinning and chuckling at his joke; “but ye see my timber one will serve me, I tink, till I’m laid under hatches. But I no wonder Billy in a hurry to go along—ha! ha! ha! I call de fine grand bo’sun Billy now again, jes as I did when he was one little chap aboard de old Terrible. We off service, you know! I once more free man! Out-door Greenwich pensioner! What more I want?—plenty to eat, nothing to do! I go wid you and play at your wedding, True Blue—ha! ha! ha! Fancy I, Sam Smatch, play at Billy True’s wedding—once little chap born aboard de Terrible, and often nurse in de old nigger’s arms.”

“And right glad I am to have you by me, Sam,” answered True Blue, looking kindly at the negro. “You took good care of me—that I’m sure of—when I was a baby, and we’ve weathered many a storm together since in all parts of the world. There’s scarcely a friend I should be more sorry to miss at my wedding than you, if wedding there is to be; but it is so long since I heard from home, that who can tell what has happened?”

“Ah, yes—Mary Ogle gone and married some oder sailor maybe! Dat is what dey petticoat women often do,” said Sam with a wink, sticking his thumb towards the boatswain’s ribs.

“No, no. No fear of that, at all events!” exclaimed True Blue vehemently. “You didn’t suppose that I meant that. But how can we tell that all our friends are alive and well?” he said gravely, and was silent for a minute. “However,” he added in a cheerful tone, “I have no fears that all will be right, and that, before many evenings are over, we shall have you fingering your fiddlestick as merrily as ever.”

So they went on, cheerfully talking as they proceeded towards Paradise Row, which, in truth, True Blue hoped would prove a Paradise to him; for there, since Paul, and Abel, and Peter, had become warrant-officers, their respective families had come to reside, to be near them when they came into port.

They, however, had now charge of different ships in ordinary; and as they had all gone through a great deal of service, they did not expect to be again sent to sea.

Old Mrs Pringle was still alive and well when True Blue had last heard from home, and to her house he and his shipmates were now bound. Still, as they went along, True Blue could not help looking into all the windows of the various cottages they passed, just to ascertain if that was the one inhabited by his dear old granny or not.

At last he turned to Harry. “I think, mate, we have run our distance,” he observed; “we ought to be in the latitude of Paradise Row by this time. I’ll just step up to that pretty little cottage there and ask. Here, Harry, just hold Chatterbox, please.”

Suiting the action to the word, having given his parrot to his friend, up to the cottage he went. It had a porch in front of it, covered with jasmine, and a neat verandah, and was altogether a very tasty though unpretending little abode. He rapped at the door with a strangely-carved shark’s tooth which he held in his hand. After waiting a little time, the door was opened, and, without looking directly at the person who opened it, he began, “Please, marm, does Mrs Pringle live hereabouts?” Then, suddenly he was heard to exclaim, “What—it is—Mary, Mary!”

What more he said his friends did not hear, for the door was nearly closed as he sprang into the house. However, both Harry and Sam were very discreet people, and they had heard enough to show them that their presence could easily be dispensed with; so, as there was a nice grassy bank under a widespreading tree, they, with the two seamen carrying the bags, and the monkey and the parrots, went and sat down there to wait till the boatswain might recollect that there were such beings in existence.

Harry felt very glad that his friend was likely to be so happy, and old Sam amused himself with scratching the monkey’s head, making him hang by his tail, and jump over his own wooden leg, while the seamen went to sleep with their heads on the bags. Sam was the first to grow tired of his amusement, and, getting up, he stumped up towards the cottage and peeped over the neat white blind of the front window.

He came back grinning and chuckling. “All right,” he said. “Him bery happy—no tink of us yet, I guess.”

Whether or not the apparition of Sam’s black visage had been seen does not appear; but in a short time True Blue came to the door of the cottage, looking as happy and lighthearted as a fellow could look, and, hailing his friends, asked them to step in.

Mrs Ogle was there, and Mary, and a younger sister very like her; but Peter was aboard his ship, a seventy-four, in Portsmouth Harbour; and Mary and her sister, and their mother, shook hands heartily with Sam, because he was an old acquaintance, and with Harry, because he was True Blue’s brother officer. And then True Blue told Harry that Mrs Ogle could put him up, and would be right glad to do so; and then that he could take Sam to Mrs Pringle’s, so that they should have him always to play to them; which were very pleasant arrangements, and seemed to give infinite satisfaction to all parties concerned. It was extraordinary how long it took to get under weigh again; but at last True Blue, with his bags and some of his treasures, did find his way to his adopted grandmother’s, and a warm welcome did the dear old lady give him, and did not scold him in the least for inquiring first at Mrs Ogle’s where she lived, seeing that he did not know when he went to the door that it was Mrs Ogle’s.

Sam and the monkey, and two of the parrots, with the cage birds, took up their residence at Mrs Pringle’s. True Blue, accompanied by Harry, paid a visit to Mrs Bush and her family; and the whole party assembled, as they had done several years before, at Mrs Ogle’s, which had certainly the handsomest room in it, and Sam Smatch brought his fiddle; and a very merry evening they had, the only drawback being that the three elder warrant-officers were unable to be present, as their duties kept them on board their ships.

They had tea and cakes, and bread and butter, and preserves, and water-cresses; and then Sam screwed up his fiddle, and to work went his bow, his head nodding and his timber toe beating time, while he played the merriest of all merry country-dances and the most vehement of hornpipes.

True Blue had not danced a hornpipe for many a long year,—it would not have been dignified while he was a boatswain,—but he had not forgotten how to do so. That he very soon showed, to the satisfaction of all present, especially to that of Mary, and not a little to that of Sam Smatch, who, in defiance of all the rules of etiquette, kept shouting, “Bravo, Billy—well done, Billy—keep at it, boy! I taught him, dat I did—dat’s it. I played de first tune to him he ever danced to. Bravo, Billy! You do my heart good—dat you do. Hurray! hurray! Billy True Blue for ever in dancing a hornpipe!”

As the dancing could not last all the evening, the parrots and the monkey and a considerable portion of the contents of the bags were brought in to be exhibited, and, as it proved, to be distributed among the owner’s old friends.

True Blue had given his cage full of birds to Mrs Pringle, as he knew she would prize it; he had, however, gifts especially brought for Mrs Bush and all her family, as well as for Mrs Ogle, and for several other friends not so intimately related to him as they were; and he found that they were the means of affording infinite satisfaction to all parties.

The first thing the next morning, after breakfast, the young warrant-officers set off to pay their respects to the three old warrant-officers in Portsmouth Harbour, on board the Jupiter, Lion, and Portland, seventy-fours.

Paul Pringle was, of course, the first visited, His pipe was shrilly sounding as ponderous yards and coils of rope and casks and guns and gun-carriages and other innumerable fittings and gear of a ship were being hoisted up and lowered into lighters alongside, to convey them to the dockyard. His delight at seeing True Blue as he stepped on deck was so great that he forgot to pipe “Belay,” and a twenty-four pounder would have been run up to the yardarm had not his godson instinctively supplied the omission with his own pipe, though, when Harry afterwards informed him of the fact, he was not in the slightest degree aware that he had done so.

As Paul was then so very busy, they promised to return at dinner time, and went on to see Peter Ogle. It was remarked, however, that Paul did not for the remainder of the forenoon carry on his duties with his usual exactness, and seemed far more elated and excitable than was his wont.

Peter Ogle’s pleasure at seeing True Blue was only surpassed by that of Paul. He received his old friends in his cabin, which, as True Blue glanced round it, showed that a considerable amount of feminine taste had been exercised in its adornment.

“Make yourselves at home, my lads—brother officers, I should say, though,” he said, glancing at their uniforms, “It is a pleasure to see you, Billy, my dear boy, and you too, Harry, though I haven’t known you by some fifteen years or more so long as True Blue. Boy, bring glasses. Here’s some real honest schiedam, taken out of a Dutch prize. Help yourselves. You neither of you are topers, I know; so much the better. And now let’s hear what you’ve been about since I last clapped eyes on you.”

True Blue on this gave a rapid account of their doings in the Rover after the Gannet had sailed for England, and of numerous adventures which had subsequently befallen them before they once more returned home.

After a visit paid to Abel Bush, who welcomed them home as cordially as their other old friends had done, they returned to dine with Paul Pringle.

“And, True Blue, my boy, how soon is it to come off?” inquired Paul when dinner was over. “Have you asked Mary to fix the day yet?”

“No, godfather; I thought she might rather wish to wait a bit, and so I wasn’t going to ask her for a day or two,” answered True Blue ingenuously.

“Don’t put it off, lad,” said Paul. “When a sailor meets a girl to love, the shorter the wooing and the sooner he weds the better. How does he know what moment he may have to heave up his anchor and make sail round the world again?”

True Blue very willingly promised to follow his godfather’s advice; and Harry, who was listening attentively, thought it excellent. As may be supposed, before the evening was over, the day was settled for True Blue’s wedding with Mary Ogle; and before a week had passed, Harry announced that her sister Susan had fixed the same day to marry him.

Close to Mrs Ogle’s residence was a barn of large dimensions; it was not a picturesque building, but the floor was smooth, and that was all they required. In a wonderfully short space of time, with the aid of flags innumerable, wreaths of flowers, and painted canvas, it was converted into a most elegant edifice, fit for a ball or supper room. The morning of True Blue’s wedding day arrived, and up to Dame Pringle’s door drove a postchaise with four horses, out of which stepped Sir Henry Elmore, now, as his full-dress uniform showed, a Post-Captain. He shook hands right cordially with True Blue and all his friends, and the bells of the parish church at that moment set up so merry and joyous a peal that it was evident the ringers believed that it was an occasion of much happiness.

Carriages sufficient to carry all the party now began to collect in the neighbourhood of Paradise Row; and Sam Smatch and Tom Marline, both of whom had got leave to come on shore, were very busy in fastening huge white favours and bunches of flowers to the coats of the party.

“Come, Freeborn, with me in my carriage,” said Sir Henry. “I have fulfilled my promise in being present at your marriage, and must beg to stand as your best man, and see that you behave properly; but boarding a Frenchman at the head of a dozen daring fellows, though opposed to a hundred or more, is a very different matter to standing before the altar, about to take a wife for better or for worse to the end of life.”

“So I was thinking, Sir Henry,” answered True Blue, smiling. “And do you know, that if it wasn’t Mary Ogle I was going to marry, I shouldn’t like it at all.”

“All right, then, my friend; you’ll do,” said the baronet. “Step into the carriage.”

The favours being distributed, Tom Marline mounted the coach-box of the first carriage, in which were Mary Ogle and her father and mother, carrying in his hands a long pole with a huge flag, on which was inscribed, “True Blue for ever! Hurrah for our own Billy True Blue!”

Tim Fid mounted, as he said, the fo’castle of the next carriage, in which came Mrs Bush and Susan, with Harry, who declared that he didn’t fancy the custom of following in different vehicles, as great folks did.

On Fid’s banner was the device of a ship, with “Hurrah for the Navy of Old England! Hurrah for her Gunners, Past, Present, and Future!”

On the box of the third carriage sat Sam Smatch, fiddle in hand, playing away most lustily, and occasionally firing off a bow or stern-chaser of jokes at the other carriages with a peculiar loud cackling laugh which none but negroes can produce.

Nobody could have behaved better than did the brides and bridegrooms; and when the ceremony was over, the bells set up a peal even more joyous than before. Instead of driving back to Paradise Row, the carriages proceeded to the harbour; and then at the Hard appeared half a dozen man-of-war’s boats, rigged gaily with flags. Sir Henry handed Mrs Billy True Blue Freeborn into one boat, and Mrs Harry Hartland into another, and of course their husbands stepped in after them; and then he performed the same office to all the elder matrons and their younger daughters; and then wishing them all health, happiness, and prosperity, he entered his own boat and pulled across to Portsmouth.

The three godfathers and their mates stepped into another boat, and Sam Smatch and the younger men into the sixth; and thus arranged, away the boats pulled, Sam playing right lustily his merriest tunes. True Blue’s boat led, steering up the harbour, where lay Paul’s and Abel’s and Peter’s ships. As they passed, the people on board came to the side, and cheered over and over again with all their might and main, making up by the vehemence and multiplicity of their vociferations for the paucity of their numbers.

True Blue and Harry got up and cheered too, and so did the matrons in the third boat; and the godfathers made the seventy-fours a speech—it sounded as if addressed to the ships rather than to the people on board. Of course the men in the other boats cheered, and Sam almost sprang his bow with the vehemence of his playing; but all this was as nothing compared to the reception the bridal party met with as they reached True Blue’s and Harry’s own ship.

Up and down the harbour pulled the bridal squadron; and the crews of every ship, as they passed, took up the cheer and welcomed the bridegroom, for True Blue and his deeds were now well-known throughout the British fleet. He had not aimed high, in one sense of the word, and yet he had in another sense always aimed high and nobly—to do his duty.

Right well that duty he had done; he had gained all he desired, and never was there a happier or more contented man.

No pen can do adequate justice to the ball in the barn in the evening. Never were so many warrant-officers collected together with their wives and their families; and never, certainly, had such an amount of gilt buttons and gold lace, and silk and satins and feathers, been seen in such a place. A crashing band overwhelmed Sam Smatch’s fiddle; but he, for his consolation, was requested to play frequent solos; and he far out-eclipsed himself when he struck up “Bill’s own special hornpipe,” as he called it, which, nolens volens, True Blue was compelled to dance.

If the bridegrooms made a tour, it must have been a very short one, as their leave could not have extended to many days. For a short time they lived on shore, when their ship was paid off; but war soon called them afloat.

True Blue had a numerous family of sons, every one of whom served his country afloat, all becoming warrant-officers; while their sons again, from their intelligence and steady conduct, although they entered before the mast, obtained the same rank.

True Blue himself, who lived to enjoy a hearty and hale old age, gave the same advice to his grandchildren which he received from Paul Pringle.

“Lads,” he used to say, “be content with your lot. Do your duty in whatever station you are placed, on the quarterdeck or fo’castle, in the tops aloft or at the guns on the main or lower-deck, and leave the rest to God. Depend on it, if you obey His standing orders, if you steer your course by the chart and compass He has provided for you, and fight your ship manfully, He will give you the victory.”

The End.

WHG Kingston

"A True Hero"

Chapter One.

The Protectorate had come to an end ten years before the period when our story commences; and Charles the Second, restored to the throne of England, had since been employed in outraging all the right feelings of the people over whom he was called to reign, and in lowering the English name, which had been so gloriously raised by the wisdom of Cromwell. The body of that sagacious ruler of a mighty nation had been dragged out of its tomb among the kings in Westminster, and hanged on the gallows-tree at Tyburn; the senseless deed instigated by the petty revenge of his contemptible successor. The mouldering remains of Blake, also, one of the noblest among England’s naval heroes, had been taken from its honoured resting-place, and cast into an unknown grave in Saint Margaret’s churchyard. Episcopacy had been restored by those who hoped thus to pave the way for the re-introduction of Romanism, with its grinding tyranny and abject superstitions. The “Conventicle Act,” prohibiting more than five persons, exclusive of the family, to meet together for religious worship according to any other than the national ritual, had been passed, and was rigidly enforced; the dominant party thus endeavouring to deprive the people of one of the most sacred rights of man,—that of worshipping God according to the dictates of conscience. England’s debauched king, secretly a Papist, had sold his country for gold to England’s hereditary foe, whose army he had engaged to come and crush the last remnants of national freedom, should his Protestant people dare to resist the monarch’s traitorous proceedings. The profligacy and irreligion of the court was widely imitated by all classes, till patriots, watching with gloomy forebodings the downward progress of their country, began to despair of her future fate. Such was the state of things when, on the morning of the 14th of August, 1670, several sedate, grave-looking persons were collected at the north end of Gracechurch Street, in the City of London. Others were coming up from all quarters towards the spot. As the first arrived, they stood gazing towards the door of a building, before which were drawn up a body of bearded, rough soldiers, with buff coats, halberds in hand, and iron caps on their heads. Several of the persons collected, in spite of the armed men at the door, advanced as if about to enter the building.

“You cannot go in there,” said the sergeant of the party; “we hold it in the name of the king. Begone about your business, or beware of the consequences!” In vain the grave citizens mildly expostulated. They received similar rough answers. By this time other persons had arrived, while many passers-by stopped to see what was going forward. Among those who came up was a tall young man, whose flowing locks and feathered cap, with richly-laced coat, and silk sash over his shoulder, to which, however, the usual appendage, a sword, was wanting, showed that he was a person of quality and fashion. Yet his countenance wore a grave aspect, which assumed a stern expression as he gazed at the soldiers. He stopped, and spoke to several of those standing round, inquiring apparently what had occurred. About the same time, another man, who seemed to be acquainted with many of the persons in the crowd, was making his way among them. He was considerably more advanced in life than the first-mentioned person, and in figure somewhat shorter and more strongly built. Though dressed as a civilian, he had a military look and air. From an opposite direction two other persons approached the spot, intending, it seemed, to pass by. The one was a man whose grizzly beard and furrowed features showed that he had seen rough service in his time, his dress and general appearance bespeaking the soldier. His companion was a youth of sixteen or seventeen years of age, so like him in countenance that their relationship was evident. From the inquiries they made, they were apparently strangers.

“Canst tell me, friend, what has brought all these people together?” said the elder man to a by-stander.

“Most of these people are ‘Friends,’ as they call themselves,” answered the man addressed, a well-to-do artisan, “or ‘Quakers,’ as the world calls them, because they bid sinners exceedingly to quake and tremble at the word of the Lord. To my mind they are harmless as to their deeds, though in word they are truly powerful at times. The bishops and church people do not like them because they declare that God can be worshipped in the open air, or in a man’s own home, as well as in the grandest cathedral, or ‘steeple house,’ as they call the church. The Independents are opposed to them, because they deem ministers unnecessary, and trust to the sword of the Spirit rather than to carnal weapons; while the wealthy and noble disdain them, because they refuse to uncover their heads, or to pay undue respect to their fellow-men, however rich or exalted in rank they may be. They have come to hold a meeting in yonder house, where the soldiers are stationed; but as speaking will not open the doors, they will have to go away again disappointed.”

“If they are the harmless people you describe, that seems a hard case,” observed the stranger. “By what right are they prohibited from thus meeting?”

“I know not if it is by right, but it is by law,” answered the artisan. “You have doubtless heard of the ‘Conventicle Act,’ prohibiting all religious worship, except according to the established ritual. The ‘Friends’ alone hold it in no respect, and persist in meeting where they have the mind!”

“What! do all the other dissenters of England submit to such a law?” exclaimed the stranger.

“Marry do they,” answered the artisan. “They pocket the affront, and conform in public to what is demanded, satisfying their consciences by worshipping together in private. Do you not know that every head of a family is fined a shilling on every Sunday that he neglects to attend the parish church? You can have been but a short time in England not to have heard of this.”

“Yes, indeed, my friend. My son and I landed but yesterday from a voyage across the Atlantic; and, except from the master and shipmen on board, we have heard but little of what has taken place in England for some years past.”

“Then take my advice, friend,” said the artisan. “Make all the inquiries you please, but utter not your opinions, as you were just now doing to me, or you may find yourself accused of I know not what, and clapped into jail, with slight chance of being set free again.”

“Thank you, friend,” said the stranger; “but will all these people submit to be treated thus by those few soldiers? By my faith, it’s more than I would, if I desired to enter yonder house of prayer.”

While this conversation was going on, the number of people in front of the Quaker’s meeting-house had greatly increased; and though the greater number appeared quietly disposed, there were evidently some hovering about, and others now elbowing their way through the crowd, who were inclined to create an uproar. At this juncture, the young gentleman who has already been described, stepping on one side of the street where the pavement was highest, took off his hat. “Silence, I pray you, dear friends; I would speak a few words,” he said, in a rich musical voice. “We came here purposing to enter yonder house, where we might worship God according to the dictates of our consciences, and exhort and strengthen one another; but it seemeth to me that those in authority have resolved to prevent our thus assembling. We are men of peace, and therefore must submit rather than use carnal weapons; and yet, friends, having the gift of speech, and the power of the pen, we must not cease to protest against being thus deprived of the liberty which Englishmen hold so dear.”

Chapter Two.

While the young man was speaking, the stranger and his son had worked their way close to the stout soldier-like man who has been described. The stranger’s eye fell on his countenance. He touched his son’s shoulder. “An old comrade in arms!” he whispered. “A truer man than Captain William Mead,—trusty Bill Mead, we used to call him,—never drew sword in the cause of liberty. If I can but catch his eye and get a grip of his honest hand, I will ask him who that young man can be,—a brave fellow, whoever he is.” In another instant the two old comrades had recognised each other.

“What, Christison! Nicholas Christison! is it thou?” exclaimed Captain Mead, examining the stranger’s countenance. “Verily, I thought thou wast no longer in the land of the living; but thou art welcome, heartily welcome. Come with me to my house in Cornhill, at the sign of the ‘Spinning Wheel,’ and thou shalt tell me where thou hast been wandering all this time; while, may be, we will have a talk of bygone days.”

“With all my heart,” answered Christison; “but tell me who is that noble youth addressing the people? He seems by his dress and bearing not one likely to utter such sentiments as are now dropping from his mouth!”

“Verily, he is not less noble in deed and word than in look,” answered Mead. “He is William Penn, the son of the admiral who fought so well for the Commonwealth, and now serves a master about whom the less we say the better.”

“I remember him well; a brave, sagacious man, but one who was ever ready to serve his own interest first, and those of his country afterwards. I should not have expected to find a son of his consorting with Quakers.”

“No, verily; as light from darkness, so does the son differ from the father in spiritual matters,” answered Mead. “The son has sacrificed all his worldly prospects for the sake of his own soul and for those of his fellow-creatures. In a righteous cause he fears no foes, temporal or spiritual; and is ready to lay down his life, if needs be, for the truth.”

“A brave youth he must be, by my troth,” observed Christison. “Wenlock, my boy, I pray Heaven you may be like him. I would rather have thee a thorough true-hearted man, than the first noble in the land.”

At this moment, Mead, who had been stopped by the crowd from making his way towards the place where William Penn was speaking, saw an opportunity of advancing, and again moved forward, accompanied by his old friend and his son. There was, indeed, a general movement in the crowd, and voices in tones of authority were heard shouting, “Make way there; make way!” The people who uttered these cries were soon recognised as sheriffs’ officers. They were advancing towards Penn. Their intention was evident.

“They are about to arrest him,” said Mead; “but he has done nothing worthy of bonds.”

“No, by my troth he has not,” exclaimed Christison; “and I would gladly, even now, strike a blow for the cause of liberty, and rescue him from their power, if they attempt to lay hands on him.”

“No, no, friend, put up thy sword,” said Mead; “we fight not with carnal weapons. He would not thank you for any such attempt on your part.”

By this time the constables had reached Penn, and informed him that he was their prisoner. Two others at the same time came up to where Mead was standing, and arrested him also. It was a sore trial to the old Republican officer to stand by and see his friend carried off to prison.

“By whose authority am I arrested?” asked Penn, turning with an air of dignity to the officers.

One of them immediately produced a document. “See here, young sir,” he said in an insulting tone, “This is our warrant! It is signed by the worshipful Lord Mayor, Sir Samuel Starling. I have a notion that neither you nor any of your friends would wish to resist it.”

“We resist no lawful authority; but I question how far this warrant is lawful,” answered the young Quaker. “Howbeit, if thou and thy companions use force, to force we yield, and must needs accompany thee whithersoever thou conductest us.”

“Farewell, old friend,” said Mead, shaking Christison by the hand, as the constables were about to lead him off. “I would rather have spent a pleasant evening with thee in my house than have had to pass it in a jail: but yet in a righteous cause all true men should be ready to suffer.”

“Indeed so, old comrade; and you know that I am not the man to desert you at a pinch. As we are not to pass the evening together at your house, I will spend it with you in jail. I suppose they will not exclude you from the society of your friends?”

Mead shrugged his shoulders. “It is hard to say how we may be treated, for we Quakers gain but scant courtesy or justice.”

These last remarks were made as Mead, with a constable on either side of him, was being led off with William Penn to the Guildhall.

The old Commonwealth officer and his son followed as close behind them as the shouting, jeering mob would allow them; Christison revolving in his mind how he should act best to render assistance to his old friend. At length they arrived at the hall where the Lord Mayor was sitting for the administration of justice.

Captain Christison and his son entered with others who found their way into the court. A short, though somewhat corpulent-looking gentleman, with ferrety eyes and rubicund nose, telling of numerous cups of sack which had gone down between the thick lips below it, occupied the magisterial chair.

“Who are these knaves?” he exclaimed, in a gruff voice, casting a fierce glance at the young William Penn and his companion, Captain Mead. “What! ye varlets, do you come into the presence of the Lord Mayor of London with your hats on? Ho! ho! I know you now,” he exclaimed, as an officer handed him a paper, while he turned his eyes especially on Penn. “Let me tell you, if you pay not proper respect to the court, I will have you carried to Bridewell and well whipped, you varlet, though you are the son of a Commonwealth admiral! Do you hear me, sirrah?”

“By my troth,” whispered Christison to his son. “I should like to rush in with my sword and stop that foul-speaking varlet’s mouth, Lord Mayor of London though he be. And now I look at him, I remember him well, Master Starling, a brawling supporter of the Protector when he was seated firmly at the head of Government. And now see, he is louder still in carrying out the evil designs of this Charles Stuart and his myrmidons.” These words, though said in a low voice, were not altogether inaudible to some of the by-standers.

“Beware!” said some one at his elbow.

To this tirade of the Lord Mayor, the young gentleman made no answer. “Do you hear me, sirrah?” he exclaimed again; “I speak to you, William Penn. You and others have unlawfully and tumultuously been assembling and congregating yourselves together for the purpose of creating a disturbance of the peace, to the great terror and annoyance of His Majesty’s liege people and subjects, and to the ill example of all others; and you have, in contempt of the law of the land, been preaching to a concourse of people whom you tumultuously assembled for the purpose of instigating them to rebel against His Majesty the king and the authorities of this city of London.”

“Verily, thou art misinformed and mistaken, sir,” answered the young man, in a calm voice. “I neither created a disturbance, nor did I utter words whereby any disturbance could have been created, while I have ever been a loyal and dutiful subject of King Charles as His Majesty.”

“Ho! ho! ho! you have come here to crow high, I warrant you,” exclaimed Sir Samuel Starling; “and your companion, Master Mead, will, I warrant, declare himself equally innocent of offence!”

“Thou speakest truly, friend,” answered Captain Mead; “I was the cause of no disturbance, as all those present very well know; for no disturbance indeed took place, while my principles forbid me to oppose the authorities that be.”

These calm answers only seemed to enrage Sir Samuel Starling, who, heaping further abuse on the prisoners, exclaimed, “Take the varlets off to the ‘Black Dog’ in Newgate Market; there they shall remain in durance till they are tried for their crimes at the Old Bailey, and we shall then see whether this young cock-of-the-woods will crow as loudly as he now does.”

Young Wenlock could with difficulty restrain his father’s indignation when he heard this order pronounced by the city magistrate. He however, managed to get him out of the court.

“We will go and see where they are lodged, at all events,” said the captain, who at length yielded to his son’s expostulation. “Perchance I may render my old friend Mead, and that noble young fellow Penn, some assistance.”

Chapter Three.

In a dirty, ill-ventilated room in a low sponging-house in Newgate Market, known as the “Black Dog,” two persons were seated. Cobwebs hung from the windows and the corners of the ceiling, occupied by huge, active spiders, lying in wait for some of the numerous flies which swarmed on the dust-covered panes. On the walls were scrawled numerous designs, executed by the prisoners who had from time to time occupied the room, to while away their hours of durance. The air felt close and sultry, the heat increased by the rays of the sinking sun, which found their way in by the window, through which also entered unpleasant odours ascending from the court-yard below. One of the persons, whose handsome dress contrasted strangely with the appearance of the room, was busy writing at a rickety table. With youth, wealth, talents, a fair fame, the godson of the future monarch of England, he might, had he so willed, have been a peer of he realm, the founder of a noble family. The other, who has been described as Captain Mead, rose from his seat, and walked up and down with somewhat impatient steps. “I am writing to my dear father to tell him the cause of my absence,” said young Penn, stopping for a moment. “I fear that his sickness is very serious, and deep is my regret to be kept away from him; yet do I glory in thus suffering for the great and noble principles for which we are striving,—liberty of conscience, liberty of action. What is life worth to man without these? And yet our infatuated countrymen run a great risk of losing both, if they refuse to listen to the voice of warning, and to prepare in time for the threatened danger.” Just then a turnkey opened the door, and in an impudent tone of voice said, “Here’s a man and a lad come to see Master Mead. There, go in and sit as long as you please, till the hour arrives when all visitors must be turned out.”

“Ah! friend Christison and thy fine boy, thou art welcome to this our somewhat sorry abode,” said Mead. “I would rather have seen thee at my family board this evening, as I had proposed; but we must submit to the powers that be. I will now make thee known to our friend Master William Penn, whose father thou and I served under in days gone by.”

“Ay, marry, I remember him well!” exclaimed Christison. “We were with him when he chased that piratical, malignant Rupert, and well-nigh caught him. Many a rich argosy would have been preserved to the Commonwealth had we succeeded; but the devil favours his children, and the rover got off.”

“We will not now speak of those times,” said Mead. “I am not surprised to hear thee, old comrade, allude to them thus; but I, now taught better, have laid aside the use of carnal weapons.”

“Well, well, I know you will always do as your conscience dictates,” said Christison; “and gladly do I shake hands with the son of my old commander.”

William Penn rose, and courteously welcomed the visitor, giving a kind smile and a touch on the shoulder to young Wenlock. “Let my presence not interfere with you, friend,” he said; “but as thou seest I am busily engaged in writing on matters of importance; thou mayst talk state secrets to each other, and I shall not hear them; so, pray thee, Master Christison, make thyself at home with thy old friend.” Saying this, he resumed his seat and continued writing, completely absorbed in his work. Captain Mead warmly thanked his old friend for coming to see him.

“And what is it I hear of you,” asked Christison; “that you have joined the followers of George Fox?”

“Verily, I have deserted all worldly systems, and have united with those who believe that the guidance of the Spirit is sufficient to lead us into all truth: the Holy Scriptures being the only fit and outward rule whereby to judge of the truth. I pray thee, old friend, do not strive against that Holy Spirit, a measure of which has surely been given to thee. That is the light and life of the Holy Word which ‘in the beginning was with God, and was God.’ That it is which will enlighten thy mind, if thou strivest not to quench it.”

In a similar strain Mead continued putting forth and explaining to his old friend the doctrine held by the Quakers. He spoke to him of the unity of the Godhead. “We believe,” he added, “that their light is one, their life one, their wisdom one, their power one; and that he that knoweth and seeth any one of them knoweth and seeth them all, as our blessed Lord says, ‘He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.’ We believe, too, though most wrongfully accused of the contrary, that God the Son is both God and man in wonderful union; that He suffered for our salvation, was raised again for our justification, and ever liveth to make intercession for us. He is that Divine Word that lighteth the souls of all men that come into the world with a spiritual and saving light, as none but the Creator of souls can do. With regard to our worship, we hold that ‘God is a Spirit, and desires to be worshipped in spirit and in truth,’ not only on one day, but on all days of the week; not only when meeting together, but in the daily concerns of life; and the man who worships not then, will render poor worship when he assembles with his fellow-men at the time he may think fit to set apart for that purpose. As we acknowledge no other Mediator than the Son of God, who came on earth and died for our sins, and, having risen from the grave and ascended into heaven, is now seated at the right hand of God; so we require no person to pray for us, or allow that it is according to God’s will that persons should receive payment for praying, exhorting, or preaching, or in any other way spreading God’s truth. We believe, too, that the water-baptism, so generally administered, is not according to God’s mind; that the baptism spoken of in the Scriptures is that of the Spirit,—the answer of a good conscience towards God by the resurrection of Jesus Christ; that by one Spirit we are all baptised into one body; while, with regard to the Lord’s Supper as it is spoken of, we do indeed deem that the supper of the Lord is needful, but that it is altogether of a spiritual nature. We object altogether to oaths, because our Lord says, ‘Swear not at all.’ We hold war to be an abomination to God, and contrary to that new commandment given us by Christ, ‘That ye love one another, even as I have loved you.’ We hold, too, that a civil magistrate has no right to interfere in religious matters, and that though ‘Friends’ may admonish such members as fall into error, it must be done by the spiritual sword; and as religion is a matter solely between God and man, so no government consisting of fallible men ought to fetter the consciences of those over whom they are placed.”

“No, indeed,” exclaimed Christison. “To the latter principle I have long held; and it seems to me that there is much sense and truth in the other tenets which you have explained. I, as you know, am a blunt man, not given to book learning; but, in truth, old friend, I should like to hear from you again more at large of these matters.”

“There seems every probability that thou wilt know where to find me for some time to come,” answered Mead; “and I shall be heartily well-pleased further to explain to you the principles we hold to be the true ones for the guidance of men in this mortal life.”

“Father,” said young Wenlock, as he and the elder Christison were returning to their lodgings; “I should like to take service with young Master Penn, should he require a secretary. Your old friend, Captain Mead, has also taken my fancy; but yet I feel I would go anywhere with so true-hearted and noble a man as the other.”

“You have formed a somewhat hasty judgment, Wenlock,” said his father. “We have been but a couple of hours in his society, during which time he spoke but little; and though, I grant you, he is a true gentleman, and would have made a fine soldier, yet his temper and habits may be very different to what you suppose.”

“Oh! no, no, father. I know I could trust him; I watched him all the time he was writing. He said he was addressing his father, and I saw his change of countenance; sometimes he was lost in thought, sometimes he seemed to look up to heaven in prayer; and more than once I saw his eyes filled with tears, and a firm, determined look came over his countenance; yet all the time there was nothing stern or forbidding,—all was mild, loving, and kind. I have never seen one I would more willingly serve.”

“I hope that you may see him frequently, Wenlock,” said his father, “and you may thus have an opportunity of correcting or confirming your judgment. I purpose visiting my old friend Mead whenever I can.”

Captain Christison kept to his word. The result of those frequent interviews with the worthy Quaker, as far as Wenlock was concerned, will be shown by-and-by.

The first of September, 1670, the day fixed for the trial of William Penn and Captain Mead, arrived, and the prisoners were placed in the dock to answer the charge brought against them. Christison and his son were at the doors some time before they opened, that they might, without fail, secure a place. “Now most of these people, I warrant, fancy that they have come simply to witness the trial of the son of one of England’s brave admirals for misdemeanour. The matter is of far more importance, Wenlock. Master Penn disputes, and so do I, that this ‘Conventicle Act’ is legal in any way. We hold it to be equally hostile to the people and our Great Charter. Is an edict which abolishes one of the fundamental rights secured to the nation by our ancient Constitution, though passed by Crown and Parliament, to be held as possessing the force of law? If this court cannot show that it is, the question is, will a jury of Englishmen, when the case is made clear to them, venture to convict?”

On entering the hall they found ten justices occupying the bench, Sir Samuel Starling, the Lord Mayor, at their head. As soon as the court opened, the clerk ordered the crier to call over the jury. Having answered to their names, of which the result showed that they had every reason to be proud, they were sworn to try the prisoners at the bar, and find according to the evidence adduced. If Wenlock had been inclined to admire William Penn before, much more so was he now, when, standing up, he replied to the question whether he was guilty or not guilty. Of course he and Mead pleaded not guilty. The court then adjourned. After it had resumed its functions the prisoners were brought up, but were set aside in order that several cases of common felony might be disposed of; this being done for the purpose of insulting Penn and his friend. Little progress having been made in their case, they were remanded to their abominable dungeons in Newgate, and the court adjourned for two days.

Chapter Four.

Christison and his son arrived in good time when the court again sat, on the 3rd of September. The officers having taken off the hats of the prisoners as they entered, the Lord Mayor abused them for so doing, and bade them put them on again. He then abused the prisoners for wearing their hats, fining them forty marks each for contempt of court. The indictment was again read. It was to the effect that William Penn and William Mead, with other persons, had assembled on the 15th day of August for the purpose of creating a disturbance, according to an agreement between the two; and that William Penn, supported by William Mead, had preached to the people assembled, whereby a great concourse of people remained, in contempt of the king and his law, creating a disturbance of his peace, to the great terror of many of his liege people and subjects.

William Penn, who ably defended himself, proved that the day when he had gone to Gracechurch Street was the fourteenth, and not the fifteenth; that he did not preach to the people; that he had not agreed to meet William Mead there; that William Mead had not spoken to him. Mead also proved that he had not preached; that he had not abetted Penn, and that no riot had taken place.

Contrary to the evidence, the Recorder Jefferies insisted that the prisoners should be brought in “guilty.” The jury, however, in spite of the threats held out to them by the Lord Mayor and the Recorder and others, would not agree upon a verdict. The most determined to give an honest one was Master Edward Bushel, whose name deserves to be recorded. On again being compelled to retire, they were absent for some time. When they once more returned, the foreman announced that their verdict was “Guilty of speaking in Gracechurch Street.” Again every effort was made to induce them to pronounce a different verdict. A third time they were ordered to retire. Again, in writing, they handed in their verdict, finding William Penn “Guilty of speaking to an assembly in Gracechurch Street,” and acquitting William Mead.

The baffled and beaten bench, now losing temper, ordered the jury to be locked up, and the prisoners to be taken back to Newgate. Penn, now addressing them, required the clerk of the peace to record their verdict. “If, after this,” he exclaimed, “the jury bring in a different verdict to this, I affirm that they are perjured men. You are Englishmen,” he said, turning to the jurors. “Remember your privileges. Give not away your rights!”

The following day was Sunday. They were called up, however, and the clerk again inquired if they were agreed. The foreman replied as before, “Guilty of speaking to an assembly in Gracechurch Street.”

“To an unlawful assembly?” exclaimed the Lord Mayor.

“No, my lord,” answered the noble Master Bushel. “We give no other verdict than we gave last night.”

In vain the Lord Mayor and the Recorder Jefferies threatened as before; the Lord Mayor shouting out, “Gaoler, bring fetters, and shake this pestilent fellow to the ground!”

“Do your will,” answered Penn; “I care not for your fetters!”

The Recorder Jefferies now cried out, “By my troth, I could never before understand why the Spaniards suffered the Inquisition among them; and, to my mind, it will never be well with us in England till we have among us something like the Inquisition.”

“Boy,” whispered Christison to his son, “you heard those words. The knave has a good idea of his master’s notions and designs. If the Inquisition,—and I know something of it,—is ever established in this fair England of ours, it must either be quickly driven out again, or our country will be no fit place for honest men.”

Once more the jury were locked up, without food, fire, or water; but they were Englishmen to the backbone, and were ready to die in the cause of civil freedom, rather than play traitors to their own convictions.

On Monday the court again sat. Each juror was separately questioned, and one and all pronounced “Not guilty.” The Recorder on this fined them forty marks a man, and imprisonment in Newgate till the fines were paid. Penn and Mead were fined in the same way, the Recorder crying out, “Put him out of court! Take him away!”

“‘Take him away!’” exclaimed Penn. “Whenever I urge the fundamental laws of England, ‘Take him away!’ is their answer; but no wonder, since the Spanish Inquisition sits so near the Recorder’s heart.”

Both prisoners and jurors were carried off to Newgate, refusing to pay the fines: Penn and Mead as a case of conscience; while Bushel advised his fellow-jurors to dispute the matter. The jurors were committed to prison on the 5th of September, and it was not till the 9th of November that the trial came on. Learned counsel were engaged for their defence; Newdegate, one of them, arguing that the judges may try to open the eyes of the jurors, but not to “lead them by the nose.” Christison and his son were present. “I had hoped to spend some years in my native land, and renew the friendship I formed in my youth,” observed the former; “but I tell thee, Wenlock, if this trial goes against those twelve honest men, I will forswear my country, and go and seek thy fortune and mine in some other land, where knaves do not, as here, ‘rule the roost.’” When, however, the twelve judges gave an almost unanimous verdict in favour of the jurymen, Christison agreed that, after all, there were more honest men in the country than he had feared was the case.

To return, however, to William Penn and Mead. They were remanded to Newgate, refusing to pay the fines imposed on them, as a matter of conscience. Without difficulty, Christison and Wenlock obtained admittance to them. “Truly, friends, you are hardly dealt with,” said the former, as he shook hands. “We had tyrannical proceedings enough in the time of the first Charles, but it seems to me that we are even worse off now. I would that I could collect a band of honest fellows and rescue you out of this vile den.”

“I pray thee, be silent, dear friend,” said Mead. “We are here for conscience sake; and our consciences being right towards God, would support us under far greater trial.”

“Well, well, I suppose you are right,” answered Christison; “but it sorely troubles me to see you here. I came back to England, understanding that the country was enjoying rest, and prospering under the new reign; but it seems to me that the rest is more that of wearied sleep than prosperous tranquillity, and that ere long the people will revive, and will once more draw the sword to reassert their rights.”

“I pray not,” said Mead; “but I do pray that those principles which I have unfolded to thee, old friend, may be promulgated throughout the length and breadth of England; as it is through them, and them only, that the country can obtain true rest, and prosper as a Christian people would desire.”

Two days after this, the prisoners were pacing their cell, talking earnestly on matters seldom discussed within prison walls, when the turnkey entered.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I bring you news such as may perhaps be satisfactory. Your fines have been paid, and you are at liberty to depart from hence. I trust you will not forget the attention and courtesy with which I have treated you!”

“Verily, knave!” exclaimed Mead, laughing as Quakers were not wont to laugh, “thou ought to go to Court and push thy fortune there. I would willingly pay thee for all the attention thou hast shown us, but I fear thou wouldst not be satisfied with the payment. If I give thee more than thy deserts, thou wilt be better pleased. Here, take this groat. Art thou satisfied?”

The turnkey made a wry face, and Mead followed Penn, who had hurried out, anxious to be free from the prison. On the outside they met Christison and Wenlock, with several other friends, waiting for them. Penn hastened to his lodgings to change his dress, requesting Mead to order horses directly, that he might proceed down to his father.

“Come,” said Mead to his old comrade; “many days have passed since I gave thee an invitation to my abode; but as I have not since then been a free agent, I could not have received thee as I desired.”

Chapter Five.

Wenlock Christison and his son proceeded up Cornhill a short time after the events which have been described. They were examining the various signs over the shop doors, in search of that which distinguished Master Mead’s abode.

“Ah! there it is,” said Wenlock; “that must be the ‘Spinning Wheel’ he told us of.”

A demure youth with well-brushed hair was standing at the door, in courteous language inviting passers-by to enter and inspect his master’s goods.

“Is this Master Mead’s abode, young man?” inquired Captain Christison.

“Verily, friend, it is,” answered the shopman. “If thou wilt enter, thou wilt find thy money’s worth for any goods thou mayst purchase. Master Mead bringeth good judgment to bear on his purchases, and buys only such goods as those in which he has confidence. Enter, friend; enter, I pray thee.”

“Thank you,” said Christison; “but I wish to see Master Mead himself.”

“If thou wilt enter through this door, thou wilt find him in the upper story with his family,” answered the shopman, leading the way; and Christison and Wenlock proceeded upstairs.

Master Mead cordially welcomed his old friend, introducing him to a comely matron whom he spoke of as his wife Martha. “And here is my daughter Mary,” he added, pointing to a remarkably pretty and fair-haired girl, who smiled sweetly, and held out her hand to her father’s guests. She might have been two or three years younger than Wenlock, though, being well grown, there seemed but little difference in their ages. While their elders were talking, the young people, after a few desultory remarks, found themselves drawn into conversation.

“I hear from my father that thou hast been a great traveller already,” said Mary Mead.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Wenlock. “I scarcely remember ever remaining more than two or three months in one place. When my mother died, my father left our home in New England, ever after seeking for some spot where he might settle, but finding none, till at length he determined to go back to the old country.”

“You can have had but little time for obtaining instruction then?” said Mary, “I thought boys were always sent to school.”

“I picked up what I could out of what my father calls the ‘big book of life,’” answered Wenlock. “He also gave me such instructions as time and opportunity would allow, though there are many more things I should like to learn. I have, however, read not a few books; I can handle a singlestick as well as many older men, can ride, row, and shoot with arquebuse or crossbow, and I can write letters on various subjects, as I will prove to you, Mistress Mary, if you will allow me, when I again begin my wanderings; for I doubt whether my father will long remain in this big city. He is constantly complaining that the times are out of joint; and although we have been in England but a few weeks, he threatens again speedily to leave it.”

“That were a pity,” said Mary. “I prefer the green fields, and the woods, and the gay flowers, and the songs of birds, to the narrow streets, the dingy houses, and the cries of London; but yet I opine that happiness comes from within, and that, if the heart is at rest, contentment may be found under all circumstances.”

“You are a philosopher,” said Wenlock.

“No,” answered Mary quietly, “I am a Quakeress, an you please: and our principles afford us that peace and contentment which they of the world know not of.”

“I must get you to teach me to be a Quaker, then,” said Wenlock. “I have been listening attentively to your father’s discourses to mine, and even he, who was so much opposed to such ideas, has greatly been attracted by them; and, to tell you the truth, Mistress Mead, I have made up my mind that they are the best that I have heard of. There may be better, but I know not of them.”

“Oh, no, no. There can be no better than such as are to be found in the Book of Life,” said Mary. “You must judge of our principles by that, and that alone. If they are not according to that, they are wrong; but if they are according to that, there can be none better.”

Wenlock, as he talked to the fair young Quakeress, felt himself every moment becoming more and more a convert to her opinions; and had not his father been present, he would then and there have undoubtedly confessed himself a Quaker.

The young people had found their way, somehow or other, to the bow window at the further end of the room, their elders, meantime, carrying on a conversation by themselves, not altogether of a different character. Mead, aided by his wife, was explaining to Christison, more fully than he had hitherto done, the Quaker doctrines. Could he, a man of the sword, however, acknowledge fighting to be wrong, and henceforth and for ever lay aside the weapons he had handled all his life?

“But surely, friend, if thou dost acknowledge that man is formed in God’s image, it must be obvious to thee that to deface His image must be contrary to His law and will. The world is large, and God intends it to be peopled; whereas, by wars, the population ceases to increase, and that happy time when hymns of praise shall ascend from all quarters of the globe is postponed.”

Mistress Mead occasionally made some telling remark to the same effect.

“Well, friend Mead, I have listened to all you have advanced,” said Christison at length, “and I cannot, as an honest man, fail to acknowledge that you are in the main right. When next I come, I will hear what further arguments you have to adduce; but the truth is, when I determined to return to England, it was with the purpose of taking service in the English army, or in that of some foreign Protestant State, in which I hoped also to obtain employment for my son; whereas, if I turn Quaker, I must, I see, from what you tell me, give up all such ideas, and then how to obtain employment for him or myself I know not. I have no wish to be idle, and as ‘a rolling stone gains no moss,’ I have laid by but little of this world’s wealth for a rainy day, or for my old age.”

“Verily, thou must indeed give up all ideas of fighting and blood-shedding,” answered Mead. “Yet I see not that thou needst starve. There is no lack of honest employments, if a man will but seek them. ‘Thou canst not serve two masters.’ Our God is a God of peace. The devil is the god of war; and devilish work is fighting, as I can answer from experience, and so canst thou, old comrade.”

Christison sighed. “Well, well, friend,” he said, “I feel you are right, and I will think over the matter. And now it is time that I should bid thee farewell. I have a visit to pay to a friend who lives some way on the other side of Temple Bar, and it will be late before we can get back to our lodgings.”

Mead did not attempt to detain his friend. The young people started when Wenlock was summoned. They were sorry the visit had so soon come to an end.

“We shall see you again,” said Mary, frankly putting out her hand, “and then I will speak to you more of these matters.”

Wenlock of course promised that he would very soon come again. Christison and his son took their way along Cheapside, past old Saint Paul’s, and proceeded down Ludgate Hill.

“You seemed pleased with young Mistress Mead, Wenlock,” said his father.

“Indeed I was,” answered Wenlock. “Though so quiet in manner, she has plenty to say. I never felt more inclined to talk in my life. I have promised to pay another visit as soon as I can, and when we go away, to write to her and give her an account of our adventures.”

“You seem to have made progress in her good graces, Wenlock,” said his father; and as he was a man of the world, it might possibly have occurred to him that when his son should desire a helpmate, fair Mistress Mary might prove a very suitable person. That perfect confidence existed between father and son which induced Wenlock to speak his mind on all occasions and on all subjects. They at length reached their destination, and the old soldier found his friend Lawrence Hargrave at home. In their conversation, which was chiefly on matters political, Wenlock took but little interest, his thoughts indeed being just then occupied chiefly by Mary Mead. He was glad, therefore, when his father announced his intention of returning home. They walked on rapidly, for the night was cold. It was dark also, for the sky was overcast. As they were going along Fleet Street, they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs approaching at a somewhat rapid rate. They drew on one side, when a faint cry of “Help! help!” reached their ears.

“Come on, Wenlock,” shouted the captain, rushing on. Directly before them they saw the outlines of two horses and several persons apparently struggling on the ground. The sounds of “Help! help!” again reached their ears.

“Here is help to whoever is in the right,” cried Christison, drawing his sword.

“I am in the right; the others wish to kill me,” said the same voice.

“No, no; he is a prisoner escaping from justice,” growled a man in a rough voice.

“It is false! Help! I am the Duke—”

At that moment, a blow was heard, and the speaker was felled to the ground.

“I take the weakest side,” cried Christison, attacking the other men, who now, drawing their swords, attempted to defend themselves. The old officer, a dextrous swordsman, disarmed the first, sending his weapon flying to the other side of the street. The next he attacked, giving him a severe wound on the arm. Young Wenlock, who, according to the fashion of the times, also wore a sword, joined in the fray, and made so furious an onset on the third fellow, who was at that moment about to run his weapon into the body of the prostrate man, that he compelled him to draw back. Placing himself across the body, he kept the fellow at bay, till another wound which his father bestowed on his antagonist made him retreat; when, the sound of carriage-wheels being heard in the distance, the three fellows, leaping on their horses, took to flight, leaving Christison and Wenlock masters of the field; the fallen man, only slightly stunned, had been slowly recovering; and when Christison stooped down to help him up, he was able, without much difficulty, to rise to his feet.

“Thanks, my friends, whoever you are,” he said. “I observed the brave way in which you attacked my dastardly assailants; and I observed also the gallant manner in which this young gentleman defended me, when one of them would have run me through the body. To him I feel, indeed, that I am indebted for my life.”

Chapter Six.

In a country house near Wanstead, in Essex, one of England’s bravest admirals,—Sir William Penn,—lay on a bed of sickness. By his side stood a grave-looking gentleman in a scarlet cloak, and huge ruffles on his wrists.

“Tell me honestly, Master Kennard, whether you deem this sickness unto death?”

“Honestly, Sir William, as you ask me, I confess that you are in a worse state than I have before known you. At all events, it behoves you to make such preparations as you deem important, should you be summoned from the world.”

“It is enough; I understand you, my friend,” said the admiral, with a smile. “I would rather it were so. I am weary of the world, and am ready to leave it; but there is one who seems but little able to watch over his own interests, and, I fear me much, will be subjected to many persecutions in consequence of the opinions he has of late adopted. I would therefore ask you to indite a letter in my name to our gracious Sovereign and his royal brother, that I may petition them to extend to him those kind offices which they have ever shown to me. The Duke of York is his godfather, as you know; and, whatever may be his faults, he is an honest man, and will fulfil his promises. You will find paper and pen on yonder table. I pray thee perform this kind office for me.”

Dr Kennard did as he was requested, and forthwith the letter was despatched by a trusty hand to London. Soon after it had been sent off, a servant announced that Master William Penn had just arrived, and craved permission to see his father. Grief was depicted on the countenance of the young man when he entered his father’s chamber. He had just had an interview with his mother, and she had told him that all hopes of the admiral’s recovery had been abandoned by his medical attendants. He knew not how his father might receive him. Although, when they last parted, the admiral’s feelings had been somewhat softened towards his son, yet he had not even then ceased to blame him for the course he had pursued. Sir William Penn had already received numerous rewards and honours for the services he had rendered to his sovereign, and he had every reason to believe that he would have been raised to the peerage. His son William had, however, refused to accept any title, and he had therefore declined the honour for himself. He was now, however, at the early age of forty-nine, struck by a mortal disease, and he had begun to estimate more truly than heretofore the real value of wealth and worldly honours.

When William entered, he put out his hand.

“I thank Heaven, son William, you have come back to see me ere I quit this troubled scene of life,” said the dying admiral. “I once wished to know that my son was to become a peer of the realm, the founder of a great family; but such thoughts have passed away from me. I now confess, William, that you have ‘chosen the better part.’ Your honour and glory no man can take away from you. In truth, I am weary of this world, and, had I my choice, would not live my days over again, for the snares of life are greater than the fears of death.”

The affectionate son expressed his joy at hearing his father speak thus. The admiral smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “our thoughts change when we see the portals of death so close to us. With regard to you, William, I am satisfied; but for our unhappy country I cannot cease to mourn. Alas! what fearful profligacy do we see in high places: vice and immorality rampant among all classes; the disrepute into which the monarchy and all connected with it have justly fallen; and the discredit into which our national character has been brought abroad.”

William almost wept tears of joy when he described his father’s state of mind to his mother. They could now converse freely on important matters. One day, while his son was with the admiral, two letters were brought him.

“Here,” he said, “read them, son William, for my eyes are dim.”

The young man took the letters.

“Indeed, father, they are such as should satisfy us,” he said. “This one is from the king, who seldom puts pen to paper. He promises largely to protect me from all foes, and to watch over my interests. He expresses great regret at hearing of your illness, and wishes for your recovery. The other, from the Duke of York, is to the same effect. He speaks of his friendship to you for many years; and his sincere desire is, to render you all the service in his power. Therefore, with much satisfaction he undertakes the office of my guardian and protector when I am deprived of you. There is a kind tone throughout the epistle, for which I am duly grateful.”

William then read both documents to his father, who desired to hear them. Still the admiral’s constitution was good, and hopes were entertained that he might recover.

“My children,” he said, calling his son and daughters to his bedside, “I have but a few days to live,—I know it. I leave you some worldly wealth, but that may be taken from you. I would leave you my counsel, of which no man can deprive you. There are three rules I would give you, which, if you follow them, will carry you with firmness and comfort through this inconstant world. Now listen to me. Let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conscience; so you will keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in the day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you design to do, lay it justly, and time it seasonably, for that gives security and despatch. Lastly, be not troubled at disappointments, for if they may be recovered, do it; if they cannot, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content. There is often peace and profit in submitting to Providence; for afflictions make wise. If you could have helped it, let not your trouble exceed your instruction, for another time.”

These rules, the admiral’s son laid to heart; and, as his after life showed, they were never forgotten. William was greatly rewarded for all he had gone through by hearing his father at length thoroughly approve of his conduct.

“My son, I confess I would rather have you as you are, than among those frivolous and heartless courtiers who beset our sovereign. Their fate must be miserable. They are bringing reproach and ruin upon our country; and albeit, though I wish to die as I have lived, a member of the Church of England, yet I am well-content that you, my son, should be guided by the principles you have adopted; and I feel sure that if you and your friends keep to your plain way of preaching, and also keep to your plain way of living, you will make an end of priests to the end of the world.” Almost the last words the admiral uttered were: “Bury me near my mother. Live all in love. Shun all manner of evil. I pray God to bless you; and He will bless you.”

The spirit in which the admiral died, greatly softened the poignancy of the grief felt by his wife and son. The funeral procession set forth towards Bristol, where the admiral had desired to be buried, in Redcliffe Church, where a monument, still to be seen, was raised to his memory. William Penn was now the possessor of a handsome fortune inherited from his father. With youth, a fine appearance, fascinating manners, well acquainted with the world, numerous friends at court, and royal guardians pledged to advance his interests, he, notwithstanding, resisted all the allurements which these advantages offered to him, and set forth through the country, travelling from city to city, and village to village, preaching the simple gospel of salvation.

In a picturesque village in Buckinghamshire, called Chalfont, a young gentleman on horseback might have been seen passing up the chief street. There were but few people moving about at that early time of the morning. At length he saw one advancing towards him, who, though dressed in sober costume, had the air of a gentleman.

“Friend,” said the young horseman, “canst tell me the abode of Master Isaac Pennington?”

“Ay! verily I can,” answered the pedestrian; “and, if I mistake not, he to whom I speak is one who will be heartily welcome. His fame has gone before him in this region, remote as it is from the turmoils of the world. Thou art William Penn; I am Thomas Elwood, a friend of the family. Their abode is the Grange, which they have rebuilt and beautified. Further on, at the end of the street, is the dwelling of one known to all lovers of literature,—John Milton. And here is my cottage, where thou wilt be always welcome.”

“Thanks, friend Elwood,” said William Penn, dismounting from his horse. “If thou wilt show me the Grange, I will thank thee, and accept at another time thy hospitality.”

“I am bound thither myself,” said Elwood, “and I shall enjoy thy society on the way.”

On reaching the Grange, William Penn found assembled in the breakfast parlour several guests. The lady of the house was Lady Springett, the widow of a Parliamentary officer; she had some years before married Isaac Pennington, both having adopted the Quaker principles. But there was one person present who seemed more especially to attract the young Quaker’s attention. She was the daughter of Lady Springett; her name, Gulielma Maria, though addressed always by her family as Guli. William Penn had not been dreaming of love, but he at once felt himself drawn towards her; and before he left the Grange he acknowledged to himself that she had the power of adding greatly to his worldly happiness. Again, however, he went forth on his mission, but he frequently returned to Chalfont, and at length the fair Guli promised to become his wife.

Chapter Seven.

We left Captain Christison and his son just as they had gallantly rescued the stranger who had been set upon by ruffians in one of the principal thoroughfares of London. They had scarcely time to proceed far with him before they met a carriage accompanied by a couple of running footmen.

“O my lord duke! Are you safe? are you safe?” exclaimed the men.

“No thanks to your bravery, varlets,” answered the nobleman. “Had it not been for these gentlemen, you would probably have never seen me again alive. And now, gentlemen,” he said, turning to the captain and his son, “let me beg you will take a seat in my carriage, that I may convey you to your abode; or, if you will, honour me by coming to my mansion, that I may thank you more particularly for the essential service you have rendered me. I am the Duke of Ormonde. I was seated in my carriage, not dreaming of an attack, when two men suddenly opened the door, dragged me out, and, before my attendants could interfere, one of them, a powerful fellow, hoisted me up on the saddle before him. I struggled, and had just succeeded in bringing him with myself to the ground, when you came up. Why I have been thus assaulted I cannot tell, but I fear that it was in consequence of the animosity of some political opponents.”

“Thank you, my lord duke,” answered Christison. “We are lodging in the City, and I would not wish to take your grace so far out of your way, nor can we intrude upon you at this hour of the evening; but to-morrow morning we will, with your leave, wait on your grace. We have met before, though perhaps the recollection of the circumstances may not be altogether pleasant. I will not therefore now speak of them, though, as your grace at present sits on the upper end of the seesaw, you may look back on those days without annoyance.”

“As you will,” said the duke; “but you have not given me your name, and I should wish to recollect one who has rendered me so essential a service.”

“Wenlock Christison,—an old soldier, an it please your grace,” said the captain, introducing his son at the same time.

“Ah! ah! now I recollect you well, Captain Christison,” answered the duke, “and truly I bear you no grudge because you sided with those I considered my foes; but let bygones be bygones, and I shall be very glad to see you again.”

Saying this, with the help of his attendants, the duke entered his carriage, shaking hands very warmly with Wenlock. “I owe you a heavy debt, young gentleman,” he said, “and one I shall at all times be glad to repay, and yet consider that I have not paid you sufficiently.”

“A fortunate meeting,” said Captain Christison to his son, as they walked on together. “The Duke of Ormonde is a powerful nobleman, and a truly upright and honest gentleman at the same time. What he promises he will fulfil. It is more than can be said of most of those in King Charles’s court. Take my advice, Wenlock. Do not let this opportunity of gaining a good position in the world pass by. I do not suppose that he will offer me anything, but if he does, I shall be inclined to accept it. You see, Wenlock, our finances are far from being in a flourishing condition. I cannot turn to trade like my friend Mead, as I have no knowledge of it. In truth, as our family have always followed the calling of arms, or one of the liberal professions, I am not much disposed to yield to my worthy friend’s arguments, and sheathe my sword for ever. I cannot understand why people should not be soldiers, and at the same time honest men and Christians.”

“I will have a talk with Mistress Mary Mead on the subject,” answered Wenlock, “when next we meet. At the same time I desire to follow your wishes, father.”

“I rather suspect that Mistress Mary’s bright eyes will weigh somewhat in the balance with her arguments, Master Wenlock,” said his father, with a laugh. “However, we will pay our visit to the duke, and if he throws fortune in our way, I see not why we should refuse to clutch it.”

The next morning was bright and dry. The captain and his son set off to pay their intended visit to the Duke of Ormonde. Wenlock, in his new slash doublet and hose, with a feather in his cap and a sword by his side, looked a brave young gallant, as in truth he was.

His father gazed at him proudly. “It were a pity,” thought the old soldier to himself, “to see the lad turn Quaker, and throw away the brilliant prospects he has of rising in the world. Such a chance as this may never occur to him again; for though I perchance might get him a commission in a troop of horse with myself, yet he would have many hard blows to strike before he could rise to fortune and fame, while a bullet might, long ere he reached them, cut short his career.”

On arriving at the Duke of Ormonde’s residence, they were at once shown into an ante-chamber, where two or three pages in attendance minutely scrutinised young Wenlock. They suspected, perhaps, from his manner and appearance, that he had come to take service with them. Courtesy, however, prevented them making any inquiries on the subject. After a short time, a gentleman came out of the duke’s chamber and invited Captain Christison and his son to enter. His manner was especially respectful, and this evidently raised the visitors in the opinion of the young pages. The duke came forward and shook Captain Christison cordially by the hand. He received Wenlock in a still more kind manner. Then turning to a dignified young man by his side, he said, “Allow me to introduce you to my son Ossory. He desires also to thank you for the service you have rendered his father.”

“Indeed I do, gentlemen,” said Lord Ossory, coming forward; “and I only hope that this young gentleman will allow me to show my gratitude. Who the villains were from whom you rescued the duke we have been as yet unable to ascertain, but there can be no doubt that their purpose was to murder him; indeed, preparations for hanging some one were found made this morning under the gibbet at Tyburn; and coupling this with a threatening letter received a few days ago by the duke, we suspect that they intended to put him thus ignominiously to death.”

Captain Christison made a suitable reply to these remarks of the duke and the earl. “As to myself,” he said, “I have been a stranger to England for many years, and came home for the sake of seeing my native land again, and then taking service afloat or on shore, wherever I might find my sword acceptable, and my conscience would allow me.”

“I understand you, my friend,” said the duke; “and since old foes have shaken hands, and Roundheads and Cavaliers now unite together, I trust that you will not object to accept a company in my regiment. As senior captain, you will have the command; and as you have fought at sea, you will not object, I presume, to serve again on board ship, should a war break out. Lord Ossory, who is in the navy, desires to retain your son about his own person, should the young gentleman like to see something of the world. Otherwise, I should be glad to give him a post in my household.”

“You overwhelm us with kindnesses, my lord duke,” said Captain Christison. “For myself, nothing would suit me better than what you propose, and I must beg to leave my son to choose for himself. What say you, Wenlock? Do you wish to take time to think on the matter, or will you run the chance of seeing service under the noble Earl of Ossory?”

The worldly ambition of the old soldier, excited by the flattering remarks of the duke, imparted itself to Wenlock. Could he make up his mind to turn draper’s assistant in the City, as he had been meditating doing yesterday, while so brilliant a prospect had opened itself up before him? The thought were ridiculous.

“I heartily accept the offer of the Earl of Ossory, my lord duke,” he said, with a bow which could not have been surpassed had he been all his life at court. “I could not wish to serve under a more noble and gallant leader.”

“I am glad it is so settled,” said the Duke. “To be frank with you, Captain Christison, I remember you well, and the good service you did to the cause you advocated. I have not forgotten, either, the courteous way in which you treated me when I fell into your hands on the fatal field of Worcester; and, by my troth, the way the Cavaliers behaved on that occasion made me ashamed of my order and the cause I served. You tell me that you are lodging in the City. You can, however, move here as soon as you please. There are rooms for you both, and places at my table. In truth, after the dastardly attack made upon me last night, I shall be thankful to have two such trusty friends within call, for I know not when I may be again assaulted.”

Thus invited, the captain and his son were glad to move that very evening to the duke’s house; indeed, the few gold pieces remaining in the old soldier’s purse reminded him that he must find some speedy means of replenishing it, or run the risk of having to live upon short commons. The captain had never been a prudent man, and Wenlock little thought what a hole the cost of his suit had made in his father’s exchequer.

Chapter Eight.

“And thou art going away on board a warship to fight and slay, and, alack! perchance to be slain,” said Mary Mead, whose hand was held by Wenlock Christison. “It is sad to think of such cruel deeds, and sadder still that thou, Wenlock, should engage in such work. I had thought my father had shown thee the sinfulness of warfare, and that I might have said something to the same effect that might have moved thee.”

“So you did, Mary; and when I am with you truly I feel inclined to play the woman, and, throwing up all my brilliant prospects, to join myself to your father or Master William Penn, and to go forth as they are wont to do to promulgate their doctrines.”

“Nay; but that would not be playing the woman, surely,” said Mary, reproachfully. “It is no woman’s work they have to go through, although some women are found who boldly go forth even into foreign lands, and, in spite of danger and opposition, are not behind the men in zeal in the good cause.”

“I am wrong, Mary, thus to speak. I should greatly have disappointed my father had I refused to serve under the Earl of Ossory; besides which, no other means are open to me of supporting myself. I must, I find, depend upon my sword; for my father now tells me, what I did not before know, that all his means are expended, and that without a profession I should be little better than a beggar.”

“Alack! alack!” said poor Mary, and the tears came into her eyes. “For ‘they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.’ You know, Wenlock, too, that my father would gladly have found employment for you, if you would have accepted it.”

This remark came home to Wenlock’s heart. It was the truth, and he could not help acknowledging that he had preferred his worldly associates, and the so-called brilliant prospects offered to him by the earl, instead of becoming a haberdasher’s apprentice, an humble Quaker, and the husband of the pretty Mary Mead. He still hoped, indeed, to win her. She had acknowledged her love for him, and he had built up many castles in the air of which she was to be the mistress. After serving a few years under Lord Ossory, he expected to rise in rank, and to come home with ample wealth, which would enable him to settle down on shore, and marry her. Master Mead had parted from Captain Christison somewhat coldly. He bade Wenlock farewell with a sigh.

“Thou hast been led to act as thou art doing by thy father, and I cannot blame thee,” he said. “I had hoped better things of thee, and I would now pray that thy heart may be turned to the right way.”

Mary was very sad after Wenlock had gone. He was frank and artless, good-looking, and of agreeable manners; and believing that he was about to join her sect, she had given her heart to him without reserve. He had come frequently to the house after he had taken service under Lord Ossory, though his duties had of late prevented his visits being as frequent as at first. Several months had thus passed away, his father having in the meantime joined the fleet under the Earl of Sandwich, one of the bravest of England’s admirals at that time. He would have taken Wenlock with him, had not Lord Ossory desired that the young man should remain in his service. The morning after parting from Mary, Wenlock accompanied Lord Ossory to Portsmouth. Here a ship of sixty guns, the Resolution, was waiting to receive the earl as her captain.

Not till Wenlock was on board, and sailing out from Spithead past Saint Helen’s, had he any notion whither the fleet was bound. He, with several other young men and boys, were occupants of part of the captain’s cabin, which was devoted to them.

“You will see some service, Christison,” said the earl. “I wish it were of a more worthy character than it is likely to prove. King Charles’s exchequer is low, and we have been sent out here to capture a homeward-bound fleet of Dutch merchantmen expected shortly in the Channel. You heard the other day of the Dutch refusing to strike their flag when the Merlin yacht passed through their fleet with Lady Temple on board. Her captain fired in return, and was rewarded with a gold chain on his arrival at home. This is our pretence, a sorry one, I confess, for war.”

The Resolution formed one of the fleet under Sir Robert Holmes, consisting altogether of some thirty-six men-of-war. Eight only had, however, been got ready for sea, and with these Sir Robert was about to take a short cruise outside the Isle of Wight, for practising the crews. Scarcely, however, had they lost sight of land before the Resolution, being to the westward, descried a fleet standing up Channel. She communicated the intelligence to the rest of the squadron. They were soon made out to be Dutch. The sea officers, after examining them carefully, declared that there were several men-of-war among them. On their approaching nearer, of this there was no doubt. Sir Robert Holmes, however, followed by the Resolution, stood gallantly towards them, when in addition to the seventy merchantmen expected, six stout men-of-war were perceived. Of the English ships five were frigates. The Dutch, who had timely notice of the intended attack, were prepared for battle, with their decks cleared, divided into three squadrons, each guarded by two men-of-war, and together forming a half-moon. Sir Robert approaching them, ordered them to strike their flags. On their refusing to do so, he fired a broadside into the nearest ship. They, however, lowered their topsails. Again he asked whether they would strike their flags. On their refusing, he again fired; and now the action became general.

Sir Robert especially attacked the ship of the Dutch commodore, while Lord Ossory attacked another commanded by Captain du Bois. For some hours the action continued, but so well did the Dutch defend themselves, that when darkness put an end to the fight, no material advantage had been gained. The next day, however, the English fleet being joined by four more frigates from Portsmouth, again attacked the Dutch. Lord Ossory gallantly boarded Captain du Bois’ ship. Wenlock was among the first to dash on to the deck of the enemy. His swordsmanship served him in good stead. Many, however, of his companions were killed around him, and for some time he was left with but few followers on the enemy’s deck. Lord Ossory, seeing the danger of his young officer, calling upon his men, led a fresh body of boarder on to the deck of the enemy. In spite however of his valour, they were driven back on board his own ship. Out of the whole Dutch squadron, indeed, when darkness again came on, only one man-of-war and three merchantmen had been captured. With these Sir Robert was compelled to return to port, the Dutchmen making good their escape.

“It was scurvy work,” exclaimed Lord Ossory, as the ship came to an anchor. “Such is unfit for gallant gentlemen to engage in. I would rather sheathe my sword, and forswear fighting for the future, than to undertake again such a buccaneering business.”

Wenlock, however, had got a taste for sea life. His gallantry in the action had been remarked, and was highly commended. When therefore the Royal James, on board which his father was serving under the Earl of Sandwich, came to an anchor, he begged that he also might join her. Through Lord Ossory’s introduction, the admiral received him very courteously, and promised to look after his interests. The captain of the ship, Sir Richard Haddock, also expressed his satisfaction at having him on board.

The Royal James was one of the largest ships in the navy, carrying a hundred guns, and nearly one thousand men, including seamen and soldiers. Captain Christison, now in his element, was delighted to have his son with him, and well-pleased at the credit the young man had gained.

“You will see some real fighting before long, Wenlock,” he observed. “Braver men than Lord Sandwich and his captain do not exist, and now this war with the Dutch has broken out we shall not let their fleets alone.”

Some time after this, the English fleets, consisting of nearly a hundred sail, under the command of the Duke of York, the Earl of Sandwich being the admiral of the blue squadron, were lying at Spithead. War had been declared against the Dutch, in reality at the instigation of France, whose armies were at the same time pouring into Holland. Early in May, a French fleet of forty-eight ships, under the command of Count d’Estrees, arrived at Portsmouth, and soon afterwards he and the English together put to sea. After cruising about for some time in search of the enemy, they anchored in Sole Bay.

“Wenlock, before many days are over you will have seen a real sea-fight. The very thought of it warms up my old blood,” exclaimed his father. “I know you will acquit yourself well; and if the enemy’s fleet falls into our hands, as I doubt not it will, we shall have no cause henceforth to complain of want of money in our purses.”

Alas! what would Mary Mead, what would her father and William Penn, have said to such sentiments?

Chapter Nine.

The English and French fleets lay in Sole Bay, a brave sight, with flags flying and trumpets sounding from the different ships. Just as day broke on the 28th of May, numerous sail were seen dotting the horizon. On they came. There was no doubt that they were the ships of the Dutch fleet. The Duke of York threw out the signal for action; and the ships setting sail, some of them cutting their cables in their eagerness, stood out of the bay. The French, who were on the outside, were nearest to the Dutch. From the deck of the Royal James, no less than seventy-five large ships were discovered, and forty frigates. The fleet was commanded, as was well known, by the brave Admirals de Ruyter, Banquert, and Van Ghent. The French were first attacked by Admiral Banquert. And now the guns on both sides sent forth their missiles of death,—round shot and chain shot, the latter cutting to pieces the rigging and spars of their antagonists.

“See, Wenlock, those Frenchmen fight well,” exclaimed Christison. “We must acquit ourselves in a like gallant way.” This was said as the Royal James was standing into action, approaching a large Dutch ship called the Great Holland. “But see! what are they about? They are beating a retreat. Two or three of their ships remain in the enemy’s hands. They have no stomach for the fight, that is clear; or, from what I hear, they are playing the game they have long done. It is the old story. They wish the Dutch and us to tear ourselves to pieces, and then they will come in and pick up the fragments.”

Meantime, the Duke of York in the Saint Michael was engaged with Admiral de Ruyter, his ship being so severely handled that he had to leave her, and hoist his flag on board the Loyal London.

“Ah! we have enemies enough coming down upon us,” exclaimed Christison, as the Royal James, at the head of the blue squadron, became almost surrounded by Dutch ships. The Great Holland was the first to lay her alongside, the Dutchmen, however, in vain endeavouring to board. Admiral Van Ghent next attacked her with a squadron of fire-ships. The brave Earl of Sandwich encouraged his men to resist, in spite of the numerous foes round him. Again and again the Dutchmen from the deck of the Great Holland attempted to carry the Royal James. Each time they were beaten back. Sometimes the earl put himself at the head of his men; at others Christison and his son repelling the boarders. All this time the other Dutch ships kept up a terrific fire on the Royal James. More than once the earl turned his eyes towards the remainder of the English fleet, but none of the ships seemed prepared to come to his assistance. The Englishmen were falling thickly; already many hundreds strewed the deck.

“When a man’s destruction has been resolved on, it is easy to bring it about,” observed the earl to his captain, Sir Richard Haddock, who stood by his side. “However, neither friends nor foes shall say that Edward Montagu failed in his duty to his country, or ceased to fight till the last.” Saying this, he again cheered his men. Never did a crew fight with more fierce desperation than did that of the Royal James. Even the wounded refused to quit their guns, till they dropped at their quarters. A cheer at length arose from their decks. The Great Holland had been beaten off, and was retiring in a disabled state. De Ruyter, his person conspicuous on the deck of his ship, still assailed her however. At length a shot was seen to strike him, and he sank, apparently slain, to the deck.

For a short time the hard-pressed ship of the gallant admiral enjoyed a respite; but by this time she was reduced almost to a wreck, while six hundred of her brave crew lay dead or dying about her decks, with many of her officers, and several gallant gentlemen who had volunteered on board. Night was coming on, the constant flashes from the guns, however, showing the fury with which the fight was continued. Still the earl refused to retire from the combat. Christison and his son had hitherto escaped. “I have seen many fierce battles, Wenlock, but never one like this,” said the old officer; “and our fighting is not over to-day. See here come more foes!” As he spoke, several ships were seen bearing down upon the Royal James, and now, opening their fire, they surrounded her with smoke. The four hundred survivors of her crew fought their guns with the same desperation as at first; but in the midst of the smoke a ship, approaching unperceived, grappled closely with her. Directly afterwards there was a cry of fire!

Flames were seen bursting forth from the enemy, now, when too late, known to be a fire-ship. In vain the crew endeavoured to free themselves from her, but the Dutch sent such showers of shot among them that many were killed in the attempt. Wenlock had been keeping near his father, who, for the first time since the commencement of the fight, acknowledged that they were in desperate circumstances. Scarcely had he spoken, when Wenlock heard a sharp cry by his side, and turning round, he saw his father falling to the deck. He lifted him up; but as he gazed in his countenance, he saw that those eyes which had always looked at him with affection were glazing in death.

“Father! father! speak to me,” said Wenlock; but there was no answer. He laid him down on the deck. And now on every side the flames were bursting forth through the ports. Already the fore part of the ship was a mass of fire. Just then the brave Sir Richard Haddock received a shot in the thigh. He fell, but again raised himself to his feet: “Lower the boats, lads!” he shouted. “Ere a few minutes are over, no one will be able to live on board our stout ship. Where is the earl?”

“He went to his cabin,” answered some one.

“Christison, come with me; we must get him into a boat. I fear he is wounded.” Wenlock was obeying his commander, when just at that moment he felt a severe pang, and was conscious that a missile of some sort had passed through his side. In spite of his wound, however, he followed the captain. The earl was seated at the table, with a handkerchief over his eyes.

“My lord, a boat is in readiness, and we have come to conduct you to it,” said Sir Richard.

“No, friend, no,” answered the earl. “I cannot brook some bitter words spoken to me yesterday by the Duke of York. If my ship is to perish, I will perish with her.”

In vain Sir Richard and Wenlock tried to persuade the brave earl to listen to reason. Already the crackling sounds of the flames were heard, and wreaths of smoke came driving into the cabin. Then came a terrific sound. Wenlock scarcely knew what had happened, when he found himself plunged into the water. He was a strong swimmer, and struck out for life. Near him was another man whose features, lighted up by the flames from the burning ship, he recognised as those of Sir Richard Haddock. He swam towards him.

“Leave me, Christison,” he said; “I am desperately wounded, and cannot survive this night. You too I saw were wounded, and will have enough to do to save yourself.”

“No, no, sir,” answered Wenlock; “I see close to us a spar. It will support us till some help arrives. I will tow you towards it if you will float quietly.”

Sir Richard did as he was advised, and in a short space of time Wenlock had placed him on the spar. It was not, however, sufficient to support both of them.

Another was seen at a little distance. Securing the captain to the first, Wenlock swam to the other. He had wished to remain by his captain, but by some means he perceived that they were gradually receding from each other. In vain he shouted to the ships nearest to him. The din of battle drowned his voice. First one tall ship, then another, went down. The whole ocean around seemed covered with fragments of wrecks and struggling men. Of the latter, one after the other, however, sunk below the surface. At length he saw several ships approaching him. Again he shouted. It seemed to him that one was about to run over him, and courageous as he was, he gave himself up for lost. Leaving the spar, he swam off, hoping thus to avoid her. She must have been hotly engaged, for her topmasts and all their rigging were hanging over the side. As the ship passed by, he caught hold of the rigging, and drawing himself up, found a firm footing. Though his wound pained him considerably, he still had sufficient strength to climb on board, not knowing as he did so whether he was to find himself among friends or foes.

Chapter Ten.

Almost exhausted, pale as death, the blood flowing from his wound opened by the exertions he had made, Wenlock Christison dropped down on the deck of the stranger, not knowing whether he was to find himself on board an English or Dutch ship. The condition of the ship showed that she had been hotly engaged, for numbers of dead men lay about her blood-stained decks. From their appearance, as the light of the lanterns occasionally glanced on them, Wenlock at once saw that they were Dutch. Dutch was among the languages with which he was acquainted, having met many Hollanders in America.

“Who are you?” said an officer, who saw him come over the side.

“An Englishman, and one of the few survivors of the ill-fated ship which blew up just now,” he answered. “Well-nigh a thousand men who walked her decks in health and strength this morning are now in eternity.”

“You are indeed fortunate in escaping then,” said the Dutch officer, “and though we must consider you a prisoner, you will be treated with due courtesy on board this ship. I see that you are wounded, and badly it seems to me, so that you must be forthwith put under the surgeon’s care.”

Wenlock thanked him, and supported by a couple of men was carried below. After this he knew nothing of what happened to him, for scarcely had he been placed on a bed than he fainted. When he came to consciousness he found the surgeon ready to administer some medicine, soon after which he fell asleep, nor did he awake again till daylight. He inquired eagerly what had occurred.

“You must not talk much,” said the surgeon; “but this I will tell you, that we have had a very fierce engagement, and lost three of our stoutest ships; while, if the truth is known, you English have not been less sufferers. Depend on it, altogether between us, four or five thousand people have been killed: a sensible employment for human beings. Heu! while we,—a free Protestant people,—were fighting for liberty, you English were beguiled by your own traitorous sovereign, bribed by the King of France, to attack us.”

The surgeon, Nicholas Van Erk, notwithstanding his remarks, treated Wenlock with the greatest kindness. They however gave him ample material for thought. In a short time the Dutch fleet arrived off the coast of Holland, and the injured ships proceeded to the chief naval ports to undergo repair. The Marten Harptez, the ship on board which Wenlock had found refuge, proceeded to Rotterdam.

“You are a prisoner, but I have got leave to receive you at my house,” said Mynheer Van Erk; “and as I have a good many sick men to look after, I do not purpose again going to sea. In truth, fighting may be a very satisfactory amusement to people without brains; but I am a philosopher, and have seen enough of it to be satisfied that it is a most detestable occupation.”

Wenlock found himself conveyed to a comfortable mansion in Rotterdam overlooking a canal; indeed, what houses do not overlook canals in that city? He was very weak, for his wound had been severe,—more severe than he had supposed; and he was surprised that he should have been enabled to undergo so much exertion as he had done. Van Erk, indeed, told him that had he remained much longer in the water, he would probably have fainted from loss of blood, and been drowned.

“As you may become a wise man and enjoy life, being young, that would have been a pity,” observed the philosopher; “but it depends how you spend the future whether you should or should not be justly congratulated on your escape.”

The doctor’s wife and only daughter,—the fair Frowline Gretchen,—formed the only members of the surgeon’s household, with their serving maid Barbara. They, fortunately for Wenlock, were not philosophers, but turned their attention to household affairs, and watched over him with the greatest care. He, poor fellow, felt very sad and forlorn. For many days he could only think with deep grief of the untimely loss of his brave father. In time, however, he began to meditate a little also about himself. All his prospects appeared blighted. The friends who might have spoken of his brave conduct in the fight were dead. He had hoped to obtain wealth, and to return and marry Mary Mead. He had not a groat remaining in the world. Never in his life before had he been so downhearted Gretchen observed his melancholy.

“You should not thus grieve for being a prisoner,” she observed; “many brave men have been so, and the time will come when you will be set at liberty.”

Wenlock then told her how he had lost his father, and how his own hopes of advancement had been blighted. “Have you no one then who cares for you?” she asked, in a tone of sympathy; “no one in your native land to whom you desire to return?”

“Yes,” said Wenlock; and he then told her of his engagement to the fair Quakeress.

“Ah! I am not surprised at that,” observed the Dutch girl, with a sigh. After this, though as kind as usual, Wenlock observed that she was somewhat more distant in her manner to him than she had been at first.

Considering that he was a prisoner, his time passed very pleasantly. Having given his word to the authorities and to his host that he would not attempt to escape, he was allowed to go about that picturesque town as much as he pleased. Month after month the war continued, and he remained a prisoner. His affection, however, for Mary Mead had rather increased by absence than diminished; and fearing that she might forget him, he at length wrote her a letter, entreating her to remain faithful, and promising, as soon as he should be able, to return to England and follow any course she might advise. In vain he waited for an answer to this letter; week after week passed by, and none came.

“She has forgotten you,” said Gretchen one day, observing him look very sad.

Wenlock started! He was thinking the same thing. “I know not,” he answered; “I have heard that women are fickle.”

“I did not say that,” observed Gretchen; “but if you chose to disregard the wishes of one you professed to love, I am not surprised that she should at length have dismissed you from her thoughts. I do not say she has, but it is possible.”

Wenlock had for some time felt ashamed of being idle; for though his host might have received payment for his support from the government, yet that, he was sure, could not be sufficient to cover the expense to which he was put. He expressed his wishes to his kind host.

“A very sensible remark,” observed the surgeon, “and as you have now recovered from your wound, and regained your strength, it is proper that you should be employed. I have a brother, a merchant, trading with Surinam. He may possibly give you employment. You speak several languages, and write a good hand. You will, I doubt not, soon be ranked among his principal clerks, if you have a good knowledge of accounts.”

“If he will try me, I will do my best,” answered Wenlock.

The next day he was installed as a clerk in the office of Peter Van Erk, one of the principal merchants in the city. Wenlock had an aptitude for business of which he had not been aware. He took a positive pleasure in his work, and soon attracted the observation of his quick-sighted employer.

The kind surgeon was highly pleased. “You do credit to my recommendation, Christison,” he observed; “you will soon win the confidence of my brother, and will then be on the fair way to making your fortune.”

Time passed by. Wenlock made himself so useful that in a short time his employer agreed to pay him a handsome salary. When peace was declared, therefore, he felt that it would be folly to return to England, where he had no home and no one from whom he had a right to demand assistance. He had forfeited William Mead’s regard by acting contrary to his advice, while from Lord Ossory he might possibly fail to receive further patronage. He had heard enough of the fickleness of those in authority, and he did not expect to be better treated than others. He therefore continued to work away steadily as a merchant’s clerk in the house of Van Erk and Company, of Rotterdam.

Chapter Eleven.

“Come with my mother and me to a meeting to which we are going this evening!” said Gretchen, when Wenlock returned home at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, for he still lived at the house of the kind surgeon. “Some Englishmen arrived yesterday in Rotterdam, and they are about to address the public on some important religious matters. They are said to be very earnest and devoted people, and one of them speaks Dutch perfectly. Their names I cannot remember. Those short, curious, English names quickly escape my memory.”

Wenlock at once agreed to Gretchen’s request; indeed he had no longer the heart to refuse her anything she asked. It might have been just possible that, had he learned that the fair Mary had forgotten him and accepted another suitor, he would have had no great difficulty in consoling himself. Yet it was not so at present. He always treated Gretchen with kindness and respect, but was fully convinced in his own mind that he never allowed a warmer feeling to enter his bosom. The large public hall in which meetings of the sort were generally held was nearly filled by the time the Van Erk party arrived. They, however, were shown to seats near the platform whence the speakers were to address the people. Many more persons crowded in, till the hall was quite full. Just then five gentlemen appeared on the platform, advancing with slow and dignified steps. A curious and very mixed feeling agitated Wenlock’s heart when among them he recognised Master William Penn, and his father’s old friend, Captain Mead. The thought of his father rushed into his mind, and a tear filled his eye. He thought, however, also of Mary, and he longed to ask her father about her; yet, at that moment, to do so was impossible. As the speakers appeared, the whole hall was hushed in silence. At length William Penn offered up a prayer in Dutch. He then introduced a tall thin, careworn man, as George Fox, who addressed the people in English, Penn interpreting as he spoke. He urged on them in forcible language to adopt the principles which the Friends had accepted, and many were moved to tears while he spoke. William Mead then came forward, but said little. Another Englishman, Robert Barclay, then addressed the assemblage. He was followed by Penn himself; who, in calm yet forcible language, placed the simple truths of the gospel before his hearers. Wenlock’s feelings were greatly moved. His reason too was convinced. He had had a severe lesson. He had declined to accept those principles, and sought for worldly honour and distinction instead. The result had been the loss of his beloved father, he himself escaping with life almost by a miracle. “Those are old friends I little expected to meet again,” said Wenlock to Gretchen and her mother. “I must speak to them now, lest they leave the city to-morrow and I may miss them.”

As the assembly broke up, the speakers descended into the body of the hall, and Wenlock found himself standing before William Penn and Captain Mead. Neither of them knew him, though they looked at him kindly, having observed the deep attention with which he had listened to their discourses. “I am afraid, Master Mead, I am forgotten,” said Wenlock, feeling that he must speak at last. The Quaker started, and examined his countenance narrowly. “What!” he exclaimed, “art thou the son of my ancient comrade? Verily I thought that he and thou were long since numbered with the dead. How is it, young man? Has thy father escaped also?”

“Alas! no,” said Wenlock; and he gave a brief account of his father’s death.

“And hast thou been content to pass so long a time without communicating with thy old friends?” said Mead, in a reproachful tone.

“No, indeed. I wrote to Mistress Mary,” said Wenlock; “but she replied not to my letter.”

“My daughter received no letter from thee, young man,” said Mead; “and I will not deny that she grieved at the thought of thy loss.”

“O Master Mead, I wish that I had written oftener, till one of my letters had reached you or her,” exclaimed Wenlock; “but I thought that she had discarded me.”

“I see; I see! And thou wast too proud to run the risk of being chid further for thy youthful folly,” said the Quaker.

“You are right, I confess,” answered Wenlock. “But tell me, how is she? Where is she? Would I could once more see her and explain my conduct.”

“Perchance thou mayst see her sooner than thou dost expect,” said Mead. “Come to-morrow morning to the house where we lodge, and we will talk further of this matter.”

“What! is she in Rotterdam?” exclaimed Wenlock, in a voice trembling with agitation.

“She accompanied us thus far on our journey; but I know not whether she will go farther. I must not let thee see her, however, to-night, as, believing thee dead, it might perchance somewhat agitate her; for I do not deny, Wenlock, that thou wast once dear to us all. But whether thou canst sufficiently explain thy conduct since thou didst part from us, to regain thy lost place in our regard, I cannot now determine.”

“Oh, I trust I can,” exclaimed Wenlock, all his affection for Mary reviving immediately at the thought of again meeting her.

William Penn received the young man very kindly, and then for some minutes spoke to him with deep seriousness of his past life. “Thou canst not serve God and Mammon, Friend Wenlock,” he said. “Thou didst attempt to do so, and Mammon left thee struggling for thy life on the ocean. More on that matter I need not say.”

Wenlock, on reaching home, found that his friends had been deeply impressed by the addresses they had heard. They were also much surprised to find that two of the speakers were known to him.

“Indeed, one of them,” he said, “is a very old friend; and should he invite me to accompany him to England, I should wish to do so.”

“What! and leave us all here, not to return?” said Gretchen.

“It is right that I should tell the truth at once,” thought Wenlock. He did so.

“And is this English girl very, very pretty,” asked Gretchen; and her voice trembled slightly.

“I thought her so when we parted; and amiable, and right-minded, and pious I know she is.”

“Ah!” said Gretchen, “I should like to see her while she remains in this city.”

The next morning Wenlock set out to pay his promised visit to his Quaker friends. Master Mead met him at the door of the house.

“Come in; Mary will see thee,” he said; and taking him upstairs, he led him into a room, at the farther end of which a young lady was seated with a book before her. She rose as her father and their visitor entered, and gave an inquiring glance at Wenlock, apparently at first scarcely knowing him. Another look assured her who it was, but no smile lighted up her countenance. She advanced, however, and held out her hand. “Thou art welcome, Master Christison,” she said; “and I rejoice to find that thou didst escape the sad fate we heard had overtaken thee. And yet, was it kind to leave old friends who were interested in thee, albeit thou didst differ from them in opinion, without knowing of thy existence?” Her voice, which had hitherto remained firm, began to tremble.

“Oh, no, no, Mary!” exclaimed Wenlock. “I cannot blame myself too much. Yet I did write; but I ought to have written again and again, till I heard from you. I should have known that the risk of a letter miscarrying was very great.”

“Yea; verily thou ought to have put more confidence in us,” said Mary.

Then Wenlock again blamed himself, and Mary showed herself before long inclined to be more lenient than her manner had at first led him to hope she might prove.

Penn and his party remained for some days at Rotterdam, holding numerous meetings. Many among the most educated of the inhabitants,—officers of the government, merchants, and others,—came to hear them preach; while many of the principal houses of the place were thrown open to them. Among other converts was Wenlock’s employer, Mynheer Van Erk, as was also his kind friend the surgeon and his family. Gretchen and Mary met frequently. “You have not over praised the English maiden,” said the former to Wenlock. “I hope you will be fortunate in regaining her regard; for it is clear to me that you still look on her with affection.”

Penn, with three of his companions, proceeded on their tour through Holland and part of Germany, gaining many proselytes to their opinions. Mead, who had some mercantile transactions at Rotterdam, remained in that city. After they were concluded he prepared to return home. Wenlock wished to accompany him. “No, my young friend,” he answered, “I cannot allow thee to quit thy present employer without due notice. Should he wish to dispense with thy services, I will receive thee when thou dost come to me.” Wenlock had now openly professed himself to be a Quaker. Perchance, Master Mead, who had no lack of worldly wisdom, desired to try the young man’s constancy, both as to his love and his religion; for, in both, people are very apt to deceive themselves, mistaking enthusiasm and momentary excitement for well grounded principle. As winter approached, Penn and his party returned to Rotterdam, and sailed for England.

Chapter Twelve.

The beams of the evening sun were streaming through a deep bay window of the country house of Worminghurst, in Sussex, on the heads of two men seated at a large oak writing table in a room which, lined as it was with bookcases, showed that it was devoted to study.

The heads of both of them betokened high intellect, traces of care and thought being especially discernible on the countenance of the elder,—that lofty intellect to be quenched, ere a few short years were over, by the executioner’s axe,—a deed as cruel and unjust as any caused by the cowardice and tyranny of a monarch.

The table was covered with parchments, papers, books, and writing materials. Both were holding pens in their hands, now and then making note from the documents before them, at other times stopping and addressing each other. The younger man was William Penn, who, lately having obtained a grant of a large tract of country on the American continent, was now engaged in drawing up a constitution for its government, assisted by the elder,—the enlightened patriot and philosopher, Sidney.

“See! such a constitution as this for Carolina will not suit a free people such as will be our colonists!” said the former, pointing to a document before him, “albeit it emanated from the brain of John Locke. Here we have a king, though with the title of palatine, with a whole court and two orders of nobility. Laws to prevent estates accumulating or diminishing. The children of leet men to be leet men for ever, while every free man is to have power over his negro slaves. Truly, society will thus be bound hand and foot. All political rights to be taken from the cultivators of the soil. Trial by jury virtually set aside. The Church of England to be alone the true and orthodox, and to be supported out of the coffers of the State.”

“In truth, no,” said Sidney. “John Locke has not emancipated himself from his admiration of the feudal system. Let this be our principle,—that those whose lives, properties, and liberties are most concerned in the administration of the laws shall be the people to form them. Let there be two bodies to be elected by the people,—a council and an assembly. Let the council consist of seventy-two persons, to be chosen by universal suffrage, for three years, twenty-four of them retiring every year, their places to be supplied by new election. Let the members of the assembly be elected annually, and all votes taken by ballot. The suffrage to be universal. Let it have the privilege of making out the list of persons to be named as justices and sheriffs, and let the governor be bound to select one half of those thus recommended. Now we must consider numerous provisional laws relating to liberty of conscience, provision for the poor, choice of civil officers, and so on, which can be in force until accepted by the council. We shall thus, dear friend, I trust, have secured freedom of thought, the sacredness of person and property, popular control over all powers of the state; and we will leave our new democracy to develop itself in accordance with its own genius, unencumbered with useless formalities and laws.”

“Yes; I trust that the simplicity of our constitution will secure its permanence,” said Sidney. “I will take the papers home with me to Penshurst, and there maturely consider over all the points.”

Left alone, William Penn might have been seen lifting up his hands in earnest prayer to heaven that his noble scheme might prosper. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant announced a visitor. In another minute a young man entered the room with modest air and in sober costume.

“Who art thou?” said Penn, looking up.

“Wenlock Christison,” answered the visitor. “I came at the desire of Friend Mead.”

“Yea; I wish to see thee, young friend,” said Penn; “but when thou earnest into the room I did not at first recognise thee. Thou art somewhat changed, I may say, for the better. Sit down, and I will tell thee what I require. Look at this map of the American continent. See this magnificent river,—the Delaware, entering the Atlantic between Cape Henlopen and Cape May. See those other fine rivers,—the Susquehannah, the Ohio, and the Alleghany. Here is a country but a little less than the size of England; its surface covered with a rich vegetable loam capable of the highest cultivation, and of producing wheat, barley, rye, Indian corn, hemp, oats, flax. Here too are mighty forests supplying woods of every kind, abounding too in wild game and venison, equal to any in England. The rivers are full of fish, oysters, and crabs in abundance. On the coast the most luscious fruits grow wild, while the flowers of the forest are superior in beauty to any found in our native land. A few settlers from Sweden are already there, and some Hollanders. The native red men have hitherto proved friendly; and I trust by treating them kindly, with due regard to their just rights, we may ever remain on brotherly terms with them. They are mere wanderers over the land, build no cities, nor permanently cultivate the ground. I trust before to-morrow’s sun has set, unless I am deceived, to obtain a grant of this territory, in lieu of a debt owing by the government to my father of nearly 15,000 pounds. I wish forthwith to despatch a vessel with certain commissioners authorised to purchase lands from the natives; and as Friend Mead has spoken favourably of thee, it is my wish to send thee with them. Wilt thou accept my offer? I will tell thee, if thou wilt, more particularly of thy duties.”

Wenlock’s heart somewhat sunk within him at this proposal. He had been hoping to make Mary Mead his wife; yet he was sure her father would not allow her to go forth into a new settlement, and to undergo all the incidental risks and hardships. How long a time might pass before he could return, he could not tell. Of one thing only he felt sure, that she would be faithful to him.

Some time had passed since he left Rotterdam, his friend Van Erk having given him permission to go over to England to enter the employment of William Mead. He had, since then, been living in his family, enjoying an almost daily intercourse with Mary; not yet, however, having obtained a position to enable him to marry her. Her father had resolved to put his patience and constancy to the test. Here, however, was a trial he had not expected; and when Penn had sent for him, he had, with the sanguine spirit of youth, hoped that it was to receive some appointment which would enable him to realise the wishes of his heart. Still the offer was a flattering one, and he felt that it would be unwise in him to decline it. He therefore, in suitable language, accepted the offer.

“Stay here then,” said Penn, “as I have abundance of work for thee for some days to come, and I will then more fully explain to thee my wishes.”

While Penn was still speaking, a messenger arrived from London. He brought a summons for him to attend a council at Whitehall, a note from a friend at court informing him that it was to settle the matter of the colony. He hastened up to London. In the council chamber were already assembled his majesty’s privy councillors, and at the farther end of the room was the king himself, hat on head. William Penn, not the least conspicuous among them for his height and manly bearing, advanced up the room in his usual dignified manner; but neither did he doff his hat nor bend his knee before the king’s majesty, although he has come in the hope of obtaining an object among the dearest to his heart.

“I have come at thy desire, and thank thee for the invitation,” said Penn, standing before the king.

“Verily thou art welcome,” said the monarch, with a smile on his lips; at the same time removing his hat and placing it by his side.

“Friend Charles, why dost thou not keep on thy hat?” said Penn with perfect gravity; at the same time making no attempt to remove his own.

“Ha! ha! ha! knowest thou not, Friend William, that it is the custom of this place for only one person to remain covered at a time?” answered the king, laughing heartily. “To business, however, my lords,” he added. “And what name hast thou fixed on for this new province, Master Penn?”

“As it is a somewhat mountainous country, I would have it called New Wales,” answered the Quaker.

Here Master Secretary Blathwayte, who was a Welshman, interposed; in reality objecting to have the country of a sect to which he was no friend called after his native land.

“Well then, as it hath many noble forests, let it be called Sylvania,” said Penn.

“Nay, nay; but I have a better name still,” exclaimed the king. “We will call it Pennsylvania, in honour of your worthy father,—the great admiral. The forest land of Penn, that shall be it; and my word shall be as the law of the Medes and Persians.”

At this the courtiers laughed, not, perchance, considering the king’s word of much value. However, the name was thus fixed, the patent being then and there issued under the king’s inspection.

With the charter in his possession, Penn returned home to make the final arrangements with Sidney for the great work he had undertaken. The document was written on a roll of parchment. At the head of the first sheet there is a well-executed portrait of Charles the Second, while the borders are handsomely emblazoned with heraldic devices. Great had been the opposition made to Penn’s receiving this grant. Sidney had come back to Worminghurst.

“God hath given it to me in the face of the world,” exclaimed Penn, as the friends met. “He will bless and make it the seed of a nation.”

Truly has that prediction been fulfilled.

Chapter Thirteen.

Two fine vessels lay in mid stream a little way below London, with sails loosened, ready to take their departure. The wind was light, and they were waiting for the turn of the tide. Many boats surrounded them, and numerous visitors still thronged their decks. On board one of them was William Mead and his family.

Wenlock Christison held Mary’s hand as her father was about to lead her to the side of the vessel, to descend into the boat.

“Thou wilt be supported, Wenlock, if thou dost look whence support can alone be gained,” said Mary; “and my father has promised that when thou dost return he will no longer withhold me from thee. What more can I say? Thou dost know my love, and I have faith in thee.”

“Thanks, Mary, for those words,” said Wenlock. “I trust I may do my duty, and soon return to thee.”

Thus the young Quaker and his betrothed parted. The other visitors quitted the good ship Amity, and her consort the John Sarah, which now, with sails sheeted home, slowly glided down the Thames. They made but slight progress, however, as they had frequently to come to an anchor before they altogether got clear of the river. They then proceeded once more without interruption until they reached Plymouth Sound. Here they took in more provisions. On board the Amity also there came a passenger, who announced himself as Master Jonas Ford, the son of the factor of the Irish estates of Mr William Penn. He brought a letter. He was a Quaker, his figure slight, his cheeks smooth. His dress, his language, and manners were equally correct. Yet Wenlock did not feel attracted towards him. Jonas Ford, however, seemed determined to obtain his friendship, and from the first attached himself especially to him.

“Hast ever crossed the ocean before, young sir?” said honest Richard Dinan, captain of the Amity, addressing Wenlock. “You seem to have a pair of sea legs of your own.”

“Yea, verily, friend. I served on board a man-of-war, and saw no little service,” answered Wenlock.

“Then how didst thou quit it? It is an honest calling, to my mind,” observed the captain.

“Why, by being blown up and left floating alone on the water. Verily I thought that was a sufficient sign to me no longer to engage in carnal warfare.”

“Oh, ay, I see. You have joined friend Penn. Well, well, each man to his taste. However, I guessed you had served at sea directly I saw you walking the deck.”

After this, Captain Dinan paid considerable attention to Wenlock,—much more so, indeed, than he did to Jonas Ford. Altogether there were about twenty passengers on board the Amity, with a crew of forty men. She also carried guns, to be able to defend herself against Algerine rovers, or West Indian pirates, of whom there were not a few roving those seas at that time. Prince Rupert and his brother had made piracy somewhat fashionable during the days of the Commonwealth, and there were not wanting a few lawless spirits to follow their example.

For some time the voyage continued prosperous, though, as the wind was light, the progress of the two emigrant ships was but slow. One day Wenlock had gone forward, when a seaman, whose furrowed countenance, thickly covered with scars and grey locks, showing the hard service he had gone through during a long life, addressed him.

“I know your name, Master Christison,” he said, “for I served under a man who I think was your father. It was many years ago; but yet I remember his looks and tone of voice, as you remind me of him. He saved my life, and did more than save my life, for he prevented me from becoming a hardened ruffian like many of my companions.” On this the old seaman ran on, and gave him many accounts of his father, to which Wenlock listened with deep interest. “Well, sir,” said the old man, “whenever you have time to listen to a yarn, if I happen to be below, just send for old Bill Rullock.” Wenlock promised the old man that he would not fail to come and talk to him, hoping indeed, as in duty bound, to put the truth before him.

The two ships were now about ten days’ sail from the American continent. Wenlock was walking the deck with Captain Dinan, most of the other passengers having gone to their cabins, for the sea was somewhat high, and the wind had increased. Dark clouds also were rising in the north-west, and driving rapidly across the sky.

“I do not altogether like the look of the weather,” observed the captain. “I see Captain Smith is shortening sail; we must do the same:” and he forthwith summoned the crew to perform that operation.

Scarcely were the men off the yards, when the wind, as if suddenly let loose, struck the ship with terrific fury, throwing her on her beam ends. Many of the passengers cried out for fear, thinking that she was going down. Among those who exhibited the greatest terror was Jonas Ford, who wrung his hands, bitterly repenting that he had ever come to sea. The captain issued his orders in a clear voice, which the crew readily obeyed, Wenlock giving his assistance.

“Cut away the mizen mast,” cried the captain.

A glittering axe soon descended on the stout mast, while the active crew cleared the shrouds and all the other ropes, the mast falling clear of the ship into the foaming ocean. Still she lay helpless in the trough of the sea.

“The mainmast must go,” cried the captain.

That too was cut away. The ship instantly felt the relief, and now rising to an even keel, she flew before the furious gale. Those on board had been so taken up with their own dangerous condition, that no one thought of looking out for their consort.

When, however, the most imminent danger was over, Wenlock cast his eye in the direction in which she had last been seen. In vain he looked out on either side; no sail was visible. Others also now began to make inquiries for the John Sarah. Many had friends on board. Too probably, struck by the furious blast, she had gone down. Sad were the forebodings of all as to her fate. Such might have been theirs. Human nature is sadly selfish, and many were rather inclined to congratulate themselves on their escape, than to mourn for the supposed fate of their countrymen.

On, on flew the Amity towards the south, far away from the Delaware, from the land to which she was bound. The dark foam-crested seas rose up on every side, hissing and roaring, and threatening to overwhelm her. Still the brave captain kept up his courage, and endeavoured to keep up that of those on board.

“We must get jury-masts up,” he said, “when the storm abates; and plying to the north, endeavour to regain the ground we have lost.”

“Verily we had a fierce gale, friend Christison,” said Ford, coming up to Wenlock when the weather once more moderated. “Didst not thou fear greatly?”

“No,” answered Wenlock; “though it seemed to me that the ship might probably go down.”

“Ah! truly, I felt very brave too,” said Ford.

“You took an odd way of showing it,” answered Wenlock, who had observed the abject fear into which his companion had been thrown.

“Ah! yea, I might have somewhat trembled, but that was more for the thought of others than for myself,” said Ford. “And now tell me, when dost thou think we shall arrive at our destination?”

“That is more than any one on board can say,” said Wenlock; “but we must do all that men can do, and leave the rest to Him who rules the sea!”

All hands were now engaged in getting the ship to rights. Scarcely however had jury-masts been set up, than signs of another storm appeared in the sky.

“I like not the look of the weather,” observed the captain. “Christison, your eyes are sharp; is that a sail away to the north-east?”

“Yes, verily,” answered Wenlock.

“Can it be our consort?”

“No; she would not appear in that quarter. She is a stranger, and seems to be coming rapidly on towards us,” observed Wenlock, after watching her for little time. “A tall ship too, I suspect.”

Captain Dinan had hoped before this to haul up to the wind, but the increasing gale made this impossible. As, however, he was going out of his course, he only carried as much sail as necessity required. The stranger therefore came quickly up with the Amity. The captain now began to eye her very narrowly.

“I like not her looks,” he observed. “She is a war ship, and yet shows no colours.”

The captain asked his officers their opinion. They agreed with him. Bill Rullock, who was a man of experience, was called aft.

“I have little doubt about it,” he observed. “That craft’s a pirate, and we must keep clear of her if we would escape having to walk the plank or getting our throats cut.” Nearer and nearer drew the stranger.

“Rather than surrender we must fight to the last,” observed the sturdy captain. “Christison, Ford, which will you all do, gentlemen?” he asked, addressing the passengers.

“Verily, I will go below and hide myself,” said Ford. “It becometh not one of my creed to engage in mortal combat.”

“If you order me to work a gun, I will do so,” answered Wenlock. “Albeit peace is excellent and blessed, and warfare is accursed, yet I cannot see that it would be my duty to allow others to fight for the defence of my life which I will not defend myself; or, for lack of fighting, to allow myself or those who look to men to protect them,—the women and children on board,—to be destroyed by outlawed ruffians such as are probably those on board yonder ship.”

Chapter Fourteen.

As soon as the captain of the Amity was convinced of the character of the stranger, he set all the sail the ship would carry, yet hoping to escape from her. Looking to windward however, he saw that they had an enemy to contend with, as much to be dreaded, in their crippled condition, as the pirate ship. His experienced eye told him that another hurricane was about to break. Part of the crew, and most of the passengers also, were standing at the guns, the remainder of the crew being required to work the sails. The courage showed by all on board gave the captain hopes of being able to beat off the enemy. On came the tall ship. As Wenlock watched her, he could not help perceiving that she was of overpowering force.

“Stand by to shorten sail,” cried the captain. His eye had been fixed on a dark cloud, which came flying like some messenger of destruction across the sky.

“You must be smart, lads,” cried old Bill Rullock, “if you have no fancy for being sent to Davy Jones’s locker before you are many minutes older.” The old man set an example by his activity.

Nearer and nearer drew the pirate, for such, there was no doubt, was the character of the stranger. A bright flash issued from her bows, and a shot came bounding over the water towards the Amity. On this Captain Dinan ordered the English flag to be hoisted. Scarcely had it flown out when another shot followed. Still, neither hit the ship. As the first flash was seen, Jonas Ford was observed to dive below.

“Our friend is as good as his word,” observed the captain, laughing. “If any others wish to follow his example, let them go at once, for we may have warm work ere long. To my mind, though I am a plain man, a person should so live as not to fear the lightning’s flash, nor the foeman’s shot, nor the raging ocean either; and then, whether in tempest or battle, he will be able to do his duty like a man, knowing that there is One above who will look after him, and, if He thinks fit, carry him through all dangers.”

Shot after shot followed. Now one went through the ship’s sails; now one passed on one side, now on the other; but none did any material harm. Still, Captain Dinan gave no order to fire in return. Thus for some time the ships continued to sail on, the pirate gradually drawing nearer. At length she yawed and let fly her whole broadside. Several shots struck the Amity, two poor fellows being killed, and a third wounded. The faces of many of the passengers, on this grew pale, yet they stood firmly at their quarters. And now, once more, the pirate kept on her coarse. Still Captain Dinan would not fire.

“Christison,” said the captain, “we have someone who knows better how to fight for us than we do ourselves. See! if the pirate attempts that manoeuvre again, he will pay dearly for it.”

So eagerly, it seemed, were the pirates watching their expected prize, that they had not observed the rapid approach of the dark cloud. Once more the pirate yawed. At that instant a loud roar was heard, and the hurricane broke over the two ships. The flashes of the guns were seen, but none of the shots struck the Amity; all were buried in the ocean. Over went the tall ship, her masts level with the ocean. The crew of the Amity, at a signal from their captain, had lowered most of their sails; and now away she flew, leaving the pirate ship apparently on the point of sinking beneath the waves. They were seen leaping and roaring round her; but even had those on board the Amity desired to render their fellow-creatures assistance, they would have had no power to do so. The hurricane increased in fury, and often it seemed as if the Amity herself would go down. Tossed and buffeted by the seas, the water poured in through many a leak. The pumps were manned, and all the passengers were summoned to work them. Some, however, complained of sickness, and retired to their berths. Among them was Jonas Ford.

“Nay, though our friend finds it against his conscience to fight, he shall, at all events, labour at the pumps,” exclaimed the captain, ordering three of the seamen to fetch him up. “Will you go also, Master Christison? Perchance you can persuade him more easily; but I can take no refusal.”

After searching for some time, Ford was found concealed in the hold, into which he had crawled. The water, however, coming in, had somewhat frightened him, and he was just creeping out of his concealment. Not unwillingly, Wenlock brought him on deck, and assigned him a place at one of the pumps. There he was compelled to labour. Once he attempted to escape below, but Bill Rullock caught sight of him, and quickly brought him back; and he was kept labouring, uttering moans and groans at his hard fate. All night long the ship ran on. Another day and another night followed, and yet the wind blew furiously as ever, and with difficulty could she be kept afloat. While the gale continued there was no hope of getting at the leaks. Many of the seamen and some of the officers began to look grave.

“Depend upon it our time has come,” said the second mate to Wenlock. “I have had enough of the world, and have been knocked about in it so roughly, that I care but little.”

“Our times, we are told, are in God’s hands,” answered Wenlock, calmly.

Wenlock, who had been taking his spell at the pumps, walked aft.

“We are in the latitude of the West India Islands,” observed the captain. “Any hour we may make land, and a bright look-out must be kept for it.”

Experienced seamen were aloft straining their eyes ahead and on either bow. At length a voice came from the foretopmast-head, “Land! land!”

“Where away?” cried the captain.

“On the starboard bow,” was the answer.

“What does it look like?”

“A low land with tall trees,” replied the seaman from aloft.

Two of the mates went up to look at it. They gave the same description. The captain examined his chart.

“Bill Rullock says he has been there,” observed the first mate.

Bill Rullock was sent for.

“Do you know anything of the land ahead?” asked the captain.

“I think I do, sir,” was the answer; “and that craft which chased us the other day knew it too, I have an idea. To my mind, she also would have been looking in there before long; but if she has gone to the bottom there is no fear of that, and we shall find shelter and wood and water and plenty of turtle, and the means of repairing our ship.”

“Is there a harbour there, then?” asked the captain.

“As good a one as you can desire, sir,” said Bill; “and if it please you, I can take the ship in.”

As the crew were nearly worn out with pumping, and the water, notwithstanding, still gained on the ship, the captain determined to take the Amity into the harbour of which Bill Rullock spoke. The ship was therefore kept away for the island, Bill Rullock taking charge of her as pilot. He at once showed by his calm manner and the steady course he steered that he knew well what he was about. As the ship drew nearer the island, it appeared to be larger and higher than was at first supposed, and covered with cocoa-nut and other trees. Rounding a point, a narrow opening appeared. The ship’s head was directed toward it, and, guided by the old seaman, she passed safely through it, though it seemed as if an active man could have leaped on shore from either side. So clear, too, was the water, that the bottom could be seen below the ship’s keel. The order to “furl sails” was given, and the ship came to an anchor in a broad lagoon, where she could lie secure from the fiercest hurricanes of those regions. On one side was a sandy beach, where the old sailor assured the captain the ship could be placed on shore with safety, when her damages might be examined. The trees came close down to the water’s edge, and among them were seen several huts, and ruins of huts, showing that the spot had at one time been inhabited, but no persons appeared. Hauled up on shore, too, were several boats, one or two in good repair, but the others considerably damaged. Broken anchors, spars, pieces of cable, and other ship’s gear lay scattered about, confirming the account given by old Rullock. As there was no time to be lost, the passengers immediately went on shore, and they and the crew set to work to land their goods as well as the cargo, that the ship, being lightened, might be hauled up for repair. The ruined huts were repaired, and others were built, so as to afford shelter to the passengers while this operation was going on. Every one worked with a will, with the exception of two or three, Jonas Ford being one of them. He grumbled greatly at having the voyage thus prolonged, and not ceasing to blame the captain for the ship having failed to reach the Delaware at the time expected. From a slight elevation near the harbour, a view of the whole sea on that side of the island could be obtained. Old Rullock had not been quite easy since their arrival. He had found evident traces of a late visit of persons to the island, and he confided to Wenlock his fears that should the vessel which had chased them have escaped, she might possibly come into that harbour to repair damages.

One morning, soon after daybreak, and before the men were called to their work, Rullock came hurrying into the village. Wenlock was the first person he met.

“It is as I feared,” he said. “I have just made out a tall ship standing towards the island. Come and see her, and then let us ask the captain to decide what he will do. I advise that we should bring the guns down to the mouth of the harbour and defend it to the last. If those are the people I fear, they will give us no quarter; and if we yield, it will be only to have our throats cut, or to be thrown to the sharks.”

On reaching the look-out place, Wenlock saw the ship of which the old seaman spoke. She was yet a long way off, and, as far as he could judge, was very like the vessel that had chased them.

The whole party were quickly astir. The captain determined to follow the old sailor’s advice, and even the Quakers among the passengers agreed that they had no resource but to defend themselves, should the stranger prove to be the pirate they dreaded. As she approached the island, she must have discovered the English flag flying from the Amity’s masthead; for instantly her own dark symbol was run up, and a shot was fired from her side, as if in defiance.

Happily, the wind, which had been light, prevented her from entering the harbour. As she passed by, however, the number of guns seen from her sides showed that she would be a formidable antagonist, and that she could scarcely be prevented, with a favourable breeze, from entering the harbour. The whole of the morning the party were kept in anxious expectation of what would occur, the pirate being seen to tack every now and then to keep her position off the land. At length a breeze from the sea set in, and once more she was seen approaching the harbour. Nearer and nearer she drew. All eyes were kept turned towards the dreaded object. In a brief time they might all be engaged in a deadly struggle, while the fate of the poor women and children was dreadful to contemplate. The captain and several of his officers were collected on the mound, watching the progress of the pirate.

“See, sir! see!” exclaimed Wenlock. “What say you to that?” and he pointed towards the sails of a lofty ship which at that instant appeared rounding a distant point of the island.

Chapter Fifteen.

The pirate had descried the stranger; for now her yards were seen to be braced up, and instead of standing towards the island, she tacked and stood again out to sea, her pirate flag still flying from her peak. As the stranger drew nearer, she was seen to be a much larger ship. Wenlock at once declared her to be a man-of-war; and this was soon seen to be the case, by the pennants and ensigns she hoisted. And now she was observed to be making more sail, and standing towards the pirate, which was evidently endeavouring to escape. The latter, however, in a short time, either considering escape impossible, or confiding in her own strength, again tacked, and stood boldly towards the man-of-war. Nearer and nearer they drew to each other. It was evident, from the pirate keeping her flag flying, that she intended to fight to the last. She was the first to fire, discharging her whole broadside at the man-of-war. The latter fired not a shot in return, but stood on, gradually shortening sail. Then suddenly luffing up, she crossed the bows of the pirate. As she did so, before the other could keep away, she fired her whole broadside, raking the pirate’s decks fore and aft. The latter, again keeping away, fired in return, but little damage seemed to be done. The crew of the Amity set up a loud shout as they saw the success of their friends. And now the combatants, shrouded in smoke, stood away from the land, the rapid sound of their guns showing the desperation with which they were fighting. Those on shore watched them anxiously. Many a prayer was offered up for the success of the royal cruiser. Their own safety, indeed, depended on it. Farther and farther the combatants receded from the shore, till it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. Now they were shrouded with smoke, now the wind blew it away, and they were seen, still standing on, exchanging shots. Now at length they appeared locked in a close embrace. Then a dense mass of smoke was seen to ascend from their midst, followed by flames, and the loud sound of an explosion; but which was the sufferer it was impossible to discover, or whether both were involved in the same ruin. How earnestly, how anxiously they were watched from the shore! Now, at length, once more they were seen returning towards the island; but one was leading, the other apparently being towed astern. Which was the conqueror? was the question. On they came, nearer and nearer. Some declared that the pirate was the leading ship, and seemed ready to give way to despair.

“No, friends, no,” exclaimed the captain. “I can assure you that yonder tall ship, although her spars and rigging are somewhat shattered by the fight, is the royal cruiser.”

That he was right was soon made evident. Captain Dinan now ordered the boats to be got ready, and he, with Bill Rullock, accompanied by Wenlock and one of his mates, went out in order to assist in piloting in the king’s ship. The latter shortened sail to allow the boat to come alongside. The deck showed the fierce combat in which she had been engaged. The bulwarks were shattered; the decks ploughed up, and stained with blood; and numbers of the crew were going about with their heads and limbs bound up with handkerchiefs, while several bodies lay stretched out on the deck, a flag hastily thrown over them, partly concealing their forms. On one side stood a wretched group, their arms lashed behind them with ropes, and stripped to the waist, covered with smoke and blood. They were some of the survivors, it was evident, of the pirate crew. Captain Dinan, accompanied by Wenlock went aft to speak to the captain. The countenance of the latter, a fine, dignified-looking man, Wenlock at once recognised. He advanced towards him. He started when he saw Wenlock.

“Why, my friend!” he exclaimed, “I little expected ever to see you again!”

“Nor I you, Sir Richard. I thought you had perished on the fatal day when the Royal James blew up.”

“No; thanks to you, my life was spared; for after we were parted, I was picked up by an English boat.”

Sir Richard Haddock informed Wenlock that he had come out as commodore to the American station. His ship was the Leopard, of fifty-four guns.

“The pirates fought well,” he observed; “and as many perished in attempting to blow up the ship, we shall have but few to hand over to the executioner when we arrive in Virginia, whither I am now bound.”

As both ships, after the action, required a good deal of repair, the commodore accepted Captain Dinan’s offer of piloting him into the harbour. It was a trial to Wenlock to find himself once more among his former associates; for he had met several of the officers of the Leopard when serving under Lord Ossory. They, however, treated his opinions with respect. In truth, thanks to the courage and talents exhibited by William Penn, the character of the sect had been raised considerably in the opinion of the public of late; albeit, there were many who were ready to ridicule and persecute them on occasion. Happily, too, there was no time for idleness, as officers and crew were engaged from sunrise to sunset in repairing the damaged ships.

One day, old Rullock came up to Wenlock, who had gone alone a little distance from the village.

“I do not know what you think of that young gentleman, Master Ford,” said Rullock; “but I have an idea that he is a rogue in grain, and a fool into the bargain, as many rogues are. He was so frightened in the hurricane that he does not want to go to sea again. I heard him talking the other day with three or four passengers and several of the crew about a plan he had proposed to remain behind. They have a notion that if they were to set the Amity on fire before we get the cargo on board, the captain would only be too glad to leave those who might wish to stay behind; he going off in the Leopard, or the pirate ship. Master Ford thinks, as the chief part of the stores would be left behind, they would have the advantage of them. They have induced three or four silly young women to promise to remain with them. Of course, the plan of burning the ship is a secret. Soon after I heard the precious plan, they invited me to join them; because, knowing that I had been an evil-doer, they thought I should have no scruple about the matter.”

Wenlock, on hearing this, immediately sought the captain.

“It would be very easy to prevent these plans being carried out,” he said; “but what to do with Ford and his companions is more difficult.”

The captain took the matter very coolly.

“We will just pick out Master Ford and three or four of the ringleaders, and clap them into limbo, and depend upon it they will not further attempt to carry out their plan,” he observed.

This was done forthwith by a party of soldiers from the ship of war, for whom Wenlock had applied to Sir Richard Haddock. No further time was now lost in getting the cargo on board. Ford and his companions had been kept in durance vile in a hut by themselves, and a guard placed over them. Sir Richard and Captain Dinan, and some other officers, visited them together.

“Now, my friends,” said the captain, “you have your choice. If you desire to remain here, you are welcome to do so, but neither stores nor provisions can we afford you. Otherwise, you will return on board the ship, and, when we arrive in Pennsylvania, the matter will be submitted to the proper authorities.”

As Ford’s companions were three of the greatest ruffians among the crew, he, dreading to be left with them, entreated that he might be allowed to return on board. They, however, wished to remain.

“No, no!” said the captain. “We did not give you your choice. You are good seamen, and are wanted to work the ship. You were misled by this silly young man, and therefore will return on board with us.”

The three ships were at length in a condition for sea. The pirates’ ship was sent out first, navigated by some of the officers and crew of the Leopard. The Amity followed, the king’s ship coming last, and the wind being favourable, all three steered a course for Virginia; the Amity afterwards to continue her voyage to the Delaware.

Chapter Sixteen.

The good ship Amity was sailing up the magnificent stream of the Delaware. Her progress, however, was not without impediment, as huge masses of ice came floating down, lately broken up by the warm sun of the early spring.

“There’s your future home, my friends,” said the captain, pointing to the left side of the coast; “but it will take us some time before we can reach the spot where our friends have settled. On the right we have West New Jersey, where, owing to Master William Penn, a new free colony was settled some time ago; but that is but a small portion of the territory compared with Pennsylvania. I went out as mate in the Kent, commanded by Captain Gregory Marlow. We carried out the first settlers and the commissioners. They were nearly all Quakers, and a very good sort of people they were. I remember, just as we sailed from the Thames, the king coming alongside, and nothing would satisfy him but that he must come on board; whereupon he gave us his blessing. Whether it was of much value or not, it is not for me to say; but whether or not, we reached port in safety. Several other ships followed. The commissioners bought land of the natives, and established friendly relations with them; and if you were to go on shore there now, you would find as prosperous a community as any in the world.” The new settlers, on hearing this account, looked with greater interest on the far distant shores of the land to which the captain pointed. On either side tall forests rose up,—a thick barrier to the country beyond.

“Ay, friends,” continued the captain, “it is a fine land, but you will have many a tall tree to cut down before you can grow wheat and barley out of it; and for those who love work, there is work enough before them, not only for them, but for their children, and children’s children after them, and no fear of the country being too thickly peopled.”

At length, on a point of land an opening in the forest was seen, with numerous log huts and other buildings of more pretensions below the tall trees. It was the town of Newcastle, lately established. However, as the wind was favourable, and the captain was anxious to reach his destination, he declined staying there, but sailed on farther up the river. Each reach of the stream presented some fresh views, greatly by their beauty delighting the new comers. At length, two vessels were seen moored off a town on the west bank, which the captain informed them was the Swedish settlement of Upland. All eyes were directed towards them. As they approached, the captain declared his belief that one of them was the John Sarah, and in a short time the Amity came to anchor close to her. She had fortunately, when the hurricane came on, by furling her sails in time, escaped injury, and had thus been able to haul up, and gain the mouth of the Delaware. On proceeding up the stream, however, she and the Bristol Factor, the other ship, had been frozen up where they now were. There was a pleasant meeting of friends, and all going on shore, offered up their thanks to Heaven together, for their safe arrival and preservation from so many dangers. The village off which the Amity had brought up had been built by a number of Friends, who had arrived in the country several years before. The site they had chosen was a good one, and many believed that it would be the future capital of the colony. The scene was very wild, albeit highly picturesque. Many of the inhabitants of the new settlement, unable to build houses, had dug caves in the banks of the river, in which they had taken up their abodes, roofing over the front part with pieces of timber and boughs. From early dawn till sunset the woodman’s axe was at work felling the tall trees. At night these were piled up, with the branches and lighter wood beneath; huge fires being kindled as the most rapid way of disposing of them. Primitive ploughs were at work between the stumps of the trees, turning up the ground for receiving grain, both of wheat and Indian corn, while the spade was also wielded by those preparing gardens. Many languages were heard spoken, while the costumes of the settlers were still more varied. The dusky forms of the Indians also were to be seen collected round the settlers, with their painted faces, their feathered head-dresses, and costumes of skin ornamented with thread of various colours. Numerous sawpits had been formed, and sawyers were at work preparing planks for the buildings. Already many houses had been run up, with high gables, gaily ornamented with paint and rough carving; for the Swedish settlers had been there already nearly forty years. The somewhat romantic notions entertained by Wenlock and his younger fellow passengers were rather rudely dissipated on their arrival. The work of settling he soon found was a plain matter-of-fact business, requiring constant and persevering labour. Some of the settlers remained at the town, others proceeded farther up the river to a spot near the confluence of the two rivers Schuylkill and Delaware. Wenlock, however, resolved to wait the arrival of Colonel Markham, who had gone out as chief agent and commissioner for his cousin, the governor, some months before. He was now, with his staff, some distance off, surveying the province. Although not a Quaker, he was greatly trusted by William Penn, as a man of dauntless courage, talent, and perseverance. Soon after landing, old Bill Rullock came up to Wenlock. “I have a favour to ask,” he said. “I have knocked about at sea all my life till I am weary of it. I heard your addresses and those of others on board, and I have made up my mind to turn Quaker. I want you, therefore, to get my discharge from the captain. I could run from the ship, of course, but that would not be a good way of beginning my new career; so if I cannot leave with a proper discharge, I must go to sea again. If it is God’s will that my old carcase should become food for fishes, I must submit to it; but I have truly a great fancy for ending my days in these green woods.” Wenlock promised to make interest with Captain Dinan.

“I shall be sorry to lose him,” answered the captain; “but he deserves a reward for the service he rendered us, and it would be hard to take him off again to sea against his will. Here is his discharge, and his pay up to the present time.”

The old seaman was highly delighted when Wenlock told him that he was free.

“And, now, another favour I have to ask is, that I may stick fast by you. I have still got plenty of work in me, and I should like to serve you as long as I live. There is another person, however, I should not like to serve, and that is Jonas Ford.”

Ford had behaved so cunningly during the voyage from the West Indies, that he had considerably lessened the suspicions against him. He had assured Captain Dinan that he had no thoughts of committing the crime of which he had been accused; that the words he had uttered, overheard by Rullock, had reference to an entirely different matter. As Rullock, indeed, was the only witness against him, and as even the other accused persons did not criminate him, the captain came to the determination of proceeding no further in the business. He was, therefore, set at liberty, and landed with the other passengers. His companions were also liberated, as they had committed no overt act, and there was no evidence against them. Ford, who had all along protested his innocence, tried to worm his way into the confidence of Wenlock, and always volunteered to accompany him whenever he made any excursions into the interior. Wenlock, in spite of the young man’s professions, disliked him more and more. Still he could not altogether get rid of him. With the aid of old Rullock, Wenlock had built a hut for himself in the neighbourhood of Upland, and he purposed awaiting there the arrival of Colonel Markham. Hearing, however, at length, that the colonel was within the distance of five days’ march, though he had had but little experience in traversing the American forests, he yet—by noting the appearance of the bark on the trees, by the aid of the sun during the day, and by certain marks which the surveyors had made—believed that he should have no great difficulty in reaching the colonel’s camp. Rullock, of course, wished to attend him.

“No, my friend,” he answered; “you stay at home and take care of the house. I am strong, and well accustomed to exercise; but, depend upon it, you would knock up with the fatigue.”

The old man was at length obliged to acknowledge that Wenlock was right, and to submit. Two or three of the old settlers advised him to take a guide, pointing out the difficulties of traversing the forest; but he, confident in his own knowledge, persisted in his determination. Staff in hand, with knapsack on his back, he set forth. It did occur to him, perhaps, that he should be more at his ease had he possessed a brace of pistols or a musket; but his profession prohibited their use as a means of defence, and he declined accepting some arms from a friendly Swede, who offered them. The weather was fine, and he had learned the art of camping out. Starting early, he marched on bravely all day, believing himself to be in the right course. Once or twice he stopped to rest, and then again proceeded on. At night, collecting a supply of birch-bark, as he had seen the Indians do, he built himself a wigwam. Abundance of fuel was at hand, and, lighting his fire, he cooked some provisions he had brought with him. After this, commending himself to the care of Heaven, he lay down in his wigwam, and was soon fast asleep. The following day he journeyed on in like manner. Clouds, however, obscured the sky, and more than once he doubted whether he was continuing in the right direction. The third day came, and he pushed onwards, but before he encamped at night, he felt sure that he must have diverged greatly from the right path. Still believing that he might recover it the following day, he lay down to rest. His provisions, however, ran somewhat short; indeed, he had miscalculated the amount he should require. At length the fifth day came: his food was expended, and he had to confess that he had entirely lost his path. The whole day he wandered on, endeavouring to regain it. At last he got into what appeared an Indian path. He followed it up, but in the end found that it only led to a spot where an encampment had once stood—now deserted. He had been suffering greatly from thirst, even more than from hunger. To stay still might seal his fate. Onward, therefore, he pushed. At length, however, from want of food and water, his strength failed him. His sight grew dim, and, fainting, he fell on the ground. How long he had lain there he knew not, when he heard a strange, deep-toned, sonorous voice. Languidly he opened his eyes, and saw standing over him a tall Indian, of dignified appearance and full costume of paint and feathers.

“Who are you?” asked Wenlock, dreamily.

“I am Taminent, chief sachem of the red men of this country,” answered the Indian, who, stooping down as he spoke, raised him in his arms.

Chapter Seventeen.

The Indian chief, applying a leathern bottle to Wenlock’s mouth, poured some water down his throat. It greatly revived him.

“I see white skin want food,” said the chief. Saying this, he produced a cake of Indian corn, which Wenlock eagerly devoured.

“Now, come; I will take you with me,” said Taminent, in more perfect English than Wenlock had expected to hear; and, supporting him in his arms, the chief led him along a path into which they quickly entered. After going some distance, an open space amid the trees appeared, and within it a collection of tall birch-bark wigwams of a conical shape. A number of women were seated in front of the huts, while children were playing about. On one side, the ground had been turned up, evidently for the reception of Indian corn or other seed, while stretched between poles were the skins of animals, the bodies of others being hung up over fires to dry in the smoke. As soon as the chief was seen, the women rose from their seats, and a number of men came out of the tents to welcome him. He introduced Wenlock in a few words, which the latter did not understand.

“Come,” said the chief, “wigwam ready. You rest;” and leading him to an unoccupied hut, he pointed to the interior, the floor of which was covered with a number of handsomely-woven mats. On one side was a pile of small twigs and leaves. This was spread out, and a mat placed on the top of it. The chief then made signs to Wenlock that he should rest there. He seemed well-pleased when Wenlock threw himself down on the couch.

“There; you rest,” he said. “No harm come to white skin;” and, covering him with a mat, he retired, drawing a curtain across the entrance of the wigwam. Wenlock slept soundly for some hours, feeling perfectly secure under the protection of the chief. On awaking, he found that it was already dark, but the sounds of voices outside the wigwam showed him that the Indians had not yet retired to rest. On drawing aside the curtain, he saw several fires lighted, over which women were presiding with pots and spits, on which birds and small animals were being cooked. Close to the entrance a warrior was seated on a mat, as if keeping guard. No sooner did he observe Wenlock, than he rose up and ran off, apparently to inform the chief that his guest was awake. Taminent soon after appeared, and invited Wenlock to take his seat on the ground. Immediately several women came up with various dishes of roast and boiled food, with cakes of maize. Pure water, poured from a skin bottle, was their only beverage. Happily the fire-water had not yet been introduced among the red men,—that fearful poison which has destroyed thousands and tens of thousands of their race. While the chief and his guest were seated at their repast, an Indian came up to them, and addressed the former, who, in return, apparently gave some directions. Wenlock observed the Indians employed in making a couple of rough litters, with which a party of them started away. In a short time they returned, bearing between them a couple of persons, who were brought up and placed near the fire. Wenlock at once recognised the features of Ford, while in the other man he discovered one of the seamen of the Amity, who had been connected with Ford’s plot to burn the ship. They were both in an exhausted state; indeed, it seemed to Wenlock that Ford especially could scarcely recover. He at once suspected that they had been by some means lost in the forest, and were suffering from exhaustion, as he had been. The Indian chief, taking upon himself the office of doctor, poured some water down their throats, and then gave them a small quantity of food. Both somewhat revived. The seaman, indeed, in a short time was able to sit up. To Wenlock’s questions, however, as to how he had come into that condition, he would make no reply, except saying, while he pointed to his companion—

“He took me; he will tell you all about it. I came as his servant, and a pretty mess he led me into.”

Wenlock then begged that Ford might be placed on the couch he had occupied, feeling sure that perfect rest was what he most of all now required. He explained to the chief, also, that a little food at a time was more likely to restore him than a large quantity taken at once. The two men were accordingly carried into the wigwam, while some of the Indians brought in a further supply of leaves and mats, to make a bed for Wenlock. The chief then signified to him that three squaws would sit up and prepare food, that he might give it to his countrymen as he thought fit. Night was drawing on, when the loud barking of dogs announced that some stranger was approaching the camp.

“Hallo! I am glad I have found some living men at last,” exclaimed a voice which Wenlock thought sounded very like that of old Rullock. “I pray thee, friends, call in your beasts, or maybe they will be taking a mouthful out of my legs, seeing that there is but little covering to them—thanks to the bushes. Hallo! I say, friends, red men!”

The Indians, who had lain down in their wigwams, now got up, and hurried forth to meet the newcomer, followed by Wenlock, who had no longer any doubt as to who he was. A torch, lighted at one of the fires, which were not yet extinguished, was carried by one of the Indians, who at the same time, called in the dogs. Its light fell on Wenlock’s countenance. The old man started.

“Hurrah!” he exclaimed. “Verily, I am truly glad to see thee alive and well, friend Christison. I have a long yarn to spin into thine ear, but it is as well that our red friends shall not hear it. They might not hold the white skins in quite as much respect as they now do.”

“Thou art right, friend Rullock. Hold thy peace about it now,” said Wenlock. “I am glad to see thee, and thou wilt receive a hearty welcome from our red brothers in this encampment. There are two white men also here;” and Wenlock told him the way in which Jonas Ford and his companion had been brought into the camp.

“Ah, verily! the scoundrels would only have got their deserts if they had been left in the woods,” answered the old sailor, who did his best to speak in Quaker fashion, but did not always succeed. “Hark thee, friend Christison. Those two villains had formed a plot to follow thee; and if they had found thee alone and unprepared, to have put thee to death.”

“Impossible!” answered Wenlock. “Ford is a weak, cowardly young man; but I do not think that he would be willingly guilty of such a crime.”

“I tell thee, I overheard them plotting to murder thee!” persisted the old man. “I had thoughts of getting some one as my companion to go after them, but as you had gone, and they were just setting out, I thought I might be too late; so taking my well-tried musket, and trusting that my old legs would carry me as well as their young ones, I set out in their track, hoping to come up with them before they could overtake you.”

“I thank thee heartily, friend Rullock; but they are fellow-creatures, and I will try to soften Ford’s heart by heaping ‘coals of fire upon his head.’ They will see you, and guess what your coming means; but we will say nothing about it, and only for prudence sake keep an eye on their proceedings. When you see them both almost on the point of death, you will feel inclined to have compassion on them.”

“I shall be inclined to think that a certain person, who is nameless, has been baulked of his prey,” answered the old sailor. “However, it’s not for me to lay hands on them, villains though they are; but I hope that thou wilt bring them up before. Colonel Markham, or Master Penn when he comes out.”

“That would not be the best way of heaping coals of fire on their heads,” answered Wenlock. “No, no; if they had evil intentions against me, they have been frustrated; and God will look after me in future, as He has done heretofore.”

The chief, who was among those risen, received the old sailor with great kindness, and ordering some food to be prepared for him, told him that he was to consider himself a brother, and rest assured that he would be treated as such as long as he chose to remain with them.

Rullock, having gone through a good deal of fatigue, soon fell asleep after his supper, and left Wenlock the chief charge of attending to the other two white men. By the morning, Ford was considerably better. His companion, who was still stronger, wished to persuade him to return to the settlement, but it was very evident that he would be unable to perform such a journey.

“Be at rest, friends,” said Wenlock to them. “Whatever might have been the cause of thy coming out into the forest, be not anxious about it. I will treat thee as if thou wert my dearest brother. More, surely, thou canst not desire.”

“O Christison, I am very different from thee,” answered Ford, for a moment some better feeling rising in his bosom. Cowardice, however, and want of confidence in others, made him very quickly add: “I harbour no ill-will against any man. I had been anxious to see something of the country, and finding that thou hadst started, I wished to join thee. Thou canst not suppose that I should ever harbour any other feeling than affection and regard for thee.”

The day was drawing on, and most of the Indians had gone forth to hunt, or to tend some cultivated ground in another part of the forest, when a messenger arrived, bringing the information to Taminent, that the white chief was coming to his camp. On hearing this, Taminent and the principal men retired to their wigwams, and in a short time came forth dressed in full Indian costume, with feathers in their hair, their cheeks painted, and their dress ornamented with a variety of devices.

Wenlock had not seen Colonel Markham before leaving England, but fortunately had with him his letter of introduction. In a short time a fine, dignified-looking man, in military undress, attended by several persons, was seen through an open glade of the forest approaching the encampment. He advanced with free and easy steps, and saluted Taminent, who received him in a dignified manner. As soon as the first ceremonies were over, Wenlock presented his letter.

“I am truly glad to see you,” said Colonel Markham, “and I trust your patron and my good cousin will soon arrive and take the command of the colony.”

“It is reported in Upland and the other settlements that his ship is on the way, and will soon be here,” said Wenlock.

“I am glad to hear it,” said the colonel; “and indeed, I am on my way back, hoping to meet him. But, tell me, who is that pale young man and the two seamen I have observed in the camp.”

“They were endeavouring to make their way through the forest, and lost it, as I did,” answered Wenlock.

“He speaks truly,” said Ford, who crawled up to where the colonel and Wenlock were standing. “I wished to join my friend, that I might, without delay, receive my directions from thee, Colonel Markham,” said Ford, “and well-nigh lost my life in the service of my fellow-creatures.”

“Well; I doubt not, when Governor Penn arrives due attention will be paid to the merits of all men in the colony,” said the colonel. “For my own part, I do not interfere in such matters.”

Colonel Markham having spent the remainder of the day at the camp, and rested there during the night, the Englishmen sleeping as securely as if they were in their own country, the whole party set forth for the settlements.

Chapter Eighteen.

Bristol was in those days the chief commercial city of England next to London. It was the centre, too, of a district where large quantities of woollen cloths were manufactured, which were sent forth to foreign lands by the numerous vessels which traded to its port. In a large room belonging to one of the principal merchants in the city, a number of persons were collected. At the head of a long table sat William Penn, while on either side of him were several friends,—Claypole, Moore, Philip Ford, and many others. They were engaged in organising a mercantile company, to which was given the name of the “Free Society of Traders” in Pennsylvania. William Penn, the governor of the new colony, was addressing them.

“I have secured, friends, a number of persons skilful in the manufacture of wool, who have agreed to go forth to our new colony from the valley of Stroud. From the banks of the Rhine, also, many persons conversant with the best modes of cultivating the vine have promised to emigrate.”

“We need not fear, then, for the success of our holy enterprise,” observed Philip Ford; “and I am ready to embark all my worldly possessions. I have already sent out my beloved son Jonas, a youth of fair promise, and what thing more precious could I stake on the success of our undertaking.”

William Penn having made all his arrangements with the new company, giving them very great facilities, returned to London. Here he made preparation for his own departure. It was grievous to him to leave his children and his beloved wife. He hoped, however, in a short time to come back and return with them to the land of his adoption. There was a great stir in the Quaker world, for not only farmers and artisans, but many persons of wealth and education were preparing to take part in the enterprise.

Among the first ships which sailed after the departure of the Amity, and those which have before been spoken of, was one, the Concord, on board which William Mead and his family, with several friends, set sail for the New World. William Penn saw his old friend off, his prayers going with him, and hoping himself to follow in a short time.

In the autumn of the year 1683, a large vessel might have been seen floating on the waters of the Thames. She was the Welcome. Surrounding her were a number of boats which had brought off passengers, while her decks were loaded with bales and packages of every possible description, which the crew were engaged in stowing below. On the deck, also, had been built up sheds for horses and pens for sheep, as also for goats to afford milk, and pigs and poultry in large quantities for provision. Already nearly a hundred persons were collected on board, besides the crew. The signal was given, and the Welcome got under weigh to proceed down the Thames. Once more she brought up in the Downs, off Deal. The 1st of September broke bright and clear. Her flags were flying out gaily to the breeze, her white canvas hung to the yards, when a large boat, followed by several smaller ones, came off from the shore, and the young and energetic preacher of the gospel, the governor of a vast province, the originator of the grandest scheme of colonisation ever yet formed, ascended the side of the Welcome which was to bear him to the shores of the New World. Prayers ascended from the deck of the proud ship as her anchor was once more lifted, and she proceeded on her voyage to the west. All seemed fair and smiling, and all that forethought and care could arrange had been provided for the passengers. Few who saw William Penn at that moment would have supposed, however, that he was a man of indomitable energy and courage. Downcast and sad, he gazed on the shores of the land he was leaving, which, notwithstanding his general philanthropy, contained those he loved best on earth, where all his tender affections were centred. The Isle of Wight was soon passed. The Land’s End faded in the distance, and the stout ship stood across the Atlantic. William Penn soon recovered his energy and spirits, and the captain promised a speedy and prosperous voyage. The governor was walking the deck, talking earnestly with his friend Pearson, a man of large mind and generous heart, when the captain came to them.

“I fear, friends,” he said, “that one of our passengers is not long for this world. She has been unwell since she came on board at Deal. Her lips are blue, and dark marks cover her countenance.”

The governor and his friend instantly went below; a young girl of some twelve years old lay on her bed in one of the close cabins.

“I fear me much it is the small-pox,” said Pearson. “Yet it would be well if we could avoid alarming the other passengers.”

The news, however, soon spread, and, alas! so did the disease. Before the next day closed in, the young girl had breathed her last, and her body was committed to the sea. By that time signs of the fearful disorder had appeared on four other persons. The governor, Pearson, and others went about the ship, urging the passengers to air and fumigate their cabins, beseeching them also not to lose courage, and fearlessly visiting those who were already attacked. The sun rose, and ere it sunk again into the ocean, death had claimed two other victims. All this time no sign of alarm was perceptible on the countenance of the governor. He set a noble example to his companions, as, indeed, did his friend Pearson. Perseveringly they went about at all hours of the night and day, attending to the sick, speaking words of comfort to them, and pointing to a Saviour who died to save them; and urging them to put their trust in Him, so that they might not fear, even should they be summoned from the world. It was a time to try all. Some who had appeared weak and nervous before, now exhibited courage and confidence in God’s protecting mercy; while others, who had seemed bold and fearless, trembled lest they should be overtaken by the fell disease. Young and old, however, were attacked alike. Day after day one of their number was summoned away, and before the shores of America appeared in sight, thirty-one had fallen victims to the disease. With the change of climate its virulence appeared to cease, and when the Welcome sailed up the Delaware, all were convalescent who had escaped its ravages.

The tall ship came to an anchor before Newcastle, and numbers of boats came on to welcome the passengers. Loud shouts arose from the shore when it was known that the long-looked-for governor had arrived. He had lived too long in the world not to be well aware of the importance of appearing to advantage among strangers. He, accompanied by Pearson and the principal friends who had been companions in his voyage, landed in the ship’s barge, with flags flying and all the party dressed in their best. He himself appeared in a plain though becoming costume, being distinguished among his companions by his tall and graceful figure, and the blue silk scarf which he wore across his shoulders. It was on the 27th of October, a day memorable in the annals of the colony. As he stepped on shore, old and young of his motley colonists, habited in the costumes of their different nations, crowded forth from their quaint old Dutch and Flemish houses to the shore to meet him. Swedes and Germans—the original settlers—Dutchmen with pipe in mouth, a scattering, albeit, of Scotch everywhere to be found, and English and Welsh in greater numbers. As the party leaving the stately ship reached the land, the crowd on shore opened, and two persons, remarkable for their appearance, with numerous attendants, advanced to the landing-place. One was Colonel Markham, known by his soldier-like bearing, and the handsome uniform of the British army which he still wore. Near him was Wenlock Christison, and Jonas Ford also, who took care to appear among the first in the group. On the other side, a tall figure, his war plumes waving in the breeze, his dress richly ornamented with feathers, his countenance marked with paints of various hue appeared. He was Taminent, the chief of the country, accompanied by a number of his followers of the tribe of Leni-Lenapé. With earnest words of congratulation the governor was welcomed to the land of his adoption by the chief, while Colonel Markham briefly described how far he had carried out his employer’s wishes. He had selected a site for the governor’s residence, on the Delaware, a few miles below the Falls of Fenton, having purchased the land from the chiefs, who claimed it as their own. He had also laid out the grounds and commenced the building, to which he had given the name of Pennsbury. Then turning to the chief, he said:

“And our brother will bear witness that happily no dispute has taken place between the white men and the natives, while not a drop of blood of either has been shed.”

“And while Taminent and his descendants live they will pray the Great Spirit to watch over the white men who have come to their land, and to guard them from all harm,” said the chief, taking the governor’s hand.

Chapter Nineteen.

As soon as Wenlock could approach the governor, he inquired for his friends, the Meads.

“Have you not seen them?” exclaimed Penn. “Surely the Concord, in which they sailed, left England nearly three months ago, and they should have been here for some time already.”

“The Concord has not arrived,” answered Wenlock, and his heart sunk within him.

Every inquiry was made, but none of the vessels which had arrived of late had heard of the Concord. Wenlock had been hoping that they might have come out, and almost expected to see them on board the Welcome. He was now almost in despair. “I grieve for thee, young man,” said the governor; “for I know thy love for my old friend’s daughter. I grieve also myself at his loss, if lost he is.”

Wenlock was unable to speak in reply.

“The only remedy I can advise for thee, is active employment of body and mind, and the reading of the best of books,” added the governor, with a look of compassion at the young man.

Wenlock endeavoured, as far as he could, to follow the advice of his friend. The governor now proceeded up the river, touching on his way at Upland. The inhabitants of the place came out to receive him with delight, a tall pine, which had been allowed to stand when its neighbours were cut away, marking the spot where he went on shore. Turning to Pearson, who had so nobly supported him in his arduous labours among the sick daring the voyage: “What wilt thou, friend, that I should call this place?” he asked.

“Chester, an’ it please thee,” answered Pearson. “It is my native city, and the affection I bear for it will never be effaced. Yet I might transfer some slight portion to this town.”

“Chester, therefore, let it be henceforth called,” answered Penn.

While the governor was stopping at the house of Mr Wade, Wenlock went to visit old Rullock, and to see his own humble abode. He found a large party of Dutch emigrants in the town, who had arrived the day before. Among them he recognised a face he knew. Yes, he was certain. It was that of Dr Van Erk.

“Yes, I am indeed myself!” exclaimed the doctor, shaking Wenlock warmly by the hand. “Not knowing by what tyranny we might next be oppressed at home, I resolved to quit the shores of the Old World, and to seek refuge in the New; and my brother agreeing with me, we have come over with our wives and families. He will carry on mercantile pursuits,—and, by the by, he will be glad, I doubt not, to give you employment,—and I shall follow my own profession. My wife and children will, I am sure, be very glad to see you, but as yet we can show you very little hospitality. But you look somewhat sad, my young friend. Tell me what has occurred?”

Wenlock told him the cause of his sadness.

“Well, we will give you all the consolation in our power.”

Wenlock felt much pleased at meeting his old friends, and was amply employed, for some time, in obtaining accommodation for them. Every day vessels were arriving with passengers and cargoes, but not one of them brought any account of the Concord. His Dutch friends, however, did their utmost to console Wenlock. He thanked them, but yet found his thoughts more than ever going back to Mary. He would have been well-pleased if Ford had kept out of his way, but that person managed to introduce himself to the Van Erks, and he felt sure he was meditating mischief of some sort. The governor then proposed that he should go on a mission on state affairs to Boston, hoping that the change of life and scene might benefit him. Wenlock having received his instructions, accordingly went on board the Amity, which vessel, having been thoroughly repaired, was engaged for the purpose.

“But I cannot part from you,” exclaimed old Bill Rullock. “I did not think to go to sea again, but if the captain will let me work my passage there and back, I will go along with you.”

No arguments would induce the old man to give up his purpose, and Wenlock was not sorry to have so faithful a companion. Rounding Cape May, the Amity sailed along the shores of New Jersey, steering to the north, keeping in sight of land till she came off Long Island, forming one side of the magnificent harbour of the New York Bay. Then she stood on, through Massachusetts Bay till the long established city of Boston was reached. Wenlock had expected to meet with kindness and sympathy from the descendants of those who had been driven for conscience’ sake to seek a home in the New World. However, even by those to whom he had letters he was received with coldness, and he heard remarks made about Quakers generally, and himself especially, which somewhat tried his temper. His name, too, seemed especially to excite anger among the citizens. At length he was summoned to appear before the governor of the state.

“Know you not, young man, that we allow no persons of your persuasion to remain in our state?” exclaimed the governor. “There was one, of your name too, banished not long since; and some who have ventured to return, have of necessity been put to death, as breakers of the law and rebels against the state.”

“Verily, I knew not that such was the case,” answered Wenlock; “and when I have performed my business here, I am ready to take my departure. I have never been here before, and truly I should be glad to hear of one of my name, hoping that he might prove a relative; for at present I know not any one to whom I am kith and kin.”

“Stand aside, young man, and bring forth the prisoner, with whose trial we will proceed,” exclaimed the governor, casting a frowning glance at Wenlock.

The governor was proceeding to condemn the prisoner, when a loud voice was heard, exclaiming, “Pronounce not judgment.” Wenlock started, and looked towards the speaker. He almost fancied that he saw his father standing before him.

“Who are you, who thus dares to interrupt the court?” exclaimed the governor.

“I am Wenlock Christison,” was the answer. “I come to prevent you from condemning the innocent.”

“Then thou art my uncle!” exclaimed Wenlock, hurrying towards him. “I know thee by thy likeness to my father.”

“And, verily, I know thee,” exclaimed the old man. “And what is thy name?”

“Thine own,” answered Wenlock.

“Carry them both off to prison. They will hang together well,” exclaimed the governor.

In spite of Wenlock’s protestations that he had been sent in the character of an envoy by the governor of the new state, he and his uncle were committed to prison. The old man, however, seemed but little concerned at this.

“We shall be set at liberty ere long, nephew,” he said; “and I rejoice greatly to have at length found thee, and more than all, that thou hast embraced the true and perfect way of life.”

Bill Rullock, on hearing what had occurred, was very indignant, and, almost forgetting that he himself had become a Quaker, was about to attempt forcibly to liberate his friend.

The governor kept Wenlock shut up, but seemed doubtful about proceeding with him. His uncle was, however, brought up day after day, refusing to acknowledge himself guilty, warning his persecutors of the punishment which was soon to overtake them. Old Rullock employed himself in making interest with various people in the place, to obtain the liberation of his friend, warning them that though Master William Penn might not take vengeance on them, there was a certain Colonel Markham, who would be influenced by no such scruples. The result was, that not only young Wenlock, but old Christison, was set at liberty.

“Nephew, I have wealth,” exclaimed his uncle, “and I rejoice to find one who will inherit it. However, of one thing I am resolved, not to spend it among this people. The account thou dost give me of the new colony has made me resolve to go and end my days there; and we will together leave in the vessel that brought thee hither, as soon as she is ready to sail.”

Although the Friends were no longer persecuted at Boston, as may be supposed, it was not a pleasant city for them to reside in. A considerable number, therefore, set sail on board the Amity, which had a prosperous voyage to the Delaware.

Chapter Twenty.

We left the Amity sailing up the Delaware. During her absence, a number of vessels had arrived both from England and from Dutch and German ports, and it pleasant to those interested in the welfare of the colony to see them land their passengers and cargoes, the former often collected in picturesque spots on the banks, under the shelter of white tents, yellow wigwams, dark brown log huts, and sometime green arbours of boughs. Off Chester a shattered weather-beaten bark was seen at anchor. Here also the Amity came to an anchor, although news was brought on board that the governor had already selected the site of his capital on the point of land at the junction of the Delaware and the Schuylkill. Wenlock turned his eyes towards the shattered vessel, and naturally inquired who she was.

“Oh, she is the long lost Concord!” was the answer.

Wild agitation filled his bosom as he heard these words, but it was succeeded by fear.

“What have become of the passengers, then?” he asked.

“Some of them died, but others arrived in her. She was cast away on an island, and only with great difficulty was at length got off.”

“But where are they?” asked Wenlock.

“Most of them are at Chester, though some have gone off to the new city,” was the answer.

Unable to obtain any further information, Wenlock jumped into the first boat returning on shore. He bethought him that he would at once go to his friend, Dr Van Erk, who would be more likely than any one else to give him information. He inquired for his house. Wealth will do much. While others were lodged in huts, the doctor had already secured a comfortable residence for his family. Wenlock hurried towards it, but before he reached it he met the doctor. After they had greeted each other, he told him of whom he was in search.

“Come, my young friend, and perhaps we may find them.” The doctor took his arm and led him along till they reached a somewhat highly-pointed but very neat cottage.

“There, whom do you see there?” he asked, pointing through the window. There were four ladies, two old ones and two young. One of them was Gretchen. She was close to the window, so he saw her first; but beyond her,—yes, there was no doubt about it, there sat Mary Mead. They were engaged in their work, so they did not see him.

“Stay,” said the doctor, “I forgot. A certain friend of yours has been telling them that you are dead; that he has had news of it; and it might agitate them somewhat, if you were to appear suddenly. I will go in and prepare them.” Wenlock stood outside, hid by the porch. He heard first Master Mead’s rich voice utter a note of surprise, and then several female voices. He thought he could distinguish Mary’s. It was very low, though. Master Mead was the first to come out and welcome him, and in a few seconds he was in the presence of Mary and Gretchen and the two old ladies.

“My dear sister, I am so thankful,” exclaimed Gretchen, bestowing a kiss on Mary, “that he has been restored to you.” Whatever doubt Master Mead had before, as to bestowing his daughter on Wenlock, it was set at rest by the appearance of the elder Wenlock Christison, who very speedily satisfied all prudential scruples, by informing the worthy father of his intentions regarding his nephew.

While the party were assembled, a head was put into the door. It was quickly withdrawn.

“Oh! it is that odious Jonas Ford,” said Gretchen. “I am sure he never comes here to speak truth.”

“Nay; but we should not think harshly of a friend,” observed Mead.

“I do not think over harshly,” answered Gretchen. “If ever there was a sleek hypocrite, that man is one.” Time showed that Gretchen was right, although Wenlock escaped the consequences of his machinations. Wenlock, however, could not remain long at Chester, having to proceed up to the new capital, Philadelphia, to give an account of his mission to the governor. He was received in the kindest manner by the governor, who was living in a log hut while his intended residence, some way higher up, was building.

“Here, my young friend,” he said, pointing to a large sheet of paper spread out on a table, “is the plan of our future capital. See, we shall have two noble rows of houses fronting the two rivers; and, here, a magnificent avenue of one hundred feet in width, which we will call the High Street, uniting them with lines of trees on either side. Then we will have Broad Street, cutting the city in two parts from north to south, with a magnificent square of ten acres in the centre, and in the middle of each quarter there shall be another square, each of eight acres, for the recreation of the people, and we will have many detached buildings covered with trailing plants, green and rural, to remind us of the country towns of England. Already many houses have been put up, and the people show a commendable energy in erecting more, as fast as materials can be procured. To-morrow I have appointed for a meeting with the native chiefs, to hold a solemn conference for the purpose of confirming former treaties, and forming with them a lasting league of peace and friendship. I am glad that thou art come, Christison, as it will be a matter of great interest. Thou hast probably visited the spot with my kinsman, Colonel Markham. It is called Sakimaxing, the meaning of which is, ‘The place or locality of kings.’”

“Yea,” answered Wenlock; “I accompanied him on more than one occasion, when he had to make arrangements with Taminent. The natives hold in great respect an ancient elm of vast size which, they say, is already one hundred and fifty-five years old. Under its branches the tribes are wont to meet to smoke the calumet of peace, and to arrange their disputes.”

“No fitter spot could have been chosen,” observed Penn. “We hope, too, that they will ever be ready to smoke with us the calumet of peace.”

At an early hour the following morning, the governor, with his faithful friend Pearson, and other attendants, men of influence among the settlers, set forth on horseback to a spot where the conference was to take place. It was an open space, close to the banks of the magnificent Delaware. In the centre stood the stately council elm, spreading its branches far and wide over the green turf. Circling round was the primeval forest, with the dark cedar, the tall pine, the shining chestnut, and the bright maple, and many other trees, stretching far away inland. The governor and his companions, leaving their horses, advanced towards the meeting-place. His tall and graceful figure was especially distinguished by the light-blue sash he wore, as a simple mark by which the natives of the forest might recognise him. He had never affected ultra-plainness in dress, preferring rather to simplify the costume which he had hitherto worn. His outer coat was long, covered, as was the custom, with buttons. An ample waistcoat of rich material, with full trousers, slashed at the sides and tied with ribbons, while his shirt had a profusion of handsome ruffles, and a hat of the form worn in his younger days, completed his costume. On one side was Colonel Markham, already well known to the natives, and on the other his faithful friend Pearson; while Wenlock and his other companions came a little way behind them. As they advanced, the Indians were seen to approach, led by Taminent, their chief, all habited in the ancient costume of the forest, with the brightest of feathers, their faces painted in their most gorgeous style. A number of the settlers from various parts had followed the governor, and now formed a circle at a respectful distance. No monarchs of the Old World could have behaved with more dignity than did the Indian chief and the Quaker governor. Taminent having retired and consulted with his councillors, again advanced, placing on his own head a chaplet, in which was fastened a small horn, the symbol of his power. Whenever a chief of the Leni-Lenapé placed on his brow this chaplet, the spot was made sacred, and all present inviolable. The chief then seated himself with his councillors on either side, the older warriors ranging themselves in the form of a crescent round them, the younger forming an outer semicircle. The English governor then arose, the handsomest and most graceful of all present, and addressed the natives in their own language. He told them that they had one common Father, who reigns above; and that his desire was that his people, and theirs should be brothers, and that as brothers and friends they should treat each other, and that thus they should help each other against all who would do them harm. And, lastly, that both his people and the Leni-Lenapé should tell their children of this league and bond of friendship which had been formed,—that it might grow stronger and stronger, and be kept bright and clean, as long as the waters should run down the creeks and rivers, and the sun and moon and stars endure. He then laid the scroll containing the proposed treaty on the ground, which was accepted by Taminent, and preserved for ages afterwards by the Indians. Thus was this treaty ratified with a “Yea, yea,”—the only treaty, as has been remarked, known in the world, never sworn to, and never broken. Thus was Pennsylvania happily founded without injustice, without bloodshed, without crime; and, blessed by Heaven, continued to flourish, the most happy and prosperous colony ever formed by Britons.

Our tale is ended. A faint outline of the history of a true hero has been traced. From it may be learned in what true heroism consists. William Penn (for he is our real hero), like the Master he served, though in the world, was not of it. He, as all must who desire to be faithful subjects of the Lord Jesus Christ, and not mere nominal Christians, took Him as his example. He had counted the cost, and entered boldly on the warfare. Worldly honours and distinctions were given up, though the highest were within his grasp. Persecution and contempt were willingly accepted; imprisonment endured without murmuring. He trusted to One all-powerful to help in time of need. His firm faith even in this life was rewarded. He was enabled to overcome the world.

So will it be with all who like William Penn, know in whom they trust, if they persevere like him without wavering.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Twice Lost"

Chapter One.

Last day at home—Join the “Heroine” as a midshipman—Bound for the Pacific—Ordered to touch at Cape Coast Castle—On the look-out for a pirate—Chase her up a river—Our boat attacked—Dicky Popo brings us information—Fight with the pirates—A capture—A schooner blows up—Deliver up our prize to the Commodore—Proceed on our voyage.

The last day of my home-life came to an end. Pierce and I went to our room and turned in to our beds, but not to sleep. We had still many things to say to each other, though we had probably said them over and over again before. I promised to write a journal, to show to him when I came back from my first voyage; and he agreed to keep one, from which he might make extracts when he wrote to me, so that I might know everything that took place in our family circle.

Our father, Mr Rayner, was a half-pay lieutenant; but at the end of the war, having no expectation of promotion, he had left the service and joined his elder brother, our Uncle Godfrey (after whom I was named), in a mercantile business at Bristol, near which city we lived. He knew nothing of office work, but hoped by diligence and attention to be of assistance. Our uncle, however, died before he had gained a thorough knowledge of the business; and, besides the sorrow he felt at losing one he loved, much responsibility in consequence devolved upon him. I believe that his affairs were not as prosperous as he could have desired; and he sometimes expressed his regret that he had engaged in an undertaking for which he was not fitted.

I had shown no predilection for a seat in the counting-house; and consequently, when his old shipmate Captain Bracewell, who had just been appointed to the command of the Heroine sloop-of-war, offered to take one of his sons as a midshipman, he allowed me, greatly to my delight, to enter the navy.

My sea-chest, already packed, stood at one end of the room, with my dirk and the uniform I was to put on next day lying upon it; in which, as may be supposed, I had already exhibited myself to Pierce and our sister Edith, who was younger than either of us, and naturally thought it, as she told me, very becoming; an opinion I also entertained, as did our mother, and—I flattered myself—the rest of the household.

At last Pierce’s voice grew more and more inarticulate, and he dropped off to sleep. I, after some time, was following his example, when the door opened, and our mother glided into the room, afraid of awakening me. I was conscious that she was bending over me: a tear dropped on my cheek, and I felt her loving kiss on my brow. I started up and passed my arm round her neck. She perhaps thought that it was the last time I should be with her alone on earth.

“Godfrey, my dear boy,” she said, “fear to offend God, and be faithful and true to him and to all men. He will ever prove your best Friend, here and throughout eternity.”

“I will, mother; indeed I will,” I answered, as soon as the beatings of my heart and the sobs which burst from my breast allowed me to speak.

“Hush,” she said at length; “we must not awaken Pierce. And you too, Godfrey, must go to sleep, to be ready for your journey to-morrow.”

She left me, but I could hear her breathing outside the door till she thought I had dropped off to sleep.

Next morning all the family were up to see me off. I won’t describe the scene: my dear, sweet little sister Edith, though she looked so proud of me in my uniform, sobbed as if she would break her heart; and I found it a hard matter to restrain my feelings, till the coach came by, and, my chest being stowed away in the boot, my father and I mounted to the top. I soon recovered my spirits, when my father, entering into conversation with our fellow-passengers, led me to join in it. Most of them were seafaring men; and one of them, with naval buttons on his greatcoat, made himself known to my father as Peter Mudge, once a little midshipman with him, but now an old master’s mate on his way to join the Heroine.

“You’ll keep an eye on this youngster, then, for my sake, Mudge?” said my father; “though I know you would without my asking you.”

“That I will, Mr Rayner,” answered Mr Mudge; “I’ll do all I can for him, though that may be but little.”

“You’ve got one friend on board already, Godfrey,” observed my father, “through my interest. I hope you will soon have many more by your own merits.”

We reached Plymouth late in the day; and the next morning my father took me on board to introduce me to the captain and officers. Captain Bracewell received me very kindly; and when my father left—as he was soon obliged to do—to return home, Peter Mudge took charge of me, and led me down into the midshipmen’s berth, where he introduced me to my new messmates. I was at home in a few minutes, and made up my mind that I should be very jolly. In this opinion I was confirmed by the assurances of another midshipman of about my own age, or rather younger, Tommy Peck by name, who had also come to sea for the first time, and who naturally became my chief chum. He was a merry fellow, delighting in fun and mischief; caring very little about the result of the latter, provided he could amuse himself for the moment; and without a particle of forethought. He was not altogether destitute of sense, but at the time I speak of he greatly required a friend like Mudge to keep him in the right way.

The sails were loosed, the men were going round the capstan to the sound of the merry fife, when a messenger from the Admiralty arrived in hot haste, directing the captain to carry out despatches to the governor of Cape Coast Castle, instead of proceeding direct to the Pacific, whither we were bound.

The wind being fair and fresh, in a few hours we were out of sight of land. For the first time in my life, as I gazed round from the deck, I saw only the circle of the horizon where sea and sky met. It produced in me a sensation of pleasure not unmixed with awe, though I confess that the feeling very soon wore off.

The next day at noon the midshipmen were ordered to bring up their quadrants; and I received my first practical lesson in navigation. I was anxious to gain a knowledge of my profession, and Peter Mudge did his best to instruct me.

Day after day we sailed on, the fair wind lasting us till we got to the latitude of the Cape de Verde Islands, and I began to fancy that the stories I had heard of gales and hurricanes were fabulous, and that we were to enjoy the same sort of weather during our cruise.

“Wait a bit, my lad, till we’re rounding Cape Horn; you’ll then chance to pick up a notion of what a heavy sea is like, if you don’t happen to learn sooner,” said Peter Mudge.

In spite of calms and light winds, however, we at length came off Cape Coast Castle; consisting of an extensive range of buildings surrounded by fortifications, appearing of snowy whiteness against the dark foliage of the wooded height in the background. The captain went on shore to deliver his despatches to the governor. We were expecting the pleasure of a run on shore, when he returned on board, and ordering the anchor to be hove up, we stood to the south-eastward under all sail.

It soon became known that the governor had received intelligence of the appearance of a large craft off the coast, supposed to be a pirate, of which he had directed the captain to go in search. A sharp look-out was accordingly kept for her during the night. She was said to be heavily armed; under Spanish colours; and that her plan of proceeding was to capture any traders she could fall in with, take possession of their cargoes, and exchange them on the coast for slaves, with which she returned to Cuba. “A profitable style of business, whatever might be said of its honesty. I only hope that we may catch her with English property on board,” said Mudge; “we shall soon put a stop to her tricks.”

The next evening a sail was sighted on the starboard bow, steering the same course as we were; and we immediately stood for her, hoping that she was the pirate. It was doubtful whether she had seen us; if she had, she had possibly taken us for a merchantman. Darkness was coming on, but we had got her bearings; and unless she was suspicious of us she would stand on as she was doing, and perhaps shorten sail to allow us to come up with her; if so, we had no doubt that we should take her. As it was fully believed that she would not yield without fighting, the ship was cleared for action; the crew went to their quarters, and all stood ready should we sight her, which we might do at any moment.

On glided our ship over the dark waters, her masts towering to the sky like some phantom of the night. A strange feeling came over me as I thought that in a few minutes we might be hotly engaged in firing away at the enemy, round shot and bullets flying about us.

“Sail right ahead, sir!” shouted the second lieutenant from forward. I looked out eagerly, and saw the tall masts and sails of a ship fully as large as, if not larger than, the Heroine.

“We must speak her before firing, lest we should be engaging a friend,” I heard the commander observe to Mr Worthy, the first lieutenant. “If yonder craft is a pirate, she takes us for a merchant vessel, as she probably knew that no man-of-war of our size was on the station. Don’t fire a shot till I give the order.”

After this not a word was spoken. In perfect silence we glided onwards, rapidly approaching the dark ship, which we could now distinguish clearly, with her courses brailed up, evidently awaiting us. The captain’s intention was to run up on her starboard quarter, so as to keep her between us and the land. We were almost within hail, and expected in another instant to be engaged, when down came her courses, the yards were braced sharp up, and she stood away on a bowline towards the coast. On this our helm was immediately put down, and we did the same, keeping directly after her and firing our bow-chasers. She was evidently a fast craft, for she rapidly drew ahead of us. The breeze freshened, and having all sail set, we heeled over till the lee guns dipped into the water.

“We shall be whipping the masts out of her, if we don’t take care,” I heard Mudge observe.

The captain seemed to think the same. “Hand royals and topgallant sails,” he sang out; “be smart, my lads.”

The top-men hurried aloft to obey the order, for every one knew there was no time to be lost. The masts bent like willow wands, and I expected every moment to see them go over the side. While attending to shortening sail, the eyes of the officers were withdrawn from the chase; for some of the ropes getting foul during the operation, we were obliged to luff up to clear them, thereby allowing her to get still farther ahead. Still, she could be distinguished standing to the eastward. As soon as the sails were handed we stood on again after her, staggering along under such canvas as we could carry, and every eye on board turned towards her.

“If she runs us out of sight, she’ll put her helm up and stand down the coast,” observed Mudge; “and it will be a hard matter to find her again.”

Our chief hope was that our shot might wing her; but only one gun could be brought to bear, and with the sea there was on, though it was not very heavy, our aim was uncertain. Still, as we had got her jammed in between us and the coast, there was little chance of her ultimately escaping.

We had been running on for some time, the chase still gaining on us, and becoming dimmer and dimmer to view, when a heavy squall struck the ship, and heeled her over so much that the captain gave the order to shorten sail. It cleared off, however, before the sheets were let fly; but when we again looked ahead the chase was nowhere to be seen. We accordingly edged away to the southward, in case she should have gone off before the wind.

Not long after this the morning broke, and the wind went down. As the chase was not to be seen to the southward, the captain and Mr Worthy were still convinced that she had continued her course to the eastward, but that the thick mist hanging over the coast was hiding her from sight. We had again made all sail, and were standing on as before, when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, “Land! land!” and shortly afterwards, as the atmosphere cleared, we could see the wood-covered heights of the African coast rising above the belt of thick mist which still hung over the lower ground, and which would effectually conceal the chase should she have stood in for the shore.

“Should she be there, we shall soon sight her,” observed Mudge. “I only hope that her rascally crew will have the courage to fight for their lives and liberty; though there isn’t much chance of that.”

The lead was kept going, of course, and showed a much greater depth of water than had been expected. On reference to the chart, the captain found that we must be approaching the mouth of a large river. The sun rising, dissipated the mist; and we had got close to the mouth of the river when the wind fell. Being thus unable to enter it, we were compelled to bring up at no great distance from the shore. From where we lay we could see but a very little way up the river, a point of land covered with trees hiding the next reach, so that the chase might be there, though invisible to us. The captain accordingly directed the first lieutenant to pull up in the gig to ascertain if she was there; intending, if so, to carry the ship into the river whenever the sea-breeze should set in. As she was a large, well-armed vessel, with a numerous crew, he was unwilling to risk the loss of his men, at the commencement of a long voyage, by attacking her with the boats.

The gig was soon hidden behind the point; when the watch below, to which I belonged, was allowed to lie down in the shade on deck—for, having been awake all night, we could scarcely keep our eyes open. I was in an instant asleep; and being roused up again after a snooze of two hours, I found that the gig had not returned. The captain was beginning to get anxious, when the look-out from the mast-head, who could see farther over the point than we could on deck, shouted, “The gig in sight, and another boat following her.”

Some minutes passed, when we saw the gig chased round the point, the crew pulling with all their might; and the next instant a much larger boat hove in sight. As she did so, a man standing in the stern-sheets was seen to lift a musket and fire at the gig: at the same moment an oar dropped from the hands of one of the crew, who sank down on the thwart; the gig, however, still coming on. It was a wanton act. The large boat pulled round, and before we could have brought one of our guns to bear on her she was again hidden behind the point. The captain, on seeing the occurrence, ordered the other boats to be got ready, intending to send them up in chase of the audacious stranger, and they were in the water before the gig was alongside.

Lieutenant Worthy, on coming on deck, informed the captain that he had gone up the river for some distance without seeing the chase, when, just as he had at length caught sight of her topgallant-masts over a wooded point, a large boat had darted out from behind it; while several shots fired from the shore warned him of the danger of proceeding farther. Immediately putting the gig round, he pulled down the river, seeing that it would be madness to attempt attacking the larger boat with his small crew.

The daring way in which the large boat had attempted to capture the gig proved the character of the craft to which she belonged; as also that either her crew must consider themselves strong enough to resist a man-of-war, or possibly might suppose that we should not venture into the river.

In the meantime, the gig with the wounded man had been hoisted up. He still breathed, and was immediately carried below, and placed under the care of the surgeon; who, on examining his wound, expressed but slight hope that he would recover. On hearing this, the crew threatened the pirates with their vengeance, and were eager to go up the river and take them.

We now anxiously waited for the sea-breeze. The cable was hove short, the sails loosed; still, as we looked eastward, not a ripple disturbed the glass-like surface of the ocean.

“We’ve got the fellow in a trap, at all events,” observed Mudge, “and fight he must, whether he likes it or not.”

“I hope he will,” I answered. “I should like to see a good fierce battle; and there will be little glory in taking the pirate, should she give in at once.”

“You’ll sing a different note when you find the shot come flying thickly about your ears, my boy,” answered Mudge; “and as for the glory, there’s not much to be gained by capturing a rascally pirate. For my part, I hope she’ll knock under at once, and give us as little trouble as possible.”

Hour after hour went by, but the breeze did not come; and I heard Lieutenant Worthy remark that it would afford time to the pirates, if they were so minded, to fortify themselves on shore, which would enable them to hold out much better against us, as we should have both the fort and the ship to contend against.

“That must not stop us,” observed the captain; “we must take the ship first, and the fort afterwards.”

At last a few cat’s-paws were seen playing over the water. The dog-vanes blew out, and the breeze, fresh and pure from the ocean, began to blow. The anchor was quickly got up; and the ship, at first standing close-hauled to weather the point, glided on towards the main channel of the river. The bar, on which the water was unusually deep,—a few slight rollers only coming in over it,—was safely passed, when we began to stand up the stream. The shores on either hand were thickly covered with trees, forming impenetrable walls of foliage, and preventing us from seeing the country beyond, with the exception of some high hills which rose in the distance.

The wind being light, and the current running out, we made but slow progress; and before we got far up the river the wind again failed us, and we were compelled to come to an anchor. Had it not been for Mr Worthy’s report, we should have supposed that the ship was not there, and should probably have stood out to sea again, in the hope of falling in with her elsewhere. As evening drew on, the hot land-breeze again blew down the river, which was here of considerable width.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if the pirate were to try to give us the slip after all,” observed Mudge. “We must keep a sharp look-out, so that we may stop her should she make the attempt. I only hope she will, as it will be more to our advantage to bring her to action under way, than to have to attack her at anchor, with springs on her cables, and protected by a fort which, if the fellows have any sense in their heads, they are sure to throw up.”

It was still daylight, and Peter and I were walking the deck, for it was our watch; indeed, the midshipmen’s berth not being the pleasantest place in the world in that climate, we were seldom in it, except at meal-times. I have not talked much about the heat, but the air, if not hotter, was more stifling in that river than we had felt it since we reached the coast. I was looking towards the nearest shore, off which we had brought up at the distance of scarcely a cable-length, when I saw a figure moving amid the trees. I pointed him out to Mudge. Presently, as he reached the bank, we saw that he was a black man, without a particle of clothing on. Putting his hand to his mouth, he hailed, and then waved vehemently, as if to attract our attention. Mudge sent me to tell Mr Worthy; who at once ordered a boat to be lowered, and directed Mudge to pull in to the shore, to ascertain what he wanted. The black, however, turning his head over his shoulder, either saw or heard the approach of some one he wished to avoid, and plunging into the river, began to swim towards the ship. Mudge and I had jumped into the boat, and as we were approaching the shore to pick up the black I saw a dark fin rise just ahead of us. I told Mudge.

“That’s a brute of a shark!” he exclaimed, “and a big fellow too, and the chances are he has poor Blackie for his supper.”

“Not if our voices can drive the monster away,” I answered, horrified at the thought of witnessing the destruction of a fellow-creature. “Shout! shout, all hands!”

Mudge and I raised our voices, joined by the crew, who gave way with redoubled vigour. The black, who just then saw the shark coming, began to splash and kick, and to shout pretty lustily. This was not the only peril to which he was exposed, for at the same moment several persons appeared among the trees, with muskets in their hands, and began to fire at him. Happily, one of the bullets aimed at him or at us struck the savage shark, just as it was about to make a dash at him; and, either from the wound it had received, or frightened by our shouts, it suddenly turned round, with a whisk of its tail, and darted away from Blackie.

We immediately dashed on, in spite of the bullets. The black was close alongside, when I saw the monster’s huge form gliding like lightning beneath the surface; his head rising just as, with a violent jerk, we drew the poor fellow into the boat. The disappointed brute made a grab at one of the oars in revenge, though he got nothing but a broken tooth for his pains.

Without stopping to ask questions, Mudge put the boat round, and pulled away for the ship, fortunately not one of us being hit, while the enemy in the bush quickly vanished. As soon as we were out of the line of fire, one of the ship’s guns, loaded with grape, was let fly at the spot from which the shots had come, and greatly contributed to the rapid retreat of Blackie’s pursuers, whoever they were—at all events, of those of them who escaped being hit; but whether any were so, we could not tell. As soon as the boat got alongside, the black sprang on board with considerable activity, showing that he was none the worse for his run and subsequent swim. There he stood, naked as he was born; when an old quartermaster, a wag in his way, brought him a pair of duck trousers, evidently considering that he was not fit, as he then stood, to appear on the quarter-deck of a British man-of-war. Blackie put them on with a grin, shook the water out of his woolly pate, and then, with an air of perfect self-possession, walked aft to where the commander and several of the other officers were standing.

“Me Dicky Popo, please, sar,” he said, giving a haul at his hair; “me loyal British subject—once serve His Majesty—but de nigger slave-catchers find me ashore, carry me off, and sell me to still bigger rascals. Dey ship me aboard wid oder slaves; and den a bigger rascal still take de whole of us on board de Sea-Hawk dere. I seed dat somefing was wrong when dey run up de river, and den I find out dat an English ship chase dem, and come to an anchor inside de bar; den I tink if I run away and get aboard English ship, I know I safe under dat flag.”

As he spoke he pointed to the ensign blowing out from the flagstaff astern. Finding that Dicky Popo, as the black called himself, understood English pretty well, the commander questioned him further, and learned many more particulars about the ship we had just chased. She was the Sea-Hawk, belonging to Havana, fully as large as the Heroine, with as numerous a crew, and carrying two more guns than we did; so that, if well fought, she would prove a formidable antagonist. She had already captured a vessel which had, Dicky Popo said, about a hundred and fifty slaves on board, and was waylaying another, when we somewhat put out her arrangements, and obliged her to run up the very river in which the schooner she had intended to capture was lying. The pirate, not telling the captain of the schooner of his intentions, had persuaded him to assist in defending his vessel in case they should be attacked. For this purpose they had both landed some of their men and guns; and he had also sent on shore the strongest among the slaves, to assist in throwing up fortifications. Dicky Popo, hearing that the corvette had entered the river, took the opportunity, while so engaged, of slipping off, in the hope of getting on board; resolved, should he regain his liberty, to give us information of the preparations made for our reception.

I liked the expression of Dick’s countenance, and was certain from the first that he was an honest fellow. He had been kindly treated on board a man-of-war in which he had served—having been rescued from slavery by her; and he was truly grateful to the English, and anxious practically to show his gratitude. I do not believe the person who talks of his grateful heart, when he takes no pains to exhibit it.

The captain was in no way inclined to change his purpose on hearing of the preparations made by the slavers for their defence. “I know that I can trust to our stout fellows, who will bravely do their duty; while our rascally enemies are fighting with halters round their necks,” he observed to Mr Worthy.

“No doubt about that, sir,” was the answer; “and I hope that it will not take us long to capture the pirate, in spite of the battery on shore, and the assistance the slave-schooner may give her.”

Soon after Dicky Popo had made his appearance on deck, night came on. Notwithstanding the preparations the pirates had been making for their defence, the commander expressed his opinion that they might try to slip by us and get out to sea during the darkness, rather than wait our attack in the river. A sharp look-out was therefore kept, the anchor was hove short, and the watch below lay down on deck, so as to be ready to make sail at a moment’s notice. A boat was also sent some way ahead to row guard, and bring us early information should either of the vessels be seen coming down. We knew, of course, that the pirates were aware of our exact position, but they could not tell that a boat was also watching for them.

The greater part of the night passed by quietly. The middle watch had nearly come to an end when the boat’s oars were heard, and she shortly after dashed up alongside. “The ship is coming down, and will be abreast of us in a few minutes,” said the officer in command. “She was shortening sail when we caught sight of her, and she hopes to escape being seen by dropping past us under bare poles.”

On hearing this, the captain gave the order to make sail; and slipping our cable with a buoy to it, so that we might easily pick it up, we stood towards the centre of the river. In another minute we caught sight of the tall masts of the pirate, gliding down with the current, not many cable-lengths off. It was impossible for her to return; and should she bring up, we might sail round her and fire at her at our leisure. On discovering us (which she must have done some time before, as we, being under sail, must have been seen before we could make her out), she had begun to set her canvas. That availed her but little, however, as we now had her within range of our guns; which, the captain giving the order, began firing away as rapidly as they could be run in and loaded. She immediately fired in return from her foremost guns, the only ones which for some minutes could be brought to bear on us, as we were, it will be understood, standing across the river directly ahead of her. Her sails being let fall, she soon got abreast of us; when we went about, and passing directly under her stern, so closely that I thought we were going to run her aboard, fired the whole of our broadside into her; we during the operation having received only two or three shots, which did no material damage. Shrieks and cries arose from her deck, proving the fearful havoc produced by our raking fire; while several halyards and braces having been shot away on board her, and only part of her canvas having been set, we again kept away, speedily got up alongside her, and poured in another well-directed broadside. She returned a feeble fire; many of her crew at the guns having been, we had thus good reason to suppose, killed or disabled by our shot. We, having all our canvas set, were running ahead of her, the captain intending to luff across her bows, and to pour in another raking fire, when we heard a voice from her forecastle shouting, in broken English, “We give in—we haul down flag—don’t fire, don’t fire!”

“Let go your anchor, then, and bring up, or I’ll not trust you,” shouted the captain.

The sound of voices in loud altercation now reached us, some apparently crying out one thing, and some another, in Spanish; while we were steering so as to keep on the weather bow of the pirate.

“Stand by,—brace up the yards,” cried the captain in a loud voice, so that the Spaniards might hear him. “Do you yield, or I fire?” he shouted.

“Yes, yes,” answered a voice.

Immediately the sheets were let fly, and the splash of the anchor and the sound of the cable running out reached our ears above the hubbub still going forward on deck, when the ship slowly swung round to the current. We immediately hauled our wind, and having good way, went about and shot up abreast of our opponent, whom we thus had completely in our power.

As soon as we had furled sails, two boats were lowered; Mr Worthy going in command of one, and Peter Mudge of the other, the crews being well-armed. As I was the midshipman of the lieutenant’s boat, I accompanied him.

No opposition was offered, though no assistance was given, to us, as we got alongside. We quickly, however, scrambled up on deck, which, by the light of several lanterns carried by the men, presented an appearance such as I had never before pictured to myself. The first step I made, my foot slipped and I nearly fell. On the light falling on the spot, I found that I was literally standing in blood. Twenty or more human forms lay stretched out motionless, while others were gathered round the masts or leaning against the guns, endeavouring to bind up their wounds. One group stood aft in sullen silence awaiting our coming, while the remainder of the crew were collected forward. By their dress we saw that most of those aft were officers.

“Where is the captain of this ship?” asked Lieutenant Worthy.

One of them pointed to a body which lay between two of the guns, with part of the chest and one of the arms carried away.

“Poor wretch!” observed the lieutenant. “He will not then have to answer to us for his misdeeds. And are you the officer in command?”

The man to whom he spoke bowed his head, and, advancing, presented his sword.

“Take his weapon,” said the lieutenant, turning to one of the men; “and disarm all the rest. I shall not receive the sword of a pirate, as if he were a naval officer.”

The whole of the party were quickly disarmed, and by the lieutenant’s orders our men then lashed their arms behind them. Peter Mudge with his boat’s crew had, in the meantime, made their way along the slippery deck forward, when he treated the men collected there in the same fashion. Mr Worthy then hailed the corvette, and begged that the surgeons might be sent on board to attend to the wounded; and those who appeared to be officers were lowered into the boat which brought them, to be conveyed to the ship for safe keeping.

While the surgeons were hurriedly binding up the limbs of the wounded men, we were engaged in collecting the dead bodies, that they might be hove overboard. On counting them, we found that five-and-twenty had been killed outright; and one by one, after the surgeon had examined them, they were thrown into the water through the ports.

“Here’s another fellow, sir, who seemed just now as dead as a door-nail; but as I was dragging him along the deck he began to sing out, and to swear by all the saints that he was alive and kicking; and, faith, that same he was, for I had a hard matter to keep hold of his legs. He’s quiet enough now, though; and for the life of me I can’t tell whether he was after speaking the truth or not.”

This address was made by Paddy Doyle, an Irish top-man, to the surgeon who was examining the bodies before they were hove overboard. The surgeon, thus appealed to, went to the man. “He seems to be unhurt, and is still breathing,” he remarked. “By his dress he appears to be an officer. Throw some water in his face; and keep a watch over him, Doyle, when he comes to, as I have no doubt that he soon will. I must look after the other wretches.”

The dead having been disposed of, and the unwounded prisoners placed under a guard, the wounded were carried into the large and handsome cabin—which, however, could not afford accommodation for all of them; the rest were therefore placed, with such spare bedding as could be found, on the upper slave-deck.

By the time these arrangements were made, it was nearly daylight. A prize crew of twenty men was left on board the Sea-Hawk, with the assistant-surgeon to look after the wounded, the second lieutenant coming on board to take command of them. I was thankful to be ordered to return to the corvette, for I was heartily sick of the scene I had witnessed.

Just as I was going over the side, I heard Paddy Doyle sing out,—“Arrah! my dead man’s come to life again! Bear a hand, and help me to haul him in;” and looking back, I saw that the Irishman’s prisoner had jumped up, and was endeavouring to spring through a port—having watched the moment that Paddy’s back was turned on him. Paddy had seized one of his legs, and was tugging away with might and main; while the Spaniard, with his other foot on the port-sill, had nearly effected his purpose, notwithstanding the Irishman’s desperate efforts to prevent his escape. “Arrah! now he’s done it!” exclaimed Doyle, holding up the Spaniard’s shoe and a piece of his trousers which had come away in his hand.

The man, who was evidently a good swimmer, and had been trusting to this for escape, was striking out at a rapid rate for the shore.

“Give way after him!” cried Lieutenant Worthy to Mudge, who was in the boat on the opposite side to that from which the pirate had escaped.

The boat shoved off, but had to pull ahead of the ship. It was not till then that Mudge could see the swimmer, who had already made considerable progress towards the shore. I jumped into the rigging to watch him. Should he once land, and get in among the thick trees, he might effect his purpose. Possibly he expected to find friends to assist him.

He was still some way ahead of the boat, when I caught a momentary glimpse of the dark fin of a shark. It disappeared, and the next instant a piercing shriek rent the air; the pirate threw up his arms, and sank beneath the surface! Then the boat pulled round and returned to the ship.

Just as I got on board the corvette, a loud sound of tom-toms and horns was heard from the upper part of the river, and presently a fleet of large canoes appeared paddling rapidly towards us. It seemed scarcely possible that they should venture to attack an English man-of-war; and yet, from the gestures of their crews, and the way they came on, such appeared to be their intention. Possibly they had heard the firing, and, taught to believe the Sea-Hawk the most powerful ship afloat, supposed that she had gained the victory. On discovering, however, that she was anchored astern of us, they ceased paddling; then after a short interval regaining courage, they again came on, shrieking and shouting and beating their tom-toms louder than ever, to intimidate us before they attempted to board.

“Fire a shot over their heads,” said the commander. “It will show the ignorant savages that we are not to be trifled with.”

Scarcely had the gun been discharged, when the canoes were seen paddling away as fast as their black crews could urge them on, each endeavouring as soon as possible to get out of the range of our shot; and in a little time they had disappeared behind the point which had before concealed them from us.

We had still another task to perform—the capture or destruction of the slave-schooner of which Dicky Popo had told us. As the navigation of the river was intricate and dangerous above where we lay, the commander, unwilling to risk the safety of the ship, resolved to send up the boats, notwithstanding the assistance which the canoes might be expected to afford her. Three were accordingly sent away under the command of Mr Worthy, with whom I went; the pinnace having a six-pounder in the bows, and the others being armed with swivels. We soon came in sight of the canoes, with the schooner at anchor some distance beyond them. A shot from our six-pounder quickly sent them paddling away up the stream. Popo, who had been taken in our boat to point out where the battery had been thrown up, directly afterwards exclaimed,—“Dere!—dere it is!”

Scarcely had he spoken, when a shot came whizzing over our heads. At our lieutenant’s orders, the boats’ heads were immediately turned towards the battery, when, our gun being fired at it, we rapidly pulled on. We quickly reached the bank; and the lieutenant, whose example I imitated, leaped on shore, calling to the small-arm men to follow him. In a few seconds we were scrambling into the battery, the Spaniards and blacks who had just before been in it making their escape helter-skelter into the thick wood behind it. A few of the white men—who, to do them credit, were the last to run—were shot or cut down, but the greater number made their escape,—our lieutenant wisely not allowing us to follow. Five guns found in the battery were spiked, upon which we immediately re-embarked and pulled away towards the schooner.

We had not got many fathoms from the shore, however, when a thick smoke was seen issuing from her hatches, followed by flames which burst out from every part. We pulled on, in the hope of being able to extinguish them; for she appeared to be a remarkably fine vessel, and would have proved a prize worth capture. Before we got up to her, however, the lieutenant ordered the men to back their oars. And not too soon. The boats had still some way on them, when up went the masts and deck of the schooner, numerous fragments falling close around us. The flames raged furiously for a few minutes longer, after which the hull of the lightly-built vessel, shattered by the explosion, sank beneath the surface. What had become of the unfortunate slaves we could not tell; but it was to be hoped, for the sake of humanity, that all had been landed. One thing was very certain,—that we should be unable to capture any of them should we land, as they would all have been driven up into the interior. We therefore pulled back to the ship; and the breeze blowing strongly down the river, she and our prize were got under way, and we stood towards its mouth.

The water on the bar being tolerably smooth, we got out without difficulty, and shortly afterwards sighted a sail beating up towards the land. She was made out to be a frigate, and proved to be that of the commodore on the station, who had also heard of the pirate, and was come to look for her. He complimented our commander on his conduct in the affair, and, greatly to our satisfaction, relieved us of our prisoners, as also of the charge of our prize, directing us to proceed on our voyage to the westward.

Dicky Popo, who had been entered on board, remained with us, and became a great favourite both with officers and men.

It was not till long afterwards that I heard of the fate of the Sea-Hawk and the survivors of her piratical crew.

Chapter Two.

Rounding Cape Horn—A gale—Put into a port in Patagonia—Visit a whaler—A romantic history—The lost child—A young lady—A snug harbour—Climb a mountain—A narrow escape—Valparaiso—The coral island—Communicate with the natives—An addition to our crew—Dicky Popo lost overboard—The Sandwich Islands—My shipmates—Survey an island—Recover Popo, and find a white boy—How Popo was saved—Gain information about Harry, the white boy.

Little did I think, scarcely six months before, when seated at a desk in my father’s counting-house, that I should ever see Cape Horn; yet there it rose on our starboard beam, dark, solitary, and majestic, high above the ocean, which rolled in vast undulations at its base.

Onward we glided, with the ship’s head to the westward and the wind aft, under all sail; now rising to the summit of a glass-like billow, now sinking deep down into the valley to climb up the watery steep on the opposite side. We had touched at Rio, to obtain a supply of wood and water and fresh provisions; but I need not give a description of that magnificent harbour, as nothing very particular occurred there.

“That’s a fine sight!” I exclaimed, as I watched the mighty headland, which gradually faded from view over our starboard quarter.

“You’ll see a good many other fine sights,” observed Peter Mudge, who was somewhat matter-of-fact. “For my part, I have been glad to see the last of it each time I have come round this way, and to get safe into the Pacific; for twice I have been driven back, and have been kept knocking about among the icebergs, with the wind sharp enough to cut our noses off, for six blessed weeks or more. I only hope that is not to be our lot this time.”

“I hope not,” I answered. “I was expecting to be in smooth water, with a sunny sky overhead, before many days are over.”

“So we may, youngster; then we’ll hope for the best,” said Mudge. “Still, when a fellow has met with as many ups and downs as I have, he learns not to fancy himself safe in harbour till he has got there.”

This time, however, Mudge, and we his shipmates, were not doomed to disappointment, and were, ere long, floating on the waters of the Pacific. We ran to the northward with a flowing sheet, keeping much closer in with the coast than, I believe, is usual, till we reached the 46th degree of south latitude. It then fell a dead calm. We had just before caught sight of a sail away to the eastward, beyond which, some forty or fifty miles off, rose the lofty peaks of the Cordilleras, covered with eternal snows; or I should say, perhaps, the southern end of that mighty chain which rises abruptly from the Isthmus of Panama, and extends the whole length of the continent.

For the entire day we lay rolling our masts from side to side, till it almost seemed as if they would be shaken out of the ship. The commander wished to speak the stranger, on the chance of her being lately from England, and able to give us fresher intelligence than we possessed. He had ordered a boat to be got ready to be sent away, when, on looking at the barometer, he found that it was falling, while a bank of clouds was seen to be rising to the north-west.

“Hold fast with the boat,” he said; “before she can return, we may have a gale down upon us.”

We had not long to wait for it; and in half an hour or so we were dashing through the water under close-reefed topsails, heeling over with the wind from the north-west till the water came rushing in through the lee ports. The master, who had been on the coast before, recommended that, in order not to lose ground, we should run for the Gulf of Penas; where we could find shelter under the lee of an island, or get into one of the snug ports of the mainland. The ship’s head was accordingly kept to the eastward. The sail we had seen was also standing in the same direction, probably with the same object in view. We guessed, therefore, that she was also bound to the northward, and wished to avoid being driven back. Mudge expressed his satisfaction that we had not stood away on the other tack.

“If we had, we should have run a chance of being blown back again round the Cape into the Atlantic,” he observed. “Not every captain, however, would venture to stand in for the land as we are doing; we must keep our eyes open and the lead going, or we may chance to run the ship on shore. But as yonder vessel probably knows her way, we shall have her as a guide, and may hope to find shelter without difficulty.”

We quickly overhauled the stranger, which proved to be a barque; and from her appearance, as we caught sight of her hull, there was no doubt that she was a South Sea whaler, and that, consequently, she was likely to be well acquainted with the coast. As we stood on, we caught sight of an extensive chain of islands, stretching out from the mainland on our larboard bow. Gradually they appeared more and more abeam, while ahead rose up several lofty and rugged peaks. The stranger still kept the lead; and following her, we at length found ourselves in an extensive bay, completely sheltered from the gale blowing without. Being now in perfectly smooth water, and the commander considering it not prudent to run farther in, we furled sails, and brought up some distance ahead of the whaler, which had just before come to an anchor.

The spot where we found ourselves was about the wildest I had ever seen: dark rocks rose out of the sea fringing the shore, and rugged mountains towered up to the sky in all directions; while not a sign of human life was visible. As we swept the coast with our glasses, we discovered, almost abreast of the ship, a deep indentation which looked like the mouth of a gulf or estuary. This we naturally felt anxious to explore, and we hoped to have leave to do so the next day.

Soon after we had furled sails, the commander directed Peter Mudge to take the jolly-boat and board the whaler, with a message to the master requesting any newspapers of a late date which he might possess. “Yes, you may go, Rayner,” he said to me. “And, Mr Mudge, take him a leg of mutton my steward will put into the boat, and some oranges we brought from Rio.” We had killed a sheep the previous day.

We were soon on board the whaler. The master, a middle-aged, grave-looking man, in a long-tailed coat and broad-brimmed hat, not much like a sailor in outward appearance, received us very civilly, and was grateful for the present, as his wife, he said, was in delicate health, and to her it would be especially welcome. He invited us into the cabin where she was seated. She was a nice, pleasant-looking woman, though it struck me that her countenance bore a peculiarly melancholy expression. He at once handed us a bundle of English papers, published long after we had left home, and which were very welcome.

“You’ll stop and take supper with us, gentlemen. I hope,” he said; “it will be on the table immediately. I don’t know, however, that I can offer you better fare than you’ll get on board your own ship.”

Mudge assured him that he did not care about that, and was happy to accept his invitation.

While we remained in the cabin, our men were entertained by the crew.

We had just taken our seats, when the door of a side cabin opened, and a young lady stepped out, looking more like a fairy, or an angel, or some celestial being, than a mortal damsel. So I thought at the time. Mudge and I rose and bowed; she returned our salutation with a smile and a slight bend of her neck. The master did not introduce us, nor did he say anything to let us know who she was. I, of course, thought that she was the captain’s daughter; but she did not address Mrs Hudson as mother, and from some remarks she made I doubted whether such was the case. She at once entered into conversation without the slightest bashfulness; and it struck me that she was exerting herself, not so much to entertain us, as to keep up Mrs Hudson’s spirits.

The meal did not occupy much time, so that we had but little opportunity of talking. I thought the young lady’s voice very sweet and melodious; indeed, she seemed to me the most perfect being I had ever seen. But then, it must be remembered, I was but a midshipman, and my experience was not very extensive; and the best part of a year had passed since we left England.

At last, however, Mudge, pulling out his watch, observed that it was time to be on board again; so getting up, he wished Mrs Hudson and the young lady good-bye in his hearty way, and I was compelled to follow his example. Tears came into Mrs Hudson’s eyes as she took me by the hand and murmured, “May Heaven preserve you from the dangers of the sea!” The young lady smiled very sweetly, and I could not help wishing that I might have the opportunity of paying another visit to the Hopewell.

The first mate had accompanied me on deck, where I found the master talking to Mudge. I therefore went a little way along the deck to summon our boat’s crew, who were with the men forward.

“Mrs Hudson appears to be very melancholy,” I observed to my companion.

“She has reason to be so, poor lady,” said the mate. “She has never got over the loss of her only child, in these seas, some years ago. It was a sad affair, for he was a fine brave little chap, the pet of all hands. The master’s, and my boat, and the second mate’s, had gone off in chase of whales, when another fish was seen spouting in an opposite direction. The third mate’s boat was lowered, when the little fellow, whose mother was ill below, asked to be taken. The third mate, instead of refusing, thoughtlessly consented to let him go; and before the boatswain or any one else who had sense in his head saw what he was doing, he had carried him down into the boat; no one on deck, indeed, knew he had gone. Away pulled the boat, when the look-out at the mast-head shouted that one of our boats had struck a fish, and the boatswain accordingly made sail towards her. The whale, however, darted away, towing the boats for a league or more farther off, and we then had a hard matter to kill it. It had long been dark before we got alongside, by which time the weather had changed, and the wind was blowing very strong, while a nasty sea had got up.

“I shall never forget the state poor Mrs Hudson was in when she could not discover what had become of her child; while her husband was almost as bad. At last one of the boys, who had before been afraid to speak, acknowledged that he saw little Harry in the arms of the third mate just before the boat shoved off, but that he, being called below at that moment, could not tell what had become of the child. We at once cut adrift the fish we had secured, and made sail in the direction the boat was supposed to have gone, placing lanterns in the rigging and firing guns to show our whereabouts. The weather, however, had been growing worse and worse, and with the heavy sea there was running, the boat herself, we knew, would be in no slight peril.

“All night long we continued cruising over the ground; but not a sign of the boat could we discover. When morning came, we continued our search, with the same want of success. Towards noon the weather again moderated; but though fish were seen spouting, the master would not send the boats after them; and unwilling as we were to lose them, none of us had the heart to press him to do so.

“For the best part of a week we stood backwards and forwards in all directions looking for the boat; till at last the men began to grumble, and I felt it my duty to urge the master to carry out the object of the voyage. Almost broken-hearted, he consented to do so. Slowly his poor wife recovered; and from that day to this they have never found any trace of their lost child. Probably the third mate had got hold of a fish; and he having but little experience, his boat must have been knocked to pieces, or else dragged down by the line becoming foul before it could be cut.”

“A very sad history,” I remarked; “and I am not surprised at poor Mrs Hudson’s melancholy. But who is the young lady?” I asked.

“That is more than I can tell you,” he answered. “She came on board the evening before we sailed, but not one of us had ever heard of her till then, and neither the master nor Mrs Hudson thought fit to enlighten us on the subject; while she herself, though ready enough to talk to me at the dinner-table, seldom says anything to any of us on deck.”

“How very romantic!” I could not help exclaiming, more interested than ever in the young lady.

Wishing Captain Hudson good-bye, we shoved off, and as we pulled away we saw the young lady standing on the poop watching us. I pulled off my cap, and she waved her handkerchief in return.

The account we gave of her and the master’s wife excited much interest on board.

The next morning, as the gale continued, a party was made up to visit the shore. It consisted of the second lieutenant and master, Peter Mudge, Tommy Peck, and I. We pulled in for the opening we had seen, and which I found to be much farther off than I had supposed—the height of the rocks at the entrance, which rose sheer out of the water, making the land appear quite close to us. At length we entered a narrow passage with high rocks on both sides for some distance, completely bare of trees; indeed, there was not a spot in which the roots could have fixed themselves. Gradually, however, the passage opened out, and we found ourselves in a large basin, the shore of which was covered with the richest vegetation, extending far up the sides of the mountains rising around us. Dark rocks peeped out from amid the trees which grew on the mountain-sides till lost to view, while above them were seen towering peaks covered with glittering snow. The master sounded as we went in, and found the depth of water sufficient for the largest ship. Here she might remain at anchor or moored to the trees, while the fiercest gale was blowing outside, as securely as in an artificial dock.

We pulled round one side of the basin, but could find no opening by which, should we step on shore, we could make our way up the mountain. We did, indeed, land at two or three places, but it was impossible to get beyond a few yards from the water’s edge. Probably, no human being had ever before set foot in that wooded region. Not even the chirp of a bird was heard, nor was any sign of life visible—silence and solitude reigned around. The whole surface of the ground was one mass of rotten timber, covered with various descriptions of moss and ferns. The trunks of trees which had fallen either from age and decay, or from being blown down by the wind, lay about in all directions; another generation having grown up to share the same fate, and to be succeeded by others still proudly rearing their heads green and flourishing.

“Come, it won’t do to be balked!” exclaimed the master. “We’ll make our way somehow or other through the forest;” and the boat was run with her bow against the yielding bank. “You’ll follow me!” As he said this he sprang on shore, or rather on to the trunk of a tree. “All right—come along,” he exclaimed; “do as I do.” The next instant, however, over he went on his nose, and disappeared.

We followed, and found his legs sticking up, while his head and shoulders were three or four feet deep in damp wood and moss. We managed to haul him out, covered from head to foot with wet moss; his blue suit turned into one of green, fitted for the woodland region in which he was so anxious to roam. Undaunted, however, he made his way onwards, now climbing over a somewhat firm trunk; only, however, the next instant to sink up to his middle in the moss and decayed wood. Tommy followed, but was very nearly smothered, and not without difficulty we hauled him out; then the master, finding himself alone, came back grumbling at our cowardice, as he called it.

We now all embarked, and pulled along the shore in the hope of finding a more practicable way up the mountain. As we got to the head of the basin, we discovered a stream flowing into it; up this we pulled for some distance,—the bank on either side being covered with vegetation,—till we reached a rocky ledge on one side, over which the water had apparently at one time flowed. A low waterfall a slight distance ahead showed that further progress was impracticable. We accordingly landed on the ledge, and once more attempted to make our way up the mountain. We had much the same sort of ground to go over as that on which the master had made his first essay; but as the belt of forest which separated us from the steep side of the mountain was much narrower than in the former place, we persevered, and soon found that we were ascending.

Up and up we went, helping ourselves along by the roots and branches of the trees, the more stunted growth of which at length showed the height we had reached. We now emerged from the forest, when the ground above us appeared covered with spongy moss, the walking over which we found comparatively easy, saturated though it was with snow-water, which fell in every direction in tiny cascades over the side of the mountain. Even the grass and moss were at length left behind, and we found ourselves treading on half-melted snow, which, as we ascended, became more crisp and solid—the bright glare, as the sun fell on it, proving very trying to our eyes after the gloom of the forest. Still, on we went for some distance, the ground being almost level; then we ascended, and, passing over the ridge, descended once more into a shallow valley, on the other side of which the mountain rose at a moderate inclination, which, it appeared to us, we could mount without any impediment till we reached the summit. Thence we expected to obtain a magnificent prospect over the sea on one side, and the country towards the interior on the other.

We did get up it somehow or other, panting and exhausted, with our heads aching and our eyes dizzy, to encounter a fierce snow-storm which shut out all objects from view. To remain here longer might prove our destruction; we soon, therefore, began our descent. But the traces of our upward path were obliterated, and after descending a short distance we discovered that we had lost our way. I had gone some little distance ahead of the rest of the party, when I saw before me a gentle slope of snow, by sliding down which I fancied that I should quickly arrive at the bottom; so, calling to my companions, I began slipping gently downwards.

“It’s very pleasant and easy,” I shouted out—“come along;” and on I went.

I had gone some hundred yards, when, the atmosphere clearing, I saw rising before me a perpendicular cliff, which I knew was the opposite side of a deep chasm. Unless I could stop myself, I should be dashed to pieces. I thereupon dug my arms and legs into the snow; but still on I went. I now heard a shout, and looking up I saw Tommy laughing merrily as he descended, totally unaware of the fearful peril he was in. I cried out to him to stop himself if he could; but he did not understand what I said. On I went; not a tree nor a rock appeared to which I could cling. The precipice could not have been fifty yards before me, when, making another desperate effort, I got my feet through the snow and fixed against a rock in the ground. Still Tommy came on, with the rest of the party some way above him. Just as he shot by me, I seized him by the leg and brought him up. “Why did you do that?” he cried out, even then not knowing how close he was to the edge of the precipice. When he saw it, he joined his shouts with mine; and then pointing to the left, where I observed that the inclination was less steep, we directed the party towards it. Scrambling along on our knees and hands, we joined them; and now, moving with the greatest care, fearing every instant to be sent sliding down to our right, we at length reached a ledge by which we made our way into the valley.

The danger was now past, but we had to undergo immense fatigue before we got back to the boat.

We had intended calling on board the whaler, to pay another visit to Captain Hudson, but the lateness of the hour compelled our return to the ship. I was much disappointed, as I hoped to see the young lady by whose appearance I had been so much struck the previous day; but I consoled myself with the expectation of being able to go on board the next morning.

During the night, however, the gale completely ceased; and when I came on deck I saw the whaler under all sail standing out of the harbour, with the wind off the land. We followed, but did not again get near enough to communicate with her. We stood some distance off the coast, and then continued our course to the northward.

Very frequently, afterwards, did the image of that fair young girl recur to my memory, though she did not appear to have made so much impression on Peter Mudge; but he sometimes spoke of the captain’s wife, and seemed to sympathise with her on the loss of her child, though it had happened so long ago.

The peaks of the Cordilleras again came in sight, at a distance of a hundred and fifty miles, long before the shore at the base of the mighty range was visible—one of them, Aconcagua, rising to an elevation of upwards of 23,000 feet above the ocean. We touched at Valparaiso; which might, we agreed, possibly be a paradise for fleas, but certainly not for human beings of good taste. The climate is fine,—of that I have no doubt,—but the surrounding country is sterile and monotonous, the vegetation just then on the hills consisting of half-withered cacti, though in the valleys and the plains to the left of the town we saw groves of fruit trees and flowering shrubs. I can best describe the place by saying that it is divided by two deep ravines into three hills, sprinkled over with whitewashed houses; the hills are called fore-top, main-top, and mizen-top.

Sailing from thence, during my watch one morning I heard a cry of “Land ahead!” I looked out, but nothing like land could I see.

“We shall get sight of it before long from the deck,” observed Mudge, “if we keep our eyes open.”

The ship, as she glided onward, rose and sank with the swell of the ocean; and presently, as she rose, I caught sight of what appeared to be a fleet of vessels at anchor. The next instant they had disappeared; but as she rose on the next swell I again caught sight of the seeming masts, which I gradually discovered to be tall cocoa-nut palms or pandanus trees. On approaching nearer, the whole white beach was distinctly seen; and above it a narrow belt of land of a light clay colour, surrounding a perfectly smooth lagoon of a beautiful blue tint; while against the outer belt the surf was breaking with terrific force. The highest part of the land appeared to be about ten or twelve feet above the level of the sea; and we calculated that the belt between the sea and the lagoon was about seven hundred feet wide, the soil being composed of coral débris and vegetable matter. Besides the palm-trees, there were a few shrubs not more than fourteen or fifteen feet in height. The whole island was about eight miles long, and from one and a half to two miles wide.

We sounded as we approached, but could obtain no bottom; and it was not till we got quite close that the lead gave us ninety fathoms, and farther on seventy, thus proving that the land was the top of a submerged mountain. Such, indeed, are all the islands of this group. Once upon a time in the world’s history, a mountainous region existed on the spot over which we were sailing, which gradually sank till the ocean flowed over all the highest portions. The coral insects finding it a convenient situation on which to build, the temperature of the water suiting their constitution, commenced operations, and formed an encircling reef round the shore. These creatures can only live at a certain depth beneath the surface; thus, as the land continued to sink, the first builders died, while others continued to work above their habitations. Still the land sank, and the coral insects worked on, building higher and higher till the summit of the mountain was not only covered, but was many fathoms deep below the surface. This, however, did not prevent the persevering creatures from continuing their operations; till at length a time came when the subsidence of the land ceased. The breakers then washed up portions of the coral on to the summit of the reef, which by degrees crumbled away from the action of the atmosphere. Sea-birds made it their home, and deposited the seeds of various plants, while the ocean washed up other seeds still containing germinating powers. Thus vegetation commenced; and the trees and shrubs decaying, more vegetable mould was formed to support the existence of a further succession of trees and shrubs.

I give this information here, though I did not obtain it till long afterwards; indeed, I believe that no one at the time understood how the island was formed. I asked Mudge, who told me that it was placed there by Nature, as other parts of the earth had been formed, to give a pleasing variety to the face of the globe.

“It will afford us anything but a pleasing variety, if we have to sail through a sea studded with such islands as these,” I could not help observing; “for if we don’t keep our eyes open, we shall be running on them.”

“You may well say that, my boy,” he answered. “And as they extend for the best part of two thousand miles across the Pacific, we shall be lucky if our keel escapes acquaintance with some of them, should the commander take it into his head to cruise through their midst.”

The ship having reached the lee side of the island, a boat was lowered, and Mudge and I accompanied the first lieutenant to try and open a communication with the inhabitants,—carrying with us some trifles, such as beads, small looking-glasses, and other trinkets, furnished us at home to barter with the natives or to use as presents in order to gain their good-will. As we pulled in, a number of them appeared on the beach armed with long spears and clubs, which they brandished with menacing attitudes, as if they would prevent us from landing. We had taken Dicky Popo with us, under the belief that, seeing a person of a darker skin than ours among us, they might be inclined to trust us; not that it was supposed he could understand their language.

As they still continued waving us off, the lieutenant held up a string of beads and some other articles. Then, not wishing to risk the safety of the boat by running her on the coral beach,—on which the surf, beating heavily, might soon have stove in her bows,—we pulled in as close as we could venture, and he threw the articles on shore. The savages eagerly picked them up; but still they did not appear satisfied as to our friendly intentions, and continued waving us off, shouting, at the same time, at the top of their voices. As they did not throw their spears, however, or make any other hostile movements, we remained at a short distance from the beach, hoping that the presents we had given them would produce a more amiable state of mind. Still, though we did all we could to win their confidence, whenever we got a little nearer they again began gesticulating, showing that they had no intention to let us land if they could help it.

Besides the men on the beach, we saw a group of people at some distance, who seemed to be watching our proceedings with great interest, and apparently holding back one of their number who was making efforts to break away from them. In colour and costume, or rather in the want of it, he differed but little from the rest; and we therefore concluded that he was insane, or that from some other cause his companions objected to his coming near us. As the commander had given orders that we should on no account force a landing, our lieutenant, believing that we should be unable to accomplish our object, put the boat round; and we were pulling off, when the man we had seen escaped from those who held him, and, dodging round the others, sprang into the water, and with rapid strokes swam off towards us, in spite of several spears hurled at him. Mr Worthy instantly pulled back to take him in.

“Glad get among you,” he exclaimed, greatly to our surprise, in tolerable English, as he climbed over the side.

“Why, my friend, who are you?” asked Mr Worthy.

“I Kanaka,” he answered; by which we knew that he was a Sandwich Islander.

As we returned to the ship, he explained that he had belonged to a vessel caught in a gale off the island; when, having been washed overboard from the bowsprit, and no attempt being made to pick him up, he had remained afloat all night, and succeeded the next morning, in a way that only a Sandwich Islander could have accomplished, in reaching the island. Happily the inhabitants did not see him till he had recovered his strength. He then went boldly among them; and as he was able to make himself understood, he had, by the way he addressed them, gained their confidence, though he believed that they would otherwise immediately have put him to death. His knowledge being superior to theirs, he was looked upon with much respect; and as he had already taught them many things they did not before know, the people wished to retain him among them.

“Dey stupid savages,” he observed with a look of contempt; though, except that he could speak a little English, we were not inclined to consider him much raised above them in the scale of civilisation.

The lieutenant then inquired the character of the vessel from which he had been washed overboard. The Kanaka, shaking his head and throwing an expression of disgust into his countenance, answered, “No good;” and on further examining him, Mr Worthy came to the conclusion that she was either a pirate, or a craft engaged in carrying off the inhabitants to work in the mines of Peru—the rumour having reached us at Valparaiso that some vessels had been fitted out for that purpose. He had for some time been serving on board a whaler, where he had learned English; and having deserted at a port in Peru, had joined this craft in the hope of getting back to his own island, whither he had understood she was bound.

His name, he told us, was Tamaku. He and Dicky Popo soon became great friends, and both made themselves very useful on board. It was singular that they should have joined us much in the same way. Tamaku was likely to prove of service in acting as interpreter with the natives of Polynesia; for the language of the Sandwich group differs but slightly from the dialects of the other brown-skinned races inhabiting the numerous archipelagoes which dot its surface. The Sandwich Islanders can thus generally make themselves understood wherever they go.

Tamaku being a merry, obliging fellow, became a favourite with the crew, and we hoped that we should be able to retain him on board even after our visit to the Sandwich Islands, to which we were now bound.

We were glad enough to get clear of the Low Archipelago, for it is a serious matter to be caught in a gale amid its countless coral reefs, many of which are not to be seen until the ship is close upon them; and even in fine weather the greatest vigilance is required to avoid them. We had a look-out at each fore-topsail-yardarm, at the fore-topmast-head, and often at the bowsprit end, as the submerged reefs can in calm weather be distinguished only by the darker colour of the water. Even when we were clear of these, we had still to keep a look-out for other islands in our course; as well as for the craft which Tamaku had described to us, or for her consorts, which the commander was very anxious to catch.

As we were soon afterwards running on with a flowing sheet during the night, the stars being obscured by clouds, and the wind pretty strong, “Land! land on the starboard bow!” was shouted from forward. “Land ahead!” was the next startling cry. What dangerous reef might run off it was not known. “Starboard the helm!” shouted the officer of the watch; “brace the yards sharp up!”

“All hands on deck!” was the next cry; for the ship was heeling over so much to the gale that it became necessary to shorten sail without delay. As it was, the risk of carrying away the yards, if not the masts, was very great. While the hands were hauling aft the sheets, a loud clap was heard. The main-tack had given way, and the clew of the sail was flapping furiously in the wind, threatening with death all within its reach.

At the instant it gave way a sharp cry reached my ears. Immediately afterwards a voice from the poop shouted, “Man overboard!” But, alas! whoever he was, no assistance could be rendered him. Destruction awaited the ship should she not weather the land ahead. One of my messmates who was on the poop—Tommy Peck by name—acting upon the impulse of the moment, cut the lanyard of the life-buoy, which fell into the seething ocean; though he either forgot to pull that which would have ignited the port-fire, or the port-fire itself was damaged, as no light was seen as it fell into the water.

Some minutes of anxious suspense followed, during which the ship was ploughing her way through the dark seas which, rolling onward, burst into masses of foam on the rocky shore to leeward.

At length the open ocean could be seen beyond the point which gradually appeared over our starboard quarter; but the commander dared not yet keep the ship away, not knowing how far the reef extending from it might reach. In the meantime the tack had been secured, and two reefs taken in the topsail. Even as it was, however, the ship, slashing through the foaming seas, could scarcely look up to the gale, and I every moment expected to see her go right over. The water was rushing through her ports, and rose half-way up the deck to the combings of the hatchway. With infinite relief, therefore, I heard the order given to port the helm and square the yards; and once more we flew on before the wind, leaving the dark land astern. It seemed as if there had come a sudden lull, so easily did she now speed on her way over the ocean.

All were eager to know who had been lost, and the muster-roll was called. One after another the men answered to their names, till that of Dicky Popo was shouted out. No Dicky answered, and it became certain that he was the unfortunate individual lost. Tamaku expressed his grief with a loud wail. “O Popo! Popo! why you go overboard?” he cried out. “You not swim like Kanaka, or you get to shore. But now I know you at de bottom of de sea.”

It was sad, indeed, to think that the poor lad had gone overboard at a moment when it was utterly impossible to render him any assistance. Under other circumstances he might easily have been saved, as the sea, though rough, was not sufficiently so to prevent a boat being lowered. Now, however, we could not go back to look for him; indeed, as Tamaku said, he must long before this have perished.

We after this sighted the Marquesas, to which the French have laid claim, though they have made no attempt to colonise these beautiful and fertile islands.

The Sandwich Islands were at length reached, and we brought up off Honolulu, in the island of Oahu. We were more struck with the beauty of the scenery than with that of the female portion of the inhabitants; but as the islands have been so often described, I will not attempt to do so; merely remarking that they are eleven in number, some of them about a hundred miles in circumference. Hawaii, formerly known as Owhyhee, is very much the largest, being eighty-eight miles in length by sixty-eight in breadth; and it contains two lofty mountains, each upwards of thirteen thousand feet in height—one called Mauna Kea, and the other Mauna Loa, which latter is for ever sending forth its volcanic fires, while it casts its vast shadow far and wide over the ocean.

After leaving Honolulu, which in those days was a very different place to what it is now, we brought up in the Bay of Kealakeakua, celebrated as the place where Captain Cook lost his life. As we entered the bay we could see in the far distance the towering dome of Mauna Loa. The whole country round bore evidence of the volcanic nature of the soil; broken cliffs rose round the bay, on the north side of which a reef of rocks offers the most convenient landing-place. It was here that Captain Cook was killed, while endeavouring to reach his boat. A few yards from the water stands a cocoa-nut tree, at the foot of which he is said to have breathed his last. The Imogene carried away the top of the tree; and her captain had a copper plate fastened on to the stem, the lower part of which has been thickly tarred to preserve it. On the plate is a cross, with an inscription—“Near this spot fell Captain James Cook, the renowned circumnavigator, who discovered these islands, A.D. 1778.”

Tamaku having been allowed to remain on shore during the time we were here, came off again of his own free will, and expressed his readiness to continue on board.

We again sailed to the southward. The commander had been directed to visit the archipelagoes on the western side of the Pacific, but he wished first to make a survey of the island on which we had so nearly run during the gale on our course northward.

I have, by-the-by, said very little about my messmates, except Mr Worthy, Peter Mudge (who acted as my Mentor, as he was likewise that of all the youngsters), and my chum Tommy Peck. There was another mate, who had lately passed,—Alfred Stanford, a very gentlemanly, pleasing young man. We had, besides, a surgeon, a master’s assistant, the captain’s clerk and the purser’s clerk, who made up the complement in our berth. My chief friend among the men was Dick Tillard, an old quartermaster, to whom I could always go to get instruction in seamanship, with the certainty that he would do his best to enlighten me. He had been at sea all his life, and had scarcely ever spent a month on shore at a time. He was a philosopher, in his way; and his philosophy was of the best, for he had implicit confidence in God’s overruling providence. If anything went wrong, his invariable remark was,—“That’s our fault, not His who rules above; trust him, lads, trust him, and he will make all things right at last.”

I have very little to say about our second lieutenant, or the master, or surgeon, or purser,—who, as far as I knew, were respectable men, not above the average in intellect, and got on very well together in the gunroom; so that our ship might have been looked upon as a happy one, as things go, though I confess that we cannot expect to find a paradise on board a man-of-war.

I must not omit to mention our boatswain, a person of no small importance on board ship. So, at all events, thought Mr Fletcher Yallop, as he desired to be called; and if we youngsters ever wanted him to do anything for us, we always thus addressed him—though, of course, the commander and officers called him simply Mr Yallop. If the men addressed him as Mr Yallop, he invariably exclaimed,—“Mr Fletcher Yallop is my name, remember, my lad; and I’ll beg you always to denominate me by my proper appellation, or a rope’s end and your back will scrape acquaintance with each other.”

He explained his reasons to me in confidence one day. “You see, Mr Rayner, I expect before I die to come into a fortune, when I shall be, of course, Fletcher Yallop, Esquire. I can’t make the men call me so now, because I am but a simple boatswain; but I like the sound; it keeps up my spirits. When I get out of sorts, I repeat to myself: ‘Fletcher Yallop, Esquire, be a man; be worthy of your future position in society when you take your place among the nobility of the land, and perhaps write M.P. after your name,’—and in an instant I am myself again, and patiently bear the rubs and frowns to which even warrant-officers are subjected. In truth, though I wish you not to repeat it, Mr Rayner, I may become a baronet; and I always look with trembling interest at the Gazette, to see if a certain person, whose heir I am, has been raised to that dignity.”

I ventured to ask the boatswain on what he grounded his hopes of fortune.

“That is a secret, Mr Rayner,” he replied, “which I must not divulge, even to you; but you would not doubt my word, I am sure. That must be sufficient for the present; and I must request you not to make the matter a subject of conversation among your messmates. They would not enter into my feelings as you do.”

I found, however, that Mr Yallop had been equally confidential to Tommy Peck, though he had not ventured to talk of his hopes either to Mudge or Stanford. Tom and I, on comparing notes, came to the conclusion that the boatswain was under a hallucination; though, as it was a very harmless one, and afforded him intense satisfaction without in any way interfering with his duty, we agreed that it was as well to let him enjoy it. He was, indeed, a first-rate seaman and an excellent boatswain, though he handled the rope’s end pretty freely when any of the ship’s boys or ordinary seamen neglected their duty. He was a broadly built man, with enormous black whiskers; and no one would have supposed that he possessed a single grain of romance in his composition. He had an eagle eye, and a sun-burned, weather-beaten countenance; but I believe he had as tender a heart as any man in the ship.

Nothing of importance occurred till we sighted the island against which we had so nearly run. Standing in with the lead going, we found good anchorage in a wide bay, protected by a high point of land on one side and a reef on the other. The captain wishing to survey the island, and the weather being fine, he ordered his gig to be manned, and, much to my satisfaction, told me to be ready to accompany him. We took a supply of provisions for the day, as we did not expect to be back till late in the evening.

While the first lieutenant and master were surveying the bay in which the ship lay, and the coast in its immediate neighbourhood, we pulled round to the opposite side of the island. We had as yet seen no natives, but as cocoa-nut trees were visible on shore, we concluded that some parts of it were inhabited. The centre was of considerable height, and was evidently of volcanic origin, the highest point being apparently a volcano, though no smoke or fire was seen proceeding from it.

We had been pulling on for three or four hours, keeping at some distance from the shore, to avoid the reefs which ran off it, as the captain wished to make the whole circuit during the day, when, just as we had doubled the point, we saw right ahead, some way from the shore, a small canoe with a flag flying at her bow. The commander ordered the men to give way, fearing that the natives in the canoe, when they saw us, would attempt to escape, and he specially wished to gain information from them. (Tamaku, I should have said, formed one of the crew, having been taken to act as interpreter.) There appeared to be no one on board the canoe, which was at anchor; but as we drew nearer we saw the head of a person rise up above the gunwale, when, as it seemed, he for the first time caught sight of us. He gazed towards the gig with astonishment, though without uttering any cry of alarm.

“He has an unusually white skin for a native,” observed the captain; “indeed, he must be, I am sure, a European.”

The boy, for his features showed that he was very young, took something from the bottom of the canoe, as we drew near, and kneeling down in the bow in a suppliant manner, held out his hand towards us. The commander, anxious not to alarm him, ordered the gig to pull round and back in quietly astern, while, standing up, he leaned forward to examine what the boy had got in his hand. Just at that moment another head rose above the gunwale of the canoe from the outside; but that was black as jet; and what should I see but Dicky Popo’s astonished countenance, his ivory teeth gleaming whitely as his mouth distended from ear to ear.

“Oh, ky! cappen—and you, Massa Rayner—where you come from?” he exclaimed, as he rested on his elbows before getting into the canoe.

So interested was the captain in the appearance of the white boy,—more even than in the number of beautiful pearls he held in his hand,—that he scarcely recognised Popo.

“Who are you, and where do you come from?” asked the commander.

The lad only shook his head, as if he did not understand his question—still keeping his hand extended, with the pearls in it.

“He no speakee English,” said Popo, who had just scrambled into the canoe.

“Why, Dicky Popo,” cried the commander, “you here, my boy!”

I could not resist shaking Popo by the hand, so delighted was I to see him.

“Yes, massa cappen; me no drownee,” he answered.

“That’s very evident,” said the commander; “and I shall be glad to know how you escaped. But first I want you to set the mind of this poor lad at rest, as he seems in a great fright. Tell him we are friends, and will do him no harm, for he does not understand what I say to him.”

Popo, more by signs than words, quickly succeeded in tranquillising the lad.

“Who is he?” asked the commander, “for his skin is as white as ours; and I cannot suppose that he is a native.”

“He not say who he is,” answered Popo; “but by-and-by perhaps talkee more.”

“Well, we must wait patiently,” said the commander. “Ask him if he has any objection to accompany us; and if he is ready to come we will take you and him into the gig, while we tow the canoe astern.” After a few more signs and incomprehensible words had passed between Popo and the white boy, they both stepped into the gig; the latter still holding the pearls in his hand, which, as soon as he was seated, he again offered to the commander, who this time received them, and after examining them put them into his pocket. The canoe was then made fast to the gig astern, and we continued our course round the island.

The commander was engaged in noting its headlands and bays and other features, and could not give his attention to the lad; but I lost no time in trying to learn from Popo how he had escaped,—also drawing from him anything he knew about the white boy. On the first point he quickly enlightened me.

On falling overboard, he had caught sight of the life-buoy which Peck had providentially let go; and being a good swimmer, he had reached it, and climbing up, had made himself fast to it. With a feeling of dismay he saw the ship sailing on, but he did not gave way to despair, as after some time he discovered that the life-buoy was drifting towards the land. Still, he knew that, should it be driven among the breakers, he should in all probability be dashed to pieces on the rocks. However, as he told me, he hoped for the best, and clung on, finding himself getting nearer and nearer the shore.

When morning broke, he found that he was not more than a few cable-lengths from the beach. As the light increased he looked out anxiously, and, much to his satisfaction, saw that he was drifting towards a sandy bay. He cast off the lashings which had hitherto secured him, that he might swim on shore, knowing that the life-buoy would in all probability be rolled over and over.

It now advanced but little; and he was on the point of parting from it and beginning to swim, when he saw several natives come down to the beach, and among them a white lad. The former stood gazing at him, apparently indifferent to the rude breakers; the lad, however, directly afterwards began to launch a small canoe which lay on the beach, and jumping into it and actively working the paddle, made his way through the breakers towards him. Popo being quite sure that he came as a friend, left the life-buoy as soon as he drew near, and with a few strokes reached the bow of the canoe, over which he soon scrambled; when the boy at once paddled back to the beach, carrying him safely through the breakers. The savages, who were as brown as those he had before seen, gathered round him and examined his skin with much curiosity, supposing, he observed, that he had got on a black coat. They then made him and the white boy stand together, grinning at the contrast which their colours presented, and evidently satisfied that they themselves were the just medium.

Popo, who was very hungry, now made signs that he wanted something to eat. His new friend, hastening away, quickly returned from a hut at no great distance with some food, which the brown savages did not prevent his giving him. Popo soon found, however, that although his life was to be spared he was to be treated as a slave, as the white boy appeared to be.

After remaining on the beach a short time, the savages led him to their village, which consisted of a number of low huts. The women had been preparing their morning meal, after which some of the men went out to kill birds, while others occupied themselves in a taro plantation on some level ground to the rear of their village. Popo, meantime, who could scarcely keep his eyes open, was conducted by his white friend to a hut, where the latter spread a mat for him, and made signs that he might lie down. Scarcely had he done so when he fell fast asleep.

The next day, the weather being finer, many of the men went off in their canoes; Popo and the white boy being taken out in that of the chief. Popo found that they were engaged in diving for pearl-oysters. The white lad appeared to be among the best of their divers. He fearlessly plunged overboard with a net and a small axe—the net being attached to the boat by a line; and when his net was hauled up it was invariably full of oysters. The chief made signs to Popo that he must do the same. Though he was a good swimmer, he had never been accustomed to diving; but the white boy showed him how he could accomplish the feat, and after some practice he was able to go down, and succeeded almost as well as his companion.

Since he had been there, three vessels had come and purchased all the pearls which had been collected, when he and the white boy had been carried off some way from the shore, so that they might not communicate with the crews. After each visit paid by the pearl-traders, all the men in the village had become excessively tipsy; and on the first two occasions they, fearing that they might be ill-treated, had run off and hidden themselves, though they did not escape punishment. Popo had begun to learn his companion’s language; which he spoke, however, in a way very different from the natives. They were thus able to communicate with each other.

Only the day before our arrival another trader had gone away, and at the present time every man in the village was drunk. As the old chief had on previous occasions beaten them, when he came to himself, for not having some pearls ready for him, they had come off in the canoe by themselves, and were engaged in fishing,—for so it may be called,—when we found them.

Such is an outline of the account Popo gave me.

All the time I was talking to Popo, the lad had his eyes fixed intently on me, as if he was endeavouring to understand what we were saying.

“And you, Popo,” I asked; “are you glad to escape from the savages?”

“Yes, massa; dat I am,” answered Popo.

“And do you think your companion is the same?” I added, looking towards him.

“Yes, yes,” said the white boy, looking up at me.

“Why, you must be English; you have thoroughly understood what I said,” I exclaimed.

“Me tink so too,” observed Popo.

The commander, who had been listening to what we had been saying, now called Tamaku aft, and desired him to try if he could understand the white boy, who after he had last spoken seemed abashed, and could not be got to utter a word. Tamaku at once began to ask him questions, which he answered with apparent readiness in the same language, differing but slightly in sound.

“Can you make out how he came to be among the natives?” asked the commander, when Tamaku and the boy had ceased speaking.

“He not know much,” answered the Kanaka; “long time wid dem—say dey find him in a boat at sea, and bring him here and make him slavey.”

“Try and find out his name,” said the commander; “whether it is Tom or Dick, or Jack or Harry.”

Scarcely had he uttered the last word when the boy exclaimed, “Harry! Harry! dat my name,” and seemed almost overcome by hearing it uttered.

“Well, Harry, my boy, can’t you talk a little more English? Since you remember your name, tell us something about your father and mother, or any of your other friends,” continued the commander.

“Father—mother,” repeated the boy, with a look of pleasure, as if they were words once familiar to his tongue.

“Well done, my boy,” exclaimed the commander, pleased with the result of his experiment; “you’ll remember more words by-and-by, when you get on board. And we’ll not yet pay your drunken friends a visit to let them wish you good-bye.”

It was difficult to say whether the boy understood him; but, at all events, the commander’s kind tone of voice gave him confidence, and he seemed contented and happy.

As we had only just time to get round the island, the commander did not put on shore anywhere; also, with so small a party, he thought it imprudent to go among the natives, who might prove hostile—especially if they found that he was carrying off their slaves. Popo and the white boy appeared well-pleased at this; and it was evident that the latter had no great affection for those among whom he had lived so long.

Frequently during the remainder of the day we heard the boy saying to himself, “Yes, yes—Harry—father—mother,” as if pleased with the sound of those long-forgotten words. Then I was nearly certain that I heard him muttering to himself a verse of a child’s hymn; but the words were indistinct.

He listened attentively to every word we said, and now and then uttered a word after us.

“I suspect that in the course of a few days he will be able to tell us more about himself than he can do now,” observed the captain; “in the meantime, we must not bother him too much.”

We got on board just before darkness set in. Popo was greeted warmly by the whole of the crew, who were delighted to find that he had escaped and to have him back among them again; while Harry, as the white boy was at once called, was received with much curiosity, every one being eager to know who he was and how he had fallen into the hands of the savages. As may be supposed, he had not been many minutes on board before he was rigged out in a shirt and trousers and jacket, with a handkerchief round his neck, and a broad-brimmed hat on his head. He made no objection to putting on the dress, which really became him; and Dick Tillard, who acted as his valet, observed that it was surely not the first time he had been so rigged out.

Next day, the commander went on shore with a strongly-armed party, taking Tamaku with him, that he might try and obtain further information from the natives. The latter showed no signs of fear, being apparently accustomed to the sight of white men. They inquired what had become of the boys, and demanded to have them back. Tamaku replied that one of them belonged to the ship, and that the other desired to remain on board, so that they could not be given up; but the English commander would make a present to them if they would inform him honestly how they came to have the white boy among them. After this, by Tamaku’s account, they had a long palaver, when the old chief, stepping forward, said that he was ready to declare the truth: that some seven years before, as he and his people were on board a large canoe on their way to this island, they had fallen in with an English boat containing several men and a little boy; but the men had all died; and the little boy had been taken care of, and had lived with them ever since.

Tamaku had his suspicions that the men had been put to death; however, it was not worth while pressing the matter home on the chief, as, of course, he would have denied it.

The commander having finished his survey of the island, and obtained all the information respecting the boy which he could collect, we again made sail and stood to the westward.

Chapter Three.

Harry a member of our mess—He rapidly improves—Anchor off a volcanic island—Our boat-cruise round the island—Chase a whaler—A hurricane—Run before it—Driven on an island—Boat damaged—Find cocoa-nuts—Search for food—The bird island—We form a camp, and go to sleep.

I must not stop to describe our run to the westward, the islands we sighted, the narrow escapes we had of knocking our bows in against coral reefs, or the gales we encountered in the falsely so-called Pacific,—not but that it is pacific enough at times, when long calms prevail; and on two such occasions we lay basking, or rather sweltering, under the rays of a tropical sun, scarcely cooled even during the night. Still we all retained our health, being amply supplied with lime-juice and preserved vegetables, calculated to keep the much-dreaded scurvy at bay.

Harry at once became a favourite on board; for though he had been cowed by his task-masters, his spirit had not been broken. He was grateful for all kindness shown him, and anxious to learn, so that he in a short time was as civilised as any one on board. He also rapidly acquired a knowledge of English,—or, I may say, regained it, for so quickly did he pick up the more simple words, that it was clear he must have known them before. As he did so, recollections of the past seemed to come back to his mind; and when he was able to speak his thoughts, he mentioned numerous circumstances which convinced us of what the commander had from the first suspected.

I took a great liking to him, as he did to me; and taking care not to suggest ideas to him which might have led him into error, I frequently got him to tell me the recollections of his early days. He remembered his mother, whom he described as very beautiful, as he naturally thought her, and very like what Mrs Hudson must have been; and he spoke of his father as being a great chief, who commanded a number of men; and also of being on board a ship, which he said was very much larger than the Heroine, and had a great number of men and boats. He spoke, also, of enormous fish being caught, and brought alongside, and cut up and burned; so that, of course, I knew she must have been a whaler. At length he said he recollected being carried into a boat and rowed away from the ship, which he had never seen again; and now I had not a shadow of doubt that he was indeed the long-lost child of Captain and Mrs Hudson. He had no recollection of the murder of the crew, however; but he next remembered finding himself among dark-skinned savages, with whom he had ever afterwards remained. Possibly he might have been in an unconscious state, from want of food, when the boat was seized by the savages, and had so escaped witnessing the murder of her crew.

As soon as I made this out, I told the commander; who took great pains to cross-question Harry, and ultimately arrived at the same conclusion that I had done. He therefore at once told Harry that his surname was Hudson, and that he would spare no pains to restore him to his father and mother, who had long mourned him as lost. Harry seemed much affected by this, and often expressed to me his wish to see his mother again, declaring that he should know her at once; and he thought, also, that he could recognise his father. I reminded him that his mother would look much older than when he had been parted from her, as grief and sickness had paled her cheek; but that I felt sure she would recognise him, and that he must do his best to be like us, so that she might find him a real English boy.

The commander, on thus ascertaining who he was, asked us if we would receive him in the midshipmen’s berth,—charging us at the same time to set him a good example, by avoiding anything that was wrong, and by teaching him only what was right. Without a dissentient voice we all agreed to the commander’s proposal, and Harry Hudson forthwith became a member of our mess. Some of the men, and Dick Tillard especially, were at first rather jealous of this. When I told him what the commander had said, he replied,—“It’s all right, Mr Rayner; and if you follow his advice, it will do you as much good as it will Harry; and we’ll all be ready to serve him as much as before.”

The commander also spoke on the subject to Harry; who, however, did not require his lecture, as he took the greatest possible pains to imitate us, as well as to speak correctly. We began also to teach him to read and write; but I think he must have known his letters before, from the rapid way in which he learned them—he knew them all in a couple of days, and in a week could read short words; indeed, it was evident that he was possessed of great natural intelligence, and an amiable disposition. Yet, had he lived on with the savages, he would have remained as wild and ignorant as they were.

The commander, who was a truly religious man, frequently had him in to talk to him about God, and to tell him how man, being sinful, had separated from God, and had become a rebel to him; how God, notwithstanding, loved him, and yet how, being a God of justice, he must punish sin, and could not therefore forgive him unless he had allowed another—his own sinless Son—to be punished instead of sinful man. Harry thought over what the commander told him; and a day or two afterwards he repeated to me all that had been said, and observed that he was convinced it was just the plan to suit man’s wants, and that he would henceforth try to serve so good and merciful a God, and love that dear Son who had been punished instead of him. Thus Harry became a Christian; and, I believe, a much better Christian than very many on board. Of course, when we found him his mind was imbued with the same dark heathenism as were the minds of the savages among whom he had lived.

A sharp look-out was kept for a sail; and our earnest wish was, that as we got to the westward we should fall in with Captain Hudson’s ship, as he had intended to proceed in that direction. We were not so likely, it was feared, to fall in with any of the abominable Chilian kidnappers; they would probably only attempt to carry off the brown natives from the islands on the eastern side of the Pacific.

We were now, it will be understood, approaching the region inhabited by the black-skinned races. We had stood to the southward, and visited Samoa or Navigator’s Islands, inhabited by an intelligent brown-skinned race, far more advanced in civilisation than the people we now expected to meet with; but I must not stop to describe them.

We had been some days at sea, still running to the westward, when we sighted a small island ahead. The captain considered that it was the northernmost of a chain of volcanic islands extending from the Friendly group; and, as it was not marked on the chart, he wished to survey it, so we accordingly stood on. As we approached nearer, we saw that it consisted of a range of conical peaks,—many of the hills rising sheer out of the water, while others were bordered by low cliffs or beaches. It had also several deep bays or inlets. Though it was surrounded by a coral reef, two openings were perceived in it, through which it appeared that there would be no difficulty in taking the ship, when we might find secure anchorage in one of the bays within it. A passage nearly the eighth of a mile wide appearing ahead of us, we entered, having look-outs as usual aloft, to warn us in time of any hidden reefs in our course, while the lead was also kept going.

The wind being light, it was evening before we came to an anchor; and darkness soon coming on, displayed to our eyes the magnificent spectacle of a volcano sending forth masses of flame, with hot lava running down the sides of the mountain in broad streams, some making their way towards the bay in which we lay, others being lost to sight in a deep gully, apparently on the other side. Now and then loud rumbling sounds were heard, like the discharge of big guns in rapid succession or the rattling of thunder; and the watch on deck declared they felt the ship shake, as if there had been an earthquake. Once, also, a shower of ashes fell on the ship’s deck, the wind having shifted, and blowing from off the land. The commander, however, did not consider there was any danger, so we remained quietly at anchor.

The next morning, when the commander and master were preparing to set off to commence their survey, Mudge asked me if I should like to make a trip along the coast. Of course I said Yes. As Tom and Harry begged that they might accompany us, Mudge got leave to take the jolly-boat, with Tillard, Tamaku, and Popo to assist in pulling. We provided ourselves with food to last us for the day, put four muskets and a cutlass apiece into the boat; though, as the island did not appear to be inhabited, we did not expect to meet with natives. We might, however, we thought, get a shot at some wild-fowl; and we intended landing somewhere and lighting a fire to cook our provisions.

Fully expecting to have a pleasant day, we pulled away from the ship. Shortly afterwards a breeze sprang up, and we made sail, running swiftly along the shore. Mudge and I had our note-books, in which we noted down the points and inlets, with the computed distances.

We soon got to the extreme end of the island, and had just doubled it when I caught sight of a vessel in the offing. I pointed her out to Mudge. He looked at her through his spy-glass. “She is becalmed,” he observed; “and, Rayner, do you just look at her, and tell me what you think she is; but speak in a low voice, because I don’t want Harry to hear.”

I took the glass, and made out that the vessel was barque-rigged; and though she was hull down, I felt sure that she was a whaler.

“From the appearance of her sails, I shouldn’t be surprised if she was the Hopewell,” said Mudge. “I am sure that the commander would wish us to try and communicate with her, and restore that poor lad to his parents; and even if it should fall dark before we can get back, the volcano will serve to guide us.”

Of course I was very willing to do as Mudge proposed. We agreed, however, not to say anything to Harry, lest we should disappoint him.

“We are going to board yonder barque,” said Mudge aloud; “there is an opening through the reef just abreast of us, and we shall have no difficulty in reaching her.”

“Orders are orders,” said Tillard; “I never knew any good come of disobeying them.”

Mudge, however, did not hear him; and I, looking forward to the pleasure of seeing Harry restored to his parents,—and it may be that I just thought of the pretty young lady I had seen on board,—did not repeat what he had said.

As there was a light breeze off the land, we hoisted our sail, that we might benefit by it as long as it lasted. Our only fear was that the barque might get the breeze also, and stand away from us. We kept rowing, therefore, to increase our speed. On we pulled, but in my eagerness it appeared that we were no nearer the barque than at first. I saw by Harry’s countenance that he was as eager as we were, and I could not help thinking that he suspected the object of our trying to board the barque. At last he asked, looking at me intently, “Do you think that my father’s ship?”

“We have some hopes that she is; but, you know, we may be mistaken, Harry,” said Mudge; “so you must not raise your expectations too high. Even if she is, we may not reach her; but, at all events, we’ll do our best to get on board.”

Soon after this, on looking through the glass I observed the barque’s sails fill out, though the wind came from a different quarter to that from which we got it.

“We may still cut her off, though we must steer rather more to the westward than we are doing,” remarked Mudge, altering the boat’s course.

We immediately afterwards got a much stronger breeze; and the boat ran merrily over the waves, which, as we got from under the lee of the land, were somewhat higher than they had before been. Still Mudge, in his eagerness, did not seem to notice this, nor, I confess, did I; having our eyes fixed on the vessel, we did not look astern. We had been standing on for some distance, when an exclamation from Tillard made me look towards the land, over which hung a dense black cloud. Directly afterwards, a loud rushing noise reached our ears, resembling the continuous roar of thunder, mingled with the sound of a downpour of rain. It was the voice of the hurricane. Tillard sprang to the halyards, and, without waiting for Mudge’s orders, lowered the sail half down.

“Keep her before the wind, Mr Mudge; it’s our only chance now!” he exclaimed.

Mudge, seeing that this was the best thing to be done, followed his advice; and the wind striking us the instant afterwards, away we flew directly before it. Had the seas been higher, we might have attempted to keep the boat’s head to wind, and our chance of escape would have been small indeed; as it was, fast as we flew through the seething ocean, we hardly escaped being pooped, the crests of the seas continually breaking over the stern and compelling all hands to keep baling. I looked for the barque, but could nowhere see her; indeed, the masses of spray which filled the atmosphere, mingled with showers of dust and ashes which came from the volcano, completely obscured all objects at a distance; and in a short time we entirely lost sight of the land itself. We all felt that we were in a most perilous position: did the sea get up more, we should in all probability be swamped; or did the gale continue and we live through it, we should be driven far away from the island. There might be others ahead, but they were certain to be surrounded by reefs, on which the boat would probably be dashed to pieces. All we could do was to keep the sail hoisted a few feet up, and to bale out the water as fast as it washed over the gunwale.

Night now came on, adding to the horrors of the scene. On and on we went, Mudge sitting at the helm, and steering the boat in a way which a good seaman only could have done. Tillard offered to relieve him.

“No,” he answered; “I got you into this mess, and it is my business to get you out of it if I can. The hurricane will come to an end at last,—maybe before daybreak,—and then we must do our best to make our way back to the island.”

In spite of our dangerous position, we were all getting very hungry; we had been about to land in order to cook our dinner, when we saw the barque, and after that we were too eager to think of eating. I got some biscuits out of our basket, which I served round to all hands; and I then found a bottle of wine.

“We must economise that,” observed Mudge, when he found what I was about; “half a glass to each person is as much as we ought to take—it may be longer than you suppose before we get back over the ground we have come.”

The food somewhat revived our spirits. Harry sat wonderfully quiet and calm; Tommy Peck’s teeth chattered a little, as if he did not like it; but neither Popo nor Tamaku uttered a word. The storm gave no signs of breaking, and on and on we went, rushing through the darkness. At any moment we might find ourselves, we knew, cast upon a reef, and the boat dashed to pieces; but that risk, fearful as it was, must be run.

I asked Mudge if he could tell what o’clock it was.

“It’s too dark to see the hands of my watch, but I judge that it is some time past midnight,” he answered.

I groaned, for I thought it must be nearly daybreak.

“God has taken care of us thus far, and he will take care of us, if he thinks fit, till morning,” observed Tillard; “we must not give in, however bad things look.”

At last day began to break. The wind blew as hard as ever, and no land was visible—only the tumbling, foam-crested seas, amid which we flew, were around us.

“Patience, lads,” said Mudge; “all we can do is to stand on as we have been going,—and we may be thankful that we have been preserved thus far,—better to have no land, than to find ourselves close to a coral reef with the sea dashing furiously over it.” Which there was no gainsaying.

After a time I again asked if I might serve out some food; to this Mudge consented, charging me to be careful as to quantity.

After taking our scanty meal, most of us lay down to rest again. Tillard having repeatedly begged Mudge to let him take the helm, Mudge at last agreed to his offer, desiring to be called in a couple of hours, or immediately should there be the slightest change; and in a moment, almost, he was asleep.

Tillard ordered Tamaku to keep a look-out ahead, while we four younger ones went to sleep. Before I did so, however, I took a look-out in every direction in the hope of seeing the barque; but no sail was in sight. Though the weather was much clearer than it had been on the previous evening, the gale blew as heavily as at first; and in a couple of hours Mudge started up and insisted on taking the helm again, while Tillard lay down to obtain the rest he so much needed, I taking Tamaku’s place in the bows.

Thus we ran on for the greater part of the day, hoping every hour that the wind would abate. Late in the afternoon I thought I saw land. I told Mudge, who, standing up, observed that there was no doubt about it. It was a small island directly in our course, so that we should have to haul up to avoid it.

“If we do, we shall be swamped,” said Mudge. “We must trust, therefore, to find an opening in the encircling reef, if there is one; but if not, to run into a harbour, or to beach the boat on the sand. Of course, you will understand, we may run on a coral reef and be dashed to pieces, or we may meet with the same fate against a rocky shore. We must trust to Providence, as we have done heretofore, and not expect the worst till it comes upon us.”

“We are ready, I hope, for whatever is to happen, Mr Mudge,” said Tillard; “and we know that you will do the best that is to be done under the circumstances.”

Though it would be satisfactory to run into a snug harbour, yet I could not help wishing that the land was farther off. We approached it with terrible rapidity; in a few minutes, I knew, our fate must be sealed.

Mudge stood up and gazed ahead. “The sea is breaking heavily over the encircling reef,” he said; “but there is a smooth lagoon between it and the land. If we strike the reef, though our boat may be knocked to pieces we may be washed over into the lagoon, and those who can swim well may reach the shore,” he said quite calmly.

He was silent for a minute, and no one else spoke.

“Lads,” he exclaimed at length, “I see an opening—it is a narrow one, but we may get through it if we can hit the centre; get your oars ready, and stand by to hoist the sail, should I tell you.”

Soon after he spoke I heard the roar of the breakers borne up against the blast, and turning round for a moment I saw that we were rapidly approaching them.

“Hoist the sail,” he cried out; “and you at the oars, give way for your lives!”

We tore on, the foaming surges rising up on either side; the sea washed into the boat, and half filled her, but still we flew on. I know that I held my breath, as I should think did most of the party; but Mudge had a firm grasp of the helm, and I saw that his countenance exhibited no signs of dismay. Another sea struck the boat on the opposite quarter; the next moment, when I thought we were safe, a crash was heard,—the boat quivered from stem to stern,—we had struck the reef. A cry escaped from several of us, for we expected the boat to sink. Another sea came roaring towards us, completely deluging us, and washing away everything not firmly secured; but we held tightly to the sides and thwarts. I felt that the boat was being hurled forward.

“Pull for your lives, lads!” shouted Mudge.

Alas! only two oars remained. Those were plied lustily by Tillard, and Harry, and I; and before we had time for much more thought the boat was driven on the beach which formed the inner shore of the lagoon. How we had got there we could scarcely tell: all we knew was that we had been mercifully preserved. We leaped out of our shattered boat, and endeavoured to haul her up so as to prevent her being carried away by any of the following seas; but none of those which succeeded were of like size to that which had carried us on to the beach. We had great cause to be thankful that we had escaped the fearful danger which had threatened us. Exhausted with the anxiety we had felt, and want of sleep, we all sank down on the sand.

It was now nearly dark, and we felt too tired to go in search of any other spot on which we could rest. After a little time, however, our hunger reminded us that we had had no food for some hours; and as we naturally expected to obtain an abundance on the island, we agreed that we would at all events have a good supper. Tillard and Tamaku accordingly went to the boat to bring up our provisions, which had been stowed away in the locker.

As they were some time absent,—“Well, lads, when are you coming back with our food?” asked Mudge.

“We can’t find it, sir,” was the unsatisfactory answer. “It must have been washed out of the boat when that sea struck us.”

There could be no doubt about the matter. The breaker of water, which had fortunately been secured, was at length found; the contents served to quench our thirst, but we had to go to sleep in our wet clothes, and supperless. Tommy began to grumble at his hard fate, for he was very sharp set; and so were we all.

“I’ll tell you what, my lads,” said Mudge: “we ought to be thanking God from our hearts that we have been preserved thus far; for in all my life I never came through so bad a sea as that we have just escaped from. Now let us just lift our voices together and praise Him from whom all blessings flow.”

We joined heartily in the prayer Mudge offered up, as also in the hymn in which he led us; and then we again lay down on the bank, trusting that we should find food the next morning; and that if there were any inhabitants they might prove friendly.

The rays of the sun just rising out of the ocean awoke me. Harry and Tom were already sitting up; the rest of the party, having their faces turned away from the bright luminary, were still asleep. The country wore a more pleasing aspect than it had done when we landed in the gloom of evening. The shore was fringed by a variety of trees, among which we recognised the graceful plume-like heads of a grove of cocoa-nut trees, several broad-leaved bananas, and a number of the pandanus or screw-pine (readily known by the beauty of its form and its white glossy leaves), as also the paper mulberry tree, of much lower growth, with large leaves. The gnawings of hunger, however, made us consider more particularly how we could most quickly obtain some cocoa-nuts,—which I saw hanging from the trees,—rather than about anything else. Harry and Tom were thinking of exactly the same thing; so we got up, and being unwilling to awaken our companions, proceeded together along the shore till we reached one of the smaller trees, which Harry said he could climb without difficulty.

“Then the sooner you are up it the better,” cried Tom; “for if I don’t get something solid to eat soon, I must turn into a sheep, and begin to nibble the grass and leaves.”

“Other animals than sheep eat grass and leaves,” I could not help saying; “you might find yourself turned into one of them.”

Tommy looked somewhat angry, which surprised Harry, who did not understand my allusion, never having seen either a sheep or a donkey. “Don’t quarrel,” he said. “I will soon get the cocoa-nuts; and Tom may eat a whole one if he likes.” So saying, he pulled off his shoes and socks, and began climbing the tree in a way neither Tommy nor I could have accomplished.

We watched him eagerly. I ran under the tree, intending to catch them.

“You had better stand away, or they may chance to break your head,” shouted Harry. In a short time he had reached the top of the tree, and broken off two large clusters of the fruit, with which he descended. “They might have broken, and we should have lost the milk,” he observed, as he reached the bottom.

While we were employed in breaking off the outer husks, Harry ran down to the beach and brought back a piece of sharp coral, with which he soon made a hole in one of the cocoa-nuts. “There,” he said, handing it to me, “drink that—that will do you good.”

How delicious the milk tasted! I passed it on to Tommy. In the meantime, Harry had another cocoa-nut ready. We insisted, however, on his taking the first draught from it. A third cocoa-nut supplied us all with as much liquid as we required; we then broke open the shells, but one cocoa-nut afforded us a sufficient breakfast. With the remainder we returned to the spot where we had left our companions; who were very glad, when they awoke, to find their breakfast ready.

The hurricane, I should have said, was over, and the sea glittered brightly in the rays of the sun. We asked Mudge whether he proposed returning at once to the island where we had left the ship.

“There are several reasons against our doing so,” he answered. “We must in the first place repair our battered boat—and that will be no easy job, I suspect; and we have but two oars remaining to pull, should it prove calm; then, we have no food nor water, and the distance which it has taken us a night and a day to accomplish may occupy us three or four days in returning, perhaps longer, should the wind be contrary. Before we can put to sea, therefore, we must repair our boat, and make a couple of oars at all events, if not more, and obtain a sufficient stock of provisions and water. It won’t do to trust to cocoa-nuts; we want fish or fowl, and it will take us more than a day to get them. We must also consider whether it will be prudent to go in search of the ship, as she may have left the harbour to look for us. Judging from the appearance of the country we saw, we are not likely to find any food upon it; so that should we arrive there after she has gone, we should be in a worse predicament than we should be by remaining here.”

The rest of the party agreeing to Mudge’s proposal, we went down to the beach and anxiously examined the boat. Two planks in her starboard bilge had been stove in, as had also a portion of her bow; and it seemed wonderful that she should have floated till she had reached the shore. Harry and I must have placed our feet unconsciously on the shattered planks, and thus partially prevented the water from rushing in. Tom, who was in the bows, had also pressed down the sail with his body, while he was desperately clinging to the foremost thwart. We could account for our preservation in no other way.

Without nails, or tools of any sort except our clasp-knives, we could scarcely hope to render the boat sufficiently sea-worthy for such a voyage as we might have to take before we could get back to the ship. We all looked at each other, wondering whether any one would suggest something.

“Our safest plan will be to remain on the island, in the hope that the ship may, in the course of time, come off the shore to look for us,” said Mudge. “They will know that if we have escaped, we must have been driven in this direction; and I don’t think our commander will desert us till he has made a thorough search in all directions. If the Heroine, from any cause, does not appear, we may hope that a whaler or some other craft may pass by and see our signals. We must keep a look-out on both sides of the island; for though we may be happy enough while we remain here, it won’t do to turn altogether into Robinson Crusoes.”

“Pleasanter than having to keep watch, however,” remarked Tom.

“We must think of our friends at home,” I observed. “Should the report reach England that we are lost, they will be mourning for us; and I for one am anxious to let Captain and Mrs Hudson know that we have found their son.”

“Very right, Godfrey,” said Mudge. “I am glad to see you thoughtful about others; and I don’t suppose Tom would wish to make his own family unhappy, as I have no doubt that they care for him more than he fancies.”

“I was not thinking about them just then,” said Tom. “However, if I catch sight of a passing sail, depend upon it I will do my best to let her know that we are here.”

The idea of immediately going off in the boat to try and find the ship was, therefore, of necessity abandoned. We agreed that our first business must be to explore the island, and ascertain what supplies of food we were likely to find. We had little doubt that we should procure other fruit besides cocoa-nuts, while we might also obtain oysters or other molluscs, and perhaps be able to catch fish—though we should first have to manufacture hooks and lines or nets of some sort.

While Mudge and Tom and I had been talking over these matters, Tillard had been again examining the boat. “I have been thinking, Mr Mudge, that if we could manage to get some small nails, we might secure some canvas over the damaged part of the boat, and patch her up fit to go to sea again,” he said.

“That ‘if’ is the most difficult thing to get over,” said Mudge. “Where are the nails to come from?”

“Out of the handles of our clasp-knives,” answered Dick. “I am a bit of a blacksmith; and I have been thinking that if I could manage to make a pair of bellows, I would soon get a forge up, and I should not be long before I had a few dozen of nails.”

“There’s another ‘if’ in the case,” observed Mudge.

“Yes, sir; but it’s one that can be got over, if I can catch a seal or some other animal with a thick skin.”

“Still there is an ‘if,’” said Mudge.

“Well, sir, but perhaps I can do without the skin. I’ll try and make use of a piece of canvas. I’ll render it air-tight with grease or wax, or something of that sort. I don’t promise to succeed, but I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all we can expect of you,” said Mudge.

Tillard’s proposal somewhat raised our hopes. We had, however, in the first place, to look out for water, though the cocoa-nut milk prevented our suffering from thirst; and, what was of equal importance, to search for food. Before setting out, we each of us cut a long pointed stick—the most ready weapon we could manufacture; not for defence, for it would be useless against the arms of the natives, should any exist on the island, but to enable us to kill any animals we might meet with, as also to assist us in getting over any rough ground, or to beat down the brushwood should we meet with forests through which we might have to force our way.

Leaving Tillard to look after the boat and to make preparations for repairing her, we set out. Mudge led the way, Tom and Harry and I followed, Tamaku and Popo brought up the rear. We proceeded along the sea-shore, which was more level than the interior, and presented few impediments to our progress. After going some distance to the south, we reached a region which had apparently, at no remote period, been covered by the sea—probably upheaved by some convulsion of nature. A few cocoa-nut and pandanus trees, however, grew on it, and a scant herbage. We were about to keep along the sea-beach, near which the land rose, covered thickly with trees, when I observed a number of birds hovering over the part of the island I have described. Crossing a level space covered at high tide by the sea, we reached what was evidently at such times an island. Numberless birds had made it their abode. As we approached, they seemed in no way alarmed—those which were sitting on their nests keeping their posts, merely poking out their necks, and uttering such hoarse croaks that we were almost deafened by the sound, and could scarcely hear each other speak.

“Hurrah!” cried Mudge, “we have here food enough to supply all our wants; and, what’s better, such as I hope we may be able to preserve for our voyage.”

A large number of the birds were sitting on their eggs, and so tame were they that we had to push them over to get at the said eggs. Among them were numerous beautiful tropic-birds, sooty terns, and gannets. The eggs of the latter were laid on the ground, without any nest; and so faithful were the hens to their trust, that they allowed themselves to be captured rather than desert them. The most remarkable and beautiful of those we saw, however, were the frigate-birds, whose nests, constructed of a few sticks, were seen in all the surrounding trees. The old birds, as they flew off, inflated their blood-red pouches to the size of a child’s head, looking exactly as if large bladders were attached to their necks, and not at all improving their appearance, handsome as they were in other respects. We at once filled our pockets with eggs; choosing such as looked the freshest. We also knocked down as many birds as we were likely to require for our dinner and supper. This discovery raised our spirits, as we had now as much animal food as we could require.

On our return along the sea-shore, we met with several large crabs. One big fellow had caught a snake, and was walking off with it wriggling in his claws, when down pounced a frigate-bird, and carried off both crab and snake together. Whole armies, too, of soldier-crabs, with their shells on their backs, were moving about in search of prey, or looking out for more commodious homes; it being their wise custom not to leave one home until they have found another. When they neglect this precaution, their soft tails are nearly sure to be nabbed by one of their numerous enemies. The snakes, as far as we could judge, were not venomous; though, as we were not certain of that fact, we agreed that it would be as well to avoid them. The tropic-birds were the tamest,—or I should rather say the least aware of the harm we might do them,—and allowed us to put our hands under them and carry off their eggs without showing the slightest fear.

We had to hurry back, as the tide was rising, and our retreat might be cut off.

On reaching the bay where we were cast ashore, we found that Tillard had made some progress with his forge.

“If I can once get the bellows to work, it will not be long before we shall have as many nails as we want. But we must have patience, sir,” he observed to Mudge; “patience will overcome all difficulties.”

We none of us were disposed to dispute this; so, just then, being rather anxious to cook our eggs and birds, I inquired how we were to get a light to kindle our fire. No one till then had thought of that important point. We each of us searched in our pockets for flint and steel, but none were to be found. The Sandwich Islander was applied to. We had heard that the natives of the South Sea Islands obtained a light by rubbing two pieces of wood together. He could do it, he replied, if he could find the right sort of wood. But the process was not an easy one, and required time; so, as we were too hungry to wait, we dined off raw eggs, with a dessert of cocoa-nut, washed down with the milk.

After we had finished our meal, Tamaku set off to look for the wood he required, while we were employed in collecting leaves and erecting some arbours of boughs, in which we might shelter ourselves during the night, instead of spending it, as we had done the previous one, on the open beach. It was nearly dark when Tamaku returned, saying that he had found the wood he required; but as we were tired and sleepy, we preferred lying down to rest instead of waiting till a fire could be kindled and provisions cooked.

Chapter Four.

On the island—Oysters on trees—Harry’s narrow escape from a share—Our first breakfast—Tillard’s forge—Expedition across the island—We manufacture nails and hooks—Find a boat—Successful fishing—Our friends return—Launch the boat—Dick and I start to sail round the island—Dick taken ill—My dismay—We are blown off the coast.

Although our beds of leaves were tolerably comfortable, and our clothes were dry, we did not oversleep ourselves, but awoke at daybreak the next morning. Refreshing as was the cocoa-nut milk we had obtained, we all felt very thirsty; so Mudge announced his intention of setting off to look for a spring of water, taking Popo with him to carry the breaker. Tamaku sat down with his knife to cut the wood he had found into the required shape for producing fire; Tillard proceeded with the arrangements for his forge; while Harry and Tom and I agreed to go along the shore to look for shell-fish, and to obtain a further supply of cocoa-nuts.

We had not gone far when we came to a creek, or narrow bay, running inland for some distance. Its shores were thickly lined with trees, their roots being washed by the water, and many of their boughs dipping into it. Near at hand we discovered a cocoa-nut tree bearing several bunches of fruit, and Harry at once volunteered to climb to the summit. While he was thus engaged, I heard Tom shouting out, “Halloa, here are oysters growing on the trees!”

I ran down to the opening by which he had gained the water; and there, sure enough, all the boughs reaching the surface were fringed with good-sized oysters. We gathered those we could reach; and looking down into the clear water below the trees, I saw that the rocks at the bottom were thickly covered with those nutritive shell-fish, in every stage of growth, many of the size of a shilling and even smaller. Here, at all events, was an unfailing supply of food; and, encouraged by the discovery, we hoped that we should obtain a still further variety.

Having filled our pockets and handkerchiefs, we hurried back to the tree, down which Harry was descending with a load of cocoa-nuts. On our showing him the oysters, he observed that they were too small to be of much use, and volunteered at once to dive to the bottom and obtain some larger ones. We accordingly returned to the bay; when, stripping off his clothes, he at once plunged in, and soon brought a number of large oysters to the surface in his handkerchief, which he had taken down with him for the purpose.

“Oh, there are not enough,” he said,—“I will soon get some more;” and again he plunged down. We could see him at the bottom, working away with his knife. I could not have remained half the time beneath the surface.

While he was thus engaged, I caught sight of a dark object at the entrance of the bay. Horror seized me, for I knew it to be a shark. I shrieked out to Harry to return. Tom also saw the fearful monster, and, with a presence of mind for which I should not have given him credit, he took up one of the larger oysters and sent it skimming along the surface, in the way boys are accustomed to make “ducks and drakes” with pieces of slate on a calm day by the sea-side. I immediately followed his example, hoping thus to distract the attention of the shark.

At length, though it seemed a long time, Harry came up, and only then hearing our cries, swam rapidly to the shore. We held out our hands to help him, and I breathed more freely when his feet touched the dry ground. A moment longer, and he would have been lost; for the shark, darting forward, almost ran his snout against the bank in his eagerness to seize his prey; then, startled by our cries, and the oysters we continued to heave at him, he suddenly turned round, whisking the water into our faces with his tail.

Harry took the matter very coolly. “It is not the first time I have had a shark dart at me,” he observed; “but I have generally had a companion who has attacked the creature with his knife. Had I been prepared, I would have met him in the same way.”

“I am very glad you did not make the experiment, Harry,” I answered. “However, it is a lesson to us not to venture into the water without keeping a look-out; and I am very thankful that you have escaped.”

“So am I,” he answered; “but now, as we have got as many oysters as we can carry, in addition to the cocoa-nuts, we may as well join our friends and have breakfast.”

“I hope that Tamaku will have managed to light a fire,” said Tom; “for though the oysters and cocoa-nuts are nice enough as they are, I don’t like raw eggs; and I have an especial fancy for some roast-duck.”

As we approached the bay we saw a cloud of smoke ascending from the sand, and we found Tamaku busily employed in blowing up a fire which he had kindled there. We soon rejoined him, and asked why he had chosen this spot.

“Because, you see, if I had lighted it on the grass, we might have had a larger fire than would have been pleasant.”

While we were standing round the fire, Popo came back with a breaker of water, saying that Mr Mudge would soon follow. Wishing to surprise him, we set to work to pluck the ducks, and spit a couple, and roast some eggs. We were thus employed when we saw him coming leisurely towards us; but discovering the fire, he held up his hand with a look of astonishment, and hurried forward.

“Well, lads, you have prepared a feast,” he exclaimed, sitting down on the bank above the sand. “I little expected to have so many good things; and I am thankful to say that I have found a stream of fresh, cold water, issuing from the side of the hill, and falling into a deep basin—in which I could not resist taking a bath; and I would advise you to do the same.”

We were too hungry to wait for the roast-ducks, so we sat down and commenced our breakfast on eggs and oysters, with cocoa-nut milk. By the time we had taken the edge off our appetites, the ducks, under Tamaku’s superintendence, were thoroughly cooked. They were pronounced excellent, and we agreed that no aldermen could have breakfasted better.

“And what are we to do now?” I asked.

“We have no necessity to be anxious about food; we must first of all go across to the other side of the island, which I believe is not far off, and establish a look-out place from whence we can make signals should any vessel pass by,” answered Mudge. “You, Tillard, I suppose, will prefer waiting to finish your forge; and we must trust to you to keep up the fire, so that, should a ship appear off the coast, her attention may be attracted.”

“I’ll undertake to do that, sir,” answered Tillard; “but as I shall want help, I shall be obliged if some one will remain with me. I would rather have one of the young gentlemen; they will understand what I want better than either Popo or Tamaku. Mr Rayner, will you stay by me?”

“I was going to offer to do so,” I answered; “although I should have liked making an exploring expedition across the island.”

I was anxious to be of use; and besides wishing to oblige Dick, I was curious to see how he would proceed. He thanked me very much; and the rest of the party wishing us good-bye, set off with their thick sticks as arms, and a supply of ducks and eggs, wild-fowl, and cocoa-nuts for provisions, leaving us as much as we could require for a couple of days.

As soon as they were gone, Tillard and I set to work on the forge. He had already nearly manufactured a pair of bellows with the aid of the bottom boards of the boat,—fortunately of considerable width,—and some of the spare canvas which had remained in the boat’s bows. It was a very rough-looking machine, but still was likely to answer its purpose. We also found several pieces of iron about the boat which could be removed without impairing its strength; and these we managed to wrench off, with the help of a sharp piece of coral.

At length the fire was kindled in the forge, and on working the bellows a strong flame was produced. All our tools were composed of coral; two long pieces served as tongs, and another as a hammer. Having heated the iron, Dick knocked it out into a long thin bar, and then placing it on the mass of coral which served as an anvil, cut it with successive sharp blows of his knife into small pieces. Each of these had to be re-heated, and taken up and dropped into a small hole with a blow from the hammer, when the head was produced by another sharp blow. In this way he formed a number of small nails with large heads, which, if not very well-shaped, were at least likely to answer the purpose.

We had found a gum issuing from some pine-trees, which did not dissolve in water; and by mixing it with some grease which we happily found in the after-locker, a thick paste was formed with which we payed over the canvas. The boat had been hauled up sufficiently to enable us to get at both leaks during low tide; so we at once set to work, and were thankful to find that the nails answered very well: fortunately, I should have said, I had a small bradawl in my knife, and also a file, with which I sharpened the points of the nails. The whole work was accomplished sooner than I could have expected; and Tillard declared his belief that not a drop of water would come through the damaged part of the boat, whatever it might do elsewhere.

“I wish we could try her,” I said, when our last nail was expended.

“Wait patiently, Mr Rayner,” answered Dick; “when the tide rises, we’ll get her afloat.”

He was mistaken, however, for with all our efforts we could not succeed in launching her. We had to wait, therefore, for the return of our companions. Getting into the boat, however, we made another thorough search; and while doing so I found jammed into a corner of the after-locker a large fishing-hook, such as is used for catching sharks, bonitos, and other finny monsters of the deep. Besides this, we discovered a ball of twine and some spare pieces of rope.

Dick examined the fishing-hook. “We must keep it as it is,” he observed. “At first I thought that I might form it into smaller hooks; but we have still some iron remaining, and I will try my hand at making such as will catch the moderate-sized fish we are likely to find in the lagoon or outside the reef.”

Returning to the forge, Dick at once set to work, and succeeded in shaping four hooks, though he and I burned our fingers in the operation. On trying them, however, they were found to be too soft for use.

“We must temper them,” I observed; and I ran and filled a cocoa-nut-shell with water.

We again heated the hooks, and plunged them into the water, when we found that they were considerably hardened. I then worked away with the file till I had sharpened the barbs and reduced them to a fair shape. With the twine we manufactured a couple of serviceable lines, to which we attached some small pieces of coral.

Our companions not having returned, we agreed to walk along the shore to the northward of the oyster creek, where Harry had been so nearly caught by the shark. Having made up our fire so that it was not likely to go out before our return, we set forth with our sticks in our hands. We walked on rapidly, anxious to get back to receive our friends,—who would, we thought, at all events return before nightfall. Having doubled the creek, which did not run far inland, we proceeded along the shore, turning our eyes every now and then seaward in case a vessel should appear, though I scarcely expected to see one. Some way on we discovered another opening in the reef, through which we might have passed, had we known of it, with greater ease than by the one through which we had entered.

“We must go out by that opening, if Mr Mudge determines to put to sea,” observed Tillard; “though, without a compass or chart, I doubt whether it will be wise to leave this island, where we have an abundance of food.”

I was inclined to agree with him, as I thought that we had a fair prospect of being taken off by our own ship or by a passing whaler.

We had got nearly abreast of the opening, and were about to turn back, when I caught sight of a dark object on the shore some distance off. I pointed it out to Dick. “What can that be?” I asked.

“It looks to me like a boat,” he answered; “and if so, perhaps we may find that there are other people on the island besides ourselves.”

We hurried eagerly on, and as we drew nearer we saw that we were not mistaken. There lay a small boat, somewhat clumsily though strongly built, but evidently after a European model. From the position in which she lay, almost floating in a miniature lagoon still full of water, we agreed that she must have been thrown up by an unusually high sea, and left there by the receding wave. She was in no way injured; and except that her upper works were likely to leak from having been exposed to the sun for some time, she was still fit for use. Her painter was over her bows; and Dick, having examined the end, was of opinion that she had broken adrift while towing astern of a vessel, probably during a gale of wind. What had become of the craft to which she had belonged, it was impossible to say. Whether she had gone to pieces on the reef, or had managed to haul off, was the question.

Hunting about, we found a broken oar and two pieces of board, which had probably been washed out of her, “I think that we might get her afloat; and it will save us a long walk if we can paddle her back,” observed Dick. I agreed with him; and we accordingly set to work to clear a channel through the sand into the lagoon, using the pieces of board as spades. It did not take us long; and though it was as much as our strength could accomplish, we contrived, by putting our shoulders under the gunwale, to lift the boat out of her bed, and to launch her on the water of the lagoon. We then got in; and though she leaked, as we expected, we were able with our hats to bale out the water fast enough to keep her afloat.

Paddling on with the broken oar and one of the pieces of board, we reached Refuge Bay, as we called the spot where we had landed. Much to our disappointment, our companions had not returned. Expecting, however, that they might arrive at any moment, we set to work to roast some eggs and the remainder of our wild-fowl, sufficient for all hands. Still our friends did not appear. Though we began to feel somewhat anxious about them, the smell of the roast-duck made us so hungry that we could not resist the temptation of eating our share without waiting for them. Dick then set to work to prepare our fishing gear, and in the course of the evening not only made a netting pin and needle, but manufactured a landing-net, which would serve the double purpose of catching some small fish for bait, and rifting up any larger fish likely to break our tackle should we attempt to haul them out of the water.

Darkness now came on, and at last we had to give up all hope of seeing our friends that night. We agreed that in all probability they had found the distance greater than they had expected; so creeping into our arbours, and repressing the anxiety we could not help feeling, we went to sleep.

On awaking next morning, we found that the weather was still calm and fine; and supposing that our friends would remain on the other side of the island to breakfast, and perhaps still longer, we did not expect them back till late in the day.

“I vote that we go off and try to catch some fish,” I said. “Our friends will be much obliged to us if we can offer them some fish instead of the ducks, which, to say the best of them, are rather tough and strong-tasted.”

Dick agreed to my proposal; and having payed over the seams of the small boat with the mixture we had before used, we found on launching her that she no longer leaked to any extent. Before embarking, Dick, tucking up his trousers, waded into the water with his hand-net, and soon caught an ample supply of small fish for bait. Indeed, had we been pressed for food, we should have been glad to cook and eat them. We then put the jolly-boat’s oars and the boat-hook, which had been preserved, into the small boat, and shoved off, carrying a lump of coral with a long rope to serve as our anchor and cable. We first tried the centre of the lagoon, where before long I got a bite, and hauled up a fish with a large mouth and scales of rich and varied colours.

“I should be sorry to eat that fellow,” observed Dick; “for, in spite of his gay coat, I suspect he is poisonous; but we will keep him in case the bait runs short.”

Dick soon afterwards caught three others of the same description. “We must try fresh ground,” he observed; so hauling up our anchor, we pulled away towards the broad entrance of the lagoon, and again brought up. We soon caught several more fish of good size and sombre colours, which, as far as we could judge, were likely to prove wholesome. They tried our hooks, however; and I was hauling up another big fellow, when he broke away just as Dick was getting the landing-net under him. Another hook disappeared before we could even see the fish which carried it off!

“I must try our shark-hook,” observed Dick, putting on a large bait, and fastening it to the end of a thick rope. “Nothing frightens the fish in these seas; and if we were to lower down a hempen cable with a baited hook, they would bite as freely as they would if we were to use a hair-line.”

The hook had not been overboard a minute when he shouted out, “I’ve got hold of a big one now, anyhow!” and began hauling away.

“He must be a shark, by the way he is pulling,” I observed.

“No, he isn’t,” he answered; “though he is bigger than any fish I ever caught with a hook and line before. Just you lean over to the other side of the boat, Mr Rayner, or maybe he’ll capsize us. I’ll tackle him.”

I did as Dick told me; while he hauled and hauled away, and soon brought to the surface a fish shaped something like a perch, but apparently of sixty or seventy pounds weight. It was indeed, I saw, a species of sea-perch, from the large spines on its back.

In spite of the monster’s struggles, Dick held it fast, and at length hauled it into the boat. “This fellow is a prize,” he exclaimed, and I agreed with him. A blow on the head made it remain tolerably quiet; and on further examination I was convinced that I was right in supposing it to be the fish above-named.

Having now more food than we could consume, we pulled back to the shore; to find that our companions had not yet returned. Having hauled up our boat, we had ample employment in cleaning our fish for cooking. The big fellow could only be dressed by being cut up into slices; but as we wished to show it to our friends, we allowed it to remain entire. We had just finished our own dinner on one of the fish—which being well-shaped and of sombre hue, we believed to be wholesome—when we heard a shout, and saw Harry and Tom running towards us, followed by Tamaku.

I pointed to the big fish, which hung, in the shade, from the bough of a tree.

“That’s grand!” exclaimed Tom. “Still, I don’t know but what the other side of the island beats this; for we have found bread-fruit trees, and plantains, and yams, and all sorts of other roots and fruits. And Mudge has sent us over to tell you to bring the jolly-boat round, if you have made her sea-worthy, as he thinks we should have a better chance of getting on board a vessel on that side than this. There is a capital harbour, in which she can lie at anchor; and a hill near it from whence we can obtain a fine look-out over the ocean for ever so many miles. Tamaku, Harry, and I are to remain here to keep a look-out on this side till you have arrived on the other; and then you can come back and relieve us if you think fit.”

I told him that I was ready to do whatever Mudge wished, but that the difficulty would be to launch the jolly-boat, which Dick and I had in vain attempted to do.

“Five hands may accomplish what two could not,” he answered. “Perhaps, if we can get some rollers under her keel, we may be able to do it; and Tamaku is as strong as an elephant.”

Dick, feeling confidence in the sea-worthiness of the jolly-boat, was ready to take her round, either by himself, or with one of us to help him. I said that I was willing to go, and we settled to start the next morning. Our friends were highly pleased at finding another boat in which they could go off fishing. I reminded them that they must make some oars first, as we should have to take ours; and as they only had their clasp-knives, it would be a pretty tough job.

“Patience, as Dick says, will accomplish wonders; and Tamaku cuts away with his knife in a fashion I never saw any one else do,” answered Tom.

“I cut out the oars,” said Tamaku. Indeed, he was ready to aid in any way proposed, and was well-pleased to find that he should be able to go fishing in the punt.

The rest of the day was spent in making some rollers, and also in preparing some food for our voyage; for although the distance was not great, we might encounter a calm or contrary wind, and be delayed longer than we expected. Unwilling to lose our big fish, too, we now cut it up into slices, which we smoked over the fire. Dick Tillard also advised us to search for some salt, that we might still better preserve our fish; and Tom and Harry undertook to do so after we had set sail.

The next morning, breakfast being over, and the tide at its highest, we got the rollers under the boat, and by our united exertions managed to launch her. Dick, on getting on board, was well satisfied with the way in which he had repaired her damages, and expressed his confidence that she was not only fit to perform the voyage round to the other side of the island, but to make a much longer one if necessary.

Having taken our provisions on board, we hoisted the sail; and the wind being from the southward, we intended to go out at the broad passage, and round by the north end of the island. Our friends accompanied us in the small boat to the entrance of the lagoon, and then with three cheers left us.

As we kept some distance from the coast, to avoid any reefs which might run off it, we could see the land stretching away much farther to the north than we had expected.

“Our trip will be longer than I thought for, Mr Rayner,” said Dick; “but now we have got thus far, and have the wind with us, it will be better to keep on, and maybe when we round the point we shall then get it favourable; though I don’t suppose Mr Mudge was aware how far the island stretches to the northward.”

I thought as Dick did, and agreed with him that it would not now do to try and beat round the southern end, which appeared quite as far off as the northern one. On we sailed; but still the northern cape we wished to double seemed a long way off. The weather, too, which was very fine when we started, now gave signs of changing. I saw that Dick was looking graver than usual: still he was not a man to give up a task he had undertaken; so we continued running on, though clouds had gathered in the sky, and the wind blew much stronger than at first.

“We may as well take a reef down, Mr Rayner,” he observed—“or perhaps two. When we come to haul our wind, we shall have as much sail as the boat will bear.”

We soon had the reefs in, and the sail again hoisted up. The boat now flew rapidly over the fast-rising, foaming seas. On the larboard side the surf was breaking furiously on the coral reef, through which no opening could be seen; while out at sea, on the opposite side, all was dark and lowering. The wind came in fitful gusts; now from the southward, now blowing from the land.

I at length proposed returning.

“That would be a harder matter than standing on,” answered Dick. “Maybe we shall come in sight of a harbour, and if so we will stand in and take shelter; but if not, our only course is to run on till we can double the cape. And then, unless the wind shifts to the westward, we shall be under the lee of the island, and make better weather of it.”

Dick spoke calmly; but as I looked at his countenance I observed a strange expression pass over it.

“Are you in pain, Dick?” I asked.

“To say the truth, I am, sir,” he answered; “though I didn’t like to alarm you by telling you how I feel I should like to have some doctor’s stuff: or maybe a glass of rum would set me to rights; but as that isn’t to be got, I must grin and bear it.”

As I watched Dick, he appeared to grow worse and worse, and every now and then a groan he could not suppress escaped him. Still, he kept his seat at the helm, steering the boat before the wind with his usual care. I remembered the supposed poisonous fish he had spoken of, and wondered whether he had taken any; but I did not like to suggest the thought to him. Presently, to my horror, his hand relaxed its hold of the helm, and he sank down in the bottom of the boat. I seized the tiller in time to prevent the boat broaching-to, and kept her on as we had before been steering. I could do nothing to help him, except place his head against the side of the boat. He breathed heavily, every now and then giving a groan. I was greatly alarmed, not knowing what I should do by myself; while I felt much grieved at the thought of losing him. All I could do was to sit and steer. Nothing I could offer him was likely to do him any good; and I could only hope that his strong constitution would carry him through the attack, whatever it was.

At length I was very nearly up to the cape, and expected to get round it in the course of half an hour or so, when the wind fell even more suddenly than it had risen, and the boat lay rocking on the water, making no perceptible way. I tried to do all I could to restore Dick. I sprinkled his face with water, and poured some cocoa-nut milk down his throat; but it did not appear to have the slightest effect. He remained perfectly unconscious, only giving signs of life by his heavy breathing and his groans, which grew fainter and fainter.

Hoping that at last a moderate breeze would spring up, I shook the reefs out of the sail, and again hoisted it. Still there was no change. The sun was setting over the island, and I expected to have my difficulties increased by the approaching darkness. The weather also still looked very threatening. Scarcely had the sun disappeared behind a cliff on the left, when the wind again suddenly sprang up, and blew with even greater violence than before. I now wished that I had not shaken the reefs out of the sail, but I could not venture to leave the helm to make any alteration.

On flew the boat as before, the foaming seas rising up on either hand. I could but dimly distinguish the cliff. At length it was lost to sight. As I looked out on the larboard side, I fancied that I saw a line of white breakers, indicating a reef running off from it. How far it might extend I could not tell; perhaps a mile, or a couple of miles. It would be destruction, should I haul up too soon and strike on it; indeed, with the sail I had set, I dared not do that. My only resource was to stand on, hoping that the squall would pass away as quickly as it had sprung up. I knew that I was leaving the land farther and farther astern. In vain in my anxiety I called to poor Dick to help me. Sometimes the horrid thought came over me that he was dead, the splashing of the water and the howling of the wind drowning the sound of his breathing. My anxiety—or, I may confess it, my alarm—made me feel very ill; and I began to fancy that I too had been poisoned, either by the fish or the wild-fowl we had eaten.

I scarcely know how many hours thus passed. At last, as I had expected, the wind suddenly fell to a gentle breeze. I immediately hauled aft the sheet, hoping to be able to beat up to the island again by daybreak; but scarcely had I stood on for a quarter of an hour when it dropped altogether, and the boat lay rocking on the heaving waters. As there was no use in keeping the sail set, I lowered it, and sat down with my arm round the mast, intending to keep awake till the breeze should again get up; while I heartily prayed that it might come from a direction which might enable me to fetch the island. I could hear Dick breathing; but though I called to him he did not answer, and appeared quite as unconscious as at first. I felt very tired, after the excitement I had gone through; still I did my utmost to keep awake. All my efforts, however, were vain, and I dropped off to sleep.

Suddenly I awoke; and standing up, I looked out anxiously for the land. My heart sank: an unbroken sea-horizon was around me. As I was still gazing, a bright glow appeared in the direction towards which the boat’s head was turned; and presently the sun, a vast globe of fire, arose out of his ocean-bed, tinging with a ruddy hue the edge of the clouds which still covered the sky. The breeze, however, had sprung up from the eastward, and I knew from the position of the sun in what direction to steer. The numerous birds, also, which hovered round me, proved that the island was not far off.

I again attempted to arouse Dick; but though I did not succeed, his more quiet breathing made me hope that he was recovering. I now hoisted the sail; and hauling aft the sheet, went to the helm, and steered to the southward.

Chapter Five.

Daylight—I make the land—Dick recovers—Captured by a native canoe—Taken on shore—Compelled to work as slaves—our hopes of escape disappointed—Dick again ill—His death—I bury him—Threatening of war—Harry joins me—We witness a single combat—Our champion defeated—Captured by the enemy—Ill-treated—Harry disappears—I escape to the beach—See a boat—The savages pursue me—Rescued by Mudge.

Anxiously I looked out ahead for land—now on one bow, now on the other; for I could not tell how far to the westward I had been driven, or on which side it might appear. It was possible, indeed, that I might have got so far to the west as to pass the island altogether should I continue to steer due south; and yet in the uncertainty I hesitated to take another course.

As I sat in the stern-sheets, I watched Tillard’s countenance. He seemed at length to have fallen into a quiet sleep, and I trusted that when he awoke he would feel himself much better. I bored a hole in the end of a cocoa-nut, and also got some fish ready, that I might give him some food as soon as he awoke. But still he slept on; and the fear came over me that it might prove the sleep preceding death. Under other circumstances, I should not probably have thought so; but I was weary and anxious, and my spirits sank to the lowest ebb. As I sat in the boat, gliding over the now tranquil sea, glittering with the rays of the sun, I might have been regarded as a picture of perfect contentment,—very different, indeed, from what was really the case.

Every now and then I stood up to look out for the wished-for land; till at length a light mist which had hung over the water was dissipated by the increasing heat of the sun, and to my joy I caught sight of the lofty headland we had hoped to double the day before, rising out of the blue water much nearer than I had expected to find it. My spirits rose; and I began to hope that, should Dick recover, my troubles and anxieties would be at an end. I could not help shouting out “Land! land!” though I was not aware that I had done so till I heard the sound of my own voice. It had the effect of arousing Dick, however.

“Land, Mr Rayner!” he exclaimed. “I thought we were about to enter the harbour to meet Mr Mudge and the rest.”

I tried to explain what had happened, but his senses were too confused to allow him for some time to understand me.

“What! have you been at the helm all night? You must be pretty well knocked up, sir,” he said. “Let me take it while you lie down. You need rest.”

I observed, from the way he spoke, that his senses were still confused; so I told him that I had already had some sleep, and that I was able to keep at the helm very well for the present.

I now gave him some cocoa-nut milk and a little fish, which he took very readily; and after eating some of the solid food he appeared much better, and was soon able to sit up and talk rationally.

Calculating by the time we had taken to reach the headland, he judged that we should not get into the harbour at soonest till sunset; and he advised that we should economise our food, in case we should be kept out still longer, as would certainly be the case did it again fall calm.

We at length got up with the island. On the western side it presented a succession of high cliffs, along which we coasted. As the day advanced the breeze freshened, and we ran briskly through the water. We had gone half a mile or so along the coast, when I caught sight of a sail ahead.

“Hurrah!” I cried out. “Perhaps that is a ship. Yonder craft may be able to take us and our companions on board.”

“She is only a native canoe,” observed Dick; “and it is questionable whether she has friends or enemies on board. If the latter, and she catches us, we may have our voyage put a stop to in a way we didn’t bargain for.”

The craft at which we were looking was one of the large double canoes of these seas, with a single triangular sail of white matting, which I, in the first instance, had taken for canvas. On she came towards us, close-hauled, at a rate which would have made it useless to attempt escaping her. The two canoes which formed the lower part of her structure were of great length, and very narrow, supporting a large platform of some height, which served to keep them some distance apart.

We could only distinguish three men on her deck; and had Dick been well, we might easily have resisted them in the event of their exhibiting any hostile intentions. But he felt himself too weak to show fight, and we agreed that our best course was to put a bold face on the matter, and to bid them go on their way, while we continued our course to the southward. As we drew nearer, however, three more men appeared from below, holding bows and spears in their hands. Placing the spears on the deck, each fixed an arrow to his bow; on seeing which—believing that they were going to shoot—I hauled down the sail, and, holding up my hands, tried to make them understand that I surrendered. On this they withdrew their arrows, and the canoe was steered up alongside the boat. I then pointed to Dick, wishing to explain to them that he was ill. They took no notice of my signs, however; and two or three of them leaping into the boat, which they secured by a rope to the canoe, dragged him and me out of it on to their deck. At first I thought that they were going to kill us immediately. Dick was too weak to make any resistance; and I knew that I could do nothing by myself. I endeavoured to exhibit as little fear as possible, however, and taking one of the savages by the hand, shook it and smiled, to show that I wished to be on friendly terms. After they had talked together, they appeared to have determined to spare our lives; then lowering their sail, they hoisted it on the other tack, and stood for the shore, towing our boat astern. Dick was allowed to sit on the deck, while I stood near him, no one molesting us.

“We’re in a bad case, Mr Rayner,” he observed; “but it won’t do to give way to despair, and we must try to put a good face on the matter. If I was well, and able to help you, I shouldn’t so much mind it; but I feel as weak as a baby, and that tries me.”

“I hope you will get stronger soon, Dick, and then we must try to make our escape to our friends,” I answered. “I am afraid that the savages are more likely in the meantime to get hold of them,” he observed. “What puzzles me is, that they didn’t find us out before; but I suspect that, for some reason or other, the southern end of the island is not inhabited.”

I could only account for the circumstance as Dick did; and I hoped that Mudge would discover that there were natives on the island in time to guard against them. Of course, I regretted much that he should have divided our party, as I felt that, united, we might have held out against them, or, at the worst, have escaped in our boats. However, there was no use thinking of what had been done; and we must, I felt, employ our energies in making the best of our situation.

I did my utmost to appear contented, as if I had no fear of our captors. To show this, I walked about the deck and examined the structure of the canoe. The separate lower portions, I found, were composed of two large trees hollowed out, each having a raised gunwale about two inches high, and closed at the ends with a kind of bulk-head of the same height; so that the whole resembled a long square trough, about three feet shorter than the body of the canoe. The two canoes thus fitted were secured to each other, about three feet asunder, by means of cross spars, which projected about a foot over the side. Over these spars was laid the deck, made of small round spars placed close together. On it was a fire-hearth of clay, on which a fire was burning; and I observed a large pot suspended over it, with something boiling within which had a savoury smell. The mast was secured to the deck by knees; the whole being fixed to a cross-beam resting on the lower sides of the canoe. The sail, which was composed of matting, was stretched on a lateen yard, the foot being extended to a boom. The ropes were made of the coarse filaments of the plantain-tree, twisted into cordage of the thickness of a finger; and three or four such cords marled together served for shrouds. This curious craft was steered by a long scull, the handle of which rose four or five feet above the deck. In calm weather, as I afterwards observed, the natives propel these canoes simply by sculling; a man standing astern and working the scull with both hands—a very slow process. They are, indeed, better fitted for sailing than paddling.

Beginning to feel very hungry, I made signs to our captors that I should like to have some food; and I also pointed to Dick, wishing to make them understand that he too required nourishment. One of them on this went to the pot and stirred it with the handle of his spear, as if to ascertain whether the contents were sufficiently boiled. Satisfied on this point, he dived down into one of the canoes and brought up from a locker a hooked stick and some plantain leaves; whereupon all the party, with the exception of the helmsman, gathered round the pot, when the same man drew out some fish and roots, and divided them among his companions, giving Dick and me an equal share. We thanked them as well as we could by eating the food. Dick, who relished it very much, nodding his head and stroking his stomach, exclaimed “Bono, bono,—very good, master savages.” The fish certainly was very good; and as our captors ate it, we had no doubt that it was wholesome. Dick said he felt much the better for it, and could now look things in the face with less despondency than before.

The canoe all this time was gliding smoothly over the water, though I confess, from her apparently slight structure, I should not have relished being on board her in a heavy sea. As we approached the island, I observed a small bay or inlet for which she was steering, with high cliffs above it, and a valley running up inland to some distance, while on all the level spots near the beach grew cocoa-nut and other trees. The aspect of the country was highly picturesque, and altogether pleasing.

As we drew nearer, I saw a number of dark-skinned natives, almost naked; some in the water, engaged apparently in fishing, others lolling about on the beach watching them. At first they took but little notice of the canoe; but as they caught sight of us, and the jolly-boat towing astern, those not employed in fishing hurried down to the shore of the harbour, up which the canoe ran till she reached a secure spot alongside a rock, on to which her crew could step from the canoe without difficulty.

The captain, or chief man of the canoe, now made a long speech to the natives on shore, describing apparently how he had found us; on which Dick, who was now much recovered, and I shook him by the hand, hoping that what he had said was in our favour. This seemed to please him and his countrymen; and we were now conducted on shore with far more respect than we had at first expected to receive. While some inspected our boat, others, collecting round us, examined our clothes, looking curiously at our light-coloured skins. After more palavering, we were led towards their village, when a few old men and a number of women and children came out to have a look at us, and we had again to endure the same sort of scrutiny as before.

After a little time, we made out that the captain of the canoe which had captured us was the son of the old chief of the village, under whose protection we were placed, or rather whose property we had become. I asked the old man his name, mentioning my own, and then pointing to Dick and pronouncing his. The old man understood me, and replied, “Paowang.” I then asked the son his. He replied, “Whagoo;” on which Dick and I again shook hands with him, thanking them for the information.

“Well, Mr Paowang, I hope you and we shall be friends,” said Dick; “and we shall be further obliged to you if you will show us a house to live in, for we should be glad to get out of the heat of the sud, and to take a quiet snooze; and at supper-time, if you will tell your people to bring us a dish of fish, and any other articles you may think fit, we shall be further indebted to you.”

Although Paowang could not understand Dick’s words, he comprehended his gestures, and pointing to a hut near his own, signified that we might take possession of it. It was a simple structure, consisting of uprights on which matting was stretched for walls, the roof being thatched with plantain leaves. Some coarse mats were also spread on the floor. It enabled us to escape from the pressure of the crowd, which was just what we wanted to do.

The personal appearance of most of the people was not specially prepossessing, though the chief and his son had good-humoured countenances. The women wore petticoats of matting; and the men kilts or cloths round their waists and brought between their legs. They were naturally brown rather than black; but many of them had covered their bodies with a pigment mixed with either earth or charcoal, which made them much darker than they really were. The older men had short bushy beards, and large heads of almost woolly hair. Besides spears and bows, they carried large heavy carved clubs in their hands, of various shapes, some being very formidable-looking weapons. They had also darts with barbed edges, which they threw from a becket or sort of sling fixed to the hand. With these darts we saw them kill both birds and fish at a distance of eight or ten yards. The only tools we saw were composed of stone or shells. Their hatchets were in form like an axe, the pointed end being fixed to a hole in a thick handle. However, I have not time at present to describe the people. What disgusted Dick and me most was to see the poor women compelled to perform all the hard work, and often to receive blows or abuse from their ill-tempered masters.

We were allowed to rest in quiet till the evening, when the chief sent us, by one of his daughters, some more fish and a dish of poi,—a sort of paste made of the bread-fruit or yams. At night, also, we were allowed to sleep without interruption. The next morning, however, the chief signified that we must not expect to eat the bread of idleness, and that we must either work in the taro grounds, or go out hunting and fishing. Dick at once said that we would go out fishing in our own boat; hoping, as he whispered to me, that we might thus have the chance of escaping. I warned him not to show too great eagerness, lest they might suspect that such an idea had entered our minds.

As we could only converse by signs, we had some difficulty in making them understand what was meant. Dick was the most successful. He signified that we could not go out hunting, as we had no arms to hunt with; then he pretended to hoe and dig, shaking his head to signify that that was not to his taste; then he went through the attitudes of letting down the line and hauling up a big fish. The chief nodded his head and pointed to the sea, and allowed us to go down to the harbour. We showed our hooks, which were stowed away in the locker; and seeing some small fish, begged to have them as bait,—quite happy in the thought that we should be allowed to go out alone, and might thus, having thrown our captors off their guard, in the course of a few days easily make our escape,—when three black fellows, with heavy clubs and sharp axes, stepped in after us, showing by their grinning countenances that they suspected our intentions.

Dick looked in no way disconcerted, but putting the oars into their hands, bade them sit down and pull. Of this, however, they had no conception; so he and I had to row the boat out of the harbour, thus letting them see how we managed the oars. After some time two of them proposed trying; but they were not very successful. First one caught a crab, then the other toppled right over on his back and very nearly lost the oar; then the first went over with his legs in the air, bringing his head with a crack against the thwart behind him. Dick and I could not help laughing at the hideous faces he made—at which he grew angry, and seizing his club, threatened to use it on Dick’s head. Dick, patting him on the back, advised him to cool his temper; then telling him to steer, took the oar to show him how he could use it.

At last, having got some distance from the shore, Dick proposed bringing up and trying our luck. Almost immediately I got a bite, and pulled up a big fish; Dick directly afterwards caught another; and thus we went on, greatly to the delight of the natives. Indeed, our hooks and lines caught more fish in the course of three hours than their nets usually entrapped in a day.

The chief, when we got back, was highly pleased, and bestowed the name of Big-fish-man on Dick.

Several days went by. We were in high favour with Paowang, and the rest of the people treated us with much kindness; still we were slaves, and we felt very anxious about the fate of our companions. Should the savages discover them, and they be tempted to defend themselves, they might not be treated so well as we were; whilst, should they be captured, our chances of escape would be smaller than ever.

A fortnight or more had gone by; and the natives began to treat us more capriciously than at first. Several of them had by this time learned to row, and sometimes Dick was compelled to go out to fish by himself with a couple of natives; sometimes I was sent, while Dick was ordered to work in the taro fields. When I was kept on shore, I had to perform the same sort of labour, in company with the women and girls. I should not have minded it very much, had it not been for the heat of the sun: and from this I found Dick also suffered extremely; indeed, he was looking very ill, and I much feared that he would have a relapse.

My worst apprehensions were too soon fulfilled. One evening, when I and my black crew returned home from fishing, I found Dick lying in our hut scarcely able to speak. He had been out the whole day in the fields, scantily supplied with food, and had received a sun-stroke. He was in a high fever. I ran to the chief and entreated him to give me a supply of cocoa-nut milk, which I hoped, at all events, might alleviate his sufferings. The chief replied that I might help myself to some cocoa-nuts, but offered me no other assistance. In desperation I climbed the nearest tree, on which some were still hanging, and threw them to the ground; two were split and the milk lost, but I brought home three others. I feared, however, as I offered the contents of one of them to my poor companion, that it was too late to afford him any relief. I sat up with him all night, giving him from time to time some of the cooling beverage; but he was evidently getting worse. Once only he spoke to me. “Get off in the boat, Mr Rayner,” he said; “it is your only chance. Trust in God; he will help you in time of need.”

He was silent after this, and, overcome with fatigue, I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke the light was shining in through the door of the hut. I looked at Dick’s countenance; it was calm and pleasant. I took his hand—it dropped by his side. Then I knew that my poor friend was dead; and I burst into tears.

When I recovered myself I got up and told the chief what had happened, begging that some men might be sent to help me to dig his grave, for already the flies were gathering about his face. The chief complied with my request; so we dug a grave on the top of a hill a short distance from the village, and within view of the sea. In the evening we carried him there, and I took my last look of his honest countenance ere the soil was thrown in on his body. I then got some young saplings and planted them round the grave, which I covered up with a pile of earth. On this also I planted some flowering shrubs. Next day I employed myself in carving on a piece of wood his name, and the date, as far as I could calculate it, of his death.

Soon after this I discovered that something unusual was going forward in the village. The chief had evidently important intelligence brought him; for the warriors were arming, and the women were in a state of agitation. What it was all about I could not tell, and the savages did not think fit to enlighten me. They did not, however, neglect their taro fields; and I was sent out as usual to work.

I had started at daybreak, that I might get as much done as possible during the cool hours of the morning, and was labouring away, when, hearing a noise in the bushes near me, I looked up and saw a figure spring out from among them. The next instant I recognised Harry Hudson, who ran towards me.

“Come along,” he exclaimed; “I am pursued, and we may both be captured. I’ll tell you what has happened when we reach a place of safety.”

I set off with him towards the village. Our appearance, with the account we gave, made all the warriors turn out, led by Whagoo, to stop the progress of the enemy; for by Harry’s account the hostile party was approaching, and would, if not stopped, quickly destroy the taro fields and cut down all the trees in their course. The chief expressed his gratitude to Harry for giving him the warning, and promised to defend him should those from whom he had escaped attempt his recapture. To my surprise, Harry was able to make himself clearly understood, though the dialect he spoke evidently differed considerably from that of Paowang and his people.

“But I am eager to learn how you found your way to this place, and knew that I was here,” I observed.

Harry then, having said how anxious he and the rest of them had become at not hearing of Dick and me, told how one day he and Tamaku had set off on an exploring expedition farther to the north than they had yet ventured, in search of cocoa-nuts and other fruit, which was becoming scarce around them; that they had crossed a stream which seemed to separate the southern from the northern end of the island; but as they were going through a forest which extended down to the sea, they were suddenly set upon by a large party of savages; when Tamaku, attempting to defend himself, was struck down, and, he feared, killed. The savages then hurried him along with them to their village, where they treated him with tolerable kindness; but still he dreaded lest, should he by any chance offend them, they might without ceremony kill him, and he intended to make his escape, if possible, in order to warn Mudge and the rest of their danger. Understanding tolerably well what they said, he learned that a white man and a boy—and of course he had no doubt that Dick and I were spoken of—had been captured in a boat by their enemies at the northern end of the island, and that an attack upon Paowang’s tribe had been planned. The chief of the party into whose hands he had fallen was, he found, called Oamo; he appeared to be a fierce, sanguinary savage, and he felt that his own life, while he remained in the chief’s power, was very insecure. So, finding that he could much more easily reach us than get back southward, and that his captors were less likely to look out for him on our side, he resolved to escape; and that very night succeeded in doing so.

On hearing this, Paowang and Whagoo hurried on their preparations; and, led by the latter, the warriors sallied forth in battle array, taking Harry and me with them. As we had no arms, and should have been unwilling to fight even had we possessed any, we were surprised at this; but Whagoo insisted that it was necessary, and we were compelled to comply. We marched on at a rapid rate till we reached a broad stream, which separated, we learned, the territory of Paowang from that of Oamo. On reaching the stream we caught sight of Oamo’s forces drawn up on the opposite side. The two armies then set to work to hurl abusive epithets at each other, instead of, as we expected, making use of murderous weapons. This had the effect, however, of exciting their courage and working up their anger. Harry told me, that as far as he could make out, each party was trying to induce the other to cross the stream and fight.

At length Whagoo dared Oamo to come over and engage in single combat. The challenge, after some deliberation, was accepted; and that chief, with about twenty of his followers, wading across the stream, formed on the northern bank, where they stood facing our party at about the distance of fifty yards. The two champions then advanced to meet each other, armed with the formidable carved clubs I have described, one blow from which would, it appeared, quickly decide the contest. As they advanced slowly, they narrowly eyed each other, waiting for a favourable moment to deal the first blow. Whagoo was young and active, but Oamo appeared to possess superior strength. Cautiously he advanced, holding his club with both hands towards the ground; while Whagoo kept his elevated above his shoulders, as if ready to bring it down on his antagonist’s head. For a minute or more they stood facing each other, their eyes glaring like balls of fire, when like lightning Oamo bounded towards his antagonist and dealt a blow of force sufficient to bring an ox to the ground; but Whagoo, actively leaping on one side, avoided it, and prepared to strike in return. In an instant Oamo, recovering himself, lifted his club in a position to receive his enemy’s attack. They thus stood for another minute or more face to face, each unwilling to risk defeat by giving a fruitless blow.

At length Whagoo, losing patience, gave a sudden bound for the purpose of reaching the right side of Oamo, who, however, quickly faced him and made a blow at his head; which he avoided by dropping on his knee, receiving it on the blunt part of his club. In an instant he was again on his feet, and with another bound attempted to reach Oamo’s unguarded shoulder. The latter, however, was too wary to allow him to succeed. Thus they continued springing round each other, Oamo’s aim being evidently to exhaust the strength of his antagonist. At last he succeeded in bringing his weapon down on Whagoo’s left shoulder, and inflicted a fearful wound; sufficient apparently to disable him completely, for the blood gushed forth in a way which must quickly, it seemed, drain his veins of their contents. He, however, took no notice of it, though it had evidently excited his rage and made him abandon the caution he had hitherto maintained.

I now began seriously to fear for the result. Oamo saw his advantage, and allowed Whagoo still further to exhaust his strength.

“What are we to do, Harry, if our friend gets beaten?” I asked.

“We must try and escape, for otherwise I fear that we shall be handed over to the victorious party,” he answered.

“Will they kill us?” I asked.

“Not if Oamo escapes without a wound,” he answered; “they will be so delighted with their victory that they will keep us as trophies. I don’t like the look of things, however.”

Our fears were still further increased when Oamo succeeded in bringing his weapon down on Whagoo’s thigh, leaping back quick as lightning to avoid the blow which the other dealt in return. In his eagerness to strike, and much weakened by his wounds, Whagoo overbalanced himself, and before he could again recover his feet or raise his club Oamo brought his weapon with tremendous force down on his unguarded skull, which with a single blow he clove in two, and our champion fell dead to the earth.

Oamo’s followers, uttering loud shouts of triumph, immediately rushed forward, and before Harry and I, who stood rooted with horror to the spot, could make our escape, they had surrounded us; Whagoo’s party having bounded off like startled deer the instant they perceived the fall of their chief. Satisfied with his victory, Oamo did not attempt to follow them, aware probably that Paowang, with the rest of his tribe, would quickly be down upon them to avenge his son’s death.

We were at once dragged off across the stream; after which the whole party, carrying us with them, retreated southward, singing songs of triumph.

Our captors did not halt till they reached their village, when the women came out in crowds to welcome them and to gaze at us. I expected nothing less than torture and death; but even Oamo, savage as he was, did not look at us fiercely, as if intending to do us any harm: possibly he was so well-pleased with his victory that he was inclined to treat us more kindly than he would otherwise have done. We were, however, doomed, we found, to captivity; and I naturally supposed that they would keep so strict a watch over us that we should have no chance of escaping.

“I do not despair, however, of doing that,” said Harry, when we were talking over the subject. “They are not aware that I understand what they say, and I shall thus be able to learn what they are about; so we may be able to get off by watching an opportunity. From what I understand, the southern end of the island is tabooed, having belonged to a chief who was looked upon as a priest, or sacred character of some sort. He, before setting out on an expedition with all his people, from which he never returned, threatened to visit with the most fearful curses any who should take possession of his territory during his absence. Oamo and his people had therefore been afraid to occupy it, and thus we were allowed to remain there so long unmolested. I thus hope that if we can once get across the stream which divides it from this region, we shall be safe.”

Harry’s remarks greatly raised my spirits, and I was better able to endure the annoyances to which we were subjected than I should have been had there been less hope of escape.

Day after day passed by, and we were treated much as I had before been by Paowang and his people. We were not compelled, however, to go out and fish, for the best of reasons—our captors had no canoes: indeed, Harry learned that Paowang possessed but the one canoe, which had captured us; and as Whagoo was dead, there was no one in the tribe to command it, so that in all probability it was either laid up on shore or kept in the harbour. This seemed at first to be a matter of little consequence to us; but on further consideration we saw that, should we find it necessary to escape in our boat, there would be little risk of our being pursued.

As time went on, our captivity became more and more galling, though it was a satisfaction to us to be allowed to remain together; and during the evenings, when our work was over, I had a constant source of amusement in endeavouring to impart such knowledge as I possessed to Harry. I fortunately remembered portions of the Bible, and numerous pieces of poetry and prose; and by repeating them to him, he also was able to get them by heart. I used to tell him all about England, and how various articles in common use were manufactured. I taught him a good deal of history and geography; and even arithmetic, by making use of pebbles. By this exercise of my memory I benefited greatly, as I was thus induced to recall subjects which I should otherwise in time have forgotten.

Our comparatively pleasant life was, however, at length to come to an end. From some motive which we could not understand—perhaps because they thought we should attempt to escape—the savages at length separated us, and compelled us to sleep in different huts; while we were employed apart during the day. Harry, however, contrived one evening to find me; and I then urged him, if he had an opportunity of escaping by himself, not to run the risk of being caught by coming to look for me. I said that I would either follow, or that perhaps Mudge would manage by some means or other to obtain my liberty, should he not already have left the island. There was some risk of this being the case, we agreed; and if so, Harry said that he would come back to me rather than have to live alone in Taboo Land, as we called it.

Several days passed after this, and though I looked about for Harry, I could nowhere meet with him, so I began to hope that he had escaped. Sometimes the dreadful idea occurred to me that the savages might have killed him; and I was more inclined to think this, owing to the way in which they began to treat me. I was made to work harder than ever; and even the women, who had hitherto looked kindly on me, turned away their faces; and I was often almost starving, being glad of the scraps left by the women after their lords and masters had handed them the remains of their meals. Still, being of a buoyant disposition, I did not give way to despair, and trusted that I might some day effect my escape. I had various plans for doing so. If I could get down to the coast, I thought that I might make my way along the beach, hiding among the rocks in the day time, and moving on in the water just at the margin at night, so that no traces of my footsteps might be left.

As I returned very regularly to my hut at night, my savage masters became less vigilant than before. At last I felt my captivity so irksome that I determined at all risks to put my plan into execution. I came back as usual to the village in the evening, and, pretending to have hurt my foot, as soon as I had eaten the scanty meal given to me I lay down, as if about to go to sleep. I waited anxiously till all noises had ceased in the village, and then quietly stole out of my hut; and, having well noted the way, as soon as I had got to such a distance that my footsteps were not likely to be heard, I ran as fast as I could to the west shore, which was much the nearest. In about an hour I reached it, and at once began to make my way, as I had proposed, along the beach. At all events, Oamo would not be able to ascertain whether I had gone to the north or to the south. Fortunately the water was high, so that I had the soft sand to tread on, my feet being on the margin. As fast as I could move, afraid even for an instant to step on the dry sand lest I might leave a footprint behind me, I went on. Sometimes I had to climb over rocks; but fortunately there were no cliffs in this part of the island rising sheer out of the water, or my progress would have been effectually stopped.

All night long I went on; the light of the moon, which rose soon after I reached the shore, enabling me to make way with less difficulty than I had anticipated. In spite of the temptation to continue my course, when morning dawned I sought shelter among some rocks, amid which I judged that I should be effectually concealed from any pursuers on the shore.

How far I had gone I could not well calculate, but I supposed that I was still a long way from the harbour, where I hoped to find Mudge. As I was well beyond the high-water mark, I had no fear of being overwhelmed by the rising tide; therefore, feeling very tired, I composed myself on my somewhat hard couch to sleep. I awoke with the idea that a pair of huge wings were fanning me; and on looking up I saw a large sea-fowl, as big as an albatross, about to pounce down on my head. I started to my feet, defending my face with my arm, and shouting at the top of my voice to frighten it off. My cries had the desired effect; and as I watched its flight seaward, I saw a small speck on the water. Eagerly I gazed at it; it was a boat, not a canoe, as I had at first feared. It came nearer and nearer, evidently steering along the coast. I feared that I should not be seen among the broken rocks where I had concealed myself, and I could scarcely hope to make my voice heard so far. My only chance was to run along the light-coloured sand, and to wave my hands, trusting that I might attract the attention of my friends in the boat—for that they were my friends I felt certain.

Without further consideration, I rushed from my hiding-place, and began frantically waving my hands, shouting at the same time at the top of my voice. As I for a moment ceased, I heard an echo to my cries; and looking over my shoulder, I saw a party of dark-skinned savages descending the hill towards the beach. From the glimpse I got of them, I saw that they differed in appearance from those among whom I had so long been held captive; I saw, also, that they had neither bows nor spears. With fierce cries they rushed down the hill towards me; while louder and louder I shouted, and waved my hands more vehemently towards the boat. The savages, with pointed daggers in their hands, had reached the foot of the hill; and I was almost abandoning myself to despair, when I saw the boat’s head turned towards the shore, and a figure in the bows stand up and wave to me, while a friendly cheer reached my ears.

In a few minutes more—long before the boat could get up to me—the savages were on the beach. Though I knew that sharks abounded on the coast, I no longer hesitated, but, rushing into the water, waded as far as I could, and then struck out towards the boat. I did not take time to throw off my jacket, but, fully clothed as I was, swam on; one glance, as I looked backward, revealing the savages not a dozen yards behind me. If they chose to swim after me, I should have scarcely a chance of escaping; but that thought did not make me abandon the attempt. I struck out boldly, and my friends in the boat pulled away lustily to meet me.

On turning on my back for one moment to rest, though not to stop, for I still struck out with my feet, I saw the savages on the margin of the water, fiercely threatening me with their daggers, but not daring to swim off in pursuit. My mind was greatly relieved; but there was the risk of cramp, or giving way from fatigue, as also the still greater danger of being snapped up by a huge shark. My friends, however, knew this as well as I did, and continuing to exert themselves as at first, at length came up with me. The time, however, seemed very, very long, and I was almost fainting from my exertions, when I felt a strong hand seize me by the collar of my jacket, and Mudge—for it was he who had got hold of me—pulled me over the gunwale and placed me in the stern-sheets.

I soon recovered, and the first face my eyes fell upon was that of Harry. The pleasure of seeing him soon restored me. He told me that he had effected his escape just as I was attempting to do, though he had been compelled to remain concealed for several days among the rocks. As soon as he reached the harbour he told Mudge, who had given up all expectation of ever seeing me again alive, of my captivity; and arranged with him a plan for rescuing me. Harry’s intention was to land after nightfall, and boldly make his way up to the village; where, knowing my hut, he hoped to be able to find me, and to conduct me back to the boat before daylight. The boat, however, had first to be brought round to the east side; so Mudge, himself, and Tom went across the island together, and brought her round by the south end.

The day after his arrival, while they were employed in putting on board provisions for the expedition, Popo, who had been out shooting with his bow and arrows, came rushing back, saying that he had seen a party of savage natives, who were evidently advancing towards the harbour. They had but just time to jump into the boat, leaving a large portion of the provisions they had prepared behind them, and to shove off, when the savages came rushing down with threatening gestures, shouting and shrieking. From Harry’s account, they were similar in appearance to the men from whom I had escaped, and we agreed that they were probably part of the tribe who had been absent, and had just returned to Taboo Land.

In the meantime, Mudge had put the boat round, and we were pulling away from the shore. One of the plans formed by my friends, they told me, had been, as soon as they had recovered me, to try and cut out our jolly-boat, as the small boat was but ill adapted for the long voyage we might have to take. They were afraid, however, should we linger on the coast, that the savages who had just landed would pursue us in the canoes in which they had arrived; and hence our only safe course was at once to get to a distance, in the hope that we might either fall in with a whaler, or reach some island inhabited by people of a more hospitable disposition. With reluctance, therefore, we abandoned the design of trying to get hold of the jolly-boat. There would, of course, have been danger in the attempt, and we therefore considered it altogether wiser to avoid it.

Unhappily, we had no sail, and only a couple of rough oars, formed by Tamaku; we had a few salted fish and birds, a basket of eggs, and some cocoa-nuts. Our stock of water was contained in a dozen cocoa-nut-shells, prepared as bottles by poor Tamaku. This stock would not last us many days; and should it be exhausted before we could reach another island, or fall in with a ship, we must starve.

Such were our prospects as we rowed away from the island, without chart or compass, or any other means of guiding our course, with the exception of the stars by night and the sun by day.

Chapter Six.

We pull south-west—Want of water and food—Catch some flying-fish—Sufferings from thirst—A breeze—A sail—Taken on board the “Violet”—Visit New Caledonia—Off the Australian coast—A hurricane—Brig wrecked—The pumps manned—Hopes of getting her off—Land in the boats—My father remains on board.

We pulled on all night, taking it by turns; and when the sun rose next morning we were out of sight of land. Mudge had come to the determination of steering to the south, under the belief that the inhabitants of the islands in that direction were less barbarous than those we had left. We thought, also, that we should be more likely to fall in with a whaler or sandal-wood trader belonging to New South Wales, which Mudge understood were in the habit of visiting the islands in those seas. Missionaries also, we knew, were settled on some of the islands to the southward; but, unfortunately, none of us had heard much about them, though we felt sure that, should we reach a place where one was established, we should be treated kindly. But the London and Wesleyan Missionary Societies had not in those days made the progress they have since done,—the blessings of Christianity and civilisation having been by their means carried among a very large number of the brown and black-skinned races of the Pacific. They had for some years been working among the Society Islands, and a few had visited Tonga, Samoa, and Fiji; while some of the native converts had gone forth among the more savage tribes, fearless of the perils they had to encounter.

Mudge proposed that we should at once be placed on an allowance both of food and water, to which we all readily agreed. We rowed on all day; but the boat was heavy, and though the water was calm we did not make more than three knots an hour—and we knew not how many miles we might have to go before we should reach land. During the day we each pulled about an hour at a time; and at night, that we might enjoy longer sleep, those at the oars continued two hours before they were relieved. Providentially, the weather continued fine, and the sea almost as calm as a mill-pond; thus we were able to make between sixty and seventy miles a day.

I cannot describe the events of each day, as they are much confused in my mind. We did our utmost to keep up our spirits: sometimes we sang, and sometimes we told such stories as we could remember, either of fiction or truth. Had poor Dick Tillard been alive and with us, his fund of yarns would have been invaluable. We frequently spoke of him, and mourned his loss. Mudge had seen a good deal of service, but he had not the happy knack of describing what had happened to him in the graphic, racy way poor Dick had of spinning a yarn. Mudge had been with Lord Cochrane during the war, and had taken part in some of his most gallant adventures. He was with him on board the Pallas when her boats had gallantly cut out the Tapageuse brig, and afterwards in her action with the Minerva, a ship nearly double her size; but his gallant commander having been, by the malignity of his foes, compelled to leave the navy, he himself had very little prospect of ever getting his promotion.

He gave us an account of the capture off Barcelona, by the Speedy sloop-of-war, of the Gamo frigate, more than twice her size. The Speedy was a little craft, of one hundred and fifty-eight tons only, and carried fourteen pop-guns—four-pounders—with a crew of fifty-four men; while the Gamo measured six hundred tons, and had thirty-two guns, with a crew of three hundred and nineteen men. After a desperate action, Lord Cochrane laid the little Speedy on board his big antagonist. He had ordered his men to blacken their faces; and one party, led by his gallant Lieutenant Parker, boarded at the bow, and soon gained a footing on the enemy’s deck. Their begrimed faces and the impetuosity of their onset struck dismay into the hearts of the Spaniards, and they incontinently gave way. Meantime Lord Cochrane headed the aftermost division; and the enemy, thus unexpectedly assailed fore and aft, were driven a confused mass into the waist. Here a desperate hand-to-hand struggle ensued; till one of the Speedy’s men, having by the captain’s direction fought his way to the ensign-staff, hauled down the Spanish colours, when the Spaniards, believing that their officers had struck the flag, cried out for quarter. The difficulty was to secure the prisoners, they having been driven into the main-hold of the Gamo. The ladders were removed, and guns were pointed down on them, a man being stationed with a lighted match, ready at any moment to fire among them should they attempt to retake the ship. Meantime sail was made on the prize, and she stood away from the shore just as a number of gunboats were seen coming out of Barcelona, which, had they acted with any degree of spirit, might have captured the Speedy, or compelled her to relinquish her prize.

“I wish I had been with him,” exclaimed Mudge; “but I was not, for the best of reasons—I was still in the nursery, and had not thought of going to sea.”

We all said the same, though none of the rest of us happened to have been born at that time, as it was just the beginning of the century. Poor Mudge—and there were many officers at that time, like him, old enough to be post-captains, who were still master’s mates—often sighed as he talked of the events of former days, and I have seen him more than once brushing away a tear as he spoke of his disappointed hopes and blighted prospects.

Day after day we pulled on, each day looking more eagerly than ever for land or for a ship. Our food was rapidly diminishing; and we had barely sufficient water to give us a wine-glassful apiece for two more days. Still, what might not happen in that time? Mudge urged us to keep up our spirits and pull on. Tommy grumbled a little now and then, and expressed a wish that he had never come to sea; but neither Harry nor Popo uttered the slightest complaint. When it was their turn to row, they pulled away with all their might; when they knocked off, they generally lay down in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep. The day was the most trying period, when the sun beat down on our unprotected heads. Even with an ample supply of food and water we should have found it trying; as it was, we suffered doubly. But then came the cool refreshing night and an unbroken sleep of two hours, when we all revived, and felt much better in the morning.

With a feeling which I cannot well describe, we at length emptied our last nut-shell of the salt, strong-tasting liquid it contained.

“I trust we shall make the land before many hours are over, lads,” said Mudge, in as cheerful a tone as he could command; “or maybe we shall fall in with some craft or other. I should prefer the latter, provided she happens to be English, with a good supply of water on board.”

“But suppose we don’t,” said Tom, gloomily.

“We mustn’t think of that, lad,” said Mudge; “we can all easily hold out for another four-and-twenty hours; and we have still some cocoa-nuts, which we must chew to prevent ourselves from feeling thirsty.”

We now counted the hours as they went by. As yet our strength was not materially decreased. Though our arms ached, we could still mechanically labour at the oars when we got into our seats; but I very much doubt that we made as much as three knots an hour.

That next night was the most trying we had yet passed in the boat. We had had no breakfast in the morning, not a drop of water to cool our parched tongues, or even to moisten our cracked lips. We might have made the water, by more economy, hold out another day, but there was no use regretting that now. We felt the heat greater than ever. Tom proposed getting overboard; but there was the difficulty of getting in again; so Mudge advised that we should simply dip our clothes in the water and put them on again, that we might thus imbibe some moisture through our skins. He charged us on no account, however thirsty we might feel, to drink the salt water, pointing out the fearful result which might ensue.

Once more the sun went down, and we tried to row, but could now scarcely move the oars. At length, afraid of losing them, Mudge told Harry and me, who were then rowing, or rather trying to row, to haul them in; and we all stretched ourselves in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep.

Morning came again, and one by one we sat up and looked about us, and then gazed into each other’s faces without speaking.

“I vote we have breakfast,” said Tom at length, “for I’m sharp set and very thirsty.”

“There’s neither food nor water remaining, boy,” answered Mudge in a hollow tone. “God may, if he thinks fit, send us help before the day is over. We can hold out a few hours longer, I should hope; but if help does not come, we must make up our minds like men to die. It has been the lot of many; why should we complain?”

These remarks were not calculated to raise our spirits. Perhaps Mudge knew that it would be useless to make any attempt to do so. He spoke but the truth, and we all knew that. It was a perfect calm; no vessel could approach us, and we were too weak to row. Mudge and I made the attempt, telling Tom to steer; but after a few strokes I could row no more, and nearly let my oar slip before I could get it inboard.

“We must wait for a breeze,” said Mudge, “which will come some time or other; it is our only hope.”

For some time he was silent. He alone continued seated on a thwart, the rest of us having sunk down with our heads upon them, while we leaned against the side of the boat. As the sun rose, the heat became more and more oppressive.

“Lads, it won’t do to give way to despair,” exclaimed Mudge suddenly, after he had been silent for an hour or more. “Can’t some of you sit up and talk?”

On hearing him say this, I endeavoured to arouse myself. Just then I heard a gentle splash in the water not far off. “What’s that?” I exclaimed.

“A shoal of flying-fish,” cried Mudge. “They are heading this way. Get out your oar, Rayner, and we will try and intercept them.”

By a desperate effort I did as he told me, while he pulled the oar on the opposite side.

“That will do now,” he cried. “Stand by, lads, and try to catch your breakfast as they come this way.”

The appeal was not in vain; even Tom showed that he had still some life in him. The next instant several flying-fish fell into the boat, while with the stretchers we knocked down others which came alongside. They were pursued by a couple of albacores; one of these would have supplied us with ample food for several days, but so rapid were their movements that we got but a single blow at one of them. It dashed by the boat, and was in an instant lost to sight.

The shoal having passed by, we had no hope of catching more, so we immediately set to work eating those we had captured—more in the fashion of ravenous beasts than human beings. They had died directly they were out of the water, or we should scarcely have waited to give them a knock on the head as a quietus before we dug our teeth into them. When people are situated as we were, they do things at which under other circumstances they would be horrified.

But eight fish had been caught; we had consumed five, and thus only three remained to be divided among us for our next meal. However, even the small amount of food we had taken somewhat restored our strength, and I felt that I could hold out another day if water could be obtained; but there was no prospect of rain—the only source from whence it could be derived.

“If a bird would just tumble into the boat, it would give us meat and drink,” observed Mudge. “We must hope for that, since no rain is likely to come.”

In vain, however, did we look around for sea-fowl; by their non-appearance we feared that we must still be far distant from land. Though we felt the gnawings of hunger, we suffered still more from thirst. When I at length dropped off to sleep, I dreamed of sparkling fountains; I saw bottles of champagne, and bitter beer, and all sorts of cooling beverages,—which, however, in some unaccountable way, I could not manage to carry to my lips.

But I will not dwell longer on the sufferings my companions and I endured; the subject is a painful one.

Mudge would not let us take the remainder of the fish that night, observing that it would last till the next morning, when we should want it for breakfast. We all acquiesced in his decision. He was constantly awake during the night, but the rest of us dozed for the greater part of it. At daylight, when I awoke, I saw that he had rigged one of the oars as a mast, to the upper end of which he had fastened a large handkerchief.

“Rouse up, boys!” he said, “and take your breakfast; we shall obtain relief to-day, or I am much mistaken.”

“Why?” I groaned out—for I could scarcely speak.

“Because there is a breeze coming. And look up there at those birds—perhaps one of them will come down and pay us a visit; and if so, we mustn’t stand on ceremony, but knock it inhospitably on the head.”

Mudge got out the fish, and cut each in two.

“You must take a whole one,” I said; “you require more food than we do, and our lives depend on your keeping up your strength.”

“No; I shall reserve it for luncheon,” he answered; “even that little will be better than nothing, and it will be something to look forward to.”

So dry were our mouths, however, we could scarcely masticate the uncooked fish.

We again sank down into our places. I felt that I could not hold out many hours longer; while the rest appeared still more exhausted.

Not a word was uttered by any of us excepting Mudge, who in vain appealed to us to talk. “Say something, boys! say something!” he every now and then cried out; “this silence is bad for us all. I won’t ask you to crack a joke, or tell a funny story; but talk, boys—talk!” A groan was the only answer any of us gave.

A gentle breeze blew from the eastward; I had just consciousness enough to be aware of that—to see honest Mudge sitting near me, and constantly looking about him.

What length of time had passed I know not, when I heard him shout, “A sail, boys! a sail!—we shall be saved!” His voice aroused me, and I saw him standing up, shading his eyes with his hand, while he leaned against the oar which formed the mast. “She’s standing this way; do try, my lads, to hold out for an hour or so longer, and we shall have as much water to drink and food to eat as we want,” he exclaimed. “Here, you shall have your luncheon;” and taking the half fish, he divided it into four equal portions.

“No, no, I don’t want any; I can hold out well enough,” he answered, when I made signs to him to take some. The rest of the party stretched out their hands feebly for the portion he gave them, but could with difficulty carry the food to their lips, or swallow it when they had got it into their mouths. So exhausted were we, indeed, that though we knew that a vessel was approaching, we were unable to sit up and watch her. I too saw her, and as she got nearer Mudge sang out that she was a brig under English colours; yet I could not believe that she was a reality. I several times heard him speaking about her approach. Once he exclaimed, with a deep groan,—“She’s hauled her wind, and is standing away from us!” then again,—“No, no; she sees us!—thank God, we’re saved! we’re saved!” Still, his words had no effect upon me or the rest of the party. Again I heard him hail; and a voice came from the brig in return. I was just conscious that we were alongside, and soon afterwards I felt myself lifted upon the deck; but my senses were confused; I could not understand anything that was going forward, and soon lost all consciousness.

How long I thus lay I could not tell, when, on opening my eyes, I saw a face bending over me; it was that of my mother. I was sure that I was dreaming, and again closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, they fell on the sweet features of my young sister Edith. She stood by the side of the cot in which I lay. I gazed at her for some seconds. There she stood, watching me eagerly; yet I could not persuade myself that it was really her. I knew how very vividly I had often seen persons and objects in my dreams.

I was in a neatly furnished cabin; just before me was a picture of our house at Clifton, and near it were hanging a girl’s straw hat and mantle. Again I turned my eyes towards the figure at my side. “Edith,” I murmured, not expecting to receive a reply.

“Yes, yes, dear Godfrey, I am Edith! Oh, how thankful I am that you are getting better, and know me.”

The reply was very distinct, but so are often replies in dreams. Just then I heard a voice which came down the skylight, giving an order to the crew in an authoritative tone: it was that of my father, I was sure.

“Why, Edith, how has it all happened?” I asked; “is it a reality, or am I still dreaming?”

“It is all real, I assure you,” answered Edith. “I must call mamma. Oh, how thankful she will be! We were afraid sometimes that you would not get better, and poor Pierce has been so unhappy, and so have I; but papa said he knew that you would recover, and we ought to have remembered that he is always right. And now you must get well as fast as you can.”

As she said this, I began to be convinced that I was awake, and that Edith really stood by my side. I did not detain her; and in another minute my mother was bending over me, and folding me in her arms, just as she had done the night before I came to sea. In a short time Pierce made his appearance, but was only allowed to remain a few seconds. Then my father came down, and said a few words expressive of his happiness; and then Edith, who had gone away, returned with a cup of broth, with which my mother fed me just as she had done when I was a baby.

I wanted at once to know how it had all happened, and what had brought my family out into the Pacific.

“It is a long story, and you are not strong enough to listen to it now,” answered my mother; “we will tell you in good time. One thing I may say: we were providentially sent to rescue you and your companions.”

“Are they all right?” I asked. “Have Mudge, and Harry, and Tom, and Popo been saved?”

“Mr Mudge has almost recovered; and the rest are, I trust, out of danger, though at first they appeared even weaker than you were,” answered my mother. “Mr Mudge has told us Harry’s interesting history. Your father knows Captain Hudson, who is an old shipmate, and he will do his best to restore the long-lost boy to his parents. However, we must not talk more at present. Go to sleep again. Our medical book says, that the more a person exhausted as you have been can sleep, the sooner he will get well.”

My mother having arranged a shawl over my shoulders, and bidding Edith sit down out of sight, glided out of the cabin. When I tried to talk, Edith only answered, “Hush!” and in a few minutes I was again asleep.

I do not know how it would have fared with us had we fallen into less careful hands; but my companions and I, in spite of the heat, in a short time recovered.

When I was strong enough to bear conversation, my mother told me how my father, finding his mercantile business in England was not likely to flourish, had resolved to emigrate to Australia, where, as an officer in the navy, he could obtain a grant of land. Following his nautical instincts, he had purchased a brig, on board of which he had shipped all the family; purposing to make a trading voyage before finally settling down, and hoping thus to realise a considerable sum, and pay the expenses of the vessel. He had hitherto been tolerably successful, though they had run no slight risk twice, if not oftener, of being cut off by the treacherous natives—“Treacherous because, I fear, they have been treated treacherously,” observed my mother. “We have been mercifully preserved, and are now on our way to Sydney, where we shall sell the brig and commence our settlers’ life. Your father, however, intends first visiting New Caledonia; and perhaps New Guinea, and some other islands.”

“Oh, then, I will leave the navy and settle with you!” I exclaimed. “And I am nearly certain that Mudge will also be ready to give up the navy and join us; as also, I am sure, will Harry, and Tom, and Popo.”

It was, indeed, most providential that the brig picked us up, for it was more than a fortnight after this that we made New Caledonia, along the northern shore of which we coasted; my father intending to bring up in some convenient harbour, where we could communicate with the natives, and purchase sandal-wood, or other productions of the country. The shore consisted of ranges of hills of some height, mostly covered with wood, with low plains and valleys intervening. We saw several double canoes under sail, such as I have before described.

At last we found a harbour, the appearance of which from the sea tempted my father to enter it. The instant we dropped our anchor, the vessel was surrounded by canoes, which brought off vegetables and all sorts of provisions; but having heard of the way in which many vessels had been cut off by the natives, my father wisely resolved to allow no one to come on board. The crew were kept under arms while he and his mates trafficked with the natives; the articles he had to dispose of being lowered down into the canoes, while the provisions were hoisted up on deck. Had similar precautions been taken by the commanders of other vessels, numerous fearful tragedies might have been prevented.

Some of the canoes I speak of had outriggers; but others, used apparently only for the smooth water of the harbour, consisted merely of four trunks of some light wood, partially hollowed out by fire, and lashed tightly together. Two men sat in them,—one in the bows and the other astern,—who used long pointed paddles like the heads of spears. They usually carried one passenger; in some instances this passenger was a woman, enveloped from head to foot in a cloak of matting.

As the brig had her six guns pointed through her ports, and the crew were seen pacing the deck with cutlasses by their sides and muskets in their hands, the people showed every disposition to behave peaceably, and to traffic on fair terms. Finding that we wanted sandal-wood, they brought off an ample supply, for which my father gave them a price which thoroughly satisfied them. Had all traders behaved as he did, I am convinced that the natives, who have often been stigmatised as treacherous savages, would have gained a very different character.

We again sailed, steering westward, as my father wished to inspect some of the northern portions of the eastern coast of Australia, at that time but little known. His intercourse with savages had led him to believe that, if properly treated, as he had always treated them, they could be easily managed; and he had therefore no fear of settling at a distance from other colonists. Indeed, he wished to be as far as possible from other stations; so that, by keeping the convict servants assigned to him away from the contaminating influence of their old companions, he might have a better opportunity of improving them, while he might at the same time win the confidence of the natives.

I have as yet said nothing about the brig, or those on board. She was called the Violet, of nearly two hundred tons burthen. The first and second mates were respectively men selected by my father for their good character, but there was nothing remarkable about them. The boatswain, Ned Burton, took the place in my regard which I had bestowed on poor Dick Tillard, whom, strangely enough, he knew.

“And a right honest fellow he was, Master Godfrey,” said Ned; “and if ever I go to that island from which you have escaped, I’ll pay a visit to his grave. He and I served His Majesty for many a year; and if the peace hadn’t come, we should have been serving him still. When the war was over, and I was paid off, I had made up my mind to remain on shore; and so I should, had not your father, who made his first trip to sea with me, asked me to come out on board the Violet. He would have made me second mate; but then, you see, I don’t understand navigation, and so I couldn’t take the situation. Howsomdever, when he said he would make me a boatswain, I couldn’t refuse him; and I’m thinking, when the ship is sold, and if I like the country, of settling down along with him, and sending for my old woman and our two daughters.”

I told Ned I thought he would act very wisely; and that in consequence of what Mr Mudge had said to me, and believing that I should have very little chance of promotion, I had made up my mind to quit the service, if Captain Bracewell would allow me.

“Not much difficulty about that, Master Godfrey,” answered Ned, laughing. “They don’t set a high value on midshipmen, according to my experience; and as he has probably long before this given you and the rest up for lost, he won’t be ferreting you out in Australia.”

“But I should not like to do anything dishonourable,” I said; “and if the captain were to insist on my returning in the ship, I am bound to do so: besides which, I left my chest on board, and there is pay due to me.”

“I thought a midshipman’s pay was always nothing, and find yourself, Master Godfrey,” said Ned. “And as for your chest and its contents, they’ve been sold by auction on the capstan-head long ago, so that it would be a hard job to get them back again.”

I talked the matter over with Pierce, who earnestly advised me not to think of quitting our father, and said he was sure that he would give me the same advice, as he had often said how much he wished I could have been with him.

I must not forget to mention my young sister’s pet goat Nanny, which had long afforded her and my mother milk for breakfast and tea. Nanny was the most affectionate of animals; and the moment Edith appeared on deck in the morning would come bounding up to her, and seemed delighted at being fondled, though she would butt at any one else who touched her. She, however, made friends with Harry, and when Edith was below would come up to him and wait to be caressed; but no sooner did she see her mistress, than she would hasten to her—looking at Harry, as much as to say, “I like you very well, but I like her best.”

We were progressing favourably on our voyage, which would in a short time terminate. I have said little or nothing about the wonders of the ocean, for they have been so often described. I cannot, however, avoid mentioning a beautiful phenomenon which occurred one night as we were approaching the Australian coast. There was a light breeze, which just rippled the water into wavelets, amid which the brig glided onward. The sky was overcast sufficiently to hide the stars. Dark as it was overhead, the whole ocean was flashing with light,—at some places in streaks, at others in vast masses, the spouts of several whales appearing like jets of liquid fire; while numberless huge medusae floated about, appearing as if composed of molten silver.

“I wonder the ship doesn’t catch fire!” exclaimed Tommy, who had just come on deck. “It would be a bad job if it did, for how should we ever put it out again? What can light up the water in this fashion?”

My father overheard him. “We call it the phosphorescence of the sea, because it resembles the glow emitted by phosphorus,” he answered. “Those who have studied the subject say that it is caused by the presence of myriads of minute marine organisms, some soft and gelatinous, and others—such as the Crustacea—of a hard nature; but, in reality, under some conditions of the atmosphere all sorts of marine creatures, like those huge medusae, shine both in the water and out of it.”

This appearance continued many hours. I got up Edith, who had already retired to her cabin, to look at it. She was as delighted as we were, and wanted us to have a bucketful brought on deck. Greatly to our surprise, the water in the bucket shone almost as brilliantly as it did in the ocean.

The next day the wind changed, and the weather became much worse than it had been since we had been taken on board. The wind was continually shifting, now coming from one quarter and now from another. I saw that my father was unusually anxious. He felt that the safety of the vessel, and the lives of all on board, depended on him. It was a long time since he had been at sea, and he had never been off this coast before. I believe that it would have been better for us had we at once stood off the land. It was too late to hope to do so, when the wind, coming round to the eastward, began to blow a perfect hurricane. My father then hoped to find shelter within the coral reefs which ran along the coast at a distance of from five to a dozen miles, on which Captain Cook’s ship, the Endeavour, was nearly cast away, in his first voyage.

Soon after daybreak, the hurricane came down with redoubled fury. The brig was hove-to under close-reefed fore-topsails. She behaved well; and we hoped, believing that we were still some thirty miles or more from the coast, that she would not near the reefs till the gale had abated. An anxious look-out, however, was kept all day to leeward. My father did not tell my mother and Edith the danger we were in, but merely begged them to remain in the cabin.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, when the first mate, who had been seated in the main-top looking out, came down on deck, and gave my father the alarming intelligence that he saw a line of breakers to leeward, extending north and south as far as the eye could reach.

“Could you discover no opening in them?” asked my father.

“I am not certain at this distance that there is none, though the line of surf appeared to me without a break for its whole length,” was the answer.

“It will take us some time to drift so far, at all events,” observed my father; “and before then the wind may come down.”

The mate looked anxiously to the eastward. “I don’t see any sign of that,” he answered.

“We must trust in Providence, then,” said my father. “However, I will go aloft; and if we can discover an opening, we will endeavour to carry the ship through it.”

I followed my father to the main-top, and stood looking out with him for some minutes. At length it appeared to me that about half a mile to the southward there was a space where the ocean was much less agitated than in other parts. I pointed it out to my father.

“You are right,” he said, after a pause. “It may afford us the means of escape; for should the gale continue during the night, no human power can save us—long before it is over, we should be on the reef.”

Having accordingly taken the bearings of the opening, he descended the rigging.

The operation of keeping away, when a ship has been hove-to, is at all times a dangerous one, and requires the most careful management, as the sea may otherwise strike her, and wash everything from her decks. The crew were ordered to their stations. The first mate, with a couple of trusty hands, went to the wheel.

“Up with the helm!” cried my father, waiting till an enormous sea had passed by us. “Brace round the fore-yard!”

It was done, and the brig’s head fell off to the westward. The main-topsail, closely reefed, was set, and we had then as much canvas as she could stagger under. As it was, several seas swept over her deck, carrying away portions of her bulwarks, and doing other damage; but all hands clung on to the stanchions around the mast, and happily no one was washed overboard. As we flew on, we could see the breakers flying high up on our starboard bow; while ahead appeared the opening which we had before made out. The wind, it should be understood, was on our port, or larboard quarter, as it was then called. The topsail-yards bent with the pressure put upon them. Should they go, the brig, deprived of her after-sail, would be unable to weather the southern end of the reef.

On and on we flew. A few minutes would decide our fate. Huge seas came rolling up astern, threatening to break aboard us; while, on either hand, the white breakers rose to the height of our tops,—those on the starboard side being so near us that it appeared even now that we should be overwhelmed. We flew through it, however; and I heard an expression of thankfulness escape my father as the white wall of foam appeared over our starboard quarter. For the present we were in comparative safety; but night was coming on, and the shore could not be far off. Once more we hauled up to the northward; then hove-to under the lee of the reef, hoping that the drift during the night would not carry us on shore. Still, our position was not free from danger. The water, even under the lee of the reef, was considerably agitated, although there was but little risk of the seas actually breaking on board as long as we remained afloat. The order was given to range the cable, and get ready for anchoring, should we approach the shore.

No one turned in, for we could not tell at what moment all hands might be required. Towards the end of the first watch, the gale began to moderate, and our hopes of ultimately escaping rose considerably. My father waited till midnight, and then ordered the watch just relieved to turn in, to be ready to take their duty in the morning. It was my morning watch; so I followed his directions, and turned in to my berth, hoping at daylight to see the coast of Australia, which I had pictured in glowing colours.

I was awakened by an ominous grating sound, and then by a blow which made the vessel quiver from stem to stern. She lifted for an instant, and then down she came again with a crash which seemed to be wrenching her timbers asunder. I knew too well what had happened. We were on shore; and in an instant I realised all the horrors of our situation. The cries and shouts which reached me from the deck left no doubt about the matter.

Shipping on my clothes, I hurried into the cabin, where I found my mother and Edith. Entreating them to remain where they were till my father summoned them, I next went on deck to ascertain the worst.

The brig had been carried over a sunken reef, and lay with her masts pointing towards the shore, which could be distinguished through the gloom not more than half a mile away. My father stood by the mainmast perfectly composed, issuing orders as if nothing had occurred. Hands were sent aloft to furl the foretopsail; and he then directed that the boats on the starboard side should be brought over, so as to be launched into the smoother water under our lee—where, on sounding, we found that there was sufficient depth to float them without risk of their striking the coral below. We had driven on to a small inner reef—a portion, probably, of what was once the fringing reef of the continent.

It may seem strange that my father had not gone into the cabin, but his professional duty overcame all other considerations. His first thought was to take measures for preserving the lives of all on board.

As soon as he heard my voice near him, he directed me to go back to the cabin, to assure my mother and Edith that, though the brig might be lost, he felt perfect confidence that we should all be conveyed safely on shore, and desired them to put together such things as they were most likely to require under the circumstances that we might be placed in. Although my mother was alarmed, her fears did not overcome her; and Edith, seeing her comparatively calm, did not give way to terror.

“This is indeed a sad misfortune,” said my mother; “but God’s will be done. We must trust to him to protect us. Tell your father we will do what he desires, and shall be ready to leave the vessel as soon as he summons us.”

I went on deck, and found my father and the mates, aided by Mudge, labouring with the crew in getting two of the boats into the water. Our boat had unfortunately been stove in by the falling of the topmasts when the brig struck.

“It is as well to be on the safe side, and to have the boats ready to shove off in case it should be necessary,” I heard Mudge observe to my father. “But, if I mistake not, it was somewhere about here that Captain Cook, on his first voyage round the world, was nearly lost in the Endeavour; though I think he must have been further off-shore. His ship was in a worse condition than ours, I suspect, for she went on shore at high-water; and it was not till after two or three tides had fallen and risen, and a large quantity of her stores had been hove overboard, that she was got off. Even then she would have foundered, had not a fothered sail—the use of which was not so generally known then as at present—been got under her bottom, by which she was kept afloat till she was carried into Endeavour River. Never perhaps was a ship so nearly lost; and yet, bad as was her condition, she continued her voyage round the world, and arrived safely in England.”

“You hear what Mr Mudge says, my men,” observed my father to the crew; “it ought to encourage us: but whether we get the ship off or not, I feel very confident that we shall reach the shore without difficulty.”

“Never fear for us, sir,” cried Ned Burton—“we’ll do our duty; and if the brig don’t budge, it will not be our fault.”

In the meantime, while I was below, the sails were furled, and the carpenter, by my father’s orders, had sounded the well. He now reported six feet of water in the hold; which showed that the water must be rushing in with fearful rapidity. The pumps were immediately manned, and all hands set to work to keep it under as much as possible.

While the mates were labouring with the men at the pumps, my father and Mudge and I tried the depth of water round the ship. Although there was sufficient on the lee side to float the boats—we found six feet astern—there were not more than eight feet on the weather or starboard side. We thus knew that she must have beaten over the ledge into a sort of basin, from which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to extricate her. As the sea, however, did not beat against her with much force, we hoped, should the wind not again increase, that she would hold together till we could get such stores out of her as would be necessary for our support. We were, we knew, a long way from any of the settlements, and, though we might reach them in the boats, a voyage along that rocky and inhospitable coast would be a dangerous one. My father did not perhaps express what he thought to the crew, as he wished to keep up their spirits, and to make every possible effort to get off the brig before he abandoned the attempt as hopeless. Nothing effectual could be done till the return of high-water, however, and daylight would enable us to see our position more clearly than at present.

As soon as “Spell O!” was cried, my father and Mudge and I took our turn at the pumps, and worked away as energetically as any one, though we well knew that all our efforts might be in vain. Again and again the carpenter sounded the well, and each time reported that, notwithstanding our exertions, the water was gaining on us. Still we laboured on, till at length the first streaks of morning appeared in the sky. It was very nearly high-water when we first drove on the reef; the tide had since been falling, and for the present it would be utterly impossible to move the ship. Our fear was that should we leave her she would fill, and the stores and cargo be damaged.

My father now for the first time went below, and I accompanied him. We found my mother and Edith still employed in packing up the articles they considered would most be required on shore.

“This is a sad event, my dear wife,” he said; “but we must bear it patiently, and endeavour to do the best we can in the circumstances in which we are placed. I am anxious to land you and Edith without delay; and I propose to send you and the boys under the charge of Mr Mudge or one of the mates, with a tent and as many provisions as the boat will carry, so that should bad weather come on you will be out of danger.”

“I will do as you wish,” answered my mother; “but I would far rather remain on board till you yourself think it necessary to leave the brig. I don’t like the thought of landing on a strange shore without you; and I should be very anxious there while you are still on the wreck and exposed to danger.”

“I don’t expect to incur any danger by remaining; and should it become necessary to leave the brig in a hurry, we shall be able to do so far more easily when you are already safe on shore,” answered my father. “However, as you wish it, you can wait a little longer. In the meantime, the boat can be got ready; and you and those who are to accompany you can have breakfast.”

The composed way in which my father spoke considerably reassured my mother. Having given orders to the steward to get breakfast ready, with as much calmness as if we were still running on under easy sail in an open sea, my father went on deck.

Mudge assisting us, we immediately set to work to get up such stores as could be most easily reached, with some sails and several spars for rigging a tent. While we were thus engaged, the mates got a hawser ranged ready to carry the stream-anchor out ahead, to be ready to try and haul the brig off at the top of high-water; the rest of the people still labouring at the pumps.

My father now sent Pierce and Tommy Peck into the cabin, telling them to eat a good breakfast, that they might be able to make themselves useful. Harry, Mudge, and I followed; but we scarcely sat down a minute, tumbling the food into our mouths as fast as we could, and drinking our coffee while standing with the cups in our hands. Mudge was off again almost immediately, to allow my father to come down and take his breakfast. I was struck by the way in which my mother presided at the table, Edith helping her as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Harry and I soon followed Mudge, whom we found engaged in stowing the boat. We were assisting him, when we were again summoned to the pumps; for they could not be allowed to rest for a moment, and the gang who had just been working at them were quite tired out, and required their breakfast.

All this time the sea, though it did not break over the vessel, was striking her side, and every now and then made her give a lurch which I thought would send the masts out of her. The tide having turned, was now again rapidly rising; so the anchor was carried out ahead, and preparations made to heave her off! As the tide rose the seas began to beat with greater force against the side of the vessel, frequently flying over her deck.

“Mudge,” said my father, “I must no longer delay sending Mrs Rayner and the young people on shore; I confide her and them to your charge, feeling sure that you will act, according to the best of your judgment, for their good. I trust that you will meet with no natives; but if you do, and they appear to be hostile, you have arms with which to keep them at a distance.”

“Depend on me, sir,” said Mudge; who now, with the men chosen to man the boat, hauled her alongside.

My father went below, and returned conducting my mother and sister. They were then carefully lowered into the boat, in which Mudge and the crew were seated; Pierce went next; Harry, Tom, Popo, and I followed.

“Oh, may we have Nanny with us?” cried Edith, not even then forgetting her favourite.

“Where’s Nanny? where’s Nanny?” was cried along the deck; it was feared at first that she had been washed overboard.

“Here she is, all right,” cried the cook, who had looked into the caboose, where it was found that the goat had wisely taken shelter on finding herself neglected by her friends. Her usually sleek hair was somewhat blackened, but that did not matter. She was hauled out of her hiding-place and carried to the side of the vessel. On seeing Edith in the boat she would of her own accord have leaped in after her, but as in doing so she might have pitched upon some of our heads, she was lowered carefully down.

“Thank you, thank you,” cried Edith, as she patted the head of her favourite, who was exhibiting her satisfaction at being with her young mistress.

As we shoved off, my mother looked anxiously at the brig, still evidently not liking to leave my father on board. He had told Mudge to ascertain if there were any natives in the neighbourhood; and should he be certain that there were none, to send the boat back, that she might either assist in getting the brig off, or take more stores and provisions on shore. As we pulled away the position of the brig appeared hopeless indeed, and I believe my father would have thought so had he been with us; but he could not bring himself to abandon her till he had tried every possible means of getting her off. She was heeling over on her side; and as the pumps were kept going, the water flowed out at the scuppers in a continuous stream.

“Is there no hope, Mr Mudge, of getting the vessel off?” asked my mother.

“The commander thinks that there is, or he would not have remained,” he answered evasively, not giving his own opinion; but I saw by his countenance that he did not think there was any hope.

Our attention was now turned towards the shore. As we approached we discovered what appeared to be the mouth of a river some way to the south of where the brig lay, and as Mudge considered we should obtain a better landing-place within it than was offered by the beach, all along which the surf broke with some force, he steered towards it. We found that it was directly opposite the passage through the reef by which we had entered. The ground on the south side rose to a considerable height, with a line of cliffs facing the sea-shore; while on the north the country was much lower, and covered sparsely with trees of a curious growth, such as I had never before seen, and with no underwood anywhere visible; but the mouth of the river on the lower side was lined with mangroves, which extended into the water.

There was some sea on the bar, but not sufficient to make Mudge hesitate about entering. He waited, however, for a good opportunity. “Give way, my lads,” he shouted. Just then a roller came foaming up astern, which made me dread that my mother and Edith would get a wetting, even if the consequences were not more serious; but we kept ahead of it, and in another minute were in smooth water.

We soon discovered a rocky point on the north side, which offered a good landing-place, with green turf and a few trees growing on the upper side; and here we first set foot on the shores of Australia.

Chapter Seven.

Survey our camping-place—Climb to the top of the cliff—Return to the brig—Fruitless attempts to get her off—Stores landed—Visited by a native and his family—Paddy makes Pullingo’s acquaintance—A raft built—A storm—Brig goes to pieces—Disaffection of the crew—I save Mudge from a snake—Cruise in the boats to recover cargo—Case of seeds found—House built—The mates and part of the crew sail for Sydney in the long-boat—Duties on shore—Expedition with Edith in the jolly-boat—Edith taken ill—A gale—Cross the bar—A merciful escape.

The spot on which we had landed was well chosen. There was ample level space on which to erect our tents; indeed, a whole village might have been built on it under such shade as the trees afforded; though that, owing to the way the leaves grew with their edges upwards and downwards, was but slight. It was joined to the mainland by a narrow neck, which could be easily defended, should there be any natives in the neighbourhood inclined to attack us; while a bend of the shore on the upper side of the neck afforded a secure harbour for the boats. The cliffs, which extended along the coast, and apparently ran some way up the river, rose but a short distance from the bank; and as the trees grew widely apart along the shore, no enemy, we supposed, could approach without being discovered.

As soon as we had landed, my mother begged Mudge to ascertain, as far as he could, whether there were any natives in the neighbourhood; and if he was satisfied that there were none, to send the boat back to the brig—which was not visible from where we were, being hidden by the mangroves on the point at the northern side of the entrance to the river.

“The best way to ascertain that will be to climb to the top of the cliffs, as from thence I doubt not but I shall get a good view all over the country,” answered Mudge.

I begged to accompany him; and he giving directions to the men to land the stores and provisions, we set off.

When we reached the foot of the cliffs we found that it would be no easy matter to mount them; indeed, just above the landing-place they were almost perpendicular. By going westward—that is to say, up the stream—we found that they were more broken; and at length we discovered a part where, by means of the shrubs which projected from the crevices, we had hopes of being able to climb up to the top. I don’t know what landsmen might have done, but we, not to be deterred by difficulties or the fear of breaking our necks, commenced the ascent.

Up we went, now scrambling over the rocks, now swinging ourselves up by means of the shrubs, till we got to a break in the ground—probably in long ages past a water-course, when the ocean was flowing off the ground; now presenting a surface of undulating downs. The sides sloping gradually, we easily made our way among the bushes growing on them, till we stood on the downs I have just spoken of, on the top of the cliff. By proceeding back to the sea we reached the highest part, just above the landing-place.

Before leaving the vessel, Mudge had thoughtfully slung his telescope over his shoulder, and was thus able to take a wide survey of the country in every direction. We first looked towards the brig, which lay about a mile and a half to the north-east, in the position in which we had left her; the boat was alongside, and as far as we could make out, no effort was being made to get the vessel off.

“I doubt if any power will move her; or, if she were to be hauled off the rocks, whether she will keep afloat long enough to bring her into the harbour,” said Mudge, with a sigh. “It can’t be helped; and we should be thankful to have reached the shore with our lives, and to have a prospect of making our way in time to the settlements.”

“I am afraid that my father will be dreadfully cut up at the loss of the brig and so much of his property, even although we may manage to land the stores and part of the cargo,” I observed.

“He would have been more cut up had your mother and sister and you boys lost your lives, or been compelled to make a long voyage in the boats,—which might have been our fate had we not got so close inshore,” answered Mudge. “Again I say, let us be thankful for the mercies shown us, and make the best of our position.”

Mudge, while he was speaking, was sweeping his glass round from the coast-line to the northward, towards the interior of the country. I meantime was looking down on the party below the cliff, who were all busily employed in carrying the things up from the boat, and placing them close to the spot Mudge had already selected for pitching the tent—in the centre of the little peninsula. Though they were, I concluded, within musket-shot, they were too far off for an arrow to reach them; so that, even should the natives possess such weapons, our encampment could not be assailed from the top of the cliff. This was satisfactory, as it made the position we had chosen a very secure one.

The spot was about a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the river. The opposite shore was, as I have said, much lower than that on which we stood. Close to the sea it was flat and level, with a few sand-hills scattered over it. Farther on, the ground was undulating and thinly covered with trees. On our side, the high ground extended as far as the eye could reach along the bank of the river, as it did also along the shore southward. Altogether, it appeared to me a very fine country, such as we had reason to be thankful we had landed on.

“I can see no huts or cottages, or signs of people, though it seems strange that so fertile a region should be uninhabited. All I can suppose is, that the people live either underground, or in the same sort of wretched hovels I have seen some of the South Sea Islanders dwelling in,” said Mudge; “and if so, I might have been unable to distinguish them, even although at no great distance. Do you, Godfrey, take the glass, and tell me what you can make out.”

I did as he bade me, examining every hill-side and hollow from north to south of our position, without discovering anything like a hut. To the west and south-west I observed a range of blue mountains, but the country to the southward was either level or undulating, and covered with trees growing widely apart; so that should we decide on making our way overland to the settlements, we should for some distance at all events find no obstruction to our progress.

Having finished our survey, we went along the top of the cliff to the westward, and by proceeding on a little farther we got down by a somewhat easier way than that by which we had climbed up.

In consequence of the report Mudge gave my mother, she begged that he would go back to the brig.

“That I may not do,” he answered, “as I promised the captain to remain here to protect you: and though my belief is that there are no natives hereabouts, I cannot be certain; and I should never forgive myself, if they were to come and do you an injury while I had neglected orders and gone away.”

“Then let me go off,” I said, “with three of the men,—they will be sufficient to pull the boat that short distance; and you, Paddy Doyle, and the boys, will be well able to keep any savages at bay till we come back.”

To this Mudge agreed, as my mother seemed to wish it; and everything having been landed from the boat, the men and I jumped into her, and, shoving off, pulled away for the brig.

By the time we arrived alongside, the tide was as high as it was likely to rise. My father was glad to see me back, and to hear the satisfactory report which I gave him. We had no time for conversation, however, as the men had just manned the capstan to make another effort to heave the vessel off. But in vain they laboured; not an inch would she move.

“I am afraid, sir, that our only chance of floating her will be, either to land the cargo, or to heave it overboard,” observed the first mate.

“I have arrived at the same conclusion,” said my father; “but we will not lose the cargo if it can be helped. We will land what we can in the boats; and if the weather continues moderate, we will form a raft, and convey as much as it can carry,—by which we shall be enabled, I hope, to save the larger portion.”

“Let’s have another heave first, sir,” cried the men, who thus showed their regard for their commander, and the interest they felt in his welfare, as they all knew that he would be the chief sufferer by the loss of the brig. Again they hove, pressing against the capstan-bars as if nothing could resist them.

“It’s all of no use,” exclaimed the carpenter, who had been below; “it’s my belief that the coral rock has gone through the planking, and that unless we can get the cargo out of her, and every pig of ballast, no power will float her or get her off.”

My father, on hearing this, also went below; and on his return he directed the mate, with some of the crew, to load the boats, while he and others set to work to build a raft. As soon as the two boats were loaded, he ordered me to pilot the way in the jolly-boat; saying that he intended to remain on board, with the hands not required in the boats, to complete the raft.

“But won’t you leave the mates, father, to do that?” I asked.

“No, Godfrey,” he answered, somewhat sternly; “I intend to be the last man to quit the vessel. As soon as the boats are unloaded, they are to return, unless Mr Mudge thinks it necessary to detain the jolly-boat. Tell him what I say; and assure your mother that she need be under no apprehensions on my account.”

Of course, all I had to do was to obey my father; but I could not help feeling anxious about him, as I had no doubt my mother would be, notwithstanding the message I was to give her. Jumping into the jolly-boat, then, I told the men to give way, as I wished to reach the shore as soon as possible. The water was tolerably smooth; and though our boats were heavily laden, we crossed the bar without difficulty, it being now high-water, and soon reached the landing-place.

As we approached it, we saw three strange figures standing at the farther end of the neck of land, apparently watching the proceedings of our friends. They were perfectly black, having on the smallest possible amount of clothing, with bushy heads of hair; and one of them had a thick beard, moustache, and whiskers. Two of them had long spears in their hands, but the other, whom as we got nearer we saw to be a woman, was unarmed.

Mudge hailed us. “Take no notice of the natives,” he sang out; “they’ve been there for the last half-hour, and are puzzled to make us out. The best way to manage them is to let them alone; and by-and-by, depend on it, they’ll come and try to make friends with us.”

I at once gave Mudge my father’s message. He replied that there was not the slightest necessity for our remaining, and desired me, as soon as the boats were unloaded, to pull back again to the brig. “Paddy Doyle and I can easily manage our black friends; and it is far more important that the boats should be employed in bringing the stores on shore,” he observed. “The only advice I have to give is, that you should cross the bar with the raft while the tide is flowing, and pretty near high-water. It will be better to wait for high tide than to attempt it as yet; and I hope your father will secure the raft alongside, and come on shore in the last trip the boats make this evening.”

My mother sent a similar message, entreating my father not to remain.

The crew quickly unloaded the boats, and piled up their cargoes, with the other things before landed, in the centre of the camp.

I observed that Paddy Doyle, instead of working with us, was employed in watching the natives; though he pretended all the time not to be taking any notice of them, but to be amusing himself by playing a number of strange antics calculated to excite their curiosity. This, after a time, he succeeded in doing. The man, having directed his companions to retire to a distance,—for the purpose, as we supposed, of placing them out of danger,—advanced several paces nearer, and stood regarding us with fixed attention. Though he was no beauty according to our notions, he was, as he stood motionless as a statue, with his bundle of five lances, their sharp points polished and serrated, in his left hand, really a fine-looking savage. Stuck in his bushy hair, and fixed in his ear, he wore a heron’s feather; and round his waist was a broad belt which served to keep up his very tight kilt, composed of opossum skins. In this belt was stuck a knife or dagger of bone or stone; while at his back was slung a small stone axe. His right hand was, however, kept in readiness at any moment to hurl one of his lances at us. His figure was tall; and his limbs, though covered with dirt, remarkably clean, as far as form was concerned—showing that he was capable of great activity.

Paddy now pretended to have discovered him for the first time, and advancing a few paces, took off his hat and made him a profound bow. Though in all likelihood the savage had never before been so saluted, he seemed to understand that the white stranger wished to become better acquainted with him, and pointing to himself, he uttered the word “Pullingo.”

“The top of the morning to ye, Mr Pullingo! I’m after hoping you’re pretty well. And how’s Mistress Pullingo, and Master Pullingo, and any other pledges of mutual affection you happen to possess?” cried Paddy.

The savage uttered some words in a not unmusical tone, but what they were intended to express it was impossible to say, nor could we be certain that he had mentioned his own name; but, as may be supposed, Paddy at once dubbed him Pullingo, which cognomen he was likely to retain ever afterwards.

“Exactly so,” said Paddy, as if he had understood every word that had been uttered. “And my name’s Patrick Doyle, at your service; and it’s myself and my friends there have come to spend a few weeks in your country, or maybe longer; and we hope by-and-by to have the pleasure of your better acquaintance.”

The tone of Paddy’s voice, as well as his gestures, seemed to give confidence to the savage, and to assure him that we had no hostile intentions. But after Doyle and he had thus stood looking at each other for some minutes, he began slowly to retreat, always keeping his face towards us, till he had rejoined the woman and boy, when he sat down and held a conversation with them. They then all three rose and made their way up the bank of the river, till they were hidden from sight behind a rock.

I was, however, but a short time on shore, for as soon as the boats were unloaded we pulled away to the brig. By the time we got back to her the raft was nearly completed. As, however, the tide was running out of the river, my father, following Mudge’s advice, determined not to send it on shore, but to secure it alongside for the night. The boats were therefore again loaded; and as long as daylight lasted they were kept plying backwards and forwards.

With great unwillingness my father consented to come on shore with the rest of the crew in the last trip. “I should have no fears about remaining,” he observed, “as I feel confident that the brig will hold together, even though we may not succeed in getting her off.”

We had landed provisions sufficient to last us, with economy, for several months; all our arms and ammunition, most of our own clothing and that of the ship’s company, as well as our bedding and a few articles of furniture for my mother’s use; our cooking utensils and the cabin dinner and tea service; the carpenter’s tool-chest; several spades and pick-axes, and other agricultural implements; and some bales of new canvas, as well as several of the ship’s sails and a number of miscellaneous articles. Altogether, we had reason to be satisfied that we had saved so much. Several tents had been put up before dark to accommodate all the party. The most complete was that for the use of my mother and Edith; the others were formed simply by stretching a rope, over which a sail was thrown, between two trees, the edges of the sail being secured by pegs to the ground on either side.

As soon as my father landed he summoned several of the men, and ordered them to cut down all the grass which grew on the isthmus, as well as that surrounding our tents.

“I take a hint from Captain Cook,” he observed; “for I remember the narrow escape he and his men had from destruction, when the savages, in a sudden fit of anger, set fire to the grass surrounding his encampment, from which his powder and more valuable articles had only just before been removed. The savages hereabouts may be disposed to be friendly with us; but it will not do to trust them, as we cannot tell from what cause they may take offence.”

We had hitherto been too busy to eat anything, with the exception of some biscuit and wine. The fire was now lighted, the tea-kettle put on, and a pot to boil some of the provisions we had brought with us. Nanny afforded some milk for tea, and with the herbage she would now obtain she would, it was hoped, give us an abundant supply.

My father, not trusting to the natives, placed a sentry on the neck of land, as also two others to watch the shore in case they should pay us a visit by water during the night. We all then retired to our tents; and having been up during the previous night and hard at work all day, we very quickly fell asleep.

How long a time had passed I knew not, when I was awakened by a rattling peal of thunder, which sounded directly above my head. Starting up and rushing out of the tent, I found my father and the officers, as well as most of the men, on foot; the rain was coming down in torrents, and the wind was blowing furiously, dashing the water against the bank, and making the tall trees bend before it. My fear at first was that they would be blown down upon us; but when I recollected the shape of their leaves and their scanty foliage, I saw that there was not much danger of that. How thankful I felt that my father had not remained on board the brig, for she, I could not help fearing, would go to pieces, and all her cargo be lost.

My father’s first object was to secure the boats, which lay in the bay I have already described, above our encampment. As soon as this was done, he in a calm voice advised those who had not to keep watch to turn in again. “We need not fear for our lives,” he observed; “and as for the brig, we can do nothing till daylight. Should the weather then moderate, and she still hold together, we may get off to her; but if not, Heaven’s will be done. We should be thankful that our lives have been preserved, and that we have secured so many necessaries.”

I was only half awake as it was; so, following my father’s advice, I crept back into the tent, and in spite of the storm was quickly asleep. Day had broken for some time when I awoke; the rain had ceased, though the sky was still cloudy. I found the men trying to light a fire with the damp wood and leaves they had collected, but it was a somewhat difficult task. My father, accompanied by Mudge, had gone up to the top of the cliff to look out for the brig, but from the loud roar of the breakers on the bar and along the coast I had but little hope that they would see her. The storm, however, quickly passed away, the sun breaking out from amid the clouds which rolled off to the southward. I awoke my younger companions, who had slept through the whole of it, and were very much astonished to find the ground wet and the sea still roaring in a voice of thunder.

My mother’s tent having been securely put up, had withstood the wind, as had the others; indeed, constructed as they were, they could not be blown down or disturbed unless the pegs had been drawn out of the ground.

I found my mother and Edith sitting just inside their tent, waiting for my father’s return.

“The utter destruction of the brig will be a sore trial to him,” she observed; “and he has no hope that she can have escaped; so we must do our best to keep up his spirits, and to show him that we are contented with our lot. I feel such unbounded gratitude to Heaven for his having been induced to come on shore last night, that the destruction of the vessel appears to me a mere trifle; and I am sure that you and Pierce will do your best to induce the rest to obey his directions.”

“That we will, mother; and so, I am sure, will Harry,” said Pierce, who was with me; “so will Tommy Peck and Dicky Popo: and if they don’t, we’ll make them.”

The men had succeeded in lighting a fire; and just as breakfast was ready my father and Mudge came in sight. They shook their heads as they drew near.

“Not a vestige of the brig remains,” said my father, with a sigh. “I trust that, if we can get to Sydney, we shall recover our insurance; but I had hoped till the last to save her and the cargo. We have happily secured a good store of provisions and ammunition; and I propose forming a settlement in this neighbourhood, and, having become acquainted with its inhabitants, the nature of the country, and the wild animals which may afford us food, ultimately to send an expedition overland to Sydney. When we have gained experience, we shall have but comparatively little difficulty in travelling to the British settlements in the south.”

My mother was perfectly ready to agree to my father’s proposal; indeed, she saw the wisdom of remaining where we were until we had become acquainted with the country, and she dreaded the long overland journey almost as much as she did a voyage in the boats. All the party, however, I found, were not of this opinion, though they did not at first express themselves openly on the subject. The seamen, as is too often the case when a vessel has been wrecked, now that they had got on shore did not consider themselves any longer under naval discipline; and though they were not actually disrespectful to my father, they took but little pains to carry out his orders. He, having been brought up on board a man-of-war, was not accustomed to the ways of merchant-seamen, and considered that they were as much bound to obey him now as before. The mates, it was evident from their manner, sided with the men, so that Mudge was the only officer on whom my father could depend for support. They two on all occasions consulted together. The first point they had to decide was the position of the proposed settlement, supposing that the men would willingly assist in forming it. When my father spoke to the mates on the subject, however, they at once declared that they had no intention of remaining where they were.

“You see, Captain Rayner, you have your wife and family with you; but with us it is very different,” observed the first mate. “We want to get back to our families and to civilised life, and see no reason why we should remain here when we have got a stout boat in which we can easily make the passage to Sydney. If you’ll give us the boat, we’ve made up our minds to go in her as soon as we’ve stretched our legs on shore a little.”

My father replied that he would consider the matter; on which the mate muttered something which did not reach our ears.

I was shortly afterwards talking over the matter with Mudge. “It can’t be helped, though, I fear,” he observed. “If we can’t persuade them to stay, they must go; for we certainly have no power to compel them to do what they don’t wish, and we must therefore depend upon ourselves. I am very certain that Tommy Peck and Harry will remain faithful; and so, I hope, will the boatswain and Paddy Doyle, who seems much attached to us.”

“I can answer for Ned Burton,” I said; “and, I think, two or three more of the men.”

“Then, whether or not any of the rest stay with us, we shall manage to do very well,” he said in a cheerful tone. “Now, after the experience of last night, I am anxious at once to build a cottage for your mother and Edith, in which they will be more comfortable than in a tent. I told your father, who said he should be much obliged if I would do so; and to show the men that we are independent of them, I proposed that we should set about it at once. The timber about here is too large for the purpose, but I saw some near the mouth of the river which will serve well for uprights and rafters; and if we can get Doyle to accompany us, we will set off at once with our axes and begin to cut it. Tell the other boys; and they can bring the logs here which we cut down, when your father and Burton will set them up. Perhaps we shall shame some of the other men into offering their assistance.”

Harry and Tom were well-pleased to have something to do, and agreed that the two of them could easily carry a log the distance these had to come, unless it was unusually heavy. The men saw us setting off, but continued sitting round the fire smoking their pipes, without inquiring where we were going or what we were about to do.

We soon reached the spot, where, a short distance from the beach below the cliffs, grew a number of small palm-trees with straight, clean stems, exactly suited for our purpose. We soon cut down two; with which the boys trotted off, one at each end, telling us to be ready with a couple more by the time they came back. The heat under the cliff was very great, and had there not been a sea-breeze we could not, I think, have endured it. Mudge threw off his jacket, and tucking up his shirt sleeves, set manfully to work. Doyle did the same; and each had cut down two trees before I had felled one. Doyle then went on towards some trees which he saw farther off, leaving me at work a little distance from Mudge.

I was chopping away, when I heard Mudge give an extraordinary shriek; and looking towards him, what was my horror to see him on the ground encircled in the folds of a huge serpent, whose head was raised high in the air as if about to dart its fangs into him! His axe had fallen to the ground, so that he was unable to defend himself. I sprang towards him with my axe uplifted; and I must have attracted the serpent’s attention, for instead of striking its prisoner it turned its head towards me. Should I miss, I might be bitten as well as my friend. There was not a moment even for thought; with all my might I aimed a blow at the serpent’s head. My axe, providentially, had been lately sharpened, and with one stroke I cut off the creature’s head, which fell, in the act of uttering a hiss, close to my friend’s side. The body still held him fast, and I had to exert some force to unwind it; after which I helped him to get on his feet.

Many a person would have fainted under such circumstances; Mudge merely shook himself to ascertain that no bones were broken; then, having picked up his axe, he said,—“Most heartily I thank you, Godfrey; you have, I verily believe, by your courage and presence of mind, saved my life, for in another instant that creature’s fangs would have been into me. I only hope there are not many more in the neighbourhood, or we shall find it unpleasant.”

When Doyle and the boys came near, they would scarcely credit what had occurred, till they had seen the body of the serpent with its head cut off.

Before again setting to work, we hunted about in all directions to ascertain that there were no more serpents of the same description near at hand. We could find no traces of any other; and I had afterwards reason to believe that the one I had killed was unusually large: indeed, I never saw one of the same size in the country,—although there are numerous snakes, many of them of an exceedingly venomous description, while there are others of large size perfectly harmless.

Satisfied at length that we might continue our work on the spot without molestation, we once more began cutting down the trees, which our companions carried to the encampment as fast as we could fell them. We warned them not to tell my mother and Edith what had occurred, lest they should take alarm, under the belief that the country was infested with snakes. As we improved by experience as woodsmen, we gained upon the carriers, and by the evening had cut down a good many more trees than they were able to convey to the encampment.

When we arrived there we found some of the seamen assisting my father and Burton, who were engaged in shaping and putting up the timbers; but the rest were taking it easy, and enjoying themselves, as they called it. Had my father allowed it, they would have got possession of the rum and wine, and would probably have been quickly drunk; but, knowing the evil consequences which would have ensued, he was very firm on the subject, and had told Edith to keep an eye on the stores, and to call him should any of the seamen come too near the casks and cases, which were piled up together.

The wind was still blowing strongly from the sea, creating a considerable surf on the bar; and this had prevented the boats from going out to search for any part of the cargo which might have been thrown up on the coast. The seamen also saw that they could not commence their projected voyage to Sydney.

Neither Pullingo nor any other natives had been seen; and we therefore concluded that the country was but thinly populated. Still, my father considered it wise to place sentries at night to guard against surprise. Some of the men grumbled at being ordered to keep watch, and my father and Mudge had to be awake all night to see that they did their duty. It was strange that men who had behaved so well during the voyage should have changed so much; but so it was. Probably they were disappointed at not getting to Sydney, where they had expected to enjoy themselves after their own coarse fashion. The better-educated men, we found, were the best-behaved.

By the next morning the wind had gone down, the ocean sparkled brightly in the rays of the sun, and the bar was perfectly smooth. The mates now asked my father to allow them to take their departure in the long-boat, with such of the men as wished to go. They were respectful in their manner, but determined, it was evident, to carry out their purpose. My father pointed out to them the danger they would incur, ignorant as they were of the coast, should such a gale as had just ceased to blow overtake them; and he advised them to raise the gunwale of the boat, so as to make her more sea-worthy. This, however, would take time, they said, and they were anxious to be off at once. He then begged that they would make an excursion along the coast to the northward, to ascertain what had become of the wreck, and whether any of the cargo had been thrown up on the shore. To this the first mate consented, provided my father or Mudge would accompany them.

“Let me go, Captain Rayner,” said Mudge, “while you remain with Mrs Rayner on shore, and superintend the building of the house.”

I begged that I might accompany Mudge, who intended to take the jolly-boat; while the first mate, with six hands, went in the long-boat. We had three of the men; the remainder, who were in better humour since my father had promised to allow them to take the long-boat, agreed to stay behind and help him.

We first pulled for the rock on which the brig had been cast, and soon got close up to it. Nothing was visible. We then saw through the clear water a few timbers rising up from the keel. We had no need to examine the spot more nearly; these told what had been the fate of the unfortunate Violet.

“I am very glad that your father did not come,” said Mudge; “it would have been a sore trial to him. And now we’ll look along the shore; though I doubt much whether the cargo will have been carried thus far.”

We pulled in for the shore, and then along outside the surf—which still broke on it for a couple of miles or so to the northward—but for some time could discover only a few shattered fragments of wreck. The long-boat, however, got hold of some planks which were still washing about; and the mate seemed to think that they would be useful in raising the boat, as my father had advised.

We were about to turn back, when I caught sight of a box floating lightly on the water. At first I thought it must be empty; but Mudge observing that it would at all events be worth having, we pulled towards it. It was a case of some size; and when we got it on board I observed the word “Seeds” painted on it.

“They may be of the greatest value, if they are not spoiled by the salt water,” observed Mudge. “Your father evidently brought them out to sow in his garden.”

This encouraged us to pull on still farther; and we picked up three other small cases of different descriptions, and a cask of beer. The mate also got hold of two casks and some cases. After pulling a mile on to the northward, however, and finding nothing, we agreed that it would be useless to go farther. Accordingly, the boats being put about, we returned to the river.

Mudge made his report to my father.

“I knew it too well,” he remarked, with a sigh; “but I had some hopes that part of the cargo might have been washed on shore. However, we must be thankful for the things which we have recovered. The seeds are indeed valuable; and as they are soldered up in a tin case inside the wooden one, there is no fear of their being damaged.”

One of the cases contained preserved fruits, and another dried tongues, which were not much the worse for being wetted. Another was a chest of tea, also in a tin case; and this was a welcome addition to our stores. The beer was not to be despised, and would prove useful provided it was taken in moderation. The cases the mate had picked up also contained provisions. He had, however, got a small cask of rum. My father said that he was welcome to the provisions for his voyage; but warned him of the danger of taking the rum, in case the crew should insist on having more than a proper allowance.

“I have no fear about that,” answered the mate. “I shall be able to keep them in order when once we get away. It is only at present, while they are on shore, that they are a little insubordinate.”

“I hope that you may,” said my father; “but I should warn you to be careful.”

The crew, when they found that my father not only did not wish to detain them, but was ready to assist them in every way in preparing the long-boat for sea, behaved very well. And as we had a supply of tools for the purpose, the carpenter and his mate were not long in adding an upper streak to the long-boat, and in decking her partly over forward: they also fitted her with a couple of masts, two lugs, and a jib. We discovered a fine spring of water issuing out of the rock, not far up the river; but the difficulty was to find casks to carry a sufficient supply for the voyage. My father gave up two breakers, and advised the mate to start the rum and fill up the cask with water.

“No, thank you,” he answered. “We can put in to any river we come to, and are sure to be able to replenish our stock; while the men will be more contented if I can serve them out their allowance of spirits.”

My father and Mudge took great pains to see that the boat was well fitted out, and supplied with everything necessary for the voyage. He also gave the mates his chart, a compass, a spy-glass, and a quadrant, in case they might be driven off the land, and required to ascertain their position. He also wrote a letter to the merchant to whom he had consigned the brig, requesting him, should the journey overland be deemed impracticable, to send a vessel within three months to bring him and his family to Sydney: saying that he would wait her arrival for that time; should she not then appear, he would consider that it was the opinion of those who knew the country that he might without danger undertake the journey by land.

“You may depend on me, sir, that I will deliver the letter,” said the first mate, when he received it; while the second mate promised to come back in the vessel.

The two mates and ten men belonging to the brig embarked in the long-boat, leaving the boatswain and two others, one of whom was the carpenter’s mate.

We parted on friendly terms from our late shipmates, praying that they might have a prosperous voyage. As we watched them standing down the river with a light breeze from the northward, Mudge, from what he said, could not help regretting, I suspect, that he had not been able to accompany them; for it was certainly his duty, as it was mine and Tommy’s, to try and get on board our ship again. But, on the other hand, he could not bring himself to desert my father; and, of course, it was still more my duty to remain with him.

All this time we had been getting on with the house, which was now nearly completed; and Dick Joint, the carpenter’s mate, was making a sash for the window of my mother’s room, and had also undertaken to make various articles of furniture. We had brought on shore the cabin-table, with three folding-chairs; as also two cots, for my mother and Edith.

I have, by-the-by, said nothing about them. They were always busily employed; but Edith suffered much from the heat, which was very considerable under the cliff, satisfactory as the situation was in other respects. My father sometimes spoke of moving on to the downs: but the objections to this were, that we should be at a distance from the water; that we should have a difficulty in carrying up our heavy goods; and that we should be more exposed in the event of our being attacked by hostile natives; while at times the heat was greater on the downs than close to the water.

Edith thought that she should feel better if she could take a row on the river; so, of course, Harry and I, and Pierce and Tommy, offered to take her out whenever she wished to go. The boat being a light one, even two of us could manage it with perfect ease; and we thus daily, and sometimes twice a day, made a trip to the mouth of the river. To shelter her from the sun, we formed an awning over the stern of the boat; and carried a cushion on which she could recline.

Nanny the goat, whenever she saw her mistress embarking, leaped on board; and seemed, indeed, to consider herself part of the crew. Tom declared that he thought she would soon learn to row with her horns; but to this, when he made the attempt to teach her, she decidedly objected, and preferred lying down quietly by the side of Edith.

We had found a supply of fishing-hooks, and having fitted up some lines, were sometimes very successful in catching fish. We were, however, generally busy on shore; and our only idle time was when we were away on such expeditions. Not that it was altogether spent in idleness; for while engaged in fishing, Harry always took his books, that Edith might instruct him; and under her tuition he made more rapid progress than he had done on board the Heroine.

One very calm, fine day, Harry, Tommy, and I started with Edith; Pierce, who was somewhat unwell, remaining in the house. Having reached the bar, we found the sea so smooth that we agreed to pull out some distance towards a reef, near which we had before caught some fine fish. Without considering the difficulty of getting it up again, we dropped our anchor in somewhat deep water; a hempen cable being secured to the end of two or three fathoms of iron chain, which was shackled to the stem of the boat. We had caught several fish; and Edith, who was helping to pull them up, seemed to enjoy the fun as much as we did, when she complained of faintness, and lay down on her cushion in the stern of the boat.

“I shall soon be well again,” she said; “so go on, and don’t mind me.”

We all three accordingly let down our lines, and caught several more fish. Harry had just pulled up a peculiarly beautiful one, and was turning round to show it to Edith, when we heard him utter a cry.

“Oh, Godfrey! see, see!—is she dead?” he exclaimed. “Oh, how pale she is!”

I sprang to the after part of the boat, and taking her hand, bent over her. Her hand was warm, and she still breathed: thus I knew she had only fainted; but she looked dreadfully ill.

“We must get back as soon as possible,” I exclaimed. “Harry, do you fan her, while Tom and I get up the anchor.”

I jumped forward again, and Tommy and I began to haul away; but though exerting all our strength, the anchor did not yield. Harry, leaving Edith for a moment, came and helped us; but we tugged and tugged in vain.

“We must cut it somehow or other,” I exclaimed. Then recollecting that we had an axe in the boat, I seized it, and, while Harry went back to attend to Edith, began chopping away at the portion of the chain which went over the gunwale.

“A breeze is springing up, and we shall not be long in getting in,” observed Tommy.

“It will be more than a breeze, I suspect,” I answered, looking seaward, where a dark cloud had risen, gradually extending along the horizon; “we are going to have a thunderstorm. Perhaps that was the cause of Edith’s fainting.”

Already the water was foaming and bubbling round the bows of the boat. In my eagerness I made a deep gash on the gunwale: this taught me to be more cautious in future. Fortunately the axe was a good one, or I should have broken it. I had made some impression on one of the links of the chain; my object was to strike again in the same place.

“Is it nearly through?” asked Harry, looking round.

“No; not far yet,” I answered.

“Then let me try,” he said; “perhaps I can do it.”

I willingly yielded the axe to him, for I was too anxious to have the chain cut through to feel jealous should he show superior skill. He eyed the place which I had been cutting—I having made several jagged notches—and then brought down the axe with apparently less force than I had used. It was exactly in the centre of the cut. Each time he lifted the axe he struck the same place, and in less than a minute the chain was severed. We soon prised out the other half of the link. I then sprang aft to the helm; Tommy got out an oar, and pulled the boat’s head round; while Harry hoisted the sail, bringing the sheet aft to me; and on we flew before the fast-rising wind. Scarcely were we away when it came with redoubled force; and had we remained at anchor many minutes longer, I believe the boat must have filled and gone down.

I felt very thankful that we had cleared the chain; but we had still the bar to cross. Edith, too, remained in the same fainting state. I was in hope that the fresh breeze would revive her; but as we were running before it, she did not feel it much. I looked anxiously towards the bar; some rollers were coming in, but they were not very high, nor did they break much as they reached it. We might, therefore, venture to cross; indeed, we had no choice, for I knew how anxious our father would feel when he saw the wind rising.

As we neared the bar Tommy exclaimed,—“O Godfrey! look at these rollers! Shall we be able to cross it, do you think?”

“We must,” I said; “get the oars out, to prevent her from broaching-to in case we should be becalmed.”

I now held the tiller firmly in my hand, and kept my eye fixed on a point of the cliff which would guide me directly up the centre of the channel. We rose to the top of a roller. “Give way! give way!” I shouted. Tom and Harry pulled with all their might. We sank into the watery valley, and began to ascend the next height. Another roller came hissing on. If it caught us, we should be swamped; but the sail kept full, and the two pulled right lustily.

Just then I glanced down on Edith’s face for an instant: her eyes were open; she was looking round with astonishment.

“Thank Heaven, you are better,” I said. “Keep quiet; we shall be all to rights directly.”

She heard me, and did not move. I held my breath, for we were on the worst part of the bar. Another roller came on, and I thought it would overwhelm us. It lifted the stern of the boat, and we were shot amidst a mass of foaming waves, till we glided down into the smooth water of the river.

We now quickly ran up the river, and rounding to, shot up to the landing-place, where my father and mother stood ready to receive us. As my mother’s eye fell on Edith’s pale face she uttered a cry of alarm.

“She is getting better now, mother,” I said; “and under your care she’ll soon be well again.”

As I spoke, Harry and I were preparing to lift Edith out of the boat. My father came to assist us, and carried her in his arms to the cottage. I was thankful to find that in a short time she was herself again. Possibly her sudden illness may have been the means of saving our lives. Scarcely had we landed when the storm burst with great fury, though it lasted but a short time; after which the sun again came out, and all was bright and beautiful as before.

Chapter Eight.

Expedition to obtain vegetables—Crested cockatoos—We become better acquainted with Pullingo and his family—Tommy takes Mr and Mrs Pullingo’s portraits—A sporting expedition—See an emu—Kill two kangaroos—Meet bushrangers—Go out fishing—Hurried return—Bushrangers have visited the village—Find the men bound—Pursue bushrangers—They escape—Edith and Pierce missing—My mother’s alarm—Search in the boat along the coast—Discover the body of a bushranger under the cliff—Return without finding the missing ones.

A week had passed away since the boat left us, and we were all feeling ourselves, as it were, at home. As may be supposed, my mother begged that we would not take Edith again beyond the mouth of the river; indeed, she herself had no wish to go. Occasionally we pulled up the stream, for although we knew that there were natives in the neighbourhood, we did not fear that they would molest us, as we had not seen any of their canoes; and by keeping on the opposite side of the river to that on which they might appear, we knew that we could easily avoid them.

When we went to the place where Mudge had been attacked by the snake, we looked around very carefully to ascertain that none of its companions were lurking in the neighbourhood; but we never saw another of the same size—or, indeed, of any description whatever. Paddy Doyle, to account for this, declared that the big fellow must have eaten up all the others before he got killed himself, and that was the reason why he had grown to such a size.

We thus went up and down the river, and over the downs in various directions, without the slightest fear. Occasionally we crossed to the opposite bank in search of game, as also to look for fruit, and some vegetables which might be cooked for dinner. We greatly felt the want of them; indeed, my father was afraid that without green food we might be attacked by scurvy. We had dug a garden and put in seeds, but these, of course, would take some time to come up.

One day Mudge, Harry, and I, accompanied by Paddy Doyle, with our guns, went across to the southern side. Harry had heard my father say how much he wished to have fresh greens of some sort; and as we were walking along we saw several trees of the palm species.

“Stay,” said Harry, “while I climb to the top of one of these trees; we shall there find just what the captain wants.”

Harry was the best climber among us, having been compelled, when living with the Indians, to swarm up the highest trees to cut cocoa-nuts for them. We all carried long sheath-knives in our belts, which were useful for a variety of purposes. Putting down his gun, Harry was quickly at the top of the tree, and, using his knife, threw down what resembled a large cabbage. Ascending tree after tree, he threw down from each a similar bunch of leaves, till we had as many as we could carry. Going on, we reached some sand-hills, where we found a kind of bean growing on a stalk which crept along the ground. Mudge thought these also would be good to eat; and as they were fit for picking, we filled our satchels with them. We were fortunate also in shooting several pigeons and a number of parrots. Indeed, we all returned fully laden to the boat; and I know that I was very glad to get rid of my burden, which literally made my shoulders ache.

Just before shoving off, I saw, coming towards us through the air, a large flight of birds, their snowy plumage tinged with pink shining in the rays of the setting sun. Before long they pitched in a group of trees on the borders of the river, where they commenced an earnest conversation rather than a concert, all having apparently some interesting matter to communicate to one another. They were crested or pink cockatoos, the most beautiful birds we had yet seen. They did not appear to be at all alarmed at our presence, but remained on the boughs where they had settled, apparently intending to make these their resting-places for the night. We were thus able to examine them without difficulty.

The general colour of the bird was white, with a slight pinkish flush; but the neck, breast, and hind part of the tail were deeply stained with crimson. Its most remarkable feature, however, was its beautiful crest, which it raised like a fan over its head, or depressed at the back of its neck. The feathers of the crest were long, and barred with crimson, gold, yellow, and white, which added greatly to its beauty. The bird was between thirteen and sixteen inches in length. We might have shot any number we liked, but having already a supply of food, we did not like to do so. I wished very much, however, to catch one alive, to carry to Edith; and Harry said he thought he could manage to trap one, though, unless we could get a young bird, it would be difficult to tame.

“You are magnificent fellows,” observed Mudge; “but notwithstanding that, we shall be under the necessity of plucking off your fine feathers and cooking you some day, if we are in want of game.”

As the evening was drawing on, we did not remain longer to admire the birds, but pushing off with our store of provisions, crossed the river.

“You have indeed brought us a seasonable supply of green food,” said my father when we landed. “While nature affords us such wholesome vegetables as those you have found, and while our powder lasts, we need have no fear of starving; and if such can be obtained all the way to the southward, we may set forth on our journey with the hope of being able to find ample food, on the way, to supply our wants.”

We had been constantly expecting another visit from our native acquaintance Pullingo; but as he did not make his appearance, we began to fancy that he had been merely travelling from one part of the country to another, and discovering us on his way, had been tempted by curiosity to approach our camp.

Some days had gone by, when one morning, as Paddy Doyle was on the watch, he sang out, “Here comes my old friend with his wife and family.—The top of the morning to ye, Mr Pullingo! and the same to the misthress and the darling little ones; and, to be sure, one of them is a big sthrapping fellow, of whom ye may be proud, Mr Pullingo.”

On looking out, we saw the native who had before paid us a visit, accompanied by a youth the very picture of himself, and followed by a woman, or “gin,” as the natives call their wives, with two children, a boy and a girl, trotting by her side. The lad might have been his son, certainly, but not that of the woman, who was apparently much too young to be the mother of so big a fellow.

The woman and children stopped at some distance off, while the man and lad approached cautiously, holding a bundle of lances in their left hand. Paddy made signs to them to come on, and, to give them confidence, put down his musket on the ground. As he did so they laid down their lances and came much nearer. On this Paddy advanced towards them. The savages seemed to understand him, and put out their hands, which he took and shook heartily, apparently much to their astonishment. The Irishman and the elder native then talked away, each in his own language; Paddy every now and then bursting into a fit of laughter at the strange words uttered by the savage.

Knowing that it was important to gain the good-will of the natives, I thought that it would be a good opportunity to make Pullingo a present. So I went into the cottage and asked my father, who had only just risen, for some beads and a looking-glass, and other trinkets, which he had brought to trade with the South Sea Islanders. I got things enough for each of the party, including the two children, and going up to the savage, I presented them to him, and tried to make him understand for whom they were each intended. Though he took them he looked at them with indifference, considering, as it seemed, that they were of no value to him; nor, indeed, were they so in reality.

“Perhaps he would rather have some roast parrot,” observed Doyle, who had just before placed several birds on spits before the fire to cook for breakfast. As we had many more than we absolutely required, we could easily spare them. Doyle and I therefore got each a couple, and carried them on the spits to the savage, whose eyes brightened when he saw them; and he and his son almost snatched them from our hands when we offered them, and, without any gesture of thankfulness, hurried off to where the woman and children were sitting.

“Arrah, Mr Pullingo, do you call that good manners?” exclaimed Paddy. “However, it’s the way of the country, I suppose; though I can’t say it’s a good way. Just give the little ones their share, though, and I’ll not be after finding fault with you.”

As we watched the natives, we observed that they at once tore the birds to pieces, and before they themselves had eaten they gave each of the children a joint.

“Come, I have hopes of you, since you look after the childher,” cried Paddy, when he saw this. “We shall find that Mr Pullingo is a decent sort of fellow when he learns some more of our ways.”

It appeared that Pullingo was as pleased with us as Paddy was with him, for we saw him shortly afterwards employed, with his wife and son, in building a hut, at a spot some way up the river, under the cliff. It was not a very dignified structure: it consisted simply of a number of long thin sticks stuck in a circle in the ground, their tops being bent over and secured together by grass rope; the whole was then covered with sheets of rough bark, fastened on by the same sort of rope. The first hut was intended for Pullingo and his wife; they afterwards put up a smaller one for their big son and the younger children.

These structures, rude as they were, were superior to those we afterwards met with built by the natives, and showed us that Pullingo was more advanced in civilisation than the generality of his countrymen. Whether or not the rest of his tribe were in the neighbourhood, we could not ascertain; at all events, it was satisfactory to have gained his friendship, as he would give a favourable report of us to other natives, and prevent them, we hoped, from molesting us.

I forgot to say that Tommy Peck, though a harum-scarum fellow, possessed considerable artistic talent; superior, at all events, to any of the rest of us. He used to amuse Edith by making drawings and figures in her sketch-book—which had, with her small library, been brought on shore—she herself being only able to draw landscapes.

“Shouldn’t you like, Miss Edith, to have a portrait of Prince Pullingo and his beautiful bride?” he asked. “I don’t think I can do it from memory, but perhaps I can get them to sit for their likeness.”

“By all means,” answered Edith; “though I very much doubt that you will succeed in inducing them to sit quiet while you make your sketch.”

“Trust me for that,” said Tom. “Lend me your book and pencil, and a piece of india-rubber, and I’d try;” and, armed with his apparatus, he walked slowly towards Pullingo’s encampment. Harry and I followed at a distance, so that we might not interrupt him. On arrival, he made them a bow and announced his object, showing them his book, in which were the portraits of several of our party,—Harry and I, and Popo,—by no means flattering likenesses.

I don’t know whether Pullingo understood the meaning of the strokes he saw on the paper; but his wife did so, it seemed, and, turning to him, expressed her wish to have her likeness taken. Tommy at once made them stand up before him, and began sketching away. They stood watching him intently, so that he had plenty of time. He put on rather more clothing than they possessed, as he said, for decency’s sake; it was also, he remarked, a gentle hint to them, by which he hoped they might profit when they came into civilised society.

He finished the portraits then and there, put in all the requisite shades, and showed them to the lady and gentleman. The former was delighted, pointing now at her portrait, now at herself, then at her husband, and then at his portrait. He did not appear quite so well satisfied; fearing, perhaps, that it might be used for some magical purpose. The lady was somewhat disappointed when Tommy shut up his book and she found that she was not to possess it; he therefore tried to make her understand that he would make a copy and give it her; a promise he faithfully fulfilled—though Edith kept the original, which I stuck in my journal.

The tents being found very hot at night, as soon as the first cottage was finished we put up two others for the accommodation of the rest of the party, and one in which to stow our goods; for though we hoped to get away in a couple of months, it was possible that we might be detained very much longer, and that our stores might run a risk of being damaged by remaining so long exposed to the weather. While we were at work, Pullingo and his son came and watched us with intense interest.

All hands, however, were not employed in housebuilding, as it was necessary that some of the party should go in search of game, in order that we might not exhaust the provisions we had brought on shore. Mudge, Harry, Paddy Doyle, and I were the chief sportsmen; and when Pullingo saw us setting off he followed at a respectful distance. Whether he also intended to hunt or not, we could not tell; his only weapons were a bundle of lances, and a piece of hard wood shaped something like a scimitar—called, we found, a boomerang—which he carried in his belt.

We had never failed to shoot as many birds as we required, but we were anxious to kill some of the curious animals which Captain Cook called kangaroos. They may be said to be the principal creatures of the country. Their heads are something like those of deer, and their coats are of the same colour. They are of all sizes, some being as high as a man. They do not run, like other animals, for their front legs, which they use as arms, are too short for the purpose; but they have very long hind legs, and powerful tails, which enable them to bound over the ground at an immense rate. It is wonderful what a succession of leaps they can take.

We saw some animals like opossums, and flying squirrels, which we took to be bats; and we occasionally caught sight of wild dogs or dingos,—hideous, savage-looking creatures, though they always ran away from us when we moved towards them or shouted.

We could not tell whether Pullingo understood our object; had we been able to exchange ideas with him, he might have greatly assisted us by showing us where game was to be found. He had conceived, I fancy, a great respect for our firearms, and followed us for the sake of seeing their effect.

We had gone farther into the interior than we had ever before been, in the hope of finding some kangaroos, and found ourselves in an open country free of trees, with low hills and rocks beyond. We were about to turn back, believing that, as there was no shelter, we should be unable to approach any game unperceived, when Doyle exclaimed,—“Arrah, see that big bird which has just started up on its legs! Quick, quick! or he’ll be off. His meat would make a hundred parrot-pies, and some to spare besides.”

On turning round as Paddy spoke, I saw, about a hundred yards off, a bird of enormous size—so it appeared to me; a bird certainly, for it had two legs, was shaped like a bird, and was covered with feathers. It could scarcely have been less than seven feet in height; was of a lightish brown colour, with a long neck, a small head, and very long powerful legs; but was destitute of wings, so far as I could see. The creature looked at us with an inquisitive air, as if wondering what sort of curious animals we were; and then advanced a few paces, as if to view us more closely. It might have come nearer, had not Paddy, unable to resist the temptation of trying to kill it, fired. On hearing the report, it turned round and set off, running with the speed of a racehorse across the country, while we stood gazing after it, and, as Paddy observed, looking very foolish.

The creature was an emu; of the same family as the African ostrich, the rhea of America, and the cassowary of the Indian archipelago.

On our way back, soon afterwards, and while passing through a forest, the trees of which grew rather thicker than usual, we saw in an open glade beyond it three of the kangaroos so coveted by us. We crept forward, keeping as much as possible concealed by the trees, lest we should be discovered before we could get within shot of them. Mudge and I went first, Harry and Paddy followed, all having our guns ready to fire. At length Mudge took aim at one of them; I imitated his example. We waited to let Harry and Paddy come up, however, and then all fired at the same moment. One of the creatures fell dead, shot through the head by Mudge; another bounded away at a great rate, apparently uninjured; and a third, after making two or three springs, sank to the ground, unable to move. We rushed forward to seize it, forgetting in our eagerness to reload our pieces. While we were stopping to examine the creature Mudge had killed, Paddy ran towards the wounded animal, which at that moment sprang up and attempted to bound off again.

“Arrah, stop, ye baste,” cried Paddy, attempting to seize it; when at that instant it struck out with its hinder claws, one of which tore a large rent in the Irishman’s trousers, giving him at the same time a severe scratch, which, had he not sprung back, might have been serious. In a moment his knife was in his hand, and before the kangaroo could repeat the blow he had plunged it into its heart.

We had now an over-abundant supply of meat; the difficulty was to carry it. We agreed that we would take the best portions, and give Pullingo as much as he could carry; while we fastened the remainder up to the bough of a tree, out of the reach of the wild dogs.

We were all thus busily engaged, when I fancied I heard the sound of horses’ feet; and what was my astonishment, on looking up, to see two horsemen approaching us! They looked at us with as much astonishment as we looked at them. Their steeds were in tolerably good condition, but they themselves were thin and haggard, their clothes torn almost to tatters. Each of them had a gun slung over his shoulders, a huge pair of holsters with a brace of pistols in them, large saddle-bags and leathern cases strapped on at their cruppers.

“Hallo, strangers, where do you come from?” exclaimed one of the men, with an oath. “I didn’t think there were any whites hereabouts.”

“Nor did we expect to see any one at this distance from Sydney,” said Mudge, eyeing the horsemen with a suspicious glance. “Where do you come from, my friends?”

“As to that, I don’t think it much concerns you,” answered the man; “but, as I take it you are Englishmen, you’ll give us a share of these kangaroos; for there’s one thing I can tell you,—we’re pretty sharp set.”

“So I should think, from your appearance,” observed Mudge; “you must have had a rough and long journey up from Sydney.”

“I didn’t say we were from Sydney,—though I’ll allow we have been there,” answered the man; “but it’s a good many months since we left it, and we’ve been leading a pretty rough life since then. However, what we want just now is a slice of that kangaroo; and we’ll talk about other matters when we’ve set it before the fire to roast.”

“You’re welcome to as much of the meat as you want,” answered Mudge, “though we haven’t got a fire to roast it at.”

“We’ll soon have one, master,” answered the man. He and his companion then getting off their horses, tethered them, and speedily collecting some dry wood, of which there was an abundance scattered about, piled it up; and one of them producing a tinder-box, quickly lighted the heap—first taking care, however, to cut the dry grass all around. They then helped themselves pretty freely to the flesh, which, cutting into thin slices, they held at the end of sticks before the fire. Before it was half done through, however, they began eagerly gnawing away at it, unable longer to restrain their appetite. The smell made us hungry; so cutting off some thin slices, we roasted them in the same manner, but far more thoroughly than the strangers had done.

Pullingo, who had been watching us, now stole up, and by his gestures begged for a share,—which, of course, we gave him. The strangers eyed him narrowly; and though the desire to get the food had induced him to come up, he evidently regarded them with suspicion. After exchanging a few words with each other, one of them spoke to him in a jargon which he seemed to understand, though we could not. He replied with hesitation. For some time they continued asking him questions, and then talking to each other in a slang which was as incomprehensible to us as was the language they spoke to the native.

“I say, master, there are a few little things we want, and would be obliged to you if you’d supply us with,” said one of the men. “In the first place, we should be glad of some tobacco, and maybe you’ve got some about you; and we want some powder and shot, and a couple of knives; and a suit of clothes wouldn’t come amiss.”

Mudge had a couple of cigars, and Paddy a small quantity of tobacco, which, without hesitation, they gave to the strangers.

“As for powder, we can spare you but a small quantity,” said Mudge; “and for the other things, you must come to our camp to obtain them. I suppose Captain Rayner will be willing to give you what you require for your necessities.”

“You’ll not play us a scurvy trick, and detain us, if we come?” said one of the men.

“We are not likely to do that,” answered Mudge, somewhat surprised at the remark. “You can repay us by giving us a description of the country between Sydney and this.”

“Well, we’ll come by-and-by, and you’ll have the things ready for us,” said the man, in a tone which still further surprised us.

Having satisfied our hunger, we divided the kangaroo into portions, each forming such a load as we could carry. Mudge and Paddy took the heaviest, leaving Tommy and me somewhat lighter ones. The strangers, without making any apology, loaded their horses with the larger portion of the other animal Pullingo seemed highly delighted when we gave him the remainder. The strangers declined accompanying us, but said they would follow by-and-by. Just as we were setting off, they again begged that we would spare them a little powder and shot, acknowledging that their own was expended, and that they could neither obtain food nor defend themselves against the natives. They looked so miserable that we could not help feeling compassion for them, and each of us gave them a portion of powder from our flasks and some shot from our belts.

As it was time to return, we set off, leaving them still seated at the fire cooking some of the kangaroo. Pullingo having obtained his share, immediately trotted off with it across the country, without offering to guide us.

We had gone some distance when Mudge observed to me,—“I don’t quite like the look of these fellows. I have heard that the worst class of convicts, who are worked in the road-gangs, often make their escape and live a wild life in the bush, taking by force from the settlers whatever they can get hold of. They go by the name of bushrangers; and I can’t help thinking that those fellows we have left there are of that description.”

“I’ve little doubt about that same,” observed Paddy; “and it’s a pity we gave them the powther, though I wouldn’t grudge them the mate and the ’baccy.”

“They would scarcely make use of the powder to injure us,” I observed.

“I wouldn’t trust them for that, if they are the gentry I take them for,” said Mudge. “However, we must keep a watch, and take care that they don’t surprise us.”

We were pretty well tired by the time we reached our settlement, as we called it. As may be supposed, the supply of kangaroo which we brought was very welcome, and a portion was served out to the men for supper that evening. As a fire had been seen burning at Pullingo’s camp long before our arrival, there could be little doubt that he had reached home much sooner than we did.

The next morning one of the strangers made his appearance at the settlement on foot. He said that he had left his companion on the high ground to look after the horses, and that he had come to claim the articles we had promised. My father had agreed that Mudge was correct in his opinion of the strangers, but that it would be better to supply them with what they wanted to enable them to support their miserable existence, and to try to obtain from them the information about the country so important for us to gain.

The man looked a little less starved-like than he did the previous day, but his ragged clothes and dirty appearance made us unwilling to ask him into the house. We got a table and chair out for him, however, in the shade; and gave him an ample meal and a glass of ale, which made him open his heart somewhat. He acknowledged that he and his companion were leading a terrible life in the bush, but that he saw no way out of it. He described somewhat minutely the country we should have to pass over: a large portion was open and easily traversed, but other parts were mountainous, rocky, and wild in the extreme, with no water to be found for miles. Whether or not he was giving us a true description, it was difficult to determine,—though, at all events, he must have come through the sort of country he described. Perhaps it might be avoided by keeping further into the interior or closer to the sea-coast.

The man might have been a bushranger, but he did not appear to be at all afraid of us. As soon as he had satisfied his hunger he rose, and turning to Mudge, “Now, master, I’ll thank you to fulfil your promise,” he said. “We want as much powder as you can spare, for it’s bread and meat to us; and I’ll thank you for the knives and the clothes, and some needles and thread. Here, just get a pencil and put down what we want.”

“Suppose we refuse to give it?” said my father, astounded at the man’s impudence.

The stranger’s countenance assumed a ferocious expression. “You would find you had made a bad bargain,” he answered with the greatest effrontery. “When a gentleman makes a promise to me, I expect him to fulfil it. I came here as a friend, and a friend I wish to remain. Not that I want to trouble you with my society; I prefer living by myself. But if you do me a kindness, I can return it; if you venture to treat me ill, I’ll have my revenge—you may depend on that.”

“But suppose we were to seize you, and keep you a prisoner till we could hand you over to the authorities at Sydney?” said my father.

The man laughed long and loud. “You would find that a hard job,” he said; “and I didn’t come here without taking means to secure my safety. So you see, captain, we are quite equal. Now, let me have the things, and I’ll be off.”

My father felt that as Mudge had promised the clothes and other articles, it was right that they should be given to the man. A bundle was therefore made up of all the articles he had asked for; and as soon as he had received it, with very slight thanks, he fixed it on his shoulders, and took his way up the cliff. We were in hopes that we had seen the last of him and his companion, being thoroughly convinced that they were bushrangers, and desperate ruffians.

We observed that as the stranger approached our camp the black and his family made their escape from it, and hid behind a rock watching him till he had disappeared over the top of the cliff.

Pullingo shortly afterwards came to our settlement, which he now frequently did, without hesitation, never being allowed to go away without some article or other which we thought would please him, or food for himself and his family. Nothing we had came amiss to him except beer or spirits, and when one day some was offered him he spat it out with evident disgust. We tried to make him understand that we wished to know his opinion of the strangers. After a considerable time he understood us, and making his countenance assume an expression of hatred and disgust, he shook his head, and then, as it appeared, advised us to shoot them on the first opportunity.

As we were now convinced of his good feelings towards us, he was allowed to roam about our village at pleasure. One day he appeared, bringing a basket containing some of the many magnificent flowers which flourished in the forest, several fruits, and some emu’s eggs. Supposing that he had brought them as a present to my mother or father, we did not interfere with him, but allowed him to take his own way of offering them.

I watched him from a distance, when I saw him enter Mudge’s room, the door of which was open. Wondering what he was about, I at length approached and looked in; when I saw him on his knees, with the contents of his basket spread out on the ground, bending low before Mudge’s gun, which stood leaning against a table in the corner. He was uttering some strange gibberish, and addressing the gun, evidently supposing it to be a being possessed of supernatural powers. He had watched day after day its to him wonderful performances, and had made up his mind to endeavour to propitiate it.

I did not like to interrupt him, or in any way to ridicule him; and I was very glad that neither Paddy Doyle nor Tommy saw him, for I was very sure that they would not have refrained from doing so. I therefore crept away without letting the poor savage know that I had seen him. He at length came out of the hut, and sauntered about the village as usual, spending some time watching the carpenter at work.

When I told Harry, he said he thought that it was very natural, and that when he first came on board the Heroine he was inclined to pay the same sort of respect to the compass, the quadrants, the spy-glasses, the big guns and muskets, and various other things, which Popo told him were the white men’s fetishes.

Pullingo had from the first looked upon Paddy Doyle as his chief friend, and they soon managed to understand each other in a wonderful way. Mudge suggested, indeed, that they were nearer akin than the rest of us. We got Paddy to ask him if he could tell what had become of the bushrangers, and Paddy understood him to say that they had gone away to a distance; so, concluding that this was the case, we ceased to think much about them.

Believing ourselves secure from any attack on the part of the natives, we no longer took the precautions we had adopted on our arrival,—with the exception of keeping watch at night, which was more for the purpose of maintaining naval discipline than from any apprehensions we had of an attack. We used to wander about by the side of the river under the cliff without our arms, and sometimes for some distance over the open downs on the top. Even my mother and Edith lost all apprehension, and frequently took walks with only Pierce or Harry. Sometimes I went with them; but I was generally employed in shooting or fishing. In consequence of this, the younger ones fancied that they might go wherever they liked by themselves.

One day my mother, being unwell, was confined to the house, and Harry came out fishing with Ned Burton and me in the boat. My father, Mudge, and Tommy, accompanied by Paddy Doyle and one of the other men, had gone on a shooting expedition, attended by Pullingo and his son, leaving only Dicky Popo in attendance on my mother, and two men to guard the camp. As we were not far off, a musket-shot would bring us quickly back if we were required.

We pulled down to the mouth of the river. The fish soon began to bite, and we hauled up more than we had ever before caught. I observed that the tide was unusually low, as numerous rocks which I had never before seen were uncovered, and remained so for some time. At last the tide began to rise, and we caught the fish even faster than at first. We were so eagerly engaged that we did not remark how rapidly the time went by. We were well-pleased, because we should not only have fish for all hands, but be able to present our black friends with a welcome supply. We found, I may remark, that they prized us not so much for our knowledge of the arts and sciences, as in proportion to our power of obtaining such food as they valued.

Burton suggested that we might salt some fish, and proposed looking for salt along the shore. I agreed with him that it would be important if we could succeed in doing so, as we might then carry some salted fish on our journey.

As the fish continued to bite, we remained to catch them, and we were still eagerly hauling them in when the sound of a musket fired at the camp reached our ears. We at once hauled in our lines, got up our anchor, and pulled away as hard as we could up the river.

“What can be the matter?” I asked.

“I suppose they wish to remind us that it is supper-time, and so fired the shot to call us back,” answered Burton.

“I hope that no strange blacks have come to the camp, or that those bad men whom we met the other day have not returned,” said Harry.

“It may be; but we’ll soon show them that we’re not going to stand any of their tricks,” observed Burton.

This last suggestion of Harry made me feel very anxious, as I had often heard of the atrocities of which bushrangers had been guilty.

As we neared the camp we could see no one. Just as we pulled up to the landing-place, however, we heard a voice cry out,—“Help! help!—bear a hand, or they’ll be away.” We eagerly leaped on shore, when the spectacle which met our eyes made us very anxious. One of our men lay on the ground, apparently dead; and not far off was the other, bound to the trunk of a tree so that he could move neither hands nor feet. “There! there!” he cried. “Stop them!”

Too anxious about my mother and Edith and Pierce to attend to him, or to understand clearly what he said, I rushed to the door of our cottage. It was closed. I knocked loudly. “Mother! mother!—let me in; we’ve come to your assistance,” I exclaimed. She did not reply; but I heard some one moving, and presently the door opened and Dicky Popo appeared.

“O massa! so glad you come, or dey murder us all,” he exclaimed.

“But my mother—where is she?” I asked.

“She in her room, I tink; but no speakee,” answered Popo.

“Mother! mother!—where are you?” I cried out.

The door of her room was also closed; but rushing against it, with the aid of Dicky I burst it open. My mother lay on the ground. A horrible feeling came over me,—I thought she was shot. On bending down I could discover no wound, and I found that she still breathed, so I trusted that she had only fainted. I sprinkled her face with water, and she shortly after heaved a sigh and opened her eyes. On seeing me she revived, and with Popo’s assistance I lifted her up and placed her in a chair.

“Is it a hideous dream?” she asked; “or have the bushrangers really been here? And where are Edith and Pierce?”

“There is nothing now to be alarmed about, mother,” I answered. “The bushrangers have gone away, and Edith and Pierce are probably hiding somewhere.”

“Oh! go and look for them,” she said, “and bring them here at once. I am afraid that those terrible men have carried them off.”

“Not at all likely, mother,” I said. “I have no doubt, however, that Burton and Harry have already set off to follow the men.”

As she again urged me to go, assuring me that she was quite recovered, I took my gun, and telling Popo to remain and attend on her, hurried out. I found that Burton and Harry had released the man who had been bound to the tree, while the other, who had been only stunned, had recovered; and all four, with guns in their hands, were making their way towards the foot of the cliffs in pursuit of the bushrangers. I followed, shouting for Edith and Pierce; for I could not help thinking it possible that the bushrangers might have carried them off. As the robbers were heavily laden with their spoil, they had got only a part of the way up the cliff when we caught sight of them. With intense thankfulness I saw that they were alone, and that they had not carried off the children.

“Stop, you villains!” cried Burton, when he got near enough to make them hear.

They did not reply, but continued making their way up the cliff. Burton, who was leading, was about to pursue, when one of them turned round and levelled his rifle at his head.

“If you advance another step I’ll fire!” shouted the man.

“Two can play at that game, friend,” exclaimed Burton, lifting his musket and letting fly at the bushranger. We imitated his example; but when the smoke cleared off we found that the men were still making their upward way, springing with wonderful agility from rock to rock.

We had to stop to reload; then, notwithstanding their threats, we again began to climb after them. They had, however, a long start of us, and had already gained the easier part of the ascent; still, laden as they were, one of them might slip and give us a chance of overtaking him, and we continued our ascent. They were now, however, hidden from sight by the trees and rocks above our heads.

Burton still kept ahead of us, and was the first to gain the summit of the cliff. He lifted his musket and fired. Directly afterwards the rest of us joined him, when we saw the two bushrangers galloping away to the southward, at no great distance from the cliffs, where, the ground being level, they could make better play than more to the right, where it was undulating and somewhat soft in the bottom. They were already too far off for our bullets to reach them.

“Missed again!” exclaimed Ned. “I believe the fellows must bear charmed lives; or my musket has taken to shooting crooked.”

As we could not hope to overtake the robbers, I told Burton how anxious I was to return and look for Edith and Pierce,—although I hoped that, frightened by the appearance of the bushrangers, they had hidden themselves.

“I think not, sir,” said Tom Nokes, one of our men. “Soon after you went off in the boat, I saw the young people starting away together along the shore; but thinking their mother had given them leave to go, I didn’t look after them.”

This intelligence was so far satisfactory, that it made me believe they could not have been seen by the bushrangers—who, indeed, could scarcely have been such ruffians as to injure them. I therefore hurried back to my mother; but she, having been asleep all the morning, did not even know that the children had gone away. She expressed her anxiety on hearing what Nokes had said, as at all events they ought by this time to have returned. Not wishing to alarm her more, I expressed my belief that they would soon appear. On leaving her, however, I proposed to Burton and Harry to take the boat and pull along the shore, while Nokes volunteered to go on foot in the same direction.

Having landed our fish, we at once pulled away; but no signs did we see of Edith or Pierce. The sun was setting as we rowed down the river. As the bar was smooth, we crossed it without hesitation, and continued our course along the shore, as close in as the coral reefs would allow us to get. Every now and then I stood up to examine the shore, but nowhere were the children to be seen. The tide had risen, too, and in several places washed the very base of the cliffs. This alarmed me much, for I dreaded lest the tide might have entrapped them as they were making their way back.

“We needn’t fear that, Master Godfrey; for they both have got sense, and will have managed, I hope, to reach some place of safety,” observed Burton.

Again we pulled on, when just under the highest part of the cliff I caught sight of an object in the water which attracted my attention. At first I thought it was a rock, covered with seaweed moved by the surging water. We paddled in as close as we could venture without running the risk of knocking the bottom of the boat against the coral, and then I made out a horse and a human figure lying together half in the water. The man was motionless, and apparently dead; but the horse was still faintly struggling, trying to keep its head above the surface.

“That must be one of the bushrangers,” I exclaimed.

“No doubt about it,” said Burton; “but how he came to fall over the cliff it is hard to say.”

“Can we not reach him and see if he is still alive?” I asked.

“No man could have fallen from that height and kept the breath in his body,” said Ned; “nor, indeed, escape breaking all his bones, unless he had come down on the top of his horse. Depend on it, he’s dead; and so will the poor horse be in another moment—see! its head has already sunk under the water. If we hadn’t to look for the children we might try to get at him; but it would lose much time, and we might chance also to injure the boat.”

“By all means then let us pull on, and continue our search for Edith and Pierce,” I answered; and we again took to our oars.

Evening was now drawing rapidly on. In vain we searched the coast as far as our eyes could reach. As we pulled under the cliffs I shouted my brother and sister’s names, but only the echo of my voice came back faintly to our ears. I became more and more alarmed, and it seemed to me as if their doom was pronounced, when Burton declared that we must pull back, as it was not likely they could have got so far. Harry showed that he was as unhappy as I was, and joined his voice with mine in shouting out their names as we made our way towards the mouth of the river.

There was scarcely sufficient daylight to enable us to distinguish the entrance. We got safely over the bar, however, and as fast as we could move our oars we pulled up to the encampment. My father and his party had just returned. He was, of course, very much alarmed at the disappearance of my brother and sister. Nokes had discovered no traces of them, still he affirmed that he had seen them go in that direction. One thing was certain,—that it would be useless to attempt continuing our search during the hours of darkness.

That was indeed a miserable night. My father did his utmost to comfort my poor mother, but she could not fail to dread the worst. Our anxiety about them made us scarcely think of the visit of the bushrangers. On examining our stores, however, it was seen that they had carried off a considerable quantity of powder and shot, and numerous other articles which were likely to prove useful to them in their wandering life. They had not forgotten, either, to supply themselves with several bottles of spirits: perhaps the liquor, to which they had been so long unaccustomed, was the cause of the death of the unhappy wretch whose body we had seen beneath the cliff. However, that was only conjecture, and will probably for ever remain so.

I had no inclination to go to bed, but my father insisted on my turning in, saying that he would sit up with my mother; and in spite of my grief and anxiety I at length fell fast asleep.

Chapter Nine.

Paddy suggests obtaining Pullingo’s assistance—We set out—Descend the cliff by a rope—Find Edith and Pierce in a cave—The boat arrives—A tremendous storm—The water flows over our settlement—Escape to the cliffs—Take refuge under a rock—Return to the village—It has escaped damage—A whale thrown on shore—It attracts the natives—Their savage dance—They encamp—Unpleasant odour from the whale—Explore the river—Return for our friends—Quit our village—Our first encampment.

My dreams were as miserable as my waking thoughts. I fancied that I saw the bush rangers carrying off Edith and Pierce, who in vain struggled to release themselves; then the wretches hurled the children over the cliff, and shouted as they saw them falling; then the sea rolled up and swept them away, as they held out their hands in vain for assistance.

I awoke before daylight, and as I had no wish to go to sleep again I dressed and went out. The first person I met was Paddy Doyle.

“I’m after thinking, Master Godfrey, that friend Pullingo will be able to help us in finding the dear young childher,” he said. “I can soon make him understand that they are lost; and though he hasn’t book-learning, he’s got notions in his head which would puzzle some of us. The thought came across me in the night, when not a rap more sleep could I get; and I’ve been waiting till daylight to visit the blacks’ camp.”

“By all means,” I said. “I’ll go with you, for I am sure my father will approve of your idea.”

As a ruddy glow was already appearing in the eastern sky, precursor of the sun, Paddy and I at once set off. As we drew near he shouted, “Pullingo, Pullingo.” Directly afterwards we saw the black crawl out of his hut. “Our friend doesn’t take much time to dress in the morning,” observed Paddy, “seeing he hasn’t a large amount of clothing to put on, and isn’t over particular about the use of soap and water.”

The black quickly understood that we had some matter of importance to communicate, but it took much longer to make him comprehend what we wanted him for. Paddy, however, succeeded at length; and he set off with us for the village.

On arriving, that there might be no mistake, I took Pullingo into the house and showed him the children’s empty beds, and then pointed along the shore in the direction they were supposed to have taken. He thought for some minutes, and then looking about, found a piece of rope: he soon made us understand that it was much too short for what he wanted, and seemed highly pleased when we took him into the store-house, where he at once selected a long coil. He then touched Mudge, Burton, Doyle, and me on the shoulder, and signified that he wished us to accompany him. Before setting out, however, he made signs that he should like something to eat, and seemed highly pleased when we gave him some broiled fish,—which he quickly swallowed, though he had had a quantity of kangaroo flesh on the previous evening.

My father would have accompanied us, but was unwilling to leave my mother. “I entrust the search to you, Mudge,” he said; “and I am sure that you will spare no effort to recover the children, should their lives have been mercifully preserved.”

Pullingo having inquired by signs whether we were ready, we set out. Instead, however, of taking the way along the shore, he turned up the river towards his own camp, and then ascended the cliff.

“I wonder, after all, whether he really understands that we are in search of Edith and Pierce,” I observed to Paddy Doyle.

“No doubt about it, sir,” was the answer; “you’ll see when we get to the top that he’ll go along the cliff. Maybe he knows some way down that we haven’t discovered; or there is some place or other into which he thinks the children have tumbled and can’t get out again.”

On reaching the top of the cliff, however, Pullingo, instead of keeping close to the edge, started off in a direction which would lead us, I saw, to a spot some way along the coast, beyond the point, I calculated, where the bushranger had fallen over. Had I not been so anxious about the fate of my brother and sister, I should have been amused at the air of importance with which the savage strutted on at the head of the party, evidently feeling himself infinitely superior to us. He held a lance in his left hand; a tall feather was stuck in his bushy hair; not an article of clothing had he on, with the exception of the very small kilt which he wore round his waist.

I joined Mudge, and went on ahead with him, close behind our guide, the other men following, and carrying the coil of rope between them.

“I can’t fancy that the children could have got so far round the coast as the point we shall reach if we continue on as we are going,” I observed to him.

“As the tide was low and the sand smooth, they were probably tempted to go on without considering how far they had got,” said Mudge. “I am surprised, however, that your sister Edith should have ventured, and not recollected that the tide would again rise, and that they would not be able to repass many of the places they had previously got over without difficulty. Still, I feel sure that they did go forward, and that the black knows where they are.”

His remarks somewhat cheered me. We went on and on; and it seemed to me that we must be near the part of the cliff over which the bushranger had fallen. We discussed the probable cause of his death.

“At all events, horrible as was his death, it was better than dying of starvation, as is the fate, I fancy, of a large proportion of the convicts who take to the bush,” observed Mudge; “though dreadful must be the fate of his companion, who is now doomed to wander alone through these wilds, without daring to hold any intercourse with white men for fear of being betrayed; and, probably, equally dreading the blacks, who, if he were to be found unprepared, would speedily put him to death.”

We went on for nearly two miles, when we reached a fissure in the cliffs, the ground sloping on either side towards it. The black advanced cautiously; and following him, we found ourselves on the edge of the cliff, which appeared to hang over the water. We descended the slope I have mentioned, till we reached a broad ledge, about a quarter of the way down. Signing to the men to uncoil the rope, the end of which he allowed to fall over till it apparently reached the bottom, he now by gestures inquired which of us was ready to descend.

“We must first secure the upper end, my friend,” observed Mudge; a matter the black did not appear to have considered.

Each of us had fortunately brought a stout staff to serve us as a walking-stick; by forcing these together into the ground, we formed a post of sufficient strength round which to secure the rope, one man in addition holding on to it.

“I wish to be the first to descend,” said I.

“No, no, Mr Godfrey; if there is danger, it is not you should run it, as it would be a sad thing if you were to be lost as well as your brother and sister,” exclaimed Paddy Doyle. “If Mr Mudge will give me leave, I’ll be the first to go; and if I get safe down I’ll shout out, and you can follow.”

“Doyle is right,” said Mudge; “let him go first.”

Without waiting a moment, Paddy threw himself over the cliff, holding on by the rope, and began to descend. It must have been somewhat trying even to his nerves, for the rope swung backwards and forwards, being at a considerable distance from the cliff. How the black came to conceive that we should venture down, it was difficult to say; as he himself certainly could never have climbed up or down such a rope, it must have been a perfectly original idea with him. He had seen the rope in our camp, and formed a just opinion of its strength; and he must have argued that as he could climb a thin and lofty tree without branches, so could we get up and down a stout rope.

On hearing Doyle’s voice I was going to follow, when, to my surprise, Pullingo approached the cliff, and seizing the rope, began to descend as fearlessly as Doyle had done. I waited till he had reached the bottom, and then, not without some feeling of anxiety, followed their example. I found that we had reached a narrow beach, which extended some way up in the hollow formed between the two sides of the cliff. I looked about, half expecting to see Edith and Pierce.

Pullingo observed my disappointment, and beckoned Doyle and me to follow him. He turned back—that is to say, to the northward of the spot where we stood—and made his way along an exceedingly narrow ledge, a few feet only above the water, which beat with a hollow sound beneath our feet. Sometimes I had the greatest difficulty in making my way; and when at length we came to a broader place, Doyle stopped and pulled off his shoes, which he put into his pocket. I followed his example, and was then able to get on somewhat better. The cliff was too smooth to afford any hold to our hands; and a slip would have plunged us headlong into the sea.

At length the black stopped at a somewhat broader place, which allowed us to join him; when, turning round, we looked down into a shallow cavern, in the centre of which we saw Edith and Pierce, kneeling down side by side, and gazing towards the sea. We had approached so noiselessly that they had not heard us. I easily leaped to the level on which they were kneeling, and uttered their names. They both sprang to their feet, and throwing their arms round me, burst into tears.

“We were praying to God for help, but thought it would come from the sea,” exclaimed Edith, as soon as she could find words to speak. “How did you know we were here? And poor mamma, how frightened she must have been at not seeing us! That made us more unhappy than anything else all the night long. We had brought some food, so we were not hungry; and see! there is a spring of water issuing from the cliff, and that gave us what we wanted to drink. But we have been very frightened, and know that we have been exceedingly naughty in coming so far by ourselves. We got as far as this, and were sitting down, very happy, when we began to think it was time to go home; but we had not got far before we found the water close up to the cliff, and we could not pass. It rose higher and higher, so we ran back and got into this cave just before the sea reached the part of the beach by which alone we could gain it. At first we thought that it would perhaps come right up into the cave and drown us. On and on it came, and we got farther and farther back; and oh, how thankful we were when at length we saw it stop and come no higher!”

I did not scold Edith or Pierce; and I felt very thankful that the weather had been so calm, for had there been any wind the surf would have broken into the cave, and certainly have swept them away.

We had now to consider how we were to return. I proposed to Doyle that we should wait till the tide had gone down, and then get along the beach by the way they had come.

“But maybe the tide won’t go down as low as it did yesterday; and if it doesn’t, there are many places you will be unable to get across,” said Doyle.

“Then the best thing we can do is to send round for the boat,” I observed. “If you will climb up to the top of the cliff, I will stay with my brother and sister.”

“To confess the truth, Mr Godfrey, it’s just the thing I don’t think is as aisy as it looks,” said Doyle. “I’ll try to do it, to please you; but I rather think our friend Pullingo, though not brought up to the sea, will do it more aisy.”

“But how is he to make them understand that we have found the children and want the boat?” I asked.

“Haven’t you got a pencil and paper!” exclaimed Edith. “Just write a note to Mr Mudge, and get him to take it up.”

“A bright idea,” I observed; and taking out my pocket-book, I wrote a few words, explaining the plan we proposed.

Pullingo at once understood that he was to carry up the bit of paper, and did not appear to hesitate about ascending the rope. I remained with Edith and Pierce, while Paddy went back with the black. He soon returned to the cave, when he told me that Pullingo had, without hesitation or the slightest appearance of fear, grasped the rope and begun the ascent, showing as much activity as a monkey, or, as he observed, as if he had been born and bred at sea. He watched him till he had climbed safely over the top of the cliff; when a shout from above told him that my note had been received.

We now sat down, watching the tide, which was still flowing.

“What if it should rise higher than it did yesterday?” I observed; “we should be somewhat cramped for space.”

“I don’t think Pullingo would have left us here if he thought that was going to happen,” said Doyle; “he knows all about it. He is a wonderful fellow; how he came to find out that the children were here, is more than I can tell.”

“We saw his son as we came along yesterday, and perhaps he guessed where we had gone,” said Pierce, thus accounting for the black knowing where to find the children.

Still, I did not feel altogether comfortable as I saw the tide rising higher and higher, and I began to consider that, after all, it might have been better to have tried to go up by the rope.

Edith sat quite calmly. “I am very sure that it will not come higher than that,” she said, placing a stone on the ground.

“And why do you think so?” I asked.

“Because God rules the waves. He can stop them just where he wills,” she answered with perfect calmness.

She was right; the water came only a little higher than the stone, and then began to recede.

The children had brought an ample store for their picnic, and had thus enough food to prevent them suffering much from hunger. They wanted Paddy and me to take some, but of course we would not touch it, though I confess that by this time I was somewhat hungry.

At length, greatly to my satisfaction, I caught sight of the boat pulling with four oars rapidly towards us. Feeling her way, she got within twenty yards of where we were. Burton, who was in her, tucking up his trousers waded on shore, and taking up Edith carried her on board; while Paddy got Pierce on his back, and soon placed him by her side. I followed, when the boat shoved off, and we made the best of our way to the river. I was thankful to hear from Mudge, who also had come, that my mother was much better.

Our father received us at the landing-place, and not a word of reproach did he utter to Edith and Pierce—feeling that they had been sufficiently punished for their thoughtlessness; while our poor mother welcomed them back with tears of joy.

“O mamma, mamma! how very sorry I am that we should have alarmed you so,” exclaimed Edith, as she threw her arms round our mother’s neck. “We fancied that we were doing something very heroic in exploring the country, and expected to find another river or beautiful harbour, little dreaming of the danger we were running.”

“We may thank God, my child, that you are preserved,” answered our mother. “From what I hear, had a storm come on you would inevitably have been lost.”

She did not think at the moment how narrow an escape they had had. Scarcely had we landed when the general appearance of the sky to windward changed, clouds dark as ink rose above the horizon; and before an hour had passed, one of those fearful gales known as black hurricanes or black squalls, which occasionally blow on the Australian coast, began to rage.

It was far more furious than the one which burst on us soon after we landed. The sea came rushing into the river and drove back the ebb with a power which rapidly made the water rise; and as we watched it getting higher and higher, we began to fear that the whole of our peninsula would be flooded. Huge boughs were torn off the trees, which bent before the gale, and every instant we expected some of them to fall.

Night coming quickly on, increased the horrors of the scene. Several times my father went down to the edge of the water to ascertain how high it had risen, leaving Burton to watch, and report to him should it rise above a certain point. In a short time the flood would set in; if so, we might expect the water to rise very rapidly. Of course, no one thought of going to bed; my mother and Edith sat dressed for a journey, and every one was ordered to prepare to start at a moment’s notice. We each had our guns and as much ammunition as we could carry, for on that our existence might depend should we be deprived of our stores. We had also a small quantity of provisions, a second pair of shoes apiece, and a few articles of clothing, packed up in readiness for a move.

“I should have despatched a party with provisions and ammunition to a place of safety up the side of the cliff, had I not hoped that before the flood set in the gale would have abated,” observed my father; “and I even now think that it might be the most prudent course. I will go down once more and ascertain if the waters are still rising; and if they are, it will be wise to start at once, though I regret that you and Edith should be exposed to the rain and wind.”

My father said this as we were collected in the sitting-room of our house.

Mudge just then came in, the rain pouring off his hat. “I have secured the boat with a long warp,” he said, “and loaded her with as many of our stores as I thought she could safely carry, so that when the waters subside I trust that these may at all events be preserved. I am afraid, sir, that we must make a start; the water has got to within a foot of the top of the bank, and if a heavy sea were to come rolling up from the mouth of the river it might sweep over the whole settlement.”

“We will no longer delay, then,” said my father; “tell the men to get ready.”

We all of us accordingly, loading ourselves with the packages we had prepared—my mother, indeed, insisting on carrying a pretty heavy bundle—followed my father out of the house. Mudge summoned the men, who were ready to set out. Before proceeding, however, my father ordered them to secure all the doors and windows, so that should the buildings not be carried away by the flood, the articles within them might be preserved, though they would get damaged by the water. My father supported my mother; Mudge took charge of Edith; and I held Pierce by the hand. The rest of the party pushed on close behind—and from the remarks they made they evidently expected the whole peninsula to be overwhelmed in a few minutes.

It was with difficulty we could see our way. “Let me go on ahead, yer honour,” sang out Paddy; “I’m a fine pilot in the dark; and it’s better that I should tumble into the river than that you and the misthress should come to harm.”

Paddy had supplied himself with a long stick, with which he felt the way before him. We managed, by keeping close together under his guidance, to get across the narrow neck of land, and then continued our course along the bank of the river. As it was somewhat higher than the peninsula, we had no great fear of the waters overtaking us till we could reach a place of safety.

We were exposed, however, to another danger, from the masses of earth and rock which, loosened by the wind, came falling down on our left; while branches of various sizes, wrenched off the parent stems, were whirled through the air, and often fell close to us. Even Paddy had great difficulty in finding the part of the cliff which was accessible. Happily, a short distance up there was an overhanging rock. As there was no danger of the waters rising so high, and as it seemed perfectly secure, my father directed us all to take shelter beneath it. We were here, at all events, safe from the branches hurtling through the air, and from the pieces of rock which came bounding down the cliffs. My mother, Edith, and Pierce were placed in the most sheltered part, and the rest crept in on either side or in front of them. Here we all sat the livelong night, anxiously waiting for day, and wishing that the hurricane would cease.

“Such furious gales as this seldom last many hours,” observed my father. “I trust that it will prove the clearing storm, after which we may look for fine weather. And we must make up our minds to move in the upper downs should we remain in the neighbourhood; though, unless we hear from Sydney, I believe that we shall act wisely by commencing our journey to the southward. We are a sufficiently large party to resist any attack which the natives may venture to make on us; and as we have an abundance of ammunition, we shall be able to supply ourselves with food on the road.”

The subject my father spoke of was of interest to us all.

When we were not talking, I dozed frequently off; and thus the night passed away with me more rapidly than I could have expected. Sometimes, when I awoke, I heard the storm still howling and raging, and the waves roaring on the shore; then there came a lull, and for some time I lost all consciousness.

On starting up I saw that several of the party were on foot. The sky overhead was blue, and the first rays of the rising sun were glancing on the tree-tops sprinkled with moisture, which now no longer waved to and fro in the breeze.

“Let us return to our village: and I trust that we may find that less damage has been committed than we expected,” said my father.

We all anxiously followed, looking towards the spot where we had left our houses standing, and wondering whether they would still be there.

“I see their roofs,” cried Pierce, who, with Tom, had darted on ahead; “hurrah! hurrah!”

He was right, and in a short time we reached the isthmus. We expected to find the garden, at all events, destroyed and everything uprooted. The water had indeed washed over the greater part of the peninsula, and had filled a trench dug round the garden, but could scarcely have done more than just cover the ground. It had entered the cottages, which were a little lower down; but it had risen but a few inches, and everything was in its place. Even in the storeroom, the articles alone which were on the lower tier had got wet. The boat was also secure, with her cargo undamaged. We had, indeed, reason to be grateful to Providence, that the waters had been arrested at the moment when they might have destroyed everything in the settlement.

We had to wait some time for breakfast—till the wood we could collect was dry enough to light a fire; and in the interval we employed ourselves in cleaning out the floors of the houses, which were covered with slime. Our narrow escape, however, made my father determine not to wait beyond the expiration of the four months, should a vessel from Sydney not appear to carry us off.

By puffing and blowing Paddy at last succeeded in kindling a fire, when our tea-kettle was boiled and we had breakfast.

Soon afterwards I was looking with a spy-glass towards the coast on the opposite side of the river, from which direction a gentle breeze blowing wafted a far from pleasant odour towards us, when I observed a large dark object lying on the beach. On looking at it with my naked eye, I had till then supposed that it was a rock—though I could not help fancying that no rock had formerly been there. I now discovered that it was a huge dead whale, which, partly decomposed, had been thrown up by the waves during the night. It was likely to prove anything but an agreeable neighbour, however, and would certainly become worse and worse.

I pointed it out to Mudge and the rest. “We must hope that the wind will change before long, or even at the distance it is off it will drive us away from this,” said Mudge.

A number of sea-birds were already hovering over the carcass, showing that they had scented it from afar. Though the smell was unpleasant, still I was anxious to have a nearer view of the monster; so Mudge, Harry, Tommy, and I agreed to go over.

Having taken the things out of the boat, we pulled across the river, which was still somewhat swollen, and had just landed when we caught sight of several natives rushing on with headlong speed towards the whale, having apparently come from the interior. We drew back, and concealed ourselves behind the trees; and they, evidently from having their eyes fixed on the whale, had not seen us. The country towards the west was open, and as I turned my glass in that direction I observed a still greater number running on as fast as their legs could carry them. The sound of their wild shouts and shrieks, as they clapped their hands and kicked up their legs with delight, reached our ears. On they came.

We had no notion that anything like the number of natives we saw existed in the neighbourhood. How, indeed, they came to discover that the creature, to them so great a prize, had been cast on shore, it was difficult to say—unless, like the birds of prey, they had scented it from afar. Over the hills they came, some appearing at the entrance of a valley, others making their way along the shore. Already we saw that some had arrived; and through my glass I recognised our friend Pullingo as the principal figure by the feather at the top of his head, the bundle of lances in one hand, and an axe which we had given him in the other. Some of the natives carried huge drums, which they beat with might and main, forming the bass to their shrill shrieks. All seemed so eager to reach the scene of action, that even had we been much nearer we ran little risk of being discovered.

On they came in troops, till nearly two hundred must have been collected; then joining hands, they formed a large circle round the whale, while Pullingo mounted along the tail to the top of it, where he stood flourishing his axe, and apparently making a speech to the assembled multitude. Its tenor we should not have understood, even had we heard his words distinctly; but it was replied to by the shouts and cries of the people below: then the drums set up a thundering rattle, and the blacks reiterating their shrieks and cries, men, women, and children began to dance round and round, throwing themselves into the wildest and most extravagant postures, all trying to vie one with the other who could leap, and kick, and twist their bodies and arms about in the most grotesque fashion. Whether it was simply to show their joy, or was some religious ceremony, we could not determine.

The dance, if so it could be called, continued for some time, Pullingo still remaining the central figure on the top of the whale, when suddenly he dug his axe into the creature’s back; on which, picking up their stone knives or other instruments, which they had placed on the ground, the savages rushed forward and began hacking away at the body of the whale in a most ferocious fashion.

I was very glad that we were at a distance, for even as seen through a telescope the spectacle was one of the most disgusting I ever witnessed. As they cut out pieces of the flesh, they rammed them into their mouths, tearing them with their teeth like a pack of famishing wolves; some of them literally forcing their way into the carcass, out of which they emerged carrying huge pieces of dripping flesh, covering their bodies with blood. Even the women, some of them young, and, as seen from a distance, far from ill-looking, attacked the whale in the same fashion as the men, and appeared again dripping all over with blood. When I thought of the putrid state of the flesh, it made me almost sick to look at them, and disgusted at seeing human beings so degraded. Under ordinary circumstances they were not pleasant neighbours, but horrible must have been the effluvium arising from them after they had thus gorged themselves.

Not having any wish to get nearer the scene, we returned to the boat; and in a short time afterwards we saw that they had lighted fires in the neighbourhood of the monster, intending apparently to cook the flesh, and to stay there till they had eaten it up.

The presence of so large a number of natives in our vicinity, made my father consider seriously whether it would not be prudent to leave our present position without further delay, nearly four months having elapsed since the departure of the long-boat. He forthwith invited Mudge and Burton to hold a consultation on the subject, at which I also was present; and where Mudge remarked that two days only remained to complete the four months.

“If no vessel appears in that time, I think we may conclude, either that the long-boat has unfortunately been lost, or that Mr Brown has been unable to succeed in obtaining a vessel to come to our relief,” observed Mudge. “While the whale lasts, I don’t think we need fear a visit from those unsavoury gentlemen; but when they have recovered from the effects of their banquet, and begin to feel the pangs of hunger, they are very likely to become troublesome; and though we should be able to hold our own against them, we might find it dangerous to go out hunting singly or in small parties. I therefore advise that at the end of two days we should proceed up the river as far as the boat will carry us, and either pitch our camp there, while we make further preparations for our journey, or push on southward at once. I prefer an inland route to one along the coast, because in the latter case we should have to follow its various sinuosities, and have to cross the rivers at their mouths, where they are probably the broadest; whereas by keeping inland we may steer a direct course, and are more likely to find game and obtain fresh water.”

“I am of Mr Mudge’s opinion,” observed Burton. “By keeping near the coast, if the natives are inclined to attack us we should only have one side to defend. But then, again, if we move quickly on they will see that we are merely travelling through the country, and not wishing to interfere with them, and so are not likely to annoy us. I, however, would advise that we should make all preparations before leaving this, and begin our overland journey directly we leave the boat.”

“I agree with all you have said,” observed my father. “I will get you, Burton, to explain the plan we propose to the other men; and I hope that all will be satisfied that what we suggest is for the best. I should be glad, however, if, before starting, we could manage to communicate with Pullingo, as he would prove invaluable as a guide across the parts of the country with which he is acquainted; and I think, after the way we have treated him, that he may be trusted.”

“Paddy Doyle would be the best person to try and get hold of him,” I observed. “It would be pretty trying to any one of us to go near the whale, but I suspect that the Irishman would not be very particular; and as Pullingo knows that we can always supply him with food, he might be more willing than the rest of his tribe to leave the horrible mass of flesh on which they are gorging themselves.”

“You must speak to Paddy, and see if he is willing to go,” said my father. “In the meantime, we will make packages of the necessaries we are to take with us; and I should advise each person to manufacture for himself a pair of canvas leggings, and a broad-brimmed hat of the same material.”

Before separating they discussed other points, and made out a list of the different articles it would be advisable to take with us.

As soon as I told Doyle, he immediately agreed to visit the blacks’ camp. It was too late to set off that night; but next morning Burton and I, with one of the other men, took him across to the opposite shore. We watched him as he made his way towards the camp, which, in spite of the odour proceeding from the carcass of the whale, was pitched close to it. The only shelter the natives had provided for themselves consisted of some slabs of bark three or four feet in length, either stuck in the ground or leaning against a rail, with their fires in front.

They were still, apparently, all fast asleep, overcome by their debauch of the previous day and night. Doyle, who wisely carried his musket and pistols, went on without hesitation. How he found out Pullingo’s sleeping-place I do not know, as there was nothing to distinguish it from the rest. For some time he was lost to sight behind the carcass of the whale.

We waited and waited, and began at length to wonder that he did not return. Before starting, he had said that he would fire off his pistol should he require assistance, though he had little fear on that score.

“I hope that nothing has happened to poor Paddy,” observed Burton.

“I can’t fancy it, unless he has been overcome by the odour of the whale,” I answered; “it is bad enough even here, and sufficient to breed a fever among the blacks, even if it does not make us sick.”

“No fear of that,” observed Burton; “they are accustomed to it. Hurrah! here comes Doyle, and our friend Pullingo with him, rubbing his stomach, as if he found walking a trouble.”

“I’ve got him,” exclaimed Doyle as he approached; “but we must keep him well supplied with food, or he’ll be off again to have another blow-out of whale’s flesh. Faith, it’s rather high flavoured; but it’s to their taste, I suppose.”

Pullingo hesitated before stepping into the boat, and cast a wistful glance in the direction of the whale.

“Don’t think about that, old fellow,” said Paddy, patting him on the shoulder; “we’ll give you as much good grub as you can want. So come along with us;” and taking his arm, he induced him to step into the boat.

I did not find him a very pleasant neighbour; but I held my nose, and endeavoured not to think about the matter. As soon as we got him on shore, we tried to make him understand what we wanted: that we purposed moving southward, and that we would reward him handsomely if he would act as our guide. We could not clearly make out whether or not he was willing to go; and as we could not start for a couple of days, Mudge offered to go up the river as far as it was navigable in the boat, with Doyle and Harry and me, and one of the other men, and to take him with us. We should thus be better able to judge whether he understood what we wished him to do.

There was no risk, in the meantime, of the natives leaving their feast; and the wind fortunately now blowing from us towards the whale, we were no longer annoyed by the disagreeable odour. One thing was certain,—that the boat could not carry us all, with our provisions and stores, and that we should, at all events, have to make two or three trips. My father, therefore, thought that the sooner we set off the better. We accordingly put on board the boat a supply of provisions, ammunition, and some other articles, which we intended storing near the landing-place at the head of the river. We also took with us such tools as we should require to build a hut. These arrangements being made, we wished our friends good-bye, and pulled away up the river.

The scenery, as we advanced, became highly picturesque, and in some places the banks on either side were fringed with trees; in others, perpendicular cliffs rose sheer out of the water to a considerable height; while numerous points projected into the stream, some rocky, others covered with the richest vegetation.

We had been curious to know how Pullingo and his family had crossed the river; but we had not got far when we caught sight of a very rough-looking canoe hauled up on the bank. We pulled in to examine it, and found that it consisted of a single large sheet of bark bent up, the ends roughly sewed together, lumps of clay being stuffed in to prevent the water from entering, while the centre part was kept open by several pieces of stick fixed across the upper edge. Such a canoe could not take many minutes to form; and we agreed that it would be well to copy the natives when we had rivers to cross, and to form similar canoes, as they would be more quickly constructed, and could be guided with less difficulty, than a raft. Pullingo made us understand that this was his canoe, but that he would leave it where it was for the use of his wife and family.

As the tide had just begun to flow when we started, we made rapid progress. We saw numerous birds, ducks and geese, which skimmed over the surface, seeking for their prey, or flew off, startled by our approach. We pulled on till the shadows which spread over the stream showed us that night was coming on, and that we must ere long look out for a place to encamp. As, however, the sun’s rays still tinged the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees, we continued our course, anxious to get as high as possible before bringing up.

“Avast pulling,” cried Mudge; “I think I hear the sound of a waterfall.”

We obeyed him. I could distinctly hear the rushing noise of a body of water coming from the upper part of the river. We again gave way, and saw before us a mass of foam produced by the water running over a ledge of rocks some six or eight feet in height, stretching directly across the river. This would effectually bar our further progress; and not to lose more time, we pulled in to the right or southern bank, towards a spot where the tall trees receding afforded an open space on which we might encamp. In other parts along the bank the vegetation was of an unusually dense character for Australia: numberless creepers hung from the branches of the lofty trees, bearing star-like flowers, some white, others of a yellow hue, shining like gold, contrasted with the dark green foliage; while the ground below and more open spaces were carpeted with a rich sward but seldom seen in that country, and produced, probably, by the spray from the waterfall cast over it when the wind blew down the river.

Pullingo, by his gestures, leading us to suppose that he considered it a good place for encamping, we accordingly landed. We found the ground harder than we had expected, as the soil, which was only a few inches deep, rested on a bed of rock, which had prevented the trees from taking root. We quickly set about forming our camp; some of the party collecting sheets of bark, aided by Pullingo, while others picked up broken branches for our fire.

While we were thus employed, a flight of the magnificent cockatoos I have before described settled on some of the branches close to the river. Pullingo, who had brought his boomerang, at once eyed them eagerly. Paddy and I, who were near him, ran for our guns; but he made a sign to us not to shoot, letting us understand that he had a far more effectual way of procuring our supper. We followed him cautiously, so as not to frighten the birds as he stole towards them. As they clustered thickly on the boughs, it was evident they intended to rest there for the night. They sat talking away to each other at a great rate for some minutes; then, having placed their sentinels and wished each other good-night, they put their heads under their wings and prepared for sleep. They little thought of the subtle foe in their neighbourhood.

Having got close under the tree without being perceived, Pullingo drew his boomerang from his belt, and retired a few paces from his shelter; then running forward, to give power to his arm, till his feet touched the margin of the stream, and throwing his right hand, which held the boomerang, over his back, he cast it directly before him with all the force of his arm. These different movements had scarcely occupied three seconds. The sentinels, meanwhile, had given a warning sound, and the birds seemed to be aware that all was not right. When, however, they saw the weapon flying towards the surface of the water, they appeared satisfied that it had nothing to do with them.

But instead of dropping into the stream, as might have been expected, it suddenly took a new direction; and flying up into the air with irresistible force, came turning round and round in the most extraordinary manner, with a whizzing sound, into the very midst of the cockatoos’ roosting-place, continuing its course among them—killing one outright, breaking the wing of another, sending another squalling to the ground, cutting open their heads, and committing all sorts of damage among the feathered inhabitants of the trees. In vain the unfortunate cockatoos, overcome with astonishment, uttered their cries of despair; in vain they endeavoured to escape the awful blows of this apparently enchanted piece of wood; the boomerang continued its eccentric course, not ceasing its gyrations till it had knocked over nearly a dozen birds, and had fallen close to the spot where its owner stood ready to receive it.

It was the first time I had ever seen the boomerang used, and I could not have believed it capable of such performances had I not witnessed them. Before the birds had recovered from their fright, the boomerang was again in their midst, whizzing round and round, as if endued with life, and committing almost as much damage as before. Pullingo was preparing to throw it a third time, when the survivors of the cockatoos, discovering that this was no secure resting-place for them, took to flight, uttering mournful cries for their lost companions—several of whom, having been roughly plucked, were speedily roasting on spits before the fire.

“Much obliged to you for the good supper you’ve procured for us, Mr Pullingo,” observed Paddy; “but it surprises me that you, who can get as many well-tasted birds as you like by throwing that bit of stick, can bring yourself to eat such horrible food as that putrid whale’s flesh. However, we all have our tastes; though I can’t say I admire yours.”

These remarks were made while we were seated round the fire, and Pullingo was gnawing away at the whole body of a cockatoo, which he had taken for his share. Though he could not understand a word the Irishman said, he seemed to have an idea that he was referring to his gastronomic powers, and he complacently stroked his stomach, to show that he was enjoying his food.

Having finished our meal, we prepared ourselves for sleep, each of us having placed a piece of bark on the ground to serve as a mattress, under shelter of the upright pieces, according to the native fashion. Pullingo was quickly snoring, showing his confidence in us; but Mudge thought it would be wiser to keep watch, in case any strange natives might pay us a visit during the night. We knew that we had no danger to apprehend from savage animals, as even the dingo, the only carnivorous quadruped in the country, will not attack a human being able to offer the slightest resistance. We could not, however, tell what a pack of such brutes might do should they find us asleep.

I kept my watch very faithfully; but I suspect some of the rest of the party followed Pullingo’s example, and went to sleep. No serious consequences ensued, but the sun was up before any of us awoke.

We immediately set to work to relight the fire and cook our breakfast. Mudge and Paddy Doyle then tried once more to ascertain whether Pullingo was willing to accompany us to the south; and after such conversation as they could carry on, they were satisfied that he would undertake to act as guide—as far, at all events, as he was acquainted with the country. What had become of his big son, his wife, and small children, we could not make out; but he apparently intended to leave them behind.

“Now, lads,” said Mudge, “we will store the goods we have brought up, and then make the best of our way down to the camp; but as it would not be safe, I suspect, to leave them without protection, are any of you willing to remain? If we carry our black friend back within scent of the whale, I am afraid that he will attempt to return to it. Do you think, Doyle, that you could manage to keep him here?”

“I’ll try, your honour; and I’m ready enough myself to remain, if anybody will stay with me,” answered Paddy.

“I will,” said Harry, who observed that the other men did not answer readily.

“So will I,” I said, “if you wish it, Mudge.”

“No,” he answered; “two are sufficient, and you may be wanted to bring up the boat. As we have the tide with us, we may reach the camp and be back here soon after nightfall; and we now know the river sufficiently well to pull up in the dark.”

Mudge desired Doyle to place the goods on a bed of bark slabs, and to build a hut over them of the same material, so that, should rain come on, they might be preserved from wet. Pullingo, on seeing that we left our goods behind us, was perfectly ready to remain; and wishing our friends good-bye, we pulled rapidly down the river. As we had a strong current with us we made good way, and in about six hours reached the encampment.

“Has the vessel appeared?” I asked of Tommy Peck, who had come down to meet us, as I sprang on shore.

“Not a sign of one,” he answered. “The captain has gone up to the top of the cliff to have a better look-out; and if none appears, I think he will be for moving.”

My mother and Edith, on hearing from Popo that the boat had arrived, came out of the house and gave me the same report. They had been busily engaged for the last two days in preparing for our intended journey, as had also the men in the camp.

On my father’s return he expressed himself satisfied with what we had done, and accepted Mudge’s offer to go back again at once with another cargo of goods; while he himself proposed to remain with Pierce, Tom, and one of the other men; and I was to bring back the boat, which in her last trip was to carry up my father and mother and Edith, and the remainder of the goods and chattels we intended to remove.

We accordingly lost no time in again starting, as we did not wish to lose any of the daylight. For nearly two hours we had to pull on in the dark, and frequently it was so difficult to see our way that we had to advance cautiously. I sat in the bow, endeavouring to pierce the gloom, so as to catch sight of any danger ahead before we were upon it. Very thankful I was when I saw a bright glare cast over the water, and on the boughs and trunks of the surrounding trees, by Paddy Doyle’s camp-fire, and he and Harry answered my hail.

We soon made our way to the bank, when we found that they had been expecting us, and had prepared an ample supper of roast parrots and doves, with a pot of tea, and some cakes cooked in the ashes. They had also got ready our sleeping-places; so without loss of time we lay down to rest, intending to start again an hour before dawn, that we might, if possible, return before the close of the day.

I was so anxious to be off in time that I awoke even sooner than was necessary. I found Pullingo sitting up—not keeping watch, but stowing away in his capacious inside the remains of our supper, which I had intended for breakfast. Several birds which had been killed the previous day were hanging up, so I plucked and spitted them. I then aroused those of my companions who were to form the crew. We hurried over our breakfast; and making our way to the boat, began our downward voyage. As before, we had to proceed cautiously till daylight returned; we then made such good play that we reached the camp even before my father expected us.

He had just returned from a last trip to the downs. “No vessel anywhere in sight,” he said. “I very much fear that Brown and his party are lost; they must have encountered the gales we felt so severely here. I warned them of the danger they would run, but they would not believe me. Nevertheless, I am heartily sorry to think that they have probably been lost.”

I found that during our absence my father had done his utmost to secure the property we were to leave behind from being plundered by the natives. He had barricaded the doors and windows, both of the huts and the store-house, with pieces of timber fixed firmly in the ground and horizontal bars nailed across them, which we had hopes that the natives would not venture to remove.

The remainder of the articles we intended to carry with us were neatly done up in packages. We also took all our arms and ammunition, of which we had not more than would last us, we calculated, till we could hope to reach the settlements; indeed, it was the fear of this running short which made my father determine to commence our journey to the southward without further delay. While that lasted, we might amply supply ourselves with food, and with due precaution set the natives at defiance; but should that be exhausted, they, with their long spears and formidable boomerangs, would be superior to us in weapons of defence, while we should have no means of obtaining provisions. Had not the bushrangers carried off so much of our powder, we might have remained another month or two.

The boat was loaded without delay. Our last act was to collect all the vegetables fit for use in the garden, that we might have a supply of green food—at all events, for the first few days of our journey. Not without regret did we bid farewell to the spot which had afforded us shelter for so many weeks.

“Shove off,” said my father, as he seated himself at the helm, with my mother and Edith by his side, while the faithful Nanny crouched at my sister’s feet; and giving way, we commenced our voyage up the river. We took a look through an opening in the trees in the direction of the whale, round which the natives were still collected in vast numbers; and thankful were we to get away from them, for we had no doubt that as soon as they had eaten up the monster they would become troublesome. We should have been glad had we been able to penetrate farther to the west by water, as a glance at the map we had with us showed that we should still have a considerable amount of westing to make in our course to Sydney.

My mother was cheerful, notwithstanding the arduous journey on foot which she was about to undertake. Edith laughed and talked as usual, not troubling herself about the matter; indeed, she thought that it would be very good fun to walk on all day through a new country with a constant change of scenery, and at the end of it the amusement of forming a camp for the night. She thought, indeed, it would be a succession of picnics, only with more excitement than ordinary picnics afford. We none of us said anything to damp her spirits, though I could not help fearing that she would get tired before long of this style of life. We had, however, every reason to hope that we should enjoy fine weather, as the rainy season was now over; and that would be much in our favour.

We met with no adventure worth recording, and having pulled on all day without cessation, we reached the head of the navigation soon after sunset. Our friends, having a fire blazing up cheerfully and provisions cooking at it, were collected on the bank to welcome us. As soon as the boat was unloaded we dragged her up the bank some way from the water, where we intended, before starting the next morning, to house her carefully over, so that she might be protected from the sun and wet, and be ready for use should we be compelled from any cause to return.

Our camp was formed at some distance from the water, on the side of a bank, where the ground was drier than the spot we first occupied near the river. It was truly a wild woodland scene: the trees of gigantic growth towering up to the starlit sky, their branches thickly interlaced with countless creepers, which hung down in festoons, bearing flowers of various hues, some of enormous size, others so minute as scarcely to be discernible except when massed in clusters. Those only, however, were visible, which, hanging low down, shone in the light of the blazing fire.

Mudge had thoughtfully arranged a bark hut for my mother and Edith, while lean-tos served for the rest of the party. Considering our circumstances, we were very merry as we sat round the fire enjoying a good supper, for, having an abundance of provisions, there was no necessity to stint ourselves; indeed, we possessed more than we could carry, and should have to let some remain en cache, as the Canadians call it.

Pullingo had, according to his own idea, become one of us; Mudge having dressed him up in a shirt and trousers, which made him far more presentable among civilised people than he had hitherto been. He had tried to get him into a canvas jacket; but he made signs that it was too hot, and that he should sink with the weight;—though one would not suppose that it could have made much difference. I observed that at night he took off his new clothes, and merely threw his skin-rug over him; probably he would otherwise have been unable to go to sleep.

But I must now hurry on, and merely give the chief incidents of our journey.

Chapter Ten.

Journey commenced—Our night encampment—Witness a corroborree, or skeleton dance—Natives visit us—A magician plays off his tricks—Native superstitions—Journey resumed—Curious trees—Camp alarmed by a “laughing jackass”—halt for the day—Expedition—Discover an old woman trying to arouse the natives to attack us—Pullingo appears to warn us—We retreat—A hurried march—A litter formed for Edith—Again encamp—A fugitive—Surprised by the natives—Prove to be friends of Pullingo—The march resumed.

Having housed in the boat, and hidden such provisions and goods as we could not take with us, we commenced our journey. We each of us carried a pack containing ammunition, a pair of shoes, a change of clothing, flour, biscuit, and preserved meat, salt and other necessaries. My father had, in addition, his money, which he had saved from the wreck, a compass, a sextant, a map, and a book or two. Mudge was similarly loaded. I had my journal; and my mother insisted on carrying her own clothing, as well as some provisions, and her Bible; while Edith was quite unhappy till she was allowed to have a small parcel made up for herself.

Each package was suited to the strength of the person who had to carry it. It is a very different thing to lift a weight which may appear perfectly light for a few minutes, and to have to carry it day after day on one’s shoulders, with the addition of a musket, a brace of pistols, and a stout stick.

Pullingo went ahead with his spears in his hand and his boomerang stuck in his girdle, fully conscious of his dignity. Paddy Doyle went next to him, or marched at his side for the purpose of keeping him in good humour, while he endeavoured to learn his language and teach him English. Mudge marched next with Tommy Peck; my father and mother followed, and either Harry or I accompanied Edith and Pierce, who led the goat between them; while Burton and Popo, with the other men, brought up the rear. When I was not with Edith, I either walked alongside Burton or went ahead with Mudge.

After we left the neighbourhood of the river we emerged into a more open country; that is to say, the trees grew at a sufficient distance apart to enable us to see a long way between them. We flattered ourselves that we were not likely to meet with any natives for some time, as we fancied that all those in the neighbourhood had collected to feed on the carcass of the whale, and we knew that Pullingo would not lead us through a country inhabited by any tribes hostile to his own.

I should say that the aborigines of Australia are divided into numerous separate tribes or families, living entirely apart from each other, retaining their own hunting-grounds, and so seldom intermixing that in many instances they are unacquainted with each other’s language. We were led to suppose that Pullingo’s tribe was chiefly located in the region to the south of the river, and that he had come farther north than usual when he fell in with us; we could only thus account for the confidence with which he marched on ahead, as if thoroughly acquainted with the country.

We calculated that we had made fifteen miles, when we encamped for the night on the border of a thick wood to which Pullingo conducted us. On looking at the map, however, it seemed as if, after all our walking, we had made no progress, though the ground over which we had passed had been perfectly easy; and we knew from the account the bushranger had given us that we should have a mountainous and rocky region to cross, when our difficulties would be greatly increased.

“Come, come,” said my father, when he heard the remarks some of us were making; “I must not let you look at the map in future. All we have to do is to push bravely onward while we are on the move, and to rest at such spots as will afford us water and an abundance of game.”

The next day, having made as good progress as on the first, we had altogether accomplished thirty miles by sunset. We had thus made half a degree, which, as Tommy remarked, sounded at all events like something; and each day we managed to shoot as many parrots or pigeons as we required for food. Occasionally, too, Pullingo brought some down with his boomerang.

We had been travelling on for some days, when one evening we encamped near what was now a rivulet, but it had already fallen considerably, and we could see by the appearance of the banks that it would probably ere long be dry. My mother and Edith, though they had walked on without complaining, were evidently tired, and my father proposed that we should remain there to rest, or only take a short journey the next day. So our camp was formed as usual; and our provisions having been cooked, we sat round the camp-fire to take our supper.

We all shared alike: the food requiring cooking was boiled in our largest pot, the game and vegetables being cut up into small pieces, and biscuit or flour being added to it, with pepper and mustard. This was a favourite dish both for dinner and supper, and very excellent it was. My father and mother and Edith, with Mudge and I and the other boys, took our seats on one side, while the men collected on the other. Pullingo generally squatted down by the side of Paddy, whom he looked upon as his chief friend. They already managed to understand each other pretty well, eking out the few words they knew of each other’s language by signs which it would have puzzled the rest of us to comprehend.

This evening, Pullingo, instead of coming to the front, had seated himself some way behind Doyle, who handed him his basin of soup; and we had nearly finished our meal when, on looking up, I found that the black had disappeared. I had fancied, during the pauses in the conversation, that I heard strange sounds coming out of a thick part of the forest behind us, but I took but little notice of them. The idea which passed through my mind was that they were produced by a flock of parrots or cockatoos retiring late to rest.

Presently I saw Pullingo come back and touch Paddy on the shoulder, making a sign to him to follow. Paddy got up, taking his gun, which lay by his side. Being curious to see whatever the black wished to show him, I took up my gun also, and crept on close behind him. The black led us in the direction from whence I had heard the sounds proceed, and which was, I should have said, directly to the south of us, or in the path we were about to pursue next morning.

After going some way, I observed the glare of a fire reflected on the boughs of the trees ahead of us. We got nearer and nearer to it, when the black stopped behind some thick, low bushes. I saw Paddy stretching himself on tiptoe, and looking over them; and imitating him, I beheld a spectacle which sent a thrill of horror through me. Paddy’s teeth were chattering and his limbs shaking, yet he still looked on with a fixed gaze, as if he could not force himself away. Directly in front of us, but some distance off, in the dark portion of a forest glade, appeared some twenty or thirty skeleton forms, every limb in rapid motion, twisting and turning and leaping,—the legs and arms being thrown out sometimes alternately, like the toy figures worked by a string for the amusement of babies and small children. Now they went on one side, now on the other; now they cast themselves towards the ground, as if they were about to turn head over heels, in the fashion of boys making a “wheel” alongside carriages; now up they leaped all together, now one following the other; till, after a succession of more extravagant motions than before, they suddenly disappeared. I thought they had gone altogether, when in another instant they again burst into view and recommenced the same performances as before.

For the first few seconds—until I had time for reflection—I could scarcely help fancying that they were skeletons animated by magic power; and poor Paddy, I saw, fully believed that such was the case. All the time, a band of native musicians, with their drums, were furiously beating away directly in front of us, apparently unconscious of our presence. This convinced me, if I had required other proof, that human beings had to do with the spectacle I saw; and presently my notion was fully confirmed by seeing the seeming skeletons advance close to the fire, when I discovered the substantial black bodies of a party of natives painted over with white lines to resemble the bones of skeletons.

They continued their strange, weird dance, twisting and turning, some with their arms akimbo, others resting on their legs. The groan of relief given by poor Paddy nearly betrayed our presence, of which I concluded Pullingo had not made them aware. What their object was it was difficult to say, or what was Pullingo’s in bringing us to see them: possibly, I thought, aware of our presence in the neighbourhood, they wanted to frighten us from proceeding; or perhaps they were only performing a corroborree or native dance for their own amusement.

After we had watched them for some time, I pulled Paddy’s arm, and got him, not unwillingly, to retire from the scene.

“Arrah, Misther Godfrey,” he said, “sure they’re curious crathurs, them black nagurs; and I confess, your honour, when I first saw them, that I felt nigh ready to sink into the ground and turn into a skeleton myself! But why Pullingo brought us to see them, is more than I can make out.”

“It puzzles me also,” I said. “Perhaps my father or Mr Mudge will be able to form a conjecture on the subject.”

These remarks were not made till we were well out of hearing of the natives. Before we had got far, Pullingo joined us, and inquired, Paddy said, what we thought of the performance.

The information we brought to the camp—of the vicinity of so large a party of natives—was anything but satisfactory, and made my father resolve to continue the journey next morning, instead of resting a day, as he had proposed; and my mother declared that she was perfectly able to travel, provided we could make a shorter stage than on the previous days. The account we gave of the curious skeleton dance performed by the blacks made Mudge, Tom, and Harry determine to go and see it. Burton offered to accompany them; but the rest of the men, after listening to the description given by Paddy, seemed to think that there was something weird and supernatural in it, and showed no inclination to join them. As for Pullingo, he made no attempt to explain matters, and I could not help suspecting that he had got up the performance himself for some purpose of his own. We waited some time for the return of Mudge and the rest; but they at length came back, saying that they had not been discovered, and that the skeletons were still dancing away as furiously as ever.

My father determined that a double watch should be kept during the night. To set the example, he took the first, with Burton and one of the men; and I relieved him after a couple of hours. During the whole time I heard the drums beating in the distance, and I had no doubt that the natives were keeping up their corroborree, which I suppose afforded them as much amusement as a ball in England does the young ladies and gentlemen who attend it. Mudge, who followed me, said that he also heard the sounds during the whole of his watch; indeed, the natives must have kept up their festivities, if so they could be called, till the “laughing jackass”—which performs the duty of a cock in Australia, by chattering vociferously just before sunrise—warned them to seek repose.

As we were anxious to avoid the natives, we started at daybreak, and marched nearly four miles before we halted for breakfast, munching only a little biscuit to stay our appetites. Pullingo led the way as usual, making us suppose that he had no connection with those who had been engaged in the corroborree. My father, however, did not entirely trust him: taking out his compass, he examined it frequently, to ascertain that he was conducting us on a direct course. We might, indeed, have dispensed with his guidance, had he not been of so much service in showing us where springs of water were to be found, as also in pointing out the trees on which parrots, pigeons, and other birds perched at night.

After breakfast we rested for a short time, and then again pushed forward, hoping to keep well ahead of our black neighbours of the previous night. As it was impossible for my mother and Edith to make so long a journey as on the previous day, we halted early in the afternoon, in a wooded region very similar to that in which we had encamped on former nights, on the southern side of a stream which we had just before passed. I call it a stream, because water ran through it; but it consisted merely of a numerous succession of holes more or less deep, connected by a tiny rivulet, over which we could step without the slightest difficulty. We could see that in the rainy season the water had risen many feet, when it must have assumed the character of a torrent, difficult and often very dangerous to cross.

We lost no time in building a hut for my mother and Edith, and in arranging shelter for ourselves. Mudge, Doyle, Harry, and I then took our guns and went out to kill some game for supper, hoping to get as many birds as would serve also for our breakfast next day. On looking about for Pullingo, to get him to accompany us, we found that he had disappeared; but in what direction he had gone no one could tell.

“We can do very well without him,” observed Mudge; “only we must take care not to lose our way.”

My father offered to lend us his compass, charging us to be very careful. Our object had been to shoot cockatoos, parrots, or pigeons, or indeed any other birds likely to prove good for food. We troubled ourselves very little about their names or habits; we were, indeed, sportsmen simply for the pot. We kept our eyes about us, however, in search of a kangaroo or any other animal; and either Mudge or I had our fowling-piece loaded with bullets, in case one should cross our path. We had already shot several beautiful doves and parrots; but even now I could not help feeling what a pity it was to deprive creatures with so lovely a plumage of life.

We were walking on when Harry exclaimed, “Look! look! what is that fearful creature?”

“A small bear, I do believe, by its colour and the way it walks,” exclaimed Mudge as he ran on. “I hope soon to be better acquainted with the gentleman.”

The animal, which was leisurely pursuing its course, waddling along something like a fat bear, across the bottom of a slight depression in the ground, did not perceive us; and Mudge, whose rifle was loaded with a bullet, soon got sufficiently near to fire. His shot must have penetrated to the animal’s heart, for it rolled over and was dead in a moment. On examining the creature, which was three feet long, we found its fur warm, long, and somewhat harsh to the touch, of a grey colour, mottled with black and white. Its muzzle was very broad and thick. It was, indeed, very similar to a bear, but it possessed a pouch like the kangaroo, and its feet were black, and armed with strong claws.

“He is a curious-looking creature,” observed Paddy, who quickly came up with us. “One thing is very certain,—whether it’s a bear or a pig of these parts, it will give all hands a dacent supply of meat for the next day or two.”

Paddy at once set to work to cut up the animal, after which we loaded ourselves with the portions, I should think it must have weighed fully forty pounds. It was, I afterwards found, a wombat, or Australian bear, an animal very common in all parts of the country. It burrows deeply into the earth; but we were fortunate enough to find this one on a journey, otherwise we should not have obtained it so easily.

We returned at once with our booty to the camp, when Paddy lost no time in spitting the wombat, and placing it to roast before the fire. The spit he used was a long thin stick, which he rested on two forked uprights before the fire; one end extending like the tangent of a circle to a sufficient distance, so that a person could keep turning it round and round without having to sit too close to the fire.

Soon after our arrival Pullingo appeared, accompanied by three blacks, one of whom he formally introduced to us as Naggernook. He was apparently, judging by his withered skin and white hair and beard, a very old man; but he had not lost the use of his tongue, for he chattered away with extraordinary volubility, as if wishing to impress some matter of importance upon us—though what it was, of course we could not understand. The sight of the wombat roasting before the fire excited his interest, and he inquired of Pullingo how we had obtained it. Pullingo, pointing to our guns, entered into a long account of the wonders they were capable of performing; indeed, he himself, though he had so often seen them fired, seemed still to regard them with superstitious awe, which it was important for our interests that he should continue to feel.

As my father was anxious to conciliate the blacks, he waited till one of the joints of the wombat was sufficiently roasted, and then presented it to Naggernook; who had no sooner received the present than he began jumping, and hopping, and skipping about in the most extraordinary manner, hugging it with delight. Having thus exhibited his satisfaction, if not his gratitude, he sat himself down on the ground, and began to devour the meat—taking off huge pieces, which he stuffed into his mouth in a fashion more honoured in the breach than in the observance; occasionally throwing a piece, though not without reluctance, to his two younger companions, who sat by his side, submissively eating what was thus bestowed on them, much after the way a couple of dogs would have done while watching their master at dinner.

We had no wish for the society of these unattractive specimens of humanity, but they, it appeared, had made up their minds to remain, for the purpose of obtaining whatever we were disposed to bestow on them,—or perhaps of stealing, if they had the opportunity. However, on that point we may have wronged them.

As soon as the two lads had scraped every particle of meat off the bone Naggernook had thrown them, they collected some sheets of bark and put up a lean-to close to our camp, showing that they had no intention of going away. Pullingo, when he sat before the fire at supper, gave us, in a low voice, as if afraid they would overhear him, a long account of his native acquaintances who had honoured us with a visit; but what it was we could not clearly make out. One thing was certain,—that a considerable number of blacks were encamped in our neighbourhood, though whether we should be troubled by them remained to be seen. Of course we kept watch as usual, Mudge and I undertaking the charge of the second watch. We agreed to walk together round and round the camp; or if one sat down, the other was to move backwards and forwards, and to speak to him at each turn.

We had been walking up and down for nearly an hour, when, feeling very tired, I sat down, while Mudge continued pacing up and down. He had just got to the end of his beat, the light of the fire still enabling me to watch him, when I saw him bending forward with his hand above his eyes, as if to peer into the darkness. As I got up and moved towards him, he stopped. Just then I saw, in an opening of the forest some way off, what appeared to be a human figure, standing on the summit of a mound of earth slightly elevated above the surrounding ground. Human though the figure was, it had a most extraordinary appearance. From the shoulders floated out, moved by the breeze which blew through the opening, the ends of a long scarf, with which its body was enveloped, like the wings of some huge bird of night. A long beard hung from its chin; while its hair, divided into separate long locks, rose in numerous points above its head.

Not a sound issued from this extraordinary-looking being, who stood like a statue—with the exception of its arms, which it continued slowly to wave up and down in a series of mysterious signs, as if it would bar our progress in that direction; indeed, if I may not be accused of impiety by saying so, it reminded me of the angel with the flaming sword, stationed at the entrance of Eden to prohibit the return of our first parents,—though I am very certain that the idea must have been original so far as the Australian necromancer—for such, we concluded, was the character assumed by the being we saw before us—was concerned. He must have been a bold fellow, to endeavour thus to practise on the supposed credulity of the white men, for a shot from one of our rifles might quickly have put an end to his performances; but, of course, we did not for a moment think of firing at him.

“What can be the object of that extraordinary-looking character?” I asked, as I got close up to Mudge.

“A trick of the natives, I conclude, to try and frighten us,” he answered. “Perhaps, as they know that they cannot compete with our firearms, they are trying to awe us with an exhibition of their magic powers; and that old fellow there is evidently acting the part of a sorcerer. I should suspect him to be our friend Naggernook, had I not seen him fast asleep in his camping-place when I last passed round that way. Just you go and see whether he is still there, Godfrey, while I keep an eye on the fantastic-looking personage out there.”

Moving cautiously, I made my way towards the spot where our visitors had gone to rest; and there, to the best of my belief, they were all three still fast asleep. I returned to Mudge, who had not moved, he being curious to watch the proceedings of the sorcerer.

“Rouse up Pullingo,” he said, “and let us see what account he has to give when he sees yonder scarecrow.”

I found our black guide sleeping in his usual place near Paddy Doyle. While I was waking him, Paddy started up.

“There is an extraordinary-looking character playing off some trick or other not far from this, and we want to see what the black thinks about him,” I said; “try and make him understand that we are not in the slightest degree frightened, and only want to know what can be his object in placing himself there.”

“But suppose it is a real ghost? For the love of Heaven, don’t be after offending him,” said Paddy in a low whisper; “there are such things in the old country, and none but a haythen man would think of doubting it. So do, Masther Godfrey dear, take care what you are about.”

Paddy having thus delivered himself, tried to make Pullingo understand that we had seen something extraordinary near the camp; and not without some hesitation did he accompany Paddy and me to where I had left Mudge standing. The effect produced on him upon seeing the figure was far greater than I had expected: the moment his eyes fell on it he began trembling all over; and shouting out at the top of his voice, “Karakul! karakul!” he bolted off towards the camp.

His cries aroused the other natives, who, starting to their feet, fled away through the forest, uttering the same mysterious word. The noise they made, of course, aroused every one in the camp; and my father and Burton quickly joined us, inquiring what was the matter. We had naturally looked to see what had become of the blacks, and when we turned our eyes again towards the mound the mysterious figure had disappeared.

“We must try and find the fellow, and teach him not to play his tricks before us,” exclaimed Mudge, dashing forward. I and most of the party followed. Harry, however, brave as he was on most occasions, seemed almost as much frightened as the blacks, and entreated us to let the ghosts alone.

In vain we hunted round and round the mound; no one could we discover: indeed, in the darkness, a person well acquainted with the locality could easily have escaped, and might still be hiding not far off.

“There’s no use in looking further for the fellow,” observed Mudge; “but we must let him see that we are not frightened by his tricks.”

Returning to the camp, we made up the fire, and then went in search of Pullingo and his friends. After some time we found them, crouching down together in the hollow of a tree some way on the other side of the camp. Either they were very much alarmed, or they pretended to be so: their teeth were chattering, their limbs shaking, as they all clung together, holding each other’s hands, and looking out of their hole with staring eyeballs; even their hair appeared to have assumed an upright position, as if it was standing on end. If not really frightened, they certainly acted their parts very cleverly. Calling Paddy, who had now recovered, and seemed rather ashamed of himself, we got him to persuade Pullingo and his friends to come with us to the fire; round which they sat down in their usual fashion, as if nothing had happened. I observed, however, that they looked every now and then in the direction in which the figure had appeared, and occasionally cast suspicious glances behind them. But a couple of roast parrots which we divided among them contributed to restore their spirits.

By dint of cross-questioning Pullingo, we learned from him that the karakul was, as we suspected, a sorcerer—a being with unlimited power over the lives of all who offend him. He produces the death of his victim in a very extraordinary fashion, by means of a small bone extracted from the body of a dead man, which by his magical power he can send into the heart of any one whom he wishes to destroy. He obtains this bone by his enchantments. On the death of a native, he goes to the grave the night after the funeral, and going through certain magical performances, he afterwards lies on the top of it. At the precise moment that a certain star appears in the heavens the dead man comes forth, summoned by these incantations, and introduces within the skin of the karakul, without causing him more pain or inconvenience than does the bite of an ant, a minute bone taken from his own skeleton. The bone thus obtained remains concealed under the enchanter’s skin till the moment that he requires to use it. He then, by magical power, orders the mysterious bone to go out of his own body and plant itself in that of the person he intends to destroy: it immediately enters the heart of his unhappy victim, who quickly dies in great agony.

The enchanter, however, pretends not only to kill people, but to cure them. When he cannot do so by his incantations, he tries rubbing and various passes, much in the fashion of a mesmeriser. When these fail, he burns the arms and legs of his patients, bleeds them behind the ear, or hangs them up by an arm to the branch of a tree; if they are wounded, he covers up their wounds with an ointment of mud. If after the application of these remedies the patient does not get better, the karakul declares that it is his own fault, and washes his hands of it.

“We have good reason to stand in awe of these powerful enchanters,” observed Pullingo; at all events, that was what we understood him to say, as far as we could comprehend his gestures and words. When I came to know more about the natives, I found that his account was perfectly correct. He told us a good many other curious things relating to the superstitions of his countrymen; but I do not remember all of them. He told us that the natives are firmly convinced no person ever dies from natural causes; and that if not killed by his fellow-creatures, or destroyed by the spells of magicians, he would live on for ever without growing old or exhausting his physical powers.

“Come, we’ve had enough of this stuff,” said Mudge at last. “Tell your friends to turn in again and go to sleep; and you do the same, Master Pullingo, or you will not be fit for your duty to-morrow.”

Burton and one of the men relieved Mudge and me; but though they kept a look-out for the karakul, the magician did not think fit to return to his post: possibly the gleam of the fire on their muskets as they walked round the camp may have shown him that the experiment would be dangerous.

We talked over the matter the next morning, and came to the conclusion that, for some reason or other, the natives were anxious to prevent us continuing our journey. Of course, we settled to take no notice; and as soon as breakfast was over we packed up our traps and got ready to start, telling Pullingo to lead the way. He hesitated, and finally declared that he could not venture in the direction where the karakul had appeared.

“You may go any way you like,” observed Mudge; “but we shall go straight forward, and you may join us on the other side.”

Naggernook and his attendants had been watching our proceedings, and when they saw that we were advancing in the direction of the mound they bolted off, crying out, “Karakul! karakul!” We replied with shouts of laughter. Mudge fired a shot ahead to make them understand that that would clear the way of all foes. It was a hint which they were well capable of understanding, and, we hoped, would prevent their countrymen from molesting us. Our great object was to avoid coming into collision with them, for if blood was once shed we could not tell where it might end. It was important to show the natives our power, and that we did not entertain the slightest fear of them.

We marched forward in our usual order, and soon left the “sorcerer’s hillock,” as we called it, far behind. Whether he and his associates were following us we could not tell; though, of course, knowing the country, they might be advancing in the same direction on either side of us, and still keeping carefully out of sight.

I have not spoken much as yet of the appearance of the country, or the trees we met with. Near the river, and as far as we could see along the coast, were groups of magnificent pines known as the Norfolk Island Pine, a hundred feet in height, with perfectly straight stems, fit for masts to the largest ships. The most numerous trees were the eucalypti, or stringy-bark tree, of various species, some of the prodigious height of a hundred and fifty feet; others were of enormous girth, many from thirty to forty feet round; and several, hollowed by age, were large enough to admit the whole of our party. Except for size, they cannot be called handsome, as the colour of the leaf is harsh and unsightly, owing to its margin being presented towards the stem, both surfaces having thus the same relation to light. In the hollows we met with superb ferns growing on stems some twenty feet in height, and about the thickness of a boat-oar. It then throws out a number of leaves in every direction, four or five feet in length, very similar in appearance to the common fern. Another curious tree had a stem sixteen feet long; after which it branched out in long spiral leaves which hung down on all sides, resembling those of the larger kinds of grass. From the centre of the leaves sprang a foot-stalk twenty feet in length, exactly like the sugar-cane, and terminating in a spiral spike resembling an ear of wheat. It yielded a fragrant-scented yellow resin.

Pullingo having lost two of his spears, with which he had attempted to kill a big forester kangaroo, and which made off with them sticking in its back, he climbed to the top of several of these trees and cut down this upper stem. He then hardened them in the fire. On comparing the new spears with his old ones, we found that they were all of the same material. We before had been puzzled to know how he had obtained such straight and slender rods.

Though we believed that Pullingo was attached to us, we were still very doubtful of the temper of his countrymen, and therefore, when on the march we kept close together, to be ready to resist any sudden attack. When we halted at mid-day to rest, we took care not to range to any great distance in search of game unless we had him with us. We seldom went more than a couple of days without killing a kangaroo or a wombat, while we obtained an ample supply of birds,—either cockatoos or parrots and parakeets, several varieties of pigeons, as also of doves, and now and then a bustard, or native turkey, a large bird weighing sixteen or eighteen pounds. Frequently, as we were marching on, we were saluted by a sound so like the crack of a whip, that Tommy and Pierce declared that some black boy near at hand must be amusing himself with one; and it was some time before we discovered that the sound was produced by a small bird either over our heads or perched on a tree near at hand.

We marched on about ten miles, and again encamped close to one of the huge eucalypti I have before mentioned. Near at hand was a forest, or bush, somewhat denser than usual with hilly ground, which confined our view on that side to narrow limits. A stream of water tempted us to stop here rather than push on a few miles farther. My mother and Edith performed the daily journey without feeling any unusual fatigue; but the great heats had not begun, and the air was pure and exhilarating.

Mudge, Paddy, and I were very successful in a shooting expedition on which we started, as soon as we had encamped, with Pullingo; Mudge having killed a good-sized kangaroo, and Paddy and I two dozen gaily-feathered birds, while Pullingo had brought down nearly a dozen more with his boomerang. We had intended going in the direction of the hills, but when he saw us setting off he made signs to us that it would be of no use; and when we still persevered he placed himself in front of us, and by the most violent gestures endeavoured to stop our progress. At length, as we dodged him, he turned back towards the camp and sat himself down on the ground, as if determined not to accompany us. We therefore gave up the attempt, and took the way he pointed out, along the banks of the stream, near which we found most of the birds we killed.

On our return the men set to work to pluck our feathered prizes, while Paddy scientifically cut up the kangaroo; after which there was a grand cooking of flesh and fowl, while some cakes made by my mother were baked under the ashes. As a rule, the farinaceous food we were able to carry was reserved for my mother, Edith, and Pierce. We found scarcely anything in the shape of fruit, but we obtained a sort of wild spinach, and occasionally heads of cabbage-palms, which served us for vegetables, and assisted to keep the whole party in health.

Supper was over, and my mother and Edith had just retired to their hut. Except Mudge and Paddy, who had to keep the first watch, the rest of the party were about to lie down under the lean-tos, when on a sudden there burst forth, close to us, a wild, unearthly, and abrupt yell of mocking laughter, as if uttered by a party of natives who, creeping on us unawares, had surrounded the camp, and now to their delight found that we were in their power. We started to our feet and seized our arms, expecting the next moment to have a shower of spears hurled into our midst; but when we looked round to see in which direction the enemy would appear, no one was to be seen.

“Where can that have come from?” exclaimed Mudge.

“The fellows must have retreated, whoever they were. Keep steady, my lads,” cried my father; “on no account leave the camp. Their object probably is to entice us away, when they hope to destroy us in detail.”

My mother had come out of her hut with Edith, who stood trembling by her side.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said my father. “The savages, finding that we are prepared, are not likely to attack us.”

“But there is no shelter for them nearer than the neighbouring bush; and that cry came from a spot close at hand,” observed Mudge. “With your leave, Captain Rayner, I will take two men with me and soon rout them out of their lurking-place.”

“Depend upon it, they are far away by this time,” observed my father.

Scarcely had he spoken, when again there came that fearful yell, sounding like what I could conceive to be the horrible laughter of a maniac.

“Why, I do believe it comes from some fellow who has climbed into this very tree,” cried Mudge; “and I’ll take the liberty of shooting him if he doesn’t come down of his own accord.”

I had observed all this time that Pullingo sat very quietly by the fire, watching what we were about, and merely uttering the word “Gogobera;” but whether that was the name of the leader of the savages surrounding us, or of some supposed malign spirit, we could not tell. I now saw, however, that he was quietly laughing, evidently highly diverted by the alarm these strange sounds had produced among us.

“The black knows something about it,” I sang out. “I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, it was one of those necromancers he was telling us about playing off his tricks. Paddy, do you try and get him to tell us who has been making those hideous noises.”

Pullingo quickly understood Paddy, and getting up, went towards the branch of the tree at which Mudge and several others were looking up. Taking out his boomerang, he stepped a few paces back; then away it flew till it took a course upwards and penetrated amid the boughs, and the next instant down came a large bird, with a black head and a peculiarly strong beak.

“Dat make laughee,” he observed composedly.

We found that our nocturnal visitor was no other than that well-known member of the feathered tribe, the “laughing jackass;” more scientifically denominated the “giant kingfisher.” When I saw the bird, I was very sorry that it had been killed; for, notwithstanding its discordant voice, it is a remarkably sociable and useful creature, as we afterwards discovered. It destroys snakes, which it catches by the tail, and then crushes their head with its powerful beak; it also renders an essential service to the settlers who want to get up early, by shouting out its strange notes to welcome the approach of dawn—from which peculiarity it is also called the “settler’s clock.” We soon discovered that gogobera was the name given to it by the natives. They, at all events, have no superstitious feeling regarding it; for Pullingo, plucking the bird, soon had it roasting before the fire; and, to the best of my belief, he had devoured the whole of it before the morning.

“I hope we shall have no other disturbance during the night, and so I advise all hands to turn in,” said my father.

We quickly followed his advice. Probably, had the black not killed the poor gogobera, we should have been aroused betimes in the morning; as it was, the man who was on watch at that time did not think it necessary to call us till the sun was above the horizon.

My father, I found, after consulting with Mudge, determined to remain where we were for the day, as our camp was well situated near water, and there was evidently an abundance of game to be obtained in the neighbourhood. Pullingo, who had over-eaten himself during the night with the gogobera, on hearing this showed no inclination to get up, but rolled himself over and went to sleep again.

Mudge and I had been curious to know what sort of country lay beyond the hills in the direction Pullingo had been so unwilling we should take on the previous day. We determined, therefore, to set off as soon as breakfast was over.

We did so, taking Paddy Doyle and Popo with us to carry our provisions, and armed with our fowling-pieces and pistols. As Pullingo was still fast asleep, we settled not to interrupt him. We set off, therefore, without waiting for the black, and at once made our way to the westward, through the forest. Soon reaching the top of the hill, we descended into the valley, which was still more thickly wooded than the country we had left. On we went, without seeing any birds at which to fire, till, as we happened to be standing without speaking, I fancied I heard the sound of voices coming from a distance. I told Mudge, who, on listening, was convinced that I was right.

“Still, we will go on,” he said. “If the voices are those of natives, we can but retire; and the very fact of our doing so will show them, should they discover us, that we have no ill-feeling or hostile intentions towards them.”

We went on and on through the thick forest, which afforded us ample shelter. The voices we had heard grew louder and louder, and we saw that we were approaching an opening, when just at the edge of it we found a thick belt of bushes, which completely concealed us from any one beyond, though we managed to look through it. The scene which presented itself induced us to remain instead of retiring. In the centre, on the top of a mound, stood a tall, gaunt old woman, her long white hair streaming behind her back in the wind. In her left hand she held a long stick, which she flourished above her head, while with the other she was making the most vehement gestures. Around the woman, and densely packed together, were collected a number of men of all ages, and a few women—as we supposed, from seeing several sturdy infants rolling about on the grass by their sides. The eager faces of her audience were intently fixed upon her as she poured forth a torrent of words, the meaning of which was beyond our comprehension. So intently were they listening, that we ran but little chance of being discovered, unless she should happen to turn her eyes in the direction of the spot where we lay hidden.

For several minutes she went on, eloquently addressing the assembly and wildly gesticulating, apparently in the endeavour to arouse them to some mode of action which she was advocating. From some of the words which reached our ears, we at length could not help suspecting that she was speaking about us, and advising the warriors of her tribe to put a stop to our progress through the country. The longer she went on the more convinced we became of this, and we could not help dreading that they would suddenly start up to rush towards our camp, and discover us.

Mudge touched me on the shoulder, and made a sign to me to retreat while there was time. I passed it on to Paddy and Popo, who were on the other side. Just at that moment, on looking round, I saw the countenance of a black close behind me. Had our enemies surrounded us? If so, we should have to fight hard for our lives. Great was my satisfaction, when a second glance showed me that the new-comer was no other than Pullingo, who had crept cautiously up to us. He did not speak, but his gestures proved that he wished us to retreat as silently as he had approached. As this was undoubtedly the wisest thing we could do, we moved noiselessly away from the bush, stooping down as he was doing, so that we might escape being seen by the old witch on the top of the mound. Happily at that time her head was turned away from us, while she was addressing those on the further side of the circle.

Pullingo led on without stopping for a moment, or venturing even to look back, probably fearing that he might be discovered, and bring down the vengeance of his countrymen upon himself. At all events, the fact of his having followed us, knowing the danger in which we might place ourselves, was a convincing proof of his fidelity. With unerring sagacity he led the way through the forest, and not till we had passed over the first range of hills did he stop to allow us to take breath.

“Bad!—mighty bad, Paddy!” he said, turning round to his friend, and speaking with the accent he had learned from the Irishman. “If get killed, others say Pullingo did it. Bad!—mighty bad, Paddy!” he continued repeating, his limited stock of words not allowing him to express his opinion of our proceeding in any other way.

“But if we had not gone, we should not have found out that the blacks were thinking of attacking us,” answered Doyle. “They might have been down upon us during the night, and killed every mother’s son among us before we were awake in the morning; so you see, Mr Pullingo, our journey has been of more use than you’re inclined to suppose. And pray how comes it, if you knew they were there, that you didn’t tell us?”

“I tell by-and-by if dey come,” answered Pullingo. “Now, on again;” and once more moving forward, he led the way to the camp. He either took a shorter route, or we got over the ground very much faster than when we were going, as we arrived considerably sooner than I expected.

The account we gave my father made him hesitate about remaining where we were. We had still four hours of daylight, and by pushing on we might put a distance of ten miles or so between ourselves and the blacks. From what we had seen, and the few words we had understood, we gathered that the old hag, for some cause or other, was instigating her tribe to attack us. Pullingo was consulted on the subject; and when he understood that we proposed moving away, he advised that we should do so without delay.

My father had been anxious to allow my mother and Edith time to rest: the strength of my little sister, indeed, was severely tried with the long walk she had taken every day since we had commenced our journey.

“But, sure, we can carry the young lady,” exclaimed Paddy. “I, for one, will willingly lend my shoulder. Sure, she’s as light as a feather!”

“And so will I,” said Mudge. “I only wish we had thought of it before.”

Burton also, and one of the other men, volunteered to carry her. My mother thanked them, and declared that, so far as she herself was concerned, she was ready to proceed any distance which might be thought necessary. We accordingly at once set to work to construct a sort of palanquin. Several of the trees I have described, which have long foot-stalks above their leaves, from which the natives make their spears, were growing near, and from these two long poles were speedily cut. They were tough and light, and sufficiently strong to bear my sister’s weight. Some cross-pieces were secured to them, and the intervals filled up with the long spiral leaves from the same tree. On the top of this network a piece of bark was fastened; thus, in less than five minutes a very suitable litter was constructed.

Having quickly packed up our traps, we placed Edith on it and set out; Paddy declaring, with true Irish politeness, that his own pack felt all the lighter for having the young lady to balance it. Pullingo was evidently astonished at seeing the pains we took with the little girl, as his own wife and daughters would have had to carry any property they possessed, while he trudged ahead, laden only with his spears and boomerang,—not, by the way, that the Australian natives ever are the possessors of many weighty articles, dispensing, as they do when travelling, with houses or clothing or cooking utensils, or indeed any of the requirements of civilised beings. While acting as our guide, however, he seemed anxious to imitate us in all respects, and now marched ahead wearing the trousers and shirt which had been given him; looking upon them, however, more as an honourable distinction than as articles of necessity.

The appearance of the country varied but little from that we had passed over. It was sufficiently level to allow of Edith being carried without difficulty, though in some places undulating, and covered pretty thickly with trees; generally, however, the country was thoroughly park-like, and I could not help expecting to see a herd of deer start up and go bounding away before us. In lieu of them, we occasionally caught sight of three or four kangaroos, and sometimes of solitary individuals,—which, however, made their escape before we could get a shot at them. They are wary animals; and it is difficult to approach them unless where the cover is thick, and the sportsman is on the alert. But even when feeding they keep a watchful eye round on every side, to give notice of their two enemies, the natives or the dingos, as they approach.

“Well, after all, this is a very jolly life,” observed Tommy to me, as he and Harry and I brought up the rear, having been ordered to keep a look-out on every side, as well as behind us, lest any natives should be following our trail. “I only wish those black fellows would take themselves off and not interfere with us.”

“Perhaps they may be saying the same thing of us,” I observed. “We must remember that we are the trespassers; and they, by right of previous occupation, consider the country their own, and are naturally not pleased at seeing us killing the animals on which they subsist.”

“But there must be enough for both of us,” said Tommy, “judging from the number of birds we see overhead. And it is very foolish in them to attempt to interfere with the white men: the weakest must always go to the wall.”

“That may be,” I observed: “but they have to learn that lesson; and in the meantime they fancy that they can drive us out of the country. We have, of course, a perfect right to come here; but we are bound to treat them with humanity, and to take every pains not to injure them or deprive them of their means of subsistence.”

“That, I am sure, is very right,” observed Harry. “It is not their fault that they are ignorant savages; and we must think of what we should have been ourselves if we had not been instructed. I never can forget what I might have become had I been left with those dreadful people from whom you rescued me. I should have known nothing of God or of his love for man, or of his desire that man should be reconciled to him through his own appointed way, and come to live with him in the glorious heaven he has prepared, for ever and ever.”

“Then why is it that thousands and tens of thousands of savages, in all parts of the world, are allowed to live and die without ever hearing of him?” asked Tommy.

“That is one of the many mysteries which man has failed to solve,” I observed. “We cannot understand His plans; with regard to them, all we know is how He deals with us: for that we know through the Bible, where all seems to me perfectly clear.”

“I am sure it is,” observed Harry; “I have been certain of that since your mother and Edith have read the book to me, and have taught me to read it for myself. It seems to me that people are ignorant because they will not read the book, or seek for grace to understand it.”

I was very glad to hear Harry say this, for it showed that my mother’s instruction had not been thrown away on him. Indeed, besides being thoroughly guileless and honest, he possessed as much natural intelligence as anybody I ever met.

We talked about many other things, and Harry was always ready to listen for the sake of gaining information. He delighted especially to hear about England, as well as other countries, and the numberless wonders of which he formerly had no conception.

That day’s march—to us, who had been out all the morning—was a very fatiguing one. We had, too, as I have said, to be constantly on the watch, especially when passing near thickets—so I will call them—of ferns or other closely-growing trees, which might afford concealment to the blacks. We knew that, cunning as they were, they were just as likely to appear ahead or on one side of us as behind. My father had given directions that, should we be attacked. Edith was to be placed on the ground, when we were to gather round her, forming a hollow square, in the same way that infantry are arranged to receive cavalry; but that no one was to fire until he gave the word. He always entertained a hope that the blacks, on seeing us well-prepared, would not venture to attack us.

I was very thankful when at length, just as the sun was setting, Pullingo called a halt by the side of a wood. It was somewhat in a hollow, for the sake of a water-hole which existed at the bottom. Our camp, however, was pitched on a slope where the ground was dry. Around the spot grew some enormous ferns, as large as ordinary trees in the northern parts of the world. We lost no time in making preparations for passing the night: our huts were quickly put up and a fire kindled—the grass surrounding the place being first carefully cut down, so as to prevent any risk of it blazing up and setting the trees in flames. This, in dry weather, is the chief danger to be guarded against when travelling in Australia.

Edith thanked her carriers for having saved her so much fatigue.

“Sure, it’s the pleasantest thing I’ve done for many a day, Miss Edith,” answered Paddy, with a flourish of his straw hat; “and of course I just speak the sentiments of all the rest.”

Mudge, who was not in the habit of paying compliments, smiled; but he told Edith he was very glad to have been able to carry her, and that he should propose making a litter for Mrs Rayner, and letting Harry, and Tom, and Popo, and me act as her bearers for another day.

Scarcely had we sat down to supper when we were saluted with the same discordant, laughing cry which had startled us on the previous evening; but this time, knowing from whence it proceeded, we felt no alarm; though I believe that, had not Pullingo killed the gogobera, we should not have been convinced that a bird could have produced such sounds.

Of course, we kept a watch; but the night passed away without any event to disturb our rest. Even before the sun was up, our friend the “laughing jackass” woke us with his strange cries. Pullingo would have killed him with his boomerang, had we not begged his life; and soon after the sun was up, I observed him flying away to a place of safety, disturbed by seeing so many people moving about.

As our rest had been cut short at the last place, my father settled to remain here till past noon, and to make only half a day’s journey, so that we might start at dawn the next day and make some progress during the cool hours of the morning. We therefore sat quiet after breakfast, enjoying the rest we all more or less needed.

Though I have not before mentioned it, my father, I should have said, invariably called all the party together for prayers, both morning and evening, and either he or my mother read a portion of the Bible to us.

After this had been done, Mudge and I took our guns, in the hope of shooting some birds for dinner, which we intended to take before starting. We killed as many as we required; and finding it very hot, we agreed to rest under the shade of a huge fern, while we sent the game back by Popo, who had accompanied us, to be got ready for cooking. Mudge leaned back against a tree and lighted his pipe, while I sat close to him, enjoying the comparative coolness which the shade afforded.

We had not been resting many minutes when we heard a rustling sound in the bushes; and supposing that it was caused by a kangaroo, I lifted my gun, ready to fire. At that instant a native burst from the cover; but on seeing us, with a look of astonishment and terror he sprang on one side, and continued his course at headlong speed, passing some thirty yards from us, and being quickly lost to sight. I was thankful that I had not fired, as I was nearly doing, before I discovered that it was a human being, rushing through the forest, and apparently, from some cause or other, flying from his foes. Had he merely been hunting, he would have retreated, as he would have known that the animal of which he was in chase was not likely to have passed us.

“It proves, at all events, that the natives are timid beings, and that we have very little cause to fear them, or that fellow would not have been so frightened at seeing us,” observed Mudge.

Some time passed by, when Mudge looked at his watch. “I should think that the parrots must now be properly done; and we may as well return to the camp,” he observed. “But, really, I feel very little inclination to get up.”

Just as he spoke I saw Pullingo close to us. He had approached so noiselessly, that, had he been an enemy, he might easily have surprised us.

“Not good here; too far from camp,” he said in a low voice.

Scarcely had he said this when I heard a rustling in the direction from whence the native had appeared, and immediately afterwards seven dark forms—some with spears, others with axes or clubs, in their hands—came rushing forth into the sunlight, looking about in every direction, as if in eager search of some one or something. Concealed as we were by the high grass and the trunks of the trees, they did not at first perceive us, and earnestly I hoped that they might pass by without doing so. Pullingo crouched down, eagerly watching them, but without uttering a word. Mudge’s hand moved towards his pistols; and I kept my finger on the trigger of my gun, ready to fire should they appear to have any intention of attacking us. They were more savage-looking fellows than any we had before seen—their countenances distorted with rage, and every action exhibiting the fury which animated them. Eagerly they looked about on every side; but not discovering the object of their search, were about to rush onward, when one of them caught sight of us.

On finding that we were discovered, we both sprang to our feet with our guns ready to fire, determined to sell our lives dearly should they attack us, as we had no doubt they would; while with terrific shrieks they came bounding towards us, some with their spears ready to dart, others flourishing their axes and clubs.

“I’ll pick off the leading fellow, and you fire at the next,” cried Mudge; and I was on the point of obeying him, when Pullingo started up and uttered some words in his own language, the meaning of which we could not understand.

The natives stopped, and Pullingo cried out to us, “Don’t shoot! don’t shoot!” He was but just in time. “Dey not enemy,” he said.

He now advanced and exchanged a few hurried words with the natives, who, I had very little doubt, were in pursuit of the black we had previously seen; but, of course, we did not let them know that he had passed us. Having exchanged a few more words with Pullingo, they continued their course in the direction the fugitive had taken, while we returned with Pullingo to the camp.

On the way he told us that the fugitive had committed a murder or some other crime, and that the avengers were following him to take his life. Alas! for him, poor wretch! there was no city of refuge in the land; and unless he could exhibit more cunning and endurance than his seven pursuers, his fate was sealed, and probably ere the sun had set he would be numbered with the dead.

We were thankful for our escape, for had we killed one of them in our ignorance of their intentions, the others would have set upon us; and we should either have been compelled to shoot the whole of them, or have been pierced through and through with their lances. It was, at all events, fortunate that Pullingo had come up just at the right moment.

Before we reached the camp he resumed his shirt and trousers, which, for some reason or other which he did not explain, he had hidden away in the bush. I could not help fancying that he knew his countrymen might pass by that way; and having found out where we were, he had come to warn us of our danger.

We narrated the adventure to my father and the rest of the party; and after the description we gave of the blacks, they expressed a hope that we should not fall in with them.

Our game, as we had expected, was ready for taking off the spits; and as soon as we had discussed it, we prepared for our departure.

Chapter Eleven.

Visited by more blacks on our march—Wonder at our thunder-makers—A permanent camp formed—Mudge and I set off to explore the way—Pullingo disposes of his garments—Cross a river—Reach the foot of the range—Pullingo meets his son Quaquagmagu—His determination to leave us—The cavern of the Moon—A native legend—Observe the natives worshipping before the cavern—Deserted by Pullingo—We proceed without him—Enter a rugged region—Skeleton of the bushranger—Camp under a rock—Our water exhausted.

We travelled on for several days, happily escaping any molestation from the natives. A few came near us, to whom Pullingo explained that we were merely passing through the country, and that we wished to be on friendly terms with the black men,—but at the same time that we possessed the power, with our wonderful thunder-makers, of destroying all our enemies. Now and then an individual bolder than his companions would come up to us while we were on the march, or when we were encamped, for the purpose of examining the said thunder-makers, as they called our firearms, more closely; but when they did so they gazed at them with the utmost astonishment and awe in their countenances, and quickly took their departure, evidently thinking it not safe to remain in the neighbourhood of such formidable beings. All this time even Pullingo himself had never ventured to touch a firearm, so that he had no idea how the explosion was produced. The greater number of the blacks we saw, however, scampered off as soon as they caught sight of us.

The country over which we passed was very similar to that I have before described. One evening, as we were passing over a higher hill than usual, we caught sight in the far distance of a blue range of mountains, which it was very clear we must cross to get to the southward. How high it really was we could not decide, but it appeared of considerable elevation, and, we feared, would prove rugged and barren.

When we were encamped that evening, after my mother and Edith had retired to their hut, my father expressed his fears to Mudge and me that they might suffer much inconvenience and hardship, if not danger, in passing over it. “I wish that I had shown more resolution in preventing my poor mates from going away in the long-boat,” he observed; “had I induced them to wait till the stormy season was over, they might have accomplished the voyage in safety, and we should by this time probably have been succoured by a vessel from Sydney, and saved the fatigue of this long journey.”

“You acted for the best, sir,” observed Mudge; “and perhaps the difficulties we have to go through may not be so great as you anticipate. However, I have been thinking over the matter, and if you will allow me and one other person to set out, with Pullingo as a guide, supposing we can induce him to accompany us, we will explore the route, while you remain encamped in some eligible position near water with the rest of the party, where you can obtain abundance of game. Doyle is a capital shot, and sure amply to supply your larder. We, having ascertained the best road to take, will return for you; and perhaps on the other side of the range we may fall in with settlers, from whom we may obtain horses on which Mrs Rayner and your daughter could perform the rest of the journey. Two or three men can often make their way easily in a region through which a larger party would find it difficult if not impossible to proceed.”

“I am indeed most grateful to you for your offer,” said my father; “but whom do you propose taking with you? I confess that, for the sake of my wife and daughter, I am unwilling to weaken our party, in case the natives should visit our camp, and, seeing only a few men, might be tempted to molest us.”

As soon as I had heard Mudge’s proposal, I determined if I could to accompany him. “Let me go,” I exclaimed. “I can endure as much fatigue as any one; and though I can use my rifle to some effect, the blacks, looking upon me only as a boy, would not consider that I added to the strength of the party: and thus you will retain five men besides yourself, while I think I shall be of as much assistance to Mudge as any one else.”

“I shall be very happy to have you, Godfrey,” said Mudge, “if your father approves of your going; indeed, I had thought of proposing that you should accompany me. What do you say, Captain Rayner? I will defend him with my life, should he be exposed to danger—not that I think we shall have to encounter any. And we may depend, I think, on our guns for supplying ourselves with food.”

My father considered the matter, and, greatly to my satisfaction, finally agreed to let me accompany Mudge. He explained the plan to my mother the next morning, observing: “We allowed Godfrey to go to sea, and surely he will have to encounter no greater danger by accompanying so sensible and determined a fellow as Mudge, than he would have had to run constantly while performing the duties of his profession.”

The matter being settled, we lost no time in making our preparations. We had some alterations to make in the contents of our packs, that we might each carry a sufficient store of the articles we were most likely to require. We took an ample supply of powder and shot, a tinder-box apiece, the most portable food we possessed, and bottles to contain water, with a pocket-compass and a spy-glass, and an additional pair of shoes. We had also a kettle to boil water for making our tea, and a tin cup apiece to drink it out of, with a spoon, a plate apiece, and a couple of knives and forks. Our camp equipage, though not elaborate, was as complete as we desired. Our legs were encased in strong gaiters.

We left our party encamped on the summit of a mound, from which they could obtain a view on every side; while the trees, with the addition of some stockades placed between them, would enable them effectually to defend themselves against any attack of the natives. At the foot of the mound ran a stream with several deep water-holes in its course, which were not likely ever to become dry; while the trees along its margin were frequented by various descriptions of birds. Thus an abundant supply of food could always be obtained.

Between it and the range was a more thickly wooded country than we had hitherto passed through, and of some extent, which prevented us from seeing the character of the ground beyond. Through this we should have to make our way. We should, however, have some distance to go before we could reach the actual base of the hills.

Pullingo, as far as we could ascertain, had no objection to accompanying us; and besides our guns, we each had a brace of pistols, an axe, and a long knife.

At early dawn, after a hearty breakfast, all the party having got up to wish us good-bye, we set out. The clearness of the atmosphere deceived us, and it took us some time before we entered the forest. The rays of the sun, as they gleamed through the trees, showed us the direction we were to take. Mudge went first, and I followed, for there was often not room between the numberless creepers which hung down from the boughs to make our way two abreast.

Pullingo had, I observed, for some days past been giving signs that he was becoming tired of the routine of our life, so different from that which natives are accustomed to lead. He now, instead of going ahead, lagged behind, merely pointing in the direction we were to take, and which we knew perfectly well without his assistance. Directly we entered the forest I saw him making all sorts of extraordinary gestures, and after going on a little way I observed that he had taken off his shirt. A minute afterwards, what was my surprise on turning round to see him holding his trousers in his hand; then, flourishing them for an instant in the air, he pitched them on to the bough of a tree, where they hung fluttering in the breeze, while he bounded forward, as if delighted at finding himself free of the garments which had so long proved irksome to him. I hailed Mudge, and asked him whether he ought not to be told to go back and get his clothes.

“Let him alone,” was the answer; “he is only following the bent of his nature; he is perfectly welcome to run naked if he likes, though I suspect that when we come to cross the tops of the hills he will be sorry that he got rid of them.”

So strange, however, were the black’s antics, that I began to fear he had lost his senses. He shouted and laughed, and tumbled head over heels, and skipped, and jumped about in the most extraordinary manner, as if rejoicing in his regained freedom.

“I suppose he fancies that his clothes will hang there till he comes back, when he intends to appear decently, I hope, at the camp,” I remarked.

“I don’t think he troubles himself about the future,” answered Mudge; “he just now feels as much satisfaction at being without his clothes, as you or I would in getting a warm bath and putting on a clean shirt and trousers.”

We were some time in making our way through the forest, Pullingo not taking any special trouble to pick out the best path. We had expected almost immediately to commence our ascent of the mountain, but on emerging from the forest we saw before us a valley, with a broad stream flowing through it. By the rapidity of the current we judged that it made a direct course to the sea; and it was evidently far too deep to allow us to hope that we could wade across it.

We pointed it out to Pullingo, who had now become a little more quiet, and asked him how he proposed to cross the river. He at once turned back, and going towards a huge old stringy-bark tree which stood out some way from the rest, stripped off two large pieces of bark, which he invited us to assist in carrying down to the water’s edge. He then, looking about, got some long grass of a peculiar nature, with which he quickly manufactured some strong twine; then bending up the ends of the bark, which yielded easily to the pressure he bestowed on it, and using a pointed stick as an awl, he soon sewed them together. Both pieces were treated in the same way. He then got some clay from the bank of the river and stuffed it into the ends; and thus in a wonderfully short time had manufactured two canoes. From some small pieces of bark and a pole, which he cut with my axe, he also speedily formed a couple of paddles.

We had all along intended, it will be remembered, should we meet with rivers, to make some canoes for crossing them; but he, in less than a quarter of the time that we should have employed in making one, had formed two which would answer the purpose—though I should not, I own, have liked to undertake a long trip in one of them. He signed to Mudge to get into one, while he seated himself in the other, beckoning me to follow, which I did without hesitation, though the water reached almost up to the gunwale. We were quickly across; then he drew the canoes carefully up the bank, and placed them side by side, showing how he recollected that we might require them on our return.

We had been much deceived as to the distance; and we found that we had still some way to go before we got actually among the ranges we had to traverse. How wide they might be we could not tell; it might take us a day or two, or several days, to cross them.

The evening found us making our way over a tolerably level country, the hills which we thought so near in the morning being still at some distance. Here and there vast eucalypti of enormous growth were scattered about, towering to the sky; some decayed and hollow, with their limbs scathed by lightning, and their bark hanging down in long strips, like ragged giants, others still covered by sombre foliage.

We were struck by Pullingo’s manner; he kept looking about him, not as if the region were strange to him, but as if he were searching for something.

The shadows of the tall trees continued increasing in length; at last Mudge proposed that we should forthwith encamp, and accordingly made Pullingo understand that we intended doing so. He nodded his consent to our proposal, and at once began to collect bark for a lean-to and wood for a fire. Relieving ourselves of our packs, we assisted him, and had soon erected our shelter for the night, close to the trunk of one of the enormous trees I have described. These arrangements being made, we took our guns, and in the course of a few minutes had shot as many birds as we required for our supper and breakfast.

On returning to our camp we saw, to our surprise, Pullingo seated on the ground opposite another black, on whose knees his hands rested, while they gazed into each other’s faces. They were talking earnestly together, as if they had matters of the greatest importance to communicate. As we drew near enough to distinguish the features of the stranger black, we recognised our old acquaintance, Pullingo’s son, Quaquagmagu. So deeply were they engaged, they did not even perceive our approach; and as we had no wish to disturb them, we retired to a distance to wait till they had finished their conversation. Finding, however, that we might wait till midnight, and as we wished to get our pigeons plucked and roasted, we once more drew near. At length perceiving us, they sprang to their feet; when Pullingo exclaimed, “Son—Quaquagmagu—me, me!”

“Of course we recollect him,” said Mudge, shaking him by the hand. I did the same, apparently much to the young man’s satisfaction.

“And what brought your son here?” inquired Mudge, as if he knew that it would be useless to put the question to Quaquagmagu.

“All, all,” answered Pullingo, shaking his head; and he poured forth a torrent of words which we could not understand.

At length, however, we made out, chiefly by signs, that something was wrong at home—either that his children were ill, or that his wife had run away; at all events, that he wished to return northward. This was to us a serious announcement, as we had greatly depended on his assistance for traversing the country. It had, however, been tolerably evident that he had got tired of acting as our guide; indeed, few of the wild natives can ever be depended upon for associating with the whites for any length of time. Only the younger men, who get gradually habituated to civilised customs, will ever remain faithful to the duties they undertake. Pullingo was no exception to the rule.

“Will it be necessary for us to turn back?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” answered Mudge; “we can make our way very well without him, and as it is important for the sake of your mother and sister that we should undertake the journey, I say, by all means let us push on.”

“I am perfectly ready to do so,” I answered; “indeed, I very much doubt whether Pullingo knows anything about the mountains, and I suspect that from the first he had no intention of conducting us over them. I suppose, however, that he does not intend to leave us at once?”

“Little fear of that while we have the pigeons roasting at the fire,” observed Mudge. “Perhaps during the evening we shall be able to learn more about the matter; however, in the meantime we must make him and his son assist us in plucking the birds, for I am getting pretty sharp set.”

Pullingo and Quaquagmagu very willingly obeyed our directions, especially as they were to benefit by the task, and we quickly had a dozen pigeons and parrots roasting on as many spits.

“And so, Pullingo, you intend to leave us to make our way over the hills by ourselves! That is not treating us properly,” observed Mudge.

The black hung down his head, as if he had understood every word that was said, and then with a sigh pointed northward.

“But why couldn’t you have told us this before?” asked Mudge.

Pullingo pointed to his son, to intimate that he had brought him intelligence which made him wish to return.

“And has he come all this way by himself?” asked Mudge, making signs at the same time to explain his meaning.

The black intimated that he had not come alone, but that several of his tribe had accompanied him, for some object or other which we could not make out. We were puzzled also to discover how Quaquagmagu had known where to find his father. It showed us that the blacks had some secret means of communicating with each other of which we were ignorant.

We sat by our camp-fire endeavouring to hold a conversation with Pullingo. His stock of words was but small; though, considering the time he had been with us, it was wonderful that he had gained the meaning of so many. We both eked them out by signs, in making use of which the black was singularly clever. Our aim was to ascertain the object for which Quaquagmagu and his companions had come into that part of the country, but we were for a long time excessively puzzled to understand the meaning of Pullingo’s words and gestures. It had something to do with the moon, and also with a large cavern; but whether they had come to worship the moon, or some object in the cavern, we could not clearly make out.

It was not till long afterwards that I understood what he wished to tell us. In the early days of the world, the moon, who was then a very beautiful young woman, lived happily in the midst of the forests through which we had lately passed. It was her custom to take up her abode in a large cave in the side of the mountain we were approaching. Here she would have remained till the present day, had she not, by the envy of some evil spirits, been driven from earth, and condemned to exist only in the night up in the sky. The stars, the blacks believe, are the tears of regret which the moon sheds when weary of her banished condition. When she gains a certain position in the sky, however, she is able to look down upon her former well-beloved abode, on which she is wont to shed a brilliant light; unless her enemies, by means of clouds which they send across the heavens, deprive her of the only pleasure she enjoys in her solitary existence.

Those of her mortal relatives who still regard her with affection, make a point of paying an annual visit to the place she loved so well when on earth; and it appeared that a large party had been made up by Pullingo’s tribe with this object in view. The ceremony, if so it could be called, was, we understood, to take place the following night.

Anxious as we were to push forward, we would not have allowed ourselves to be stopped by such an object; but as the cavern existed some way up the mountain, we thought that we should probably not be able to get much beyond the spot. Our curiosity, indeed, had been excited by what Pullingo had told us, and we were glad of an opportunity of witnessing anything like a religious ceremony performed by the blacks; for, from what we had heard of them, we supposed that they were utterly destitute of anything approaching to religion.

At length Mudge told Pullingo that it was time to turn in. We retired to our hut, leaving him and his son to creep under a lean-to they had put up. Though we believed that we could thoroughly trust his honesty, and that our lives also would be safe while he was near us, we agreed that it would be prudent not to let him suppose that we should both be asleep at once. Accordingly, after Mudge lay down I walked about with a gun in my hand, to show that we were on the watch; and when I did go to sleep, I made a pillow of my knapsack, and held a pistol in my hand.

We were awakened in the morning by the loud cry of our friend the “laughing jackass.” As Pullingo and Quaquagmagu had eaten up the remainder of the birds we had shot, we immediately started to obtain a fresh supply. This was not difficult to do, and we soon killed enough to feed all hands and to enable us to carry some with us for the next day’s journey. Then shouldering our muskets, we set out with our faces to the hill, the two blacks accompanying us.

“Perhaps Pullingo is, after all, sorry for having intended to desert us, and will still continue our guide,” I observed.

“Not much chance of that,” answered Mudge. “Depend on it, he’ll take French leave whenever it suits his convenience.”

Still, I was inclined to believe that the native would prove faithful. Neither he nor his son, however, offered to carry our packs; though Pullingo chatted as usual, and seemed in a particularly merry mood.

In the afternoon, after having stopped for dinner,—when we fed our attendants with the produce of our guns,—we were already among the spurs of the mountains, amid which the trees were of even more gigantic growth than lower down. Instead of ascending abruptly, we found ourselves in a valley with a gentle slope, penetrating far into the range.

As the sun was now setting, we agreed to camp under a tall tree by the side of a stream flowing down the valley, which would supply us with water. We had shot some birds on our way, so we at once set to work to collect bark for our hut and wood for our fire. Pullingo and his son assisted us; but we observed that they did not put up a lean-to for themselves. We were busily engaged in preparing our birds for supper, when, after we had spitted them, on looking round we found that our black companions had disappeared.

“I suppose they will come back for their share,” observed Mudge.

Even when the birds were roasted they did not return, so we ate our supper and prepared to take our rest. The moon, by this time, had risen high in the sky, and was shedding her beams on the precipitous side of the valley a little way below us. I was on the point of dropping off to sleep, Mudge having agreed to keep watch, when I was aroused by a chorus of strange, unearthly cries.

“Depend upon it, these must proceed from our black friends, who are paying their respects to the cavern of the moon,” observed Mudge. “I thought just now I caught sight of some figures moving over the ground. Probably Pullingo and his son are among them. Let us go and see what they are about.”

I willingly agreed. Strapping on our packs, which we were too wise to leave behind, we proceeded in the direction from which the sounds came, knowing that the light of the fire would enable us to find our way back to the camp without difficulty. In a short time we caught sight of a number of dark figures forming a semicircle in front of a cavern, the entrance to which was surrounded by trees and numberless creepers clinging to the rock. The men were dancing in their usual strange fashion, leaping and springing, and twisting their bodies into all sorts of curious attitudes; singing at the same time at the top of their voices. Suddenly, at a signal from their fugleman, they all dropped down on their knees and began to creep towards the cavern, rubbing their noses every now and then on the ground. Thus they continued moving about in front of the cavern, no one apparently daring to approach too near the entrance.

As we were unwilling to be discovered, which we thought would be the case should they on rising face about in our direction, we slowly retreated towards our camp. On looking back, we saw that they were still crawling about on hands and knees; and as the spectacle was rather humiliating than interesting, we did not feel inclined to watch their further proceedings.

After lying down I was very soon asleep. When Mudge called me, he told me that the shouting and singing had been going on ever since, and that neither Pullingo nor his son had returned.

“They’ll come back, however, before morning,” I observed.

I was wrong, for when I awoke they were not visible; nor, as far as our telescope could enable us to distinguish objects, was a black to be seen. We had several birds remaining, and we cooked them; still fully expecting that Pullingo and his son would return for breakfast. We ate our portion, keeping the remainder for them; but after waiting for some time, they did not make their appearance.

“It would be useless to lose more time,” observed Mudge at length. “It is very evident that Pullingo and Quaquagmagu have taken French leave, and gone off with their companions. The chances are that we shall see no more of them. If the old fellow changes his mind, which perhaps he may do when he recollects the pleasant roasts with which we supplied him, he can easily track us along the valley.”

“I can scarcely fancy that he would have gone off without wishing us good-bye,” I observed. “We’ll give him another chance: I’ll fire off my gun, which I suppose he will understand as a signal that we are on the march.”

“Don’t throw away a shot for so uncertain an object,” answered Mudge. “Let us look out for the birds; we may as well carry as much food as we can into the mountains, in case we should find none there.”

I followed Mudge’s advice; and looking about, soon caught sight of a magnificent cockatoo, at which I let fly and brought it to the ground, the echoes of the report reverberating down the valley. “If our black friend is in the neighbourhood he must have heard that shot,” I observed. Returning with my prize, we packed up our traps, stuffing the roast pigeons into our kettle, which Mudge carried, while I hung the unplucked bird outside my pack.

“Forward!” cried Mudge, and we turned our faces up the mountain.

We soon got into a region very different from any we had as yet met with. Wild, rugged, and barren rocks rose around us, and a stunted vegetation alone appeared in the gorges along which we made our way. Still we pushed on, steering by our compass, which told us that we were keeping a pretty direct course to the southward. Fortunate it was that we had brought food with us, for not a bird appeared, nor did we see an animal at which we could get a shot. We, of course, carefully noted the way, not only that we might know it again, but to judge whether it could be easily traversed by animals. As yet we agreed that a sure-footed horse could easily get along, rugged as the way was, and steep in some places. At length we came to the steep side of a mountain, over which we ourselves, laden as we were, might be able to make our way, though it was very certain that no horse could either ascend or descend it with safety. I proposed, notwithstanding, that we should climb it.

“We’ll not do that if it can be avoided,” answered Mudge. “It may take us less time to get over it, but it will be more advantageous to our friends if we can make our way either to the right or left.”

We looked about and soon found a route to the right, which appeared practicable, as far as we could see; but where it would lead us to, we could not tell.

“There’s nothing like trying,” observed Mudge; “and a perpendicular precipice alone should stop us.”

He was right; and after proceeding about a mile to the eastward, we descended again into a valley which led in the direction we wished to take. A cascade which came tumbling down the rock tempted us to stop, although no trees from the bark of which we could form a hut were to be seen. The shrubs, however, which grew in the neighbourhood of the fall afforded us a supply of firewood. As we could find no cave or hollow for a sleeping-place, we cut down a quantity of boughs, and arranged them so as to screen ourselves from the cool breeze which blew along the valley; but, from the dry appearance of the grass, and our own previous sensations, we judged that the place was hot enough during the day, when the sun beat down into it.

We soon had our kettle boiling; and having eaten some of our cold pigeons—which, by the way, were rather high by this time—we drank our tea, and lay down to sleep, with our firearms by our sides. There was not much chance of our being interfered with by natives, and we also concluded that no dingos were likely to find their way into a region destitute of all other animals. There is no country in the world, indeed, in which a traveller can rest so securely at night, provided no natives attack him, as in Australia. Perhaps I might except the risk from snakes; but these are only to be met with in the hotter spots, and even the venomous ones seldom bite unless attacked. Dreary as was the aspect of the region in which we were encamped, compared with the scenery to which we had been accustomed, we slept, however, without fear; and the next morning, having taken a shower-bath in the waterfall, we breakfasted, and set off in good spirits.

“No signs of Master Pullingo,” observed Mudge. “He might have found it difficult to track us over the rocky ground, even had he wished it; but I suspect that he has gone away north with his friends, and that we shall not again set eyes on him.”

We trudged on along the bottom of the gorge, the heat as the sun rose and beat down into it becoming greater and greater till it was almost insupportable. The scenery became still wilder as we advanced, and much more arid; often bare rocks alone were to be seen on either hand, with only the most stunted vegetation, and no signs of water. We travelled on till noon, when we stopped under the shade of a rock to eat our frugal meal. We had, of course, filled our bottles in the morning, and therefore did not suffer from thirst, though we had been compelled to exhaust a large portion of their contents.

Hitherto the route we had fortunately hit upon was practicable for horses, though in many places the riders would have to dismount in order to proceed with safety. The day was well advanced when, as we were making our way through a narrow gorge, we came upon the bones of a large animal; which, upon examination, proved to be those of a horse—picked completely clean, however, by birds or insects.

“This shows that some traveller has been trying to make his way through this defile; and if he came from the southward, it should encourage us to hope that the route is practicable for four-footed beasts,” observed Mudge.

“Yes,” I remarked; “but also, I fear, it makes it probable that there is but little water or herbage, and that the poor animal must have died from hunger and thirst. And look there! see, here are the bit and stirrups, and the ironwork of the saddle. The rider must have found it necessary to desert his steed without attempting to preserve them. Look there! under the cliff are also part of a knapsack and other things.”

We hurried on to the spot at which I pointed. There lay a gun, a brace of pistols, a tinder-box, a clasp-knife, powder-horn, the brass of a shot-belt, and many other articles. The knife attracted my attention—it was exactly like one I had lost; and taking it up, what was my surprise to see my own initials on the small plate in the handle, which I had myself cut.

“That powder-horn is one I have used,” observed Mudge; “I left it in the store, intending to fill it. Let me see,—it was the very day before the bushrangers paid us a visit. I have no doubt that the horse was one ridden by the fellow who escaped, and that he must have been making his way across the mountains when the animal fell down and died.”

“If so, he must have been very hard pressed, or he would not have left his gun and ammunition, on which he depended for subsistence, behind him,” I observed.

“You are right, Godfrey; and I have no doubt he must have been overtaken by sickness, or been starved to death.” Immediately after, Mudge exclaimed,—“See! there is a piece of cloth hanging in that bush above our heads; perhaps it was intended as a signal to any passer-by, or has been blown there by the wind. I’ll take off my knapsack and climb to the top; there appears to be a broad ledge, from which I may get a view down the gorge, and perhaps discover the most practicable path for us to follow.”

Mudge did as he proposed; when, getting his head above the level of the ledge, he turned round and exclaimed,—“It is as I expected. There lies the skeleton of the unhappy wretch, picked as clean as the bones of his horse. He must have climbed up here for the purpose of looking about him, and sunk down and died. Not an article of clothing remains; the ants and birds must have carried that off.”

“Heaven grant that his fate may not be ours!” I could not help mentally exclaiming.

Mudge having looked round the ledge, and taken a glance along the valley, now rejoined me. We had no time to lose, and were glad to get away from the remains of the unhappy man and his steed. The powder-horn was empty; and as we did not wish to add to the weight of our knapsacks, we left that and the other articles, with the exception of my knife, which I put in my pocket. We were very doubtful at times whether any horse could get over the rough ground along which we made our way.

At last, night approaching, we were obliged to encamp in a wild and desolate spot, the least satisfactory we had as yet stopped at. The only shelter we could find was under an overhanging rock; such bushes as we could see not affording us the means of building a hut or putting up any protection against the night wind, which blew keenly across the heights. We managed, however, to cut a sufficient quantity of dry wood to light a fire, at which to boil the tea-kettle and cook our last remaining bird. It was somewhat high, but we ate a portion notwithstanding, reserving some for breakfast next morning. We had now only a few mouthfuls of water at the bottom of our bottles, and, as far as we could judge from the appearance of the country to the southward, which presented a succession of rocky heights, it might be long before we could replenish our store. We had still, however, some preserved meat and flour and a small quantity of biscuit, which we had hitherto carefully husbanded; and we hoped before that was exhausted to get into a region where game and fruits of some sort could be found. We did not, therefore, allow our spirits to be depressed. It was a great thing to be conscious that we were performing an important duty; and I especially felt very thankful that my mother and Edith had not been induced to attempt crossing the mountains on foot before we had explored the way.

The place we had chosen was, at all events, dry enough, and we hoped, by creeping close under the rock, not to suffer much from the cold.

Having said our prayers,—which, I may here observe, we always did both morning and evening,—we recommended ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father, and fearlessly lay down to rest.

Chapter Twelve.

Journey across the mountain-range—We mount higher and higher—I nearly give in—Reach the highest ridge—Descend by a rugged valley—Benighted—Take shelter in a cavern—Visit from dingos—Discover a pitcher-plant—Kill a rock kangaroo—Journey continued for a month—Powder and shot expended—Mudge sings to keep up our spirits—Found by a shepherd’s hut-keeper—Night at the hut—Arrive at Captain Hudson’s station—Welcomed—His father’s joy at hearing that Harry is alive—I become ill—Lily’s father—Expedition under him to assist our party—Nursed by Lily—I recover—Arrival of our party—My father settles near Captain Hudson—Mudge and I leave the Navy—We become prosperous settlers—Conclusion.

We had not as yet undergone any intolerable physical sufferings from want of food or water since we landed in Australia; we had always found sufficient water to drink, and an abundance of game. But as we trudged on during the next day, we began to fear that our endurance might be put to a severe trial. Our bottles were empty, our fresh animal food exhausted; and we were afraid to eat the salt pemmican, for fear of still further increasing the thirst from which we were suffering.

Wild, rocky ridges alone appeared before us, rising higher and higher. Still we went on, cheered with the hope that we should soon reach the highest ridge, and that then we might descend to a more fertile region. Sometimes we had to make our way along the summit of precipices; sometimes to descend into rocky valleys; and then, again, to mount up rugged heights. Still, it was our belief that for the whole of the distance a sure-footed steed would be able to make its way. We ourselves might possibly have taken a shorter route; but even though sore pressed we kept our main object steadily in view. We looked about on every side for patches of verdure, a sure sign of the neighbourhood of water; but we could see none to tempt us to swerve from our course.

“I suppose that the bushranger must have been making his way to the northward, and had already passed over this barren region, when he perished,” observed Mudge. “Were it of any great extent, he would not have attempted it; and I hope that before long we shall meet with water, and some four-footed beasts or feathered fowl to afford us food.”

“But how do you account for his powder-flask being empty?” I asked.

“He probably had gone to the south,” answered Mudge; “and having made an unsuccessful raid on some of the out-settlers, had been pursued and hard pressed, and had taken to the mountains, in the hope of making his escape, before he had been able to replenish his stock of ammunition. Perhaps he intended to pay us another visit. However, conjectures on the subject must be fruitless; only, it shows us that if he could get as far as the place where he died, we, in good health and strength, may hope to make our way over the ground, rough as it may be, till we can find water and food.”

We thus kept up our spirits with the anticipation of soon getting out of our difficulty. Still, in the aspect of the country there was nothing to encourage us. Except when we were traversing a gorge or narrow valley, the air was pure and exhilarating, and gave strength to our muscles; but they were pretty well tried, I must confess.

I was gratified by the remarks Mudge made to me. “You get on capitally, Godfrey,” he said. “I haven’t heard a grumble come out of your mouth, and you look cheerfully at the bright side of things. It is the best plan for making your way through the world; of that I am convinced, though I haven’t always followed it. But stick you to it, lad. You will, I hope, be actuated by a higher motive; that is, to put your trust in God’s love and mercy. Whatever occurs, he has promised to look after those who honestly trust him. I say honestly, for he won’t have any half-and-half trust. I don’t think we should expect that he will attend to the cries of those who forget him when they think themselves safe and prosperous, and only pray for help when they are in trouble. I have often thought on that subject, and have tried to say my prayers all the more heartily when things have been going smoothly and pleasantly with me.”

I agreed with Mudge, and told him that I would try to remember his advice. We talked on this and on many other subjects when the ground would allow of our walking abreast; but sometimes I had to walk behind him, while he pioneered the way, and more frequently we could only think of the road and the means of getting along it. There was, indeed, as may be supposed, very little plain sailing; but then we had time enough to talk when we were encamped.

We had seen a ridge before us which we hoped would prove the highest we should have to cross, and that afterwards we should find ourselves descending gradually into the plains to the southward. Our great aim was to get over it some time before dark, so that we might gain a lower level for camping; and, as we hoped, find water, even though we might not succeed in killing any bird or beast for supper.

We had both become very silent; in truth, I found my tongue clinging to the roof of my mouth, and a dry, painful sensation in the throat. I observed a peculiar hollowness in Mudge’s voice, too, and I was conscious that my own also sounded unusual. Still it would not do to give in, and we were not so far gone yet as to think of doing that. On, therefore, we went, though not without suffering. My knees felt weak, and I breathed with difficulty; but I would not tell Mudge this, lest it should discourage him.

At length, however, I could hold out no longer. Suddenly, when twenty yards or so behind Mudge—for I had lately lagged somewhat—I found myself sinking to the ground, not far from the summit of a ridge at which we had been aiming. He went on, not knowing what had happened; I followed him with my eyes, though I could neither cry out nor move. He reached the top, and looked eagerly out to the southward; then he took off his hat and waved it, shouting out, “I see a fine open country ahead.”

His voice revived me, and getting on my feet, I tottered forward to join him. He saw my weakness, and came to help me up to the top of the ridge. I felt greatly revived at the knowledge that our chief difficulty had been surmounted. Mudge stopped a little to consider the path it would be most advisable to take down the mountain, and then proposed proceeding. Looking at me, however, he saw that I was not able to exert myself as usual.

“Let me carry your pack, Godfrey,” he said; “it won’t make much difference to me, as most of the way will be down-hill, and it will relieve you. I advise you also to munch a little biscuit and pemmican; you’ll get it down in time, though at first you may find it difficult to swallow.”

I declined; but he insisted that I should try, and taking out some of the food, made me put it into my mouth.

“Perhaps our bottles may contain a little water, and that will help you,” he observed.

I shook my head, for I knew mine was empty. He looked at his, and found half a cupful I believe that he had saved it for such an emergency. It and the fresh air, and the knowledge that we might hope soon to be better off than at present, had a magical effect, and I felt able to continue the journey.

We went on and on, rapidly descending, till we reached the edge of a precipice.

“This won’t do,” observed Mudge; “but we will keep along to the left, where the ground slopes more than it does here, and perhaps we shall reach a practicable valley.”

He was not mistaken; and we soon found ourselves in a valley, which, though stem and wild as those on the other side of the mountain, would lead us, we hoped, into a more fertile region. Night rapidly approached, however, while we were still surrounded by barren rocks, so during the little time daylight remained we looked about to find a sleeping-place.

We were expecting to be compelled to rest without any shelter, when Mudge, who was a little way on up the side of the mountain, cried out,—“Here is a cavern; it will shelter us, at all events, from the cold wind and dew; though I am afraid we must go without a fire—or our tea, seeing that we have no water to boil even if we could make one.”

I followed him, and groping our way we found ourselves in a large arched cavern in the slope of the mountain. It was apparently of no great depth, but would afford us, at all events, ample accommodation; and we accordingly crept in. We ate a little more pemmican and biscuit, though I had the greatest difficulty in swallowing my share. We then, groping about, discovered two soft places, beds of sand, a short distance apart. Mudge chose one, and I lay down on the other.

“Go to sleep quickly, Godfrey,” said Mudge; “it is the best thing you can do; you’ll find yourself stronger in the morning. We’ll start at daylight, and enjoy a capital breakfast—when we find it.”

I did my best to follow his advice, and succeeded better than I could have expected. I must have slept for a considerable time, when I awoke with a start, and saw by the light of the moon, which streamed into the cavern, Mudge sitting up with his pistols in his hands, and staring, as I fancied, wildly before him.

“What’s the matter?” I exclaimed, under the idea that he was still asleep and fancied that he saw something terrible.

“Look there! look there!” he answered. “Can those be wolves, or jackals, or hyenas? or what other prowling creatures of night are they, with staring eyeballs, at the entrance of the cavern? Be prepared, Godfrey; for I verily believe they are about to rush in and attack us.”

I now distinguished in the gloom a dozen or more animals with fiery eyes, as it seemed to me, staring fiercely at us. I say animals, though I could only make out the heads of most of them; but one elevated on a slight mound above the rest showed me what they were.

“I am very sure there are none of the animals you mention in this country,” I answered, more awake than Mudge. “I believe they are only cowardly dingos; and a shout, or, at all events, a shot, would send them to the right-about. Fire, and you’ll see I am not mistaken,” I shouted at the top of my voice.

He discharged his pistol, the report of which echoed loudly through the cavern; and, as I expected, the dingos—for such they were—instantly turned tail and scampered away, uttering cur-like yelps, which left no doubt as to their character.

“I believe I was half asleep,” said Mudge, “or I should have known what these yelping brutes were. They might have proved somewhat annoying had they attacked us unawares; but I don’t think they’ll come back. In case they should, I’ll keep one eye open; but do you go to sleep again, Godfrey—I am sorry you should have been disturbed.”

I did not trouble myself much about the dingos, as I felt pretty sure they would not attack human beings, and I very soon followed Mudge’s advice.

I cannot say, when I awoke in the morning, that I felt as rested as I could have wished. My mouth was as dry as a dust-hole, and the sensations in my throat were very distressing. However, I managed to get on my feet; and the moment there was sufficient daylight to enable us to see our way, we recommenced our descent.

As I walked on,—or I may say, stumbled on,—Mudge still insisting on carrying my knapsack, we eagerly looked about for water; but though we saw shrubs and even trees, not the most tiny streamlet could we discover. I felt sure that I could not put anything into my mouth until I had taken some liquid to moisten my parched throat; and Mudge confessed that he felt much as I did, though his strength was less impaired than mine. We had passed a number of trees, which we examined eagerly in the hope of finding some juicy fruit, but in vain.

“What would I not give for a handful of strawberries or figs!” I could not help exclaiming.

“I shouldn’t object to a dozen ripe pears or apples,” said Mudge; “but none of these trees are likely to afford us what we want.”

We were thus trying to keep up our spirits, for it was a hard matter to do so, when my eye fell on a curiously-shaped tree. Growing on it was what at first I thought was fruit, though of a remarkable form. Making our way towards it, we discovered that what we took to be fruit were in reality leaf-formed cups, some with lids, others open; and our joy can be imagined when, on taking hold of one of them, some clear liquid ran over the rim. I did not stop to consider whether it was real water; but immediately putting the cup to my lips, I drained it to the bottom. How deliciously cool and refreshing it tasted!—no water from the fountain-head of the purest stream could have been more so—though it had a somewhat sweetish taste.

Mudge followed my example; and between us we had drunk the contents of several of these small cups, when he whispered, half to himself, “I wonder whether it is really water, or something poisonous!”

“I am very sure that it is wholesome,” I could not help answering; “it would be ungrateful in us to doubt it. Providence has placed a tree in this dry spot for the purpose of supplying man, and perhaps some of his other creatures, with the chief necessary of life.”

“Or perhaps it may be to nourish the tree,” observed Mudge.

“That may be true; and both objects, as is often God’s intention, are thus answered,” I remarked.

“Then let us sit down under it and be thankful; and now we’ll eat some pemmican and biscuit,” exclaimed my companion, “and get a little strength into our bodies.”

We did so, and felt greatly refreshed; and before we again started we drank some more cupfuls of the liquid. Near at hand we met with several trees of the same description, to which we again applied. Indeed, I felt that I could go on drinking all day without being satisfied.

Thoroughly recovered, we now looked about for birds, that we might have a substantial supper at night. Suddenly we caught sight of a creature which, startled by our approach, bounded out from behind a bush where it was feeding. It was a kangaroo of tolerable size; but, unlike the large kangaroos we had before seen, it went leaping away up the hill with as much ease as they make their way along the plain. The appearance of the animal at this spot showed that we were likely to see others, so, though that one had escaped, we were not without hopes of having some meat for dinner. We kept our eyes about us more vigilantly than ever. We saw also a few birds, but they kept at a distance from us. Of course, had we not been anxious to push on, we might have been able to get at them, and might possibly also have got up with the kangaroo we first saw.

Trees of various descriptions now began to appear, and shrubs of large size; among others were several nettle-trees, twenty feet in height at least. There was no mistaking their leaves. Once before, though I had forgotten to mention it, I had had my hands severely blistered by merely touching them. Their power of injury, indeed, is proportionate to their size.

We kept along the side of the hill, on the probability of starting another kangaroo; resolved to chase it either up or down the slope, should we fail to kill it at the first shot. We accordingly kept our guns ready to fire; looking, as we walked along, for more pitcher-plants, in case we should fail to find water.

We had gone on for some distance, and I was again beginning to feel excessively thirsty, when we saw before us a valley, by following which we hoped that we might reach the foot of the mountain-range. We were making our way into it, when, just before us, another kangaroo started up from the sunny spot where it had been basking, and looked round at us, doubtful, apparently, which direction to take. We thought that it would go up the hill; but instead of doing so, it came bounding towards us. I felt sure that I should hit it, when suddenly it took a leap over a precipice on our right. I immediately fired, and so did Mudge, but not before the animal had taken its spring. In consequence, over the precipice it went, and rolled down the steep slope towards the bottom of the valley. Uncertain at first whether either of us had really hit it, I handed my gun to Mudge, and looked out for a place where I could make my descent. Scrambling down, I was not long in reaching the kangaroo. The poor creature was still living, and tried to raise itself, as if about to fight in its defence; but my knife soon put it out of pain.

Wishing to carry our prize to the spot on which we had been standing when we shot it, as the place was convenient for camping, I dragged it to the foot of the precipice, and fastened round it a long vine which I found growing close at hand; with this, having climbed to the top of the rock, I without difficulty hauled it up—just as Mudge, who had gone round to assist me, came back.

The animal we had so fortunately killed was about four feet long, including the tail; which was, however, very nearly half that length. Its fur was of a purplish hue, warming into a rich rusty red towards the tail. It had strong, powerful claws on its hinder feet, almost concealed by the thick hair around them. We did not, however, stop long to examine it, but, taking out our knives, quickly skinned and cut it up. This done, we lost no time in collecting wood, lighting a fire, and setting a joint to roast; while we toasted some thin slices to satisfy the immediate cravings of our hunger.

As soon as we had done so, Mudge started to look for water, leaving me to attend to the roast, and to watch that no hungry dingo carried off our store of meat. “Depend upon it, that animal can’t have lived without water; and if its home is near here, water is not likely to be far off,” he observed. So, though it still wanted a couple of hours or more to sunset, we were so weary that we agreed it would be wise to stop where we were.

After I had seen that the meat was roasted, I employed myself, while waiting for Mudge’s return, in cutting some poles and collecting bark to form our hut; keeping my eye, however, on the fire. It was fortunate that I did so, for while I was cutting down a small tree, partly hid by a bush, I caught sight of one of our canine visitors of the previous night—or, at all events, an animal of the same species, the abominable dingo—stealing cautiously towards the carcass of the kangaroo. I sprang out, axe in hand, hoping that the intruder would await my coming. He did so for an instant, unwilling to lose the feast he had expected to enjoy; but just before I reached him he turned round and ran off yelping, disappointed of his prey.

The animal was shaped like a common dog; was of a reddish-brown colour, with a sharp muzzle, and ears short and erect, its tail pendent and bushy, and its eyes small and cunning.

We afterwards had a great deal of trouble with these dingos, which are clever creatures, hunting in packs, and committing fearful depredations on the flocks of the settlers. To preserve our meat, I hung it up on the bough of a small tree, at a height no dingo could reach; feeling very sure that otherwise it would be carried off during the night.

I had begun to be somewhat anxious at Mudge’s long absence, when at length I heard his voice, singing as he came along; and presently he climbed up to the plateau with both our bottles and the kettle he had taken with him full of water.

“We may consider the difficult part of our journey over, and be thankful,” he said, as he got up to me. “A stream flows down the side of the mountain, and instead of running towards the ocean, it takes, as far as I could see, a due southerly course; so that we may travel along its banks, and be sure not only of water, but of plenty of birds, which are certain to frequent the locality during the morning and evening.”

This was good news; and the ample supply of meat we enjoyed restored our strength and raised our spirits. We washed it down with I don’t know how many cups of tea; which, though we had no milk, was not the less enjoyable. To prevent any dingos from unpleasantly smelling at us during the night, we fixed a number of sticks into the ground around our sleeping-place, and before turning in made up as large a fire as we could find fuel for. Its warmth, at that altitude, was pleasant, if not absolutely necessary.

We had a capital breakfast the next morning off some more of the rock kangaroo, and then packed up the more delicate portions to carry with us. “Forward!” cried Mudge; and setting our faces down the valley, we continued our course. We had still some hundred feet to descend, and even then we were not on a level plain, as, when looking from the mountain, we had supposed the country below us to be. The river on our left went rushing and foaming onwards, showing that the descent it was about to make was still considerable.

We were not disappointed in our expectations of finding abundance of game as we travelled on by the side of the river, for three days or more; after which it turned towards the eastward on its course to the ocean.

After this we proceeded southward, crossing several rivers and numerous streams. Most of the latter were fordable. We passed over the rivers in canoes, such as I have before described. For a considerable distance we had a lofty range of mountains on our right; and we had to make our way over some of the smaller ranges, but with much less difficulty than over the first we had crossed.

Perseveringly we trudged onwards, over table-lands and wide-extending plains and across valleys. All these rivers, streams, mountains, hills, plains, table-lands, and valleys have long since been named and thoroughly explored; while towns and villages have sprung up on the banks of the rivers, numerous flocks and herds are pastured on the plains and downs, and thousands of industrious settlers people the country. But in those days the black man, the kangaroo, the emu, and the dingo ranged in unrestrained freedom over the land. If names there were, they were such only as were given by the aboriginal inhabitants to the regions they claimed as their own.

We frequently met with natives; but as we were always on our guard, and avoided giving them offence, we were never annoyed by them. We fell in with most of them while we were on the march, so that we proceeded onwards and saw them no more; while the few who on rare occasions visited us at our camp in the evening, were always friendly. When we killed a kangaroo or emu, we gave as much of the meat as we could spare to any of the black men who were near; and we always found that food was the most acceptable gift we could bestow.

We had been nearly a month on our journey from the time we had left my father’s camp. That space of time may appear short to those who are reading our adventures; but to us it seemed a long period, especially as we felt deeply anxious to send relief to our friends, whose stock of powder and shot might, we feared, be exhausted before we could return. Mudge observed that my father would probably send back to obtain supplies from the store we had left behind; but I reminded him that the men who went could only carry enough for themselves, and that without beasts of burden it would be impossible to relieve their wants in that way, while it was very certain that the natives could not be induced to act as carriers.

As yet we had met with no signs of civilised life; and as we had brought no quadrant, we were unable to calculate, with anything like accuracy, the number of miles we had performed each day. We could only guess, therefore, how far off we were from the most northern settlements. Our powder and shot, on which our very existence depended, was rapidly diminishing; and should that become exhausted, we should be at the mercy of the natives, and have to trust to them for supplying us with food, as we had great doubts whether we could trap any birds or beasts.

Though we had occasionally picked a few wild fruits, the supply was very uncertain, and we often had to go a considerable distance without finding any. The most nourishing was a fruit larger than a Spanish chestnut, and with a similar taste. It grew on a tree with beautiful green and pinnated foliage, contrasting strikingly with the dark leaves which give so sombre a hue to the Australian forests. We found three to five seeds in pods of considerable size, growing solitary and pendent. Had we been able to obtain a sufficient supply of these nuts, we might, with the aid of the cabbage-palms, and the leaves of a species of sorrel and other plants we met with, have been able to support existence on a vegetable diet.

On examining our stores one evening, as we sat in our camp, we found that we had between us not more than half-a-dozen charges of powder and shot. We had still some pemmican, but our biscuit had long been exhausted; and we had but a few pinches of tea, although we had for some time been enjoying that refreshing beverage in a very diluted state.

“We must not despair,” said Mudge,—“we have been preserved hitherto; and we must trust to Him who has all along taken care of us, to enable us to reach our journey’s end in safety. We must husband our powder and shot; we must live on pemmican and sorrel on alternate days, unless we can make sure of hitting the game we meet with; and I trust that we shall thus run no risk of starving, for a week to come.”

The cheerful way in which Mudge spoke revived my spirits; and the next morning we trudged courageously on, determined not to be daunted by anticipated difficulties. Still, we were sorely tried when we missed two kangaroos which we made sure of hitting. At length, having expended several charges of powder and shot on as many small birds, we found, one evening, that our ammunition had come to an end.

“Cheer up, Godfrey!” exclaimed Mudge, after I had been silent for some time; “I’ll sing you a song, to show you that I am still in good heart, as you ought to be;” and he began trolling forth a sea-ditty which he had often sung on festive occasions on board the Heroine.

He had got through three or four verses, when we were somewhat startled by hearing an English hail. Soon after we had replied to it, having sprung to our feet, a voice exclaimed, “Hallo, mates! where have you dropped from?” and we saw emerging from the gloom the figure of a white man, in the rough dress of a shepherd, with a gun in his hand and a brace of pistols in his belt. As I caught sight of him, the thought crossed my mind that he was a bushranger; but we rushed forward, notwithstanding, without asking who or what he was, and grasped him by the hand, when a few words sufficed to tell him what he wanted to know.

“And have we really got near the settlements?” asked Mudge eagerly.

“The nearest, I suppose, you would call a settlement, is not more than about five miles away to the southward,” answered the man; “but mine and my mate’s hut is less than a quarter of a mile off, and you will be welcome there if you like to strike camp and come along with me. Our tea-kettle is boiling, and the damper will be cooked by the time we get there. I am the hut-keeper; and my mate, the shepherd, had just penned the sheep and made all snug for the night, when I caught sight of the glare of your fire. Says I to my mate, ‘It’s some of them natives, and they’ll be trying to steal a sheep, or do some other mischief; at all events, I’ll go and see what they’re about.’ When I heard that jolly song of yours, sir, I soon knew all was right, though I did wonder how you came to be out here.”

Mudge, who was perfectly satisfied that the man was what he represented himself to be, at once accepted his invitation; and emptying our kettle, we quickly slung that and our other traps on our backs, and prepared to accompany the shepherd.

“Stay, mates, we’ll put out the fire first,” he said; “we don’t know where the sparks may be carried to if left alone: they might soon set the whole country in a blaze.”

Having taken this precaution, we walked briskly along with our new friend. We soon reached a low shingle-roofed slab hut, from which a couple of dogs issued, barking furiously on hearing the footsteps of strangers. The hut-keeper’s voice quickly silenced them, when they came fawning up to him, licking even our hands when they discovered that we were whites. Our companion ushered us into his hut, which consisted of one smoke-begrimed room, containing a clay fireplace, two rough bunks in the corner, and a table and couple of stools in the centre. The kettle on the wood fire was bubbling and hissing merrily.

Our guide’s “chum,” as he called him, presently came in from the sheepfold, and gave us a hearty welcome. He was as rough-looking as his companion, but scarcely rougher than Mudge, with his unshaven beard, his moustache, and long hair; and I, though I had not a beard and moustache to boast of, must have looked pretty rough too.

Our hosts gave us the best they had: fresh damper, broiled mutton, and tea. The captain, as they called their master, allowed no spirits, but, they acknowledged, took good care that they were well supplied with necessaries; and if we would stop another day they would give us plum-pudding for dinner. We, of course, said that we were anxious to go on to the station as soon as possible, that we might obtain horses to return to our friends. The captain, they said, would give us every assistance in his power. He had a herd of cattle, as well as sheep, with several horses, though whether he would be able to spare the horses they could not tell; but he would probably try and obtain them for us from the next station, a dozen miles or so farther off.

We were still, we found, a hundred and fifty miles, at least, from Sydney; so that, had not the settlers established stations to the northward, we should have had a long journey to perform before we could obtain assistance. They were more ready to hear the accounts we had to give than to say anything about themselves; indeed, when once or twice Mudge inquired how long they had been in the colony, and why they came out, they made evasive answers, and turned the subject. They were, in reality, convicts; assigned servants, who received no wages, but were allowed thus much of liberty as long as they behaved themselves well.

As soon as supper was over, they advised us to turn in, observing that they should have to be up before daybreak to breakfast, that the shepherd might take his sheep at early dawn to their pasture, at some distance from the hut. They offered us their bunks, but we declined; for two reasons: one was, that they looked excessively black and dirty; and the other, that, being long accustomed to sleep on the bare ground, we would not turn them out of their beds. We accordingly lay down on the floor, with our knapsacks as pillows, with a feeling of security which we had not for long enjoyed; and knowing that one of the faithful dogs was watching at the door, we were soon fast asleep. When I awoke, I saw the hut-keeper kneading a damper, which he put under the ashes of the already kindled fire. I need not say that I would rather not have witnessed the operation.

I did not open my eyes again till he summoned us to breakfast, when we were joined by the shepherd, who had gone out to see that his sheep were safe. Our meal being quickly despatched, he bade us farewell and again sallied forth, to let his sheep out of their pen; when the hut-keeper asked us if we were inclined to stop a while, or go on to the captain’s. We, of course, expressed a wish to set off at once, and begged him to show us the way.

“I can’t go with you, as I have to help my chum to attend to some sick sheep,” he said, “and to look after the hut; but you can’t mistake it if you keep due south, over yonder rise with the three big trees at the top of it, and then make for a stream you will see shining in the distance. There’s a bridge over it, which leads to the station.”

The directions being sufficiently explicit, we set off without fear of losing our way. A walk of rather more than an hour’s duration brought us in sight of the stream, with a plank-bridge thrown over it; on which, as we got nearer, we saw two black men. They were not, however, such as we had been accustomed to meet with, but were decently clothed. Saluting us civilly in English with “Good morning, friends,” they told us that this was the station of which we were in search, and that if we went on a little farther we should find the master, who would be glad to see us.

Passing some huts, we soon saw before us a low, bungalow-looking building, with a broad verandah. Directly afterwards there issued forth a middle-aged gentleman, who advanced towards us. “Glad to see you, my friends, wherever you come from,” he said, putting out his hand. “You look as if you had had a long tramp of it. I take it you are ready for breakfast. Come in at once. We were just upon the point of sitting down when I caught sight of you from the window.”

“Thank you, sir,” answered Mudge. “Your shepherds, at whose hut we slept, gave us some breakfast; but we accept your hospitality, as, for my part, I should be ready for a little more; and so, I dare say, will my friend Rayner,—at all events, midshipmen have the credit of being able to stow away two or three meals in succession without inconvenience, and we have been on short allowance for some days past.”

“What, are you naval officers?” exclaimed the captain, eyeing us attentively. “I thought so from the way you spoke. However, come in. You can tell me all about yourselves afterwards; it doesn’t come up to my notions of hospitality to bother strangers with questions before they have eaten, and drunken, and rested themselves after their journey.”

Saying this, our host led the way into a neat parlour, where two ladies were seated at table; one evidently his wife, the other very young. I looked from her to the elder lady, then, springing forward, I put out my hand and exclaimed, “Mrs Hudson!”

She shook it with a look of surprise; then, turning round, I added, “Captain Hudson, I am sure it is you, sir;” and looking at the young lady, I said, “I don’t know your name, but I remember you very well indeed, and have never forgotten you since I was on board the Hopewell, off the coast of Patagonia, two years ago.”

After I had shaken Captain Hudson by the hand, the young lady, who had risen from her chair, came forward to greet me, saying, “I remember the midshipman who paid us a visit, but I should not have recognised you; yes, yes—I remember your eyes and your features now;” and she smiled very sweetly.

“I thought I had seen your face before,” I heard Mudge saying, as Captain Hudson was shaking him warmly by the hand.

Our host and hostess now pressed us to sit down to breakfast, but I could scarcely eat anything for thinking of the information we had to give them. A word whispered in my ear from Mudge—“Don’t say anything yet”—made me cautious, for he was too wise not to think that it would be dangerous to communicate such joyful intelligence too suddenly, and that it was important to break it to the captain first. We had a great deal to tell about our adventures, however.

Captain Hudson then informed us that soon after we fell in with him the ship had come across to Sydney, where, on account of Mrs Hudson’s health, he had given up the command, and determined to settle on shore. Finding an acquaintance who happened to be in Sydney, and who wished to give up this station, he came on here. “For though so far in advance of the other settlers,” continued Captain Hudson, “I was sure that, by the proper management of my assigned servants, and by treating the blacks judiciously, we should be as safe here as near other stations. I have not been mistaken; and we have already succeeded in partly civilising several young natives, who seem perfectly happy and contented, and are ready to perform any light labour to which I put them.”

When we told Captain Hudson that the object of our journey was to carry assistance to our friends, he at once volunteered to do all in his power to obtain horses, provisions, and trusty men to accompany us back. “Though I cannot go myself,” he said, “I have a friend in the neighbourhood who will, I am sure, take great pleasure in accompanying you, and in whom you may thoroughly rely, as few men have travelled more in the wilds than he has, or are so well able to manage the natives.”

I saw the young lady look up at Captain Hudson as he spoke, but what that look betokened I could not then understand. All this time we were, of course, burning to tell him that his son was alive; though, had he known it, he could scarcely have been more anxious to send assistance to our friends than he was already. It occurred to me, indeed, that, to save him and Mrs Hudson the anxiety of waiting for Harry’s arrival, it might be better to say nothing about him. How dreadful it would be should any accident have happened to him in the meantime, or should all our party have perished! Not that we dared contemplate such a contingency for two moments together. It did, however, when I felt at all depressed, flash across my mind; but I put it from me as too horrible to dwell on; besides which, it seemed like ingratitude to God, who had so far protected us.

As soon as breakfast was over, I mentioned my idea to Mudge; but he considered that we ought to tell the captain that we had found a white boy among the savages, apparently of the age of his son—that he had been long with us, and had become perfectly civilised, and, from his amiable qualities, a great favourite. Captain Hudson might thus draw his own conclusions.

The captain soon afterwards joined us, when Mudge cautiously introduced the subject; notwithstanding which he was almost overcome with agitation.

“We ought not to raise your hopes too high, sir,” said Mudge; “but still, neither Captain Bracewell nor any one on board the ship had any doubts on the subject.”

“How can I thank my merciful Father in heaven for his boundless kindness to me!” exclaimed the captain. “I will carefully prepare my dear wife, but in her delicate state of health it will require great caution; and I must beg you, therefore, not to utter a word to any one else.”

This, of course, we promised to do; and we were surprised at the self-command which the captain afterwards exhibited in presence of Mrs Hudson.

We had made inquiries about our ship, but she had not visited Sydney before Captain Hudson had been last there, and he had heard nothing of her. This satisfied Mudge that he was not in duty bound to go there to look for her.

Captain Hudson, notwithstanding the agitation of his mind, observed our tattered condition, and insisted on rigging us both out in new, strong clothes suited for our object. These were put on after a thorough bath in the stream hard by. Mudge also had got shaved by the captain’s black cook, an African who had accompanied him on shore, and who was barber, sheep-shearer, tailor, carpenter, and I don’t know how many other trades besides.

Captain Hudson, in the meantime, had sent off to the friend he spoke of, who soon afterwards arrived on horseback. He was a handsome, middle-aged man, of a peculiarly grave and melancholy countenance, but with a keen eye, and who appeared, by his bearing and manners, to have been an officer. He at once, on hearing our account, agreed to accompany us, and to organise an expedition to carry such provisions as he thought would be necessary, with horses for the conveyance of my mother and sister, as well as my father, and any of the rest of the party who might be unable to walk.

I felt in high spirits, and perfectly ready to set off on the following morning. Towards evening, however, I suddenly became very ill, when Mrs Hudson insisted on my going to bed; and next morning I was utterly unable to rise. But, of course, the expedition could not be delayed on my account.

I was unconscious, so I was afterwards told, for some time; and when I regained my senses I found that the party had long since started. My fear was that while I had been in delirium I might have talked of Harry Hudson, and I was thankful to find that such had not been the case. Mrs Hudson watched over me with as much care as my own mother could have done, and I often saw tears dropping from her eyes—when I knew that she was thinking of her own boy, whom she supposed to have been lost.

As I got better, Lily, for such was the name of the young lady—she was, as I could not help telling her, a sweet white English Lily; not like one of the Australian lilies, with grand blossoms of rich crimson, six inches in diameter, growing on stalks twenty feet high—Lily was my constant companion. Every day that I was in her company I admired her more and more—but I must not talk about that just now. She was, I suspected, the daughter of the leader of the expedition, who, for some reason—not a dishonourable one—was compelled to live a secluded life in Australia. Two more months passed away, when one afternoon a man on horseback appeared, bringing the joyful intelligence that our party were close at hand, and all well. I saw that Mrs Hudson was greatly agitated, and I now knew that the captain had been gradually preparing her for the appearance of their son.

It is beyond my power to describe the meeting; I know a great many of us cried with joy, and I am not ashamed to say that I did so. My dear mother and Edith had borne the journey well, though they had been hard pressed for some weeks, and had become very anxious before the appearance of the expedition sent to succour them.

Captain Hudson received our party with unbounded hospitality, having prepared a residence for those who could not be received into his own house. I was delighted to find that my father had arranged to take a station within a few miles of that of Captain Hudson, who promised to afford him that assistance which, as a new-comer, he of course greatly required.

Mudge, who, as soon as he could communicate with England, made arrangements for quitting the service, got a grant of land, and settled near us. Being only a midshipman, I had simply to discharge myself, without any other formality; as did Tommy Peck. The rest of the crew were so enamoured of the country that they remained with us, and turned stockmen; most of them becoming at length successful settlers.

Harry, of course, married Edith; and Lily became my wife. This event happened a long time ago, and it might not increase the interest of my readers if I were to say that it is long since our wives became grandmothers.

We all flourished, as I am firmly convinced people will do who, seeking guidance from above, act with due judgment and discretion, taking advantage of the experience, as well as warning from the failure, of others. We, of course, had those ups and downs which all settlers in Australia must meet: dingos carried off our sheep, and the rot visited them; the blacks were troublesome, and droughts and blights occurred; bush-fires occasionally took place, and our wool brought lower prices than we had hoped for. But, notwithstanding, in the long run we were blessed with prosperity, and had ample reason to be thankful that we had been preserved from the numerous dangers we had encountered, and that we had been guided to the shores of Australia.

The End.